i may take time to get to them. i'm a busy girl. please don't request smut — i'm asexual! this is a sfw blog (sorta). some reblogs/recs may contain smut. english is not my mother tongue :)
୨୧ currently listening to 🎧 sun tan - wallows
──── please do not modify, translate, plagiarize, copy, or claim any of my works as yours. fuck ai! dividers by si-eunnis & bernardsbendystraws.
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.”
the church bells rang and for the first time in years, mello wasn't there. he took a sharp breath, a part of him completely indulged in you but the other part, guilty. he was guilty, he was a sinner. he was missing the only time he could abolish his sins. "you could've gone." you spoke when you saw the distant look in his eyes.
he looked at you, the guilt washing away slowly. "i'd rather be here with you." he didn't even know if he was telling the truth. his mind was clouded and he wasn't thinking straight. you, on one hand, were a god to him, your hips, which were littered with bite marks, as the altar, but on the other hand, well, he couldn't say. was there even a god that existed to sit on the other hand?
you were real, that's all he knew. your body was real, your words were real, your love for him was real. heaven or hell, who was to decide which one mello would have to spend eternity in? he was already in heaven when he was with you, when his hands were on you. maybe he was crazy, maybe he should be at church, but it was too late. there was no turning back and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to.
"c'mere." he spoke but he didn't need to, his arms pulling you onto his lap. your legs strung on either side of him, his back against the headboard of the bed. who was to say you weren't the god everyone at church was praying to? maybe you weren't real or maybe mello had died and god was rewarding him- or perhaps punishing him.
he shook his head and took a deep breath. here he was, with you on his lap, and his mind was elsewhere. he placed his hands on the altar, worshiping silently. what if you were an angel sent by god? or worse, sent by satan himself to tempt him. "mello." you whispered breathily, dragging him out of his dark mind. "hey." he answered, his attention fully on you and, god, when did you get so beautiful?
maybe he wasn't sure of anything. he didn't care though, not right now, not in the near future, never when you were near him. "hey baby." he spoke again, rubbing his hands on the bare skin of your thighs. "hi." you smiled and mello knew god was punishing him. "you're so pretty." it was rare mello complimented you, especially in such a straightforward and romantic way.
you didn't know how to respond, and honestly, mello didn't want you to. he ran his hand up your body, landing at the back of your neck and pushing you closer to him, letting his lips land on yours. your hands rested on his chest as you returned the kiss, only pulling away for air.
you were intoxicating, nothing like the wine he drank every sunday at mass. he could never get enough of you, no matter how close you were or how many clothes you were wearing or not wearing. if god decided to kill mello right this very moment, he doesn't think there would be a better time. i guess it's like they say, the road gets hard and you get lost when you're led by blind faith.
summary: tim gets grounded so you take it upon yourself to get him out. the problem? he doesn't want to leave — he just wants you.
warnings: lowercase intended. fem reader. established relationship. reader is also a vigilante. making out. suggestive. tim is red robin. mention of jason's death. clingy tim.
note: i am his biggest fan. i felt so sinful writing them just MAKING OUT — must be the ace in me. fuck knows how old tim is in current canon but i imagine they're like nineteen in this. also, viet/wasian tim is so real to me — whenever people mention his blue eyes i get jumpscared.
divider by omi-resources | comments & reblogs are appreciated! <3
tim drake had always been the voice of reason.
being reckless was not in his nature. he was wired for precision and hypothesis. out of all his teammates, young justice or anywhere else, he was least likely to mess things up due to carelessness. in fact, tim drake cared too much.
it was exactly why he put himself on the frontlines this time — for the sake of the mission. for the safety of his team. if anyone needed to harmed, let it be him.
and while the mission ended in a success with red robin unscathed, bruce did not like what he came to hear. maybe it was the jason trauma kicking in, but bruce didn’t need his children playing the role of martyr.
so, for the first time in long while, tim was grounded.
no outings. no patrolling. no you.
his brothers took great pleasure in seeing the wayne child, whose image was all about being ‘orderly’, sulk in the confines of his bedroom. tim attempted to slip away many times, but living under a roof filled with security systems and other super-spies, it was harder to escape than arkham asylum in comparison. little damian had no problem reporting to their father if tim’s foot made it even a centimeter past the front door.
lucky for tim, he had a girlfriend who shared a mind of his own. breaking into the wayne manor was difficult — this was batman’s sanctuary, after all. you’d almost gotten your butt fried when hopping past a high voltage trip wire.
truthfully, you didn’t need to be doing all of this. you had access to most, if not every, part of the estate. you even had your assigned room there, whenever you decided to stay over. you were associated to the bats as closely as stephanie brown or barbara gordon. nevertheless, the idea of forcing your way into a place you could practically call your home sounded incredibly appealing for what was a dull wednesday night.
tim only noticed you perched out his windowsill when he heard a small tap on the glass, forcing him to peel his eyes away from his laptop. his personal laptop, of course — bruce knew tim’s biggest hobby was scrolling through the system files to crack any cases.
“nuh-uh.” tim begun to vigorously shake his head. “no. nope.” he pushed himself out of his chair, walking over to the window. “get out.” he hissed lowly, like he was shooing away a stray cat, fanning his hands. to be fair, you did look like one with the cheshire’s grin you held. when he realised you couldn't hear him through the glass, he unlatched it, leaving a crack wide.
tim’s reaction hadn’t faltered you in the slightest. you saw it coming, in fact. if bruce happened to catch you in his room — which was very possible — tim would be blessed to be un-grounded before thirty.
you took the open window as a chance to push your way into his room. your hop was light, feet soundless on the rich wooden floors. it’s been near a week since you’ve last seen your boyfriend. the longest separation since the time you met at the ripe age of fourteen. tim, who had all the strength to do so, doesn’t make an attempt to keep you out. despite all his protests, he was missing you a lot more than he currently let on.
you don’t pay mind to a single word he’s whisper-yelled. instead, planting your hands on his face, diving in to give him a gentle greet on the lips. he couldn’t say a damn thing once your lips landed on his.
his hands automatically found their usual position on your hips, instinctively pulling you closer as he kissed back. he was dying of withdrawal, his body reacted to you like he needed air. the kiss left you giddy, but you managed to pull yourself back before any one of you could lose the plot. staying put in tim’s hold, you asked, “sneak out with me?”
“this is a horrible idea—“ he muttered in a hushed tone. it was evident how badly he wanted to run away with you.
“oh, come on,” you begun, “he’s your dad. he’ll come around to forgive you a lot more easily than you think.” the tips of your fingers brush against tim’s pale face, pining the mere touch of him. it was a deal with the devil — for you were letting your heart get to you and not your head.
but, dammit. how did you making everything so enticing? you were a temptation that he absolutely could not resist.
with a groan, he leaned into your touch. he didn’t want to admit it out loud but he was caving. “he’s already pissed that i went against orders. this’ll just piss him off more,” he protested weakly, despite knowing that he was about to give into you anyway.
“please?” you pleaded, with a weak attempt of what people called ‘puppy eyes’. you leaned in closer to brush your lips against his. “i miss you.”
you had him wrapped around your damn finger — the second those three words left your lips, it was over. his will to resist was crumbling by the second. tim sighed, giving your lower lip a small and playful bite. “you’re the bane of my existence.”
you raised your eyebrows. “isn’t that a bridgerton quo—“ your comment is smothered by another kiss.
tim’s hands shifted to your thighs to lift you up, guiding you to wrap your legs around his waist. he pressed you against the wall of his room, returning the kiss with fervor. his fingers curled into the fabric of your clothes, clinging to you tightly. “shut up and kiss me.” he breathed against your lips.
your bodies are reacting before your brains do. clearly, the days spent apart had been driving tim up a wall as well. “wait, wait, wait.” you giggled against his lips, “we’re supposed to be sneaking out, not making out.”
tim only groaned when you interrupted the kiss, burying his face into your shoulder. he was so close to completely abandoning the idea of sneaking off to just kiss you until the sun came up. “c’mon,” he whined, “sneaking out is overrated, let’s just stay here and make out instead.”
“gods— you are such an introvert.” said the other introvert — yourself. you rested your head against the wall, absentmindedly playing with the black tufts of hair on tim’s nape. his eyes fluttered momentarily at the feeling of you playing with hair, a small, content hum rumbling in the back of his throat. “i really wanted to go for the whole romeo and juliet aesthetic. except, i’m romeo and i’m trying to get you out and have your father’s approval.”
he raised his head to roll his eyes in an overdramatic effect, though a smile pulled at the corner of his lips while listening to your rambling. “you do know they both die at the end, right?” he teased before pressing another kiss against your collarbone, trailing his lips up towards your jaw. “besides, you’d be the worst romeo,” he said with a gentle nip.
“what?” you dramatically yelped, offended. “would not. i’d totally drink poison for you, or however the play goes. juliet, oh, juliet — let down your hair.”
the sudden and rather loud outburst had tim immediately cupping a hand over your mouth, muffling your next sing-song remarks. “be. quiet,” he said with a small laugh. “you’ll get us caught, dumbass.” he couldn’t help but shake his head slightly. “see? terrible romeo, i’m doing all the work.”
but you weren’t really listening anymore, your eyes narrowing into a knowing, dirty-minded look. the smirk you were currently sporting was enough for tim to get the message. the small smile on his face betrayed the false annoyance, “pervert.” he mumbled, lowering his hand from your mouth to rest it on your hip instead.
“you like this pervert.”
“not the words that come out of that mouth.”
“i can think of other ways to use this mouth.”
“oh, yeah?”
“i can use it,” you paused for dramatic effect, and in a blink, you’re swinging off of tim’s grip, “to eat a good ol’ hotdog at our nearest bodega.” you said the line like a narrator straight out a 60’s commercial.
“you little—“ he started, his hand flailing outwards in a pathetic attempt to grab you again. you snickered at his reaction, too busy collecting your backpack that you slipped off in passing earlier. tim was still pouting like a child as he slumped back against the wall. you took a step closer and swung an arm across his shoulder, dragging him with you to his window.
“a shitty pizza slice sounds so good right now.” he couldn’t help but let out a soft snort of laughter at your excitement for shitty bodega pizza.
tim’s only response was to let out a small smile, muttering, “alright, let’s go get our shitty pizza, then—”
SINGLE — matt / mail jeevas ✶ can you let your baby be my girl?
matt wasn't the envious type. he didn't envy any time his best friend scored higher than him. he didn't envy always being the third successor and never the second. he didn't even envy being mello's right-hand man. he only ever envied that mello got to have you.
pairing matt x implied fem!reader
content warnings mildly suggestive, angst, also fluff? implied sex, mentions of hickeys, cigarettes, alcohol, everyone is lowkey a chain-smoker, unrequited love but also not, mello and reader are 'together', slight mello x reader, implied mello x matt, actual love triangle, reader is a wammy kid, childhood friends, it's not really cheating if they all want each other, this is set post L death, lowercase intended
author note i can never stick to one consistent fandom im so sorry. i literally had a sunghoon exes to lovers angsty fic cooking in my drafts but i find it too corny. i find this corny too but oh well. i've been rewatching death note and noticed the lack of fics?! esp for matt?! anyway here's my contribution to the wammy boys fandom. which is probably dying
you’re in the kitchen now, humming.
mello's with you. naturally. he’s always at your side when he had the time—like a shadow made of fire.
matt sat on the couch, controller idle in his hands. the screen in front of him was still, a paused game he stopped caring about half an hour ago. his eyes weren't on it anyway. they're on the sound of your voice, echoing through the apartment like a song he’ll never stop knowing the lyrics to.
he heard the clink of glass. you’re pouring gin. you giggled at something mello said, and it cut clean through him—like static through silence. the kind of giggle that wasn’t for everyone. the kind you saved. he leaned back. exhaled smoke from a second cigarette he didn’t mean to light.
he remembered the first time you touched mello’s hand. how mello flinched like he'd been struck and then grabbed back like he wanted to be. like pain from you was worth gold. matt had stood in the corner, eyes hidden behind amber lenses, watching it all happen like it wasn’t real. like it didn’t matter.
he saw the way mello looked at you—like you were made of something he couldn’t break, and that terrified mello in all the right ways.
and matt? matt just memorised the small things. the curve of your smirk when you lied. the way your voice softened when you're tired. how you tugged your sleeves down when you're nervous.
he once caught you in the hallway, too close for his own good. you were reaching for something on the shelf. your chest brushed his arm, and you didn’t move away. you didn’t apologize either.
he still felt it sometimes—ghost pressure where your skin met his, like you branded him without trying.
mello called you 'trouble with eyeliner' and laughed like it's a compliment. matt called you nothing. he didn’t have the right. but in his head?
you’re thunder before the storm. you’re the last cigarette in the pack. you’re the pause between gunshots—dangerous in the quietest way.
you walked past him now, barefoot, lazy. mello’s voice trailed behind you in his bedroom, like a leash you hadn’t cut yet. your hair’s messy. your lipstick’s smudged. you met matt’s eyes. he didn’t blink. “you okay?” you asked, voice low, soft like sin.
matt nodded. lied, like he always did. “yeah. just thinking."
you smiled, mouth moving to say something—a witty counter, probably. but, matt lost it to an annoyed grunt called out by mello.
he’ll feel that for days.
then you disappeared down the hall again—back to mello, back to the fire.
matt crushed the cigarette out. watched it die slow. he never got burned. because he never got close enough. but god, did he want to.
a few long hours passed before you slipped out of the room, quiet.
matt didn’t move. didn’t speak. you wondered if he’s asleep—head tilted back. but then his eyes opened, slow and steady, catching every step you took. every shift of your weight. every fresh bruise bloomed like violets across your neck. his gaze lingered there.
you swallowed, but didn’t speak.
"you're up late," he said, voice rough, casual—but not really. he tilted his head, like he's trying to see through you. like he hadn’t already. oh, he knew why you’re up. but he asked anyway. just to hear what lie you’ll give him.
a startled "hm?" escaped your throat when you heard matt's voice.
you walked across to matt, your footsteps silent against the carpeted floor. you brushed your hand through your hair, fluffing it up. your legs slightly shook as you walked, you looked more disheveled than usual—but your demeanour was all the more casual. "why are you?" you retorted, looking down at matt on the couch, his playstation seemingly forgotten.
"couldn't sleep—" matt simply answered, shifting on the couch and running a hand through his already unkempt hair. his voice was nonchalant, betraying nothing. his eyes lingered on the hickeys on your neck, and a pang of something he couldn't quite identify shot through his chest. jealousy, anger, resignation—all in one.
you noticed the almost stressed look matt wore. it's unusual coming from the most nonchalant guy you knew.
you chose not to bring his worries up, instead plopping yourself next to him on the couch. you fished for a packet of cigarettes from your cotton shorts' pocket—stolen from mello's room. you never bought cigarettes on your own—because you knew if you did, it'd start an addiction. ergo, you'd only ever take one from someone else.
"want a smoke?" a silent offer to give matt some sort of relief.
matt exhaled a dry laugh, shaking his head slightly but already reaching for the cigarette anyway. "you stole mello's shit again." his tone was flat—not a question, just an observation. a tired smirk tugged at his lips as he took it between his fingers.
"y'know," he flicked open his lighter with practiced ease, "one of these days he’s gonna notice you keep pickpocketing him like some kinda klepto." the flame illuminated half his face before he leaned back, smoke curling lazily from between parted lips.
your smile widened, "he was a raised to be a detective—there's no way he doesn't know by now." you picked out a cigarette for yourself. "doubt he minds since he hasn't said anything."
a beat of silence. then, quieter: "—could've just asked me for one. i always got extras."
placing the cigarette on your lip, you leaned closer to matt, a silent gesture for him to light yours as well. a flicker of something unidentifiable crossed matt's dark gaze as he watched you lean closer, a subtle breath catching in his chest. you watched him back, the flame between them casting a beautiful glow on his goggles and face. the dancing fire radiated an intimacy over the situation that shouldn't be there. but here it was. in the quiet at four a.m., between two people who felt more for one another than they'd ever willingly admit.
his hand raised, almost hesitating, before lighting the end of your cigarette with a trained snap. with a sharp inhale, you leaned back into your comfortable position. the nicotine filled your lungs and you exhaled after a beat, the cig now expertly resting between your two fingers.
"i thought you'd be asleep." you explained after you exhaled. your gaze roamed the moonlit room. "didn't want to bother you if you were."
matt exhaled a slow stream of smoke through his nose, watching the way the moonlight caught in your hair. "tch. like you ever care about bothering me." his voice was dry but fond—the ghost of amusement buried beneath layers of exhaustion and something heavier.
your lips quirked up at the comment matt made, your lack of a counter proved that you lowkey agreed—and that you're feeling not too chatty, but rather tired for any banter.
he tapped ash into a nearby empty soda can (because, of course, he wouldn’t get up for an ashtray). you glanced over at the makeshift ashtray—seemed like this wasn't his first cigarette of the day. naturally, that's nothing new with either of the guys. "you were loud as hell in there," he added, like he’s commenting on the weather, "—figured i'd stay up. in case you needed water or some shit after." a lie. he stayed up because listening to mello make you laugh felt like swallowing glass.
your eyes slightly widened, almost sheepishly. he had said that way too casually.
using your foot that was crossed on top of the couch, you jabbed him. "perv! you were probably jacking off to that shit." you scoffed out a laugh, clearly more teasingly amused than offended.
matt nearly choked on his cigarette smoke, coughing as he swatted your foot away with one hand—but there’s no real annoyance in it. just that same tired simper. "the fuck i was," he scoffed, shaking his head like the accusation was ridiculous (it wasn't).
"unlike some people," he flicked ash with unnecessary force, "i actually have standards." with eyes fixed on the tv screen that hadn’t been turned on all night: "—besides. prefer listenin' to you two argue about chocolate distribution rights or whatever fuckin' weirdo shit you do."
translation: i prefer when you're happy and laughing, not whatever noise mello drags out of you at four a.m.
the sound of sirens in this higher crime-ridden neighbourhood served as ambience for their late night hangout. you watched matt through thick lashes, occasionally taking a puff from your cigarette.
you laughed, still kicking his side with one foot. "yeah right, we've never even done that." you snorted before resting that leg on his lap.
there's a tranquil moment of silence, your eyes glazed over as a memory swept over you. you decided to bring it up, a smirk to your lips. "i remember back at wammy's how you used to shove that little camera of yours under the gaps of the dorm doors." you snickered at the memory. "always knew you were a pervert since then."
it's a light jab—no real accusation, and they both knew that. he'd never actually use it for deviant tendencies, but to snoop for information whenever the three of the were doing something troublesome again.
matt's snigger only widened as you reminded him of the wammy's house spying, his thumb idly tracing patterns across your ankle. "hey, we all gotta have hobbies." he took another long drag of his cigarette, eyes flashing in the low light as he exhaled a lazy stream of smoke.
"besides, it was more like— investigative training." he chortled softly, the tiredness finally catching up—making him less sharp than normal. "you got the brains, mello's got the brawn—i got the—uh—"
your grin remained intact as you heard matt out. "technically, we've all got the brains." you corrected, sitting up to stub your finished ciggy out on the soda can.
it was true—they were all supposed to be the bright successors to L. mello at second place, matt at third and you coming in fourth.
"it's more like—" you thought out loud, sitting back now. "you're the tech guy, i'm the psych one and mello's— the mad one." you sniggered, a lighthearted comment on the blond.
matt laughed, shifting to lay back against the couch cushions. the bags under his eyes were prominent now, and his hair stuck up every which way. "that doesn't even begin to cover it. dude's a ticking time bomb."
you smiled at matt’s comment about mello. before it was the three of them, it had always been just the two—and you’d always admired how inseparable they were, even if they never stopped bickering.
he stretched with a long, quiet groan. his shirt rode up, exposing a sliver of pale skin at the hip. your eyes shamelessly flitted down to his exposed hip—it's only for a split second before your gaze was back on his face again. he's quiet and then: "hey. come here." the abrupt switch of conversation topic showcased his sudden boredom. a classic move from a guy whose attention span was ruined by his constant gaming.
you cocked your head to the side, squinting your eyes playfully. "what're you trying to do?"
he rolled his eyes, though his lips quirked up in a crooked smile, tugging your ankle to get you to scoot closer. "trust me, alright? just come 'ere." he made a 'come-hither' motion with two fingers. it's an order that sounded more endearing than it should. you couldn't help but find his little command attractive, the motion of his two fingers curling buzzing your mind with less than holy thoughts.
you shrugged it off.
standing up on your knees, you waddled closer to matt. "where?" you laughed, intrigued.
"here." without warning, he grabbed your hips and pulled you to sit on his lap, arms wrapping loosely around your middle.
he looked up at you through half-lidded eyes, an indolent smirk on his face. his breath still smelled like cigarettes. one hand remained on your hip, thumb absently drawing circles through your t-shirt. the other reached for his forgotten game console, fingers tapping across the buttons. "comfortable?"
you groaned in defeat, realising this was just a ploy to trap you into playing games with him. that, or he just wanted to hold you while he played.
"bugger." you cursed him under your breath, though there's a certain glint in your eyes.
matt snickered, not taking his eyes off the screen—but you could feel the way his fingers twitched against your hipbone. "you love it," he murmured, and there's no smugness in it. just—fact. like he knew you won't pull away. you clicked your tongue before melting into his embrace, getting comfortable on his lap. you rested your chin on his shoulder as you leaned into him, loosely keeping both your arms around his torso.
he exhaled slothfully, controller clicking softly under quick fingers. "can’t let mello have all the fun." your lips twitched at his comment, unsure whether you're even resisting a frown or smile.
it wasn't uncommon to be this affectionate with matt. especially when they always tethered the line between romantic and platonic before you and mello even started hooking up. not to mention, matt was your first kiss at sixteen. those lines had always been blurred. you and mello. you and matt. hell, even mello and matt.
matt hummed in contentment, shifting to press his face against your neck. he's uncharacteristically affectionate tonight, his free hand idly rubbing slow circles into your spine. there's no sexual intent in the touch—just quiet, tired intimacy. his thumb brushed the edge of a hickey on your skin, left there only a few hours prior. it's almost instinctual, the flicker of jealousy he felt at the sight of it. but matt doesn't comment on it. he just—leaned into you heavier. closer.
it'd been minutes into content silence. the only noise being the clicking on matt's controller and the limited buzz from outside.
he assumed you'd fallen asleep on him. it was well past anyones bedtime after all—and there was no doubt mello exhausted you hours prior. hence why mello was also passed out in his room.
"you ever thought it'd be us two instead?" you quietly spoke up, your head still tucked in matt's neck. a yawn escaped.
matt didn't even miss a beat, his fingers still dancing across the buttons of his console. it took him a moment to process what you said, though—his brain taking a beat to catch up. when your question finally registered, he chuckled under his breath, the sound low and quiet. he seemed like he wasn't expecting the question, though he didn't hesitate before replying. matt never hesitated.
everything in the moment felt domestic. like two teenagers who'd fallen in love and stuck together through thick and thin. it felt right.
it felt so right with mello, too.
"of course i've thought about it," he murmured against your hair, eyes fixed on the screen.
"why'd you never say anything?" you asked, chewing down on your lip in slight nervousness. it was partly why you kept your head hidden.
matt paused, his game character going still on the screen. he sighed, dropping his controller to the side in favour of wrapping both arms around your waist. the action brought your chest flush against his—and you could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. his chin rested atop your head. a thumb brushed slow, distracted circles across your back.
"dunno," he murmured after a long moment. "never really thought i had a shot."
with your face pressed against him, he's bound to feel your smile rise. "you did." the tiredness had finally caught up to you in these past few hazy minutes, struggling to keep your eyes wide.
"maybe still do." you mumbled ever so quietly, tittering into a deep slumber.
matt froze, your words sinking into his skin like ink—permanent, irreversible. for a moment, he wondered if he imagined them.
his grip tightened ever so slightly as you drifted off against him. he exhaled through his nose and reached for the nearest blanket (a ratty old thing mello threw at him once) to drape over your shoulders.
"maybe," he echoed softly—too quiet for anyone but the moon to hear.
he looked down at your face, now pressed against his chest. he could feel the steady rhythm of your breathing and knew you've fallen into sleep. matt sighed, eyes fluttering shut.
♡. genre. boxer au, gang au, slow burn, strangers to lovers, fluff, slice of life(?), angst.
♡. summary. as a doctor, you swore an oath. your word was your bond, and when you find yourself mixed up in a world much more dangerous than you’d ever known, that bond was going to be tested.
♡. word count. 42.3k (over 3 posts since tumblr kept restricting me.. it's all completed though don't worry!)
♡. warnings. medical and boxing inaccuracies (i am not a doctor or a boxer, i wrote this with google and minimal fighting/medical knowledge from pop culture💀), reader is the mom friend and described as a lil curvy, han jisung, chan is intense, he goes by chris, yearning, he also has some unresolved anger issues, abandonment issues, violence, gun ment, knives , fighting, boxing, blood, threats, blackmail, non explicit intercourse
♡. notes. so.. i started writing this sometime last year?? gave up on it and then came back to it after the dominate tour, finished it, then suddenly karma is a boxing concept? feels like i accidentally manifested this entire album and concept so i thought i’d wait until the comeback to post it and. she’s finally here. so so long and the first fic i’ve ever actually managed to finish so if you actually stick around ‘til the end 😭😭 then thank you.
♡. playlist. here.
♡. read on ao3. here.
works in this series: westside. nothing's gonna hurt you baby.
PART II HERE | PART III HERE
Wednesday
“Am I going to make it, doctor?”
You rolled your eyes at your best friend's question, opening the flimsy Barbie plaster and wrapping it carefully around his index finger. Just because it was a low quality plaster did not mean you should skimp out on the extra care in applying it.
“You’ll live,” you began clearing up the mess he had made of the First Aid kit before you had swooped in to save the day. “Although if you keep acting the way you do in the kitchen . . I don’t know how long for,” you added teasingly.
Jisung pouted at you, “I just wanted to do something nice! You always cook for me . .” he trailed off quietly and you sighed, coming back over to sit on the sofa with him.
You knew Jisung often felt bad for how little he contributed to your shared apartment, the boy admitting to you drunkenly one night that he felt like he was taking advantage of you and how he had been trying to apply for extra jobs to help out.
At the time, you didn’t really notice how much you were doing, shouldering most of the bills and the cooking yourself. Jisung did a lot of the cleaning and all of the laundry, that was for sure. And it’s not like the bills impacted you much, you had a nice paycheck that more than covered what you and your best friend needed.
As for the cooking . . well.
Put it this way: you being responsible for the cooking in your apartment was definitely the best option for everyones safety. Not only was Jisung a hazard to himself and others in the kitchen, you would both much rather eat food that you could stomach.
You gave Jisung a weak smile, your head falling to rest on his shoulder as you mumbled, “Next time you want to do something nice, just order some pizza, okay? Or bring some groceries back with you. I stitch up enough patients during the day, coming home to you trying to chop off your fingers is–”
“I was not trying to– okay, well it wasn’t on purpose! Minho texted me so I was looking at my phone and I forgot I was still holding the knife!”
Ah, Lee Minho.
Your neighbour and your biggest competitor for your best friend's attention.
Minho lived in the apartment across the hall and Jisung had been obsessed with him since he held open the door for him on move in day. He had rambled about how charming and princely Minho looked and acted for weeks after that incident, much to your amusement.
You had met Minho a few times in passing, holding the elevator for him or remarking about the weather, but you weren’t close. Jisung had an elaborate plan to romance him though, one which seemed to finally be paying off.
“Why does Minho have your number?” You realise, confused.
Jisung shuffles away from you and you think you noticed a slight blush dusting his cheeks.
Oh no.
“What did you do?” You try your best to sound stern.
Jisung winces.
“Why do you automatically assume I did something!?”
You stay silent, crossing your arms and raising a single eyebrow.
Sighing, his shoulders fall.
“I may have . . told him . . we could catsit for him this weekend . .” Jisung says slowly.
Okay.
Not the worst thing he’s ever done for a guy he has a crush on.
“Okay, is he giving you his keys or something? Please don’t tell me you’re bringing the cats here,” you closed your eyes in prayer. Jisung was well aware of your cat allergy, but you also knew that all common sense eluded him when he was talking to a pretty boy.
Jisung gave you a woeful smile.
“Look, I was barely listening! He was talking and I was just agreeing, next thing I know he’s taking my number and sending me a feeding and sleeping schedule,” he defends poorly.
You groaned, dropping your head into your hands.
“It’s fine. It’s fine, I’ll bring some antihistamines from work or something,” you think out loud.
“I’m sorry, Y/N. It’s a one time thing, I promise,” Jisung swears and you give him a weak smile.
“Shut up, you know I’m not mad. They’re just little . . furry . . things.”
Jisung gives you a look, and you both burst out laughing.
Thursday
“You sure you’re okay with that frat boy's face?”
You give Taeyeon, your mentor and the owner of the private clinic you work at, a confident smile as you take a look at the medical records in front of you.
Drunken accident, brought in by a friend, party gone wrong, bottle of vodka to the face, minor cuts on his cheek . .
Yeah, you would be fine
“I can manage some cleaning, boss.”
Taeyeon smiles proudly, nodding as she makes her way over to the receptionist's desk to ask Karina something.
You take a deep breath as you open the door to the examination room, offering your patient a friendly smile.
He was a younger guy, with a dazzling smile and dark hair. Dressed in an oversized ‘Seoul University’ hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, he looked like any other student. The only thing that stood out was his above average attractiveness and the small nicks on his cheek.
“Did Jeno check you over?” You ask, not looking up at him again as you busy yourself with getting the correct equipment to clean his cuts.
“The big nurse? Yeah, he was a bit aggressive . .” You could hear the pout in the frat boy’s voice and held back a smile at that.
“Well–” you glance over at his records again to get his name, “Yang Jeongin– It’s Jeno’s job to get you ready for me,” you pull on your gloves. “Now, can I check you out?”
He gives you a slow nod as you carefully hold his jaw, examining the fresh trickle of blood on his cheekbone. There were only two small cuts, not deep enough for any glass to be stuck in there. Jeno had already noted there were no extractions required but you liked to be safe.
“Looks okay to me, I’ll just clean you up a bit to prevent an infection, does that sound good?”
Jeongin tilted his head to the side.
“That’s it?”
“Well, what more did you want . . ?”
Jeongin blushed, “No– well, my friend– If– if I had known it was so minor–”
“I’m confused, you don’t want me to help you?”
You did not have time for his embarrassed rich boy act, no matter how genuine it seemed.
Yang Jeongin was a good looking college student, probably only a few years younger than yourself, but you had already made your judgement on him. Taeyon’s clinic was for private, hushed up medical care. Which means that if Yang Jeongin was coming here for a simple bandage that he could have gotten at the corner store, then he had to be disgustingly, filthy rich.
“No, you can– you can patch me up,” he leaned back in his seat, his discomfort evident.
You got to work, doing the simple job that you were sure you could have just left Jeno to deal with. This was a quick cleanup, but Taeyeon’s clinic specialised in its Doctors keeping their mouths shut.
For every patient there was a mandatory, legally binding NDA, on both sides.
Which was a smart business decision, you had to admit.
It meant that Taeyeon’s clientele were more . . financially stable.
Politicians, celebrities and even the odd entrepreneur found themselves attracted to the privacy of your workplace. It was a surefire way to avoid scandals and the media in general.
A perfect example would be some rich people sending their frat boy son to get patched up after some heavy drinking that they didn’t want to stain their public image.
It was late when they brought him in.
You had discharged Yang Jeongin hours ago, seen two new patients, one recurring patient and done a shitload of paperwork. Jeno and the other nurses had left for the evening, even Karina tagging along for a lift.
You were finishing up some paperwork for Taeyeon, who was sitting beside you as she nursed her cup of tea. The lights in the clinic were on a sensor system, so they had mostly turned themselves off due to the lack of movement for the last hour or so. You and Taeyeon were sitting by the fake plants at the receptionist's desk, closing time just going by.
“You should get going, Y/N,” she mumbled, clicking away at her computer screen.
You nodded, standing up and stretching your limbs above your head.
But your reply was interrupted by loud yells and three figures entering the foyer.
“We need a Doctor!”
Abruptly, Taeyeon stood up.
You both looked over the glass, jumping into action as you ran over to the trio.
The man in the middle was being supported on both sides by his two friends–
“Minho!?”
You stared at your neighbour, mirroring the shock on his face when he realised this was the hospital you worked at.
Before either of you could say anything, the injured man in the middle began to groan. His head was down so you couldn’t immediately tell what was wrong with him.
The other guy, the one on the injured man's right, quickly spoke up.
“He’s been hit. Badly.”
“By what?” You demanded, grabbing a chair to put him in as Taeyeon began checking his vitals.
“A knife? A fist?” Minho offers, snickering.
You gave him a sharp look.
This was no joking matter.
Taeyeon’s shoulders fall, dropping her arms from around the bloodied man as she gestures to you.
“Get your stuff back out, L/N. He’s fine, moderate concussion. Definitely going to need those wounds surtured,” she pointed at your office. “Was he hit anywhere else on his body?”
You wanted to protest.
The clinic was closed, you were technically off duty.
But one look at the patient made you stop.
He had one swollen eye, red and bleeding from the corner. Large red patches scattered across his jaw that you were sure were about to turn into purple bruises. Big pink lips, the bottom one also bust and bruised. Beneath the mess of dark curls on his forehead, his uninjured eye was looking directly at you, a deep brown that was so dark it was swallowing you whole.
“I . . help him in here,” you gestured for Minho and the other stranger to help the injured man to your office.
It wasn’t too difficult getting him on the examination table; his legs seemed to be working fine.
Once he was laying down in all his glory, you asked his two friends to leave, giving Minho an accusatory glare as he stepped out of the room.
“Doc?” A croaky voice called out.
Instantly, you rushed over to the bloodied man.
“I’m here. How are you feeling?”
The man snorted, then groaned at the pain of using his facial muscles.
“Okay, stop. Don’t do anything,” you ordered. “You’re going to hurt your face even more.”
You hurriedly pulled on your gloves, getting out your equipment and making sure it was all sterile.
“First off, I’m going to clean you up, I need you to stay awake for me. Can you do that?”
The man just mumbled something quietly.
“Come on, you can stay awake. Tell me your name?”
He mumbled something again, a little louder.
“What was that?”
“Chris,” he breathed out.
Chris.
What a perfect name for him.
“Okay Chris, my name’s Y/N. I’m gonna need you to sit up. I can’t have you falling asleep with that concussion,” you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, helping him to sit up and lean against the wall.
Chris didn’t seem all too thrilled about this, taking a deep breath as you gingerly began to clean him up.
You worked slowly, as always. You had always been a bit of a perfectionist and these things couldn’t be rushed. A job done right is a job done once was what your First Year Medicine professor taught you.
Everytime his breathing started to even out you shook him awake with a soft push on his bare shoulder. He was wearing a baggy sleeveless wife beater, big muscular arms and shoulders on display as you kept your gaze up and worked on his face.
“Didn’t need hospital,” he mumbled, not even flinching when you wiped across the gash on his temple. The gash that you knew was not from a fist. Blunt force trauma, definitely issued by a heavy object, likely metal or solid wood.
“No hospital?” You tried to encourage him to keep talking, to stay awake.
Chris made a hum of approval, but didn’t say anything.
“Chris? Stay awake for me Chris, please.”
You sighed, knowing it was no use at this point. It wasn’t necessarily the worst thing that he’d fallen asleep, but it wasn’t ideal.
After cleaning him up as best as you could, you removed your gloves in order to change to a clean, non-bloodied pair. As you did so, you took a moment to observe him. It wasn’t uncommon for your patients to be sleeping (under anesthesia) in this room, and it also wasn’t uncommon for your patients to be attractive.
You weren’t blind.
Chris may have been painted in blood and sweat when he got in, but that did nothing to hide his pretty lips as he mumbled his name, his large nose that sat crookedly in the centre of his face, evident of it having been broken at least once before. And God, you were a sucker for the fluffy curls crowning his head.
Oddly, he no longer looked like the kind of man who should have been beat up.
When he first walked in, Chris didn’t seem out of place at all. Distressed and bloody seemed to look quite natural on his tired frame. But now . . now that he was all cleaned up, head slumped on his shoulder and soft snores leaving him, you couldn’t see him in that light at all.
He looked just as normal as anyone his age, he maybe could have been Yang Jeongin’s senior. You could picture Chris at Seoul University, maybe as a TA. Or an athlete. He was built like a swimmer.
Then again, what kind of sport needed lips as perfect as those?
God, you sounded like a crazy person.
What was this obsession with his lips?
“Is he alright?”
You tore your eyes away from Chris, frowning at the stranger in the doorway.
It was Chris’ other friend, not Lee Minho.
“There’s a sign,” you nodded your head pointedly at the door. “Do not enter.”
“Technically, we haven’t entered,” Minho joined his friend. “We just opened the door.”
At Minho’s interruption, you fell silent.
You weren’t really sure what to say to your neighbour.
Normally you’d give him a sassy response about how the nature of his work seemed dangerous. Make a comment to ask if Jisung knew about this.
Whatever this was.
You still weren’t exactly sure what happened to Chris.
But you were at work.
Your job, that prided itself on privacy.
Making comments like that could cost you quite a lot, no matter how warranted they were, so you bite your tongue.
“He’s okay, just needs some rest,” you don’t look at Minho and his friend as you busy yourself with taping the cut on Chris’ bottom lip. You notice an old puncture wound there, a fuzzy feeling filling you at the thought of Chris with a bottom lip piercing.
Get it together, Y/N.
“I told you that you were overreacting! When has he ever needed a hospital before?”
“I panicked! There’s never been that much blood before!”
You tried your best to tune out Minho and his friend arguing, repeating a mantra of confidentiality in your head to curb your ever growing curiosity.
“L/N!” You rushed out at the sound of Taeyeon’s voice. “I can take it from here, yes, I’ll sort the paperwork too. You head home, okay?”
After a sigh of relief, and a final longing look at your sleeping patient, you pull your handbag off your desk and head out.
Friday
“Please? He’s invited us both so I can’t show up alone. Just tag along and do your own thing, I know you won’t want to be a third wheel.”
Why on earth had Lee Minho invited you and your roommate out to the fair tonight?
Were you that much of a sad loser that he had taken pity on you? Inviting you to tag along their first date? Or was it truly a group outing?
“Please?” Jisung pouted. “I’ll buy dinner for a week.”
You rolled your eyes at that.
“We can’t eat takeout for a whole week, Ji.”
He scoffed.
“Well, I can. I’m built different.”
Jisung was pouting now, giving you a wide eyed stare.
Truthfully, you were planning on getting out tonight. A bar, a club, literally anywhere you had the opportunity to get laid and completely forget about Minho’s handsome, beat up friend. All night long your thoughts were plagued with Chris, the stranger– no, the patient that you should not have been thinking about. At all.
You never acted like this.
You were a strong, independent woman who was able to think rationally and clearly separate your feelings from your job. You had worked at Taeyeon’s clinic for almost two years now, and even completed some of your residency there prior to being hired full time. All kinds of attractive rich people were in and out of the hospital all day long. Because if there was one thing rich people knew how to spend their money on, it was looking good.
Something about Minho’s friend though . . his broken nose, his big lips, the way Minho had joked about him being stabbed – it all screamed different. Natural. Chris wasn’t just some rich kid with way too much money who was an embarrassment to his parents. He wasn’t a celebrity or a politician. And that made you curious. Why was he wary of going to the hospital? What the hell was he up to that it involved him getting stabbed late at night? Was it something dangerous? Why would someone so pretty need to– and why, why were you so bothered by him?
Losing yourself in alcohol and the arms of a random stranger sounded like an appealing way to try and scratch the itch that Chris had left burning under your skin.
“Please? I’ll get Lix to come too,” Jisung bargained.
Felix Lee.
God’s apology for creating Han Jisung.
Born a day later than your best friend and undoubtedly an angel sent to you as a gift on your first day of Sophomore year. You were a year older than Jisung, Felix and Seungmin, but that didn’t stop the ragtag group of Freshmen from begging to move into your apartment the next year and for the rest of college (although if you asked Seungmin, he would refuse to admit that any begging was involved on his part).
It worked out well financially, you were all still students so you could split the costs equally. There was enough room in the 3 bedroom apartment and fighting was mostly kept to a minimum (except for when Jisung would annoy Seungmin by being unnecessarily loud while playing video games with Felix till all hours).
But then came graduation.
Seungmin moved back home to live with his parents on the other side of town. He got a job at his fathers company and was doing pretty well for himself, but it was too far to live with you guys and drive every day.
Felix had opened up a bakery a few streets away.
The lease he’d gotten came with an apartment above the shop which was ideal for a bakery, he would have to get to work super early and leave super late, so it just made sense that he would move out and into the place above his shop.
You missed having them both around.
Seungmin was the one that helped you the most in the kitchen, the only one you really trusted with that. He was reliable too, a supportive shoulder after a long day of classes or work experience.
Felix was a calming presense.
Before you met these guys, you weren’t a cuddly person by any means. In fact, you hated being affectionate with anyone, and you still did.
But Felix was the first person to break you out of your lifelong, touch-starved shell. His clinginess knew no bounds and, eventually, you warmed up to the idea of sofa cuddles during movie nights, an arm around your shoulder whilst you were kicking Jisung’s ass at Mario Kart, a kiss on the forehead after a stressful day.
And you didn’t even want to think about how much you missed being his recipe tester. Chocolate chip cookie cake? Yeah, Felix was a genius.
That left you and Jisung in the apartment.
Your job now paid a lot better than the crappy residencies and work experience that you had while you were still studying so you could cover most of the bills without an issue.
And Jisung helped out where he could. He worked part time at Felix’s bakery, mostly manning the tills or sweeping the floors since Felix did not trust him near any ovens. Jisung also did freelance production and composition, the music student passion still burning brightly in him even after being rejected by multiple companies.
It was one of the reasons you had such a soft spot for the kid.
He truly made beautiful music, the kind of songs that made you think so deeply you’d drive yourself off a cliff if you weren’t careful. Music that made you smile and cry and laugh and everything in between. You knew that one day he would be able to show that to the world, he just needed to build his portfolio a little before his next interview. And maybe build his confidence a bit too.
“Won’t he need to get prep done for tomorrow? And what about Seung?”
“I can message him too?” Jisung was quick to offer. “I’ll go in early and help Lix prep tomorrow, then he can have tonight off!”
You considered it.
“Won’t Minho think it’s weird that you’re bringing three other people to your date?” You teased.
Jisung whined, falling onto the sofa.
“It’s not a date, he said he’s bringing his friends too, just wanted us all to hang out.”
Hold on.
His friends?
“Did . . did he mention which friends?”
Jisung’s head snapped up from where he was dramatically pretending to cry at his not-date.
Fuck.
He noticed your change in tone.
“I mean . . I meant to say isn’t that a bit random? We’ve been neighbours for years and he’s never cared about being friends,” you rushed out, hoping Jisung would let it go.
Thankfully, he just shrugged.
“He said he wants to know what kind of people are going to be looking after his cats. He’s really cutely obsessed with them, ugh.” If a person could have stars in their eyes, you were sure that person would be Han Jisung talking about Lee Minho.
“And his solution is to go out to the fair with a big group of people?” You asked in disbelief.
Jisung blushed.
“No, that was– that was my idea. Then he said his friend talked about it too and wanted to come, and he said I should bring you too since it's your apartment too,” he explained.
Ah.
“So you asked him out and he turned it into a party?” You tried, and failed, to keep the amusement out of your voice.
Jisung whined again.
“Shut up!”
Friday night did not result in a night of drinking and getting laid, but rather you wearing a fuzzy, off the shoulder knit dress and Felix holding your arm as the pair of you followed an energetic Jisung to meet Minho and his friends at the fair.
Seungmin wasn’t able to make it at such short notice, something about how the streets on his side of town were closed by the police, investigating criminal activity. It hurt, but the cookie Felix had brought you managed to soothe some of your heartbreak on that front.
“You really know the way to a woman’s heart, Lix,” you sighed as you finished off the treat, throwing the wrapper into your handbag. That sugar was the only thing standing between you and your nerves about possibly seeing Chris again tonight.
Not that you had been thinking about Chris.
Not at all.
Felix snorted.
“Tell that to matcha girl,” he said wistfully.
“She still not budging?”
Felix had a regular customer in a pretty redhead who had come in every morning to ask for an iced matcha (which was not on the menu) and then relent, taking an iced tea and leaving him with a wink and a dazzling smile.
He was, for lack of a better word, smitten.
And he didn’t even know her name.
The whole situation was absolutely adorable to you, a perfect bakery meet cute. You hoped the redhead was genuinely interested in him, it would be nice to see Felix in a relationship with his long term crush.
“Today she handed me a laminated printout of the benefits of matcha, like she had it ready,” he explained. “Pulled it out of her bag and left it on the counter for me,” he giggled here. “She’s so cute.”
“Maybe if she had your number . . she could message it to you instead . .”
Felix shook his head.
“No, I don’t even know her. What if she has a boyfriend?”
You groaned at his self sabotage, having heard these fears already.
“What if she’s waiting for you to ask her out? What if–”
“Oh my God, there he is. Quick, do I look okay?” Jisung patted down his hair quickly.
You and Felix shared a look.
“You look fine, Ji.” You let go of Felix’s arm to help Jisung fix the odd curls on his head.
“Just fine?”
“You look great, mate. Can we go? It’s freezing,” Felix grabbed your arm again, causing you to roll your eyes as your little trio went over to join Minho and his friend.
His friend who was not Chris.
You tried to fight the way your heart sank at this realisation, giving Minho and his friend a polite smile.
Of course Chris wouldn’t be here.
He was beaten within an inch of his life last night, of course he was resting somewhere.
Minho’s friend was a little taller than you guys, with almost shoulder length brown hair, a few plaits framing his sparkly eyes. Yeah, he was pretty.
“This is Hyunjin,” Minho shoved him forward.
Hyunjin gave you all a polite nod, his eyes scanning all of you as if he were scrutinising every inch of you.
“You remember Felix, right? He moved out last year.” You broke the awkwardness by pointing to the man next to you.
Minho nodded.
“We still talk, Y/N. He comes to the bakery,” Felix smiled. “Feeds the cats outside.”
“Are you two . . ?” Minho gestured between you and Felix and the both of you snorted.
You shook your head, “We’re just friends. Friends who are very excited to go on that rollercoaster!” You pointed to the massive ride.
At this, Hyunjin perked up.
All the ice in his posture seemed to melt away as he finally looked at you, “Seriously? Minho’s fucking terrified of that thing. Will you guys come on it with me?”
The both of you nodded in sync.
You and Felix were definitely the adrenaline junkies of your friend group. Seungmin was open to trying new things occasionally, but Jisung was a scared little mouse in the face of heights.
“Ungrateful rat, I found people to go on rollercoasters with you. Don’t say I never do anything for you,” Minho said to Hyunjin, who just smirked and stepped between you and Felix, dragging the both of you towards the rides.
“So, Minho said you’re a doctor?”
Something about his tone made you feel . . shy.
Minho had definitely said more than you were ‘just a doctor’. You wondered if Hyunjin knew Chris and the other stranger from last night, if Minho had told him about what happened at the hospital.
Hyunjin’s gleeful reaction showed that he knew what you were thinking, making you blush even harder.
“I’m– yeah, I’m a doctor. Mostly an emergency physician.”
“That’s cool. And you? A bakery?”
You tried to calm your reddening cheeks as Felix and Hyunjin made conversation, the three of you heading towards the pirate ship, leaving Jisung and Minho to their . . date?
You learnt that Hyunjin worked in design and social media, but for what he didn’t explain. He did say that he worked with Minho though, and that was how they knew each other.
You also learnt that Hyunjin liked to tease. He was fun, a lot like Jisung. And he was the same age as your younger friends, which you found sweet. Felix seemed to like him and you couldn’t deny that he seemed like a good kid.
After a few rides, the three of you found yourself exhausted.
“Ice cream?” Felix gave you his signature puppy dog eyes from where he had collapsed onto the bench.
You rolled your eyes, but stood up with an affectionate smile.
“You want anything?” You directed this to Hyunjin, who had stood up too.
“I’ll come with you.”
You nodded, walking over to the ice cream van.
“Can I get two mint chocolate chips and–” you pointed to Hyunjin. “–Whatever he’s having.”
“Mint chocolate? Marry me,” Hyunjin gave you a dreamy smile. “I can get my own ice cream though.”
You narrowed your eyes at him.
In the last hour, Hyunjin had become a part of your ever growing collection of children, and you’d be damned if he didn’t feel comfortable with you buying him ice cream.
“Three mint chocolates please.”
Hyunjin stared at you thoughtfully.
Neither of you said anything as he took the desserts and you paid, not letting Hyunjin anywhere near the card reader.
“Chris hates mint chocolate, by the way,” he finally spoke.
You froze, choking on a bite.
“I knew it! I knew you were the doctor from yesterday!” His tone was triumphant. “Minho’s a dirty, lying–”
“Wait, he told you about me?”
“Minho? No, Changbin did.”
“Who?”
“He was with them yesterday? Short guy? Big muscles?”
Changbin.
So that was the name of the third guy, the one who was helping Minho carry Chris in.
“So . . so what if I was the doctor?” You tried to keep your tone cool, neutral. Saying less was essential in keeping your job. NDA’s were tricky business, liability wise.
“Minho said it wasn’t you, but it was so random that he invited you to the fair, right after Chris comes home moaning in his sleep about a doctor,” Hyunjin took a casual lick of his ice cream right as you both returned to Felix. He handed Felix his ice cream, the blonde boy giving you a grateful smile as he dug in. “That guy never goes to the doctor.”
It was all so relaxed, as if he hadn’t just made your heart stop twice in the last 30 seconds.
Chris was . . talking about you? In his sleep?
You left before he was discharged so you weren’t sure how much longer Taeyeon kept him, or what painkillers she might have given him.
Taeyeon.
She’s a doctor.
Maybe she was the doctor they’re talking about.
Yeah, there was no reason to think you were special.
You weren’t the only doctor that helped him last night.
“Rollercoaster again?” Hyunjin asked, polishing off his ice cream.
Felix barked out a laugh.
“I like you, man.”
You rolled your eyes, not even fighting the smile on your face as you followed them again.
Saturday
A few weeks had passed since the day of the fair.
Jisung was spending more and more time at Minho’s. It wasn’t a crazy amount, and nothing was officially going on, but it was enough to be noticeable.
The apartment was quieter.
You dropped your bags by the front door when you got home from work, eyes skimming the note Jisung had left on the fridge.
Staying at Minho’s. Don’t wait up.
;)
You half smiled, shaking your head.
It was weird.
Being alone in an apartment that had been so crowded for the last 6 years. The thought made your stomach twist a little, but you managed to swallow your fears.
It was fine. You had spent 20 years alone before meeting the kids, you would be fine being alone again.
Just as you were about to get yourself ready for a night of self care and Supernatural, a text message lit up your dying phone screen.
how wld u feel abt a lil party tn?
hyunjin | 21:02
Minho’s friend, Hyunjin, had asked for your and Felix’s numbers that night at the fair.
“In case of an emergency. What if I need a doctor? Or a brownie? Life or death, you know?”
He actually hadn’t contacted you at all since that night, so you were a little surprised to see the message. You thought that momentary friendship was over and had made peace with it.
But now . . now he was inviting you out? This late?
are there rollercoasters involved?
you | 21:04
no. just good vodka
hyunjin | 21:05
is it a big party?
you | 21:06
medium. just a bit of a celebration
hyunjin | 21:07
stop overthinking
hyunjin | 21:10
you won’t be gatecrashing
hyunjin | 21:10
just come have some fun, minho cancelled on us to hang out with your roommate
hyunjin | 21:11
You bit your lip, considering it.
is there a dress code?
you | 21:15
Overthinking had become your worst enemy.
You wanted to ask Felix and Seungmin if they were free to join you at the party, but messaging in the group chat meant that Jisung would see it and maybe feel guilty. And messaging privately felt like you were going behind Jisung’s back, which was just as bad.
Inviting Karina to tag along was an option, but you knew she would be working tomorrow morning and didn’t want to take her sleep from her.
So yeah, constantly considering everyones feelings all the time led you to walking alone to the address Hyunjin had sent you.
The house was big.
Like, huge.
It looked more like it should be a museum, or a palace. Some kind of public building. Old browning bricks with multiple yellowing lamps circling the outside. There was ivy growing up the side of the mansion, wrapping its way tightly to reach the roof.
Oddly though, all the lights in the big house were off. Music and lights blared from a smaller outhouse in the garden, closer to the size of a normal family home. It looked tiny in comparison to the mansion though, almost like a shed.
People were spilling outside of the house, drinks in hand as they crowded around every entrance.
How were you supposed to spot Hyunjin in this?
“Y/N, right?” An unfamiliar voice interrupted your thoughts around backing out and going home.
There, in front of you, stood Chris’ friend.
Changbin, Hyunjin had told you.
He seemed to be looking you up and down. Was that unprovoked judginess common in this friend group? You thought about how Hyunjin had looked at you like you were insignificant when he had first laid eyes on you. Changbin though . . there seemed to be more behind his inspection.
You didn’t have a chance to bring it up though, Changbin nodding inside.
“Come on, Jin’s been waiting for you,” he said the words like they upset him. “That kid is up to no good.”
Cautiously, you followed Changbin through the crowd of people.
God, you didn’t do this anymore.
You were far too old to be behaving like a teenager at her first kegger.
All of your nerves melted away when your eyes landed on Hyunjin, lighting a shot in some girls neck. Thoughts of safety hazards and immediate treatments filled your mind as you wondered how close he was to burning her skin.
“You’re going to seriously injure someone . . now I see why you invited me,” you joked over the noise.
Hyunjin barely spared you a glance, a wicked smirk on his face as he took a drink.
“I can’t call you just for fun? You don’t have to be the party paramedic.”
“From the way things are looking . . I’m surprised you guys don’t have a designated First Aider,” you commented.
“That–” Changbin interrupted. “–Would actually be me.”
It was your turn to look him up and down.
Changbin was, in contrast to everyone else, stone cold sober. He was much more alert than the other people in the room, an intimidating look in his eye that screamed importance. You wondered if this was actually his house. Or was it his party? All Hyunjin had said was that it was a celebration of some sort.
“Exactly!” Hyunjin exclaimed, patting both you and Changbin on the back and leading you towards the bar. “Which means you can loosen up tonight, doc.”
You smiled at the thought.
How on earth could this stranger you had only met once know that you needed a distraction tonight?
“I just might, kiddo.”
One drink turned into three. Which turned into seven. Which turned into . . you couldn’t count that many numbers. You had danced with so many people in the last few hours, all of them strangers whose names you couldn’t remember. But God, you couldn’t deny it felt good to let loose.
Until you desperately needed to pee.
You vaguely remember Hyunjin waving you in the general vicinity of the stairs, but one look at the queue going up the staircase had you stepping back in your heels. No way would you be able to stand for that long.
Considering your options, you made sure the coast was clear before you (loudly, a lot louder than your drunken self knew you were being) clicked your heels out of the house.
You were not above peeing in a bush at a party.
You may have been too old to do it . . but . . you pulled your heels off, getting ready to crouch–
“Don’t you dare.”
You jumped up with a squeal, unceremoniously dropping your heels on the stone steps.
“Who’s there? I have a knife,” the lie sounded a lot more believable in your head.
The voice in your head (at least, it seemed like it was in your head) chuckled.
“Come inside, princess.”
You finally noticed the iron gate behind you, and the intercom next to it, when the doors creaked open slowly. This must have been the gate to the big house, right? Too surprised to question it, you picked up your shoes and held the heel outwards as a weapon, stalking along the path. You tried your best not to panic when you heard the gate shut behind you, but you would be lying if you said it didn’t fill you with trepidation.
“Were you really gonna piss in my garden, doc?”
It felt like the oxygen had been snatched out of your lungs.
Like he’d reached down your throat and pulled the air out of your chest, playing with it in front of you.
There, leaning against the antique mahogany double doors, stood Chris.
Chris and his, still beautiful, lips.
His arms were folded across his broad chest, a lazy smirk on his beautiful face. He looked . . better. Not fully healed, which struck you as odd. Were those fresh bruises? Fresh cuts? Despite the injuries . . he seemed at peace. Like the cat that had gotten the cream.
You gave an indignant huff.
“Stalker,” you mumbled, crossing your own arms to mimic his action.
Chris barked out a laugh, eyes trailing dangerously down your frame. For the first time tonight, you questioned your outfit choice. You were not the kind of woman who worried about what you were wearing at a party. After all these years, you knew what suited your body and you were damn comfortable with your curves and how they filled out your trusty little black dress. But the way Chris was looking at you was . .
God, you needed to stop thinking.
“This is my house, princess. I’m not the stalker here,” he kicked off the doorframe, heading inside. He left the door open behind him. “You coming?”
Chris’ house was beautiful.
Just like him, you thought to yourself.
The entryway consisted of two large semi circle staircases that met in the middle, a crystal chandelier twice the size of you hanging down the centre. In a truly coordinated fashion, the interiors were all a dark mahogany.
Deep down, you expected nothing less from a house that looked like it could have been a hotel, or a museum. How many people lived here? Was it just Chris in this big lonely place?
“Bathroom’s over there.”
Chris had his back to you, staring over at a little table by the stairs. You could see the coloured camera setup in front of him, which caused your cheeks to heat up. Had he caught you outside? Was he policing the party?
“Thank you,” you said quietly, clutching your shoes to your chest as you made your way into the (obnoxiously huge) bathroom. You don’t know how long you were in there, scrubbing the glitter and smell of alcohol from beneath your fingertips, but when you finally re-entered the foyer, Chris was nowhere to be found.
Would he be mad if you explored a little?
You should go back to the party. Or head home, it was getting late.
Despite his words, Chris’ tone seemed consistently relaxed. Almost as if you amused him. Such a mysterious man should have terrified you, but all you could feel as you wandered into a living room was excitement.
Rows upon rows of books lined the walls on gilded golden shelves, all different colours and sizes. It all screamed something out of an old movie, or some British noblemans house. Was Chris some kind of heir?
Before you could let that thought wander, you noticed a door slightly open on the opposite side of the room, yellow light peeking out.
Should you?
Of course, curiosity won and you found yourself pushing the door open and stepping into the office.
“Should’ve known you’d be the nosy type, doc,” Chris had his back to you again, and what a pretty back it was. His shoulders were so broad, you briefly wondered if you would even be able to wrap your arms around him–
Chris turned around at your silence, a dark gleam in his brown eyes.
You crossed your arms over your chest again defensively.
Chris seemed to find this funny, making his way over to his desk and leaning against the front. He was standing right in front of you now, towering over your figure.
“Silent treatment? You wound me, doll,” he held a hand over his heart dramatically.
“It’s Y/N.”
“I remember.”
“You do? Surprised you remember anything from how badly you got your ass kicked.”
Chris’ gaze darkened.
So he didn’t like being teased.
“Careful there, princess. I know all about those rules . . what you are and aren’t allowed to say.”
“You planning on snitching me up, Christopher?”
If Chris was bothered by you calling him by his full name, he didn’t show it.
Instead, he took the chance to look you up and down again. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, sucking in a breath as his gaze travelled downwards, towards your chest.
Something about the way he was looking at you seemed almost predatory. As if you knew you should feel scared, but didn’t.
God, what was so interesting about the way you looked that he had to keep doing that?
“I don’t kiss and tell, pretty girl. Patient-doctor confidentiality, you know how it is,” he winked, a shit eating grin spreading across his face.
That should not have had the effect on you that it did. You could blame the alcohol. You should blame the alcohol. It definitely hadn’t all left your system. Yes, you were still tipsy. That was why you were heating up all over, your skin prickling with need.
One thing you would blame your inebriated state on though, was the way you leaned up slightly on your tip toes, your fingers reaching up to his face.
Before you could touch him, Chris caught your wrist in his hand, staring you down.
It wasn’t aggressive.
More . . questioning.
Instead of saying anything, you lifted your other hand to his cheek, brushing the new cut that you were sure wasn’t there that first night you met him. You would’ve remembered it. This man had been haunting your dreams for weeks now, you had mapped out every inch of his face in your head over and over again.
He didn’t say a word, staying as still as a statue as he held one of your hands in his, watching you inspect his countenance.
“These are new,” you whispered. “Fresh.”
Chris didn’t say anything.
“Did you come back to the hospital?”
You don’t remember seeing him, or even his name on any paperwork for that matter.
“I don’t go to hospitals,” Chris finally spoke. “That night . . I was out cold. The boys did that without me knowing.”
You remember Hyunjin saying something about how Chris never deals with doctors. You didn’t think much of it at the time, but the evidence currently in front of you was irrefutable.
“This is deeper than the others . . it needs to be disinfected properly. It wasn’t a knife, was it? Not clean enough,” you mused to yourself.
Chris watched you with curiosity.
Why did you give a fuck if his face got infected?
Why did you sound so upset that he didn’t go to the hospital?
“If you wanted to patch me up so badly, doc, you should’ve just said so.”
You frowned at the way he brushed you off, not taking it seriously. You dropped your hand, trying to take a step back. But Chris didn’t let you, holding your wrist tightly in his strong grip, keeping you close to his chest.
He was so close.
So close you could smell his cologne. Something musky, vanilla. It reminded you of a fancy perfume store you had visited once with Seungmin, trying to find a birthday present for his father.
“It wasn’t a knife,” he offered, watching carefully to gauge your reaction.
You knew that already.
You had told him that already.
Judging by the positioning . . and the separation between the cuts . . it was . .
“A fist,” you mumbled.
Chris narrowed his eyes at you, tightening his grip.
“Who told you that?”
You just shrugged, curling your free hand into a fist, mimicking a punching gesture to show him.
“I see this stuff at work,” you explained.
Chris seemed to accept this, his attention now directed at your– apparently hilarious –attempt at making a fist.
He actually smiled as he dropped his hold on you to assess your posture.
You had to hold back the instinctual pout on your face from losing contact with him.
Oh, that must have been the alcohol.
Chris grabbed your other hand, snorting in amusement.
“You call that a fist, doc? You’re gonna break your fingers like that,” he reprimanded, pulling on the digits to unfurl your hand.
This is better than being grabbed, you thought.
You stayed quiet as he manoeuvred your fingers back into your palm, into what he must have thought was the correct positioning to throw a punch.
“There you go . . twist your upper body . . attagirl,” he said quietly, watching as you pretended to punch his bicep.
You let out a giggle at how seriously he was taking this fake punch, making his eyes snap up to yours.
Surprisingly, he met your beaming smile with one of his own.
You had seen a few of his cocky grins, a teasing smirk, but this . . this was newer. Different. A real smile that made his eyes scrunch up with delight. Something struck you at the sight.
God, Chris had dimples.
You really needed to snap out of this.
“So, you think you’re an expert in . .” Your voice trailed off as you finally took in the office room that you were standing in.
A mosaic of framed pictures decorated the walls, a few of some big names that you recognised. Muhammad Ali. Mike Tyson. Manny Pacquiao. That one guy that has the same name as Rocky . .
But there was one picture that stood out. There, in the centre of the wall behind Chris’ desk, was a black and white photograph of him in a boxing ring, wearing only a pair of shorts. There were some gloves discarded on the floor next to him, beside what you could only assume was a spray of blood. Chris’ hand was raised in triumph, his face swollen and beat up beyond almost all recognition in the bright stadium lights.
Almost.
You could still tell it was him.
Chris was a fighter.
A real, actual boxer.
No wonder he looked beat up again tonight.
“Oh,” you trailed off dumbly. “You are a punching expert.”
To his credit, Chris didn’t laugh at your wording. He seemed to be studying your reaction, dark eyes staring you down as if he was trying to read into your soul. He may not have been holding you anymore, but this seemed just as intimate.
After a moment of this staring competition, Chris finally broke it, allowing you to blink.
“How much did you have to drink, pretty girl?”
Instantly, you noticed how hot you felt. Your hands, your face, your everything, burning up before him.
“I . .”
“Did you come alone? You got a ride back?” He sounded genuinely concerned.
“Hyunjin invited me.”
Chris raised a single, unimpressed eyebrow.
“Hyunjin. About this tall? Long hair? Little brat?” He sighed as you nodded in confirmation. “How do you know Hyunjin, sweetheart?”
You tried your best to not let him see how his stupid petnames were affecting you, but you weren’t sure your limited acting skills were really proving that useful.
“I can’t have friends?” The defensiveness leaked from your tone.
For some reason, Chris didn’t even need to say anything to subdue you. You tried to hold his stare, you did. But the way he was looking at you as if he knew you were feigning this overconfident attitude, made you backtrack.
You had never been one to back down easily.
Especially not when a man was involved.
Most men cowered in front of a successful woman, which is what you were. A qualified career woman who was able to live and manage a happy lifestyle without the help of some faux macho wannabe alpha male who couldn’t find your clit even with a map. Unfortunately, as a girl who was into big guys, you had met far too many ‘men’ like that.
Maybe it was the fact that Chris wasn’t pretending to be something he’s not.
The evidence was right in front of you. Trophies and belts littering the walls and a display cabinet. Muscles that were literally bigger than your face. Strength clearly wasn’t something he lacked. And still, he was asking how you were getting home safe.
“He was at the fair . . with Minho. My neighbour.”
Realisation dawned on Chris’ face.
You saw something else there too. For a split second, you thought you saw Chris . . get shy? As quick as you saw it though, it was gone.
“You’re the one who got him ice cream? He hasn’t shut up about you for weeks, princess,” Chris looked down to where he was now, once again, holding your hand in both of his big ones. He was playing with your fingers, entranced as you allowed him to trace your skin in whatever ways he wished.
You watched him watch you.
Chris seemed in awe of something as simple as your palm, and that made your breath hitch in your throat.
No one had ever held you this carefully.
No lover or parent had ever shown you this much attentiveness. The closest comparison you could think of was a movie night cuddle with Felix, but even that was casual. It didn’t make you feel special the way Chris was doing right now. A boxer you had met barely once, was now cradling your fingers like they were the 8th wonder of the world.
“I like taking care of people,” you said honestly.
There was silence for a minute. A few minutes. A few seconds. You had no idea how long it actually was, but it felt like an unending bridge before Chris finally gave your hand a last squeeze, breathing out a shaky laugh.
“You keep surprising me, doc,” he shook his head at you, looking back up to meet your questioning stare.
Instead of answering your unspoken questions, Chris leaned over his desk to press a button on the side.
“I’ll get my driver to take you home, okay?”
You were about to protest, the strong independent woman in you wanting to tell him that you didn’t need his help, you could get an uber or whatever, but his stern eyes rendered you speechless.
His eyes were so . . captivating. They were the deep end of a pool you had never been taught to float in. Maybe you’d always known, but something about Chris was drawing you in on a worrying level.
A slow nod from you was all the confirmation he needed.
“Stay out of trouble, Y/N.”
Thursday
The week after the party had been quiet for you.
Jisung had come home and laid on top of you like some kind of killer whale, telling you stories of his and Minho's . . situationship. You offered advice where he asked for it, but overall the situation seemed positive. You didn’t know Minho very well but you could tell he treated Jisung right, and that was what mattered to you.
You and Seungmin had been plotting to ambush Felix at work. The baker had been unable to meet up with you guys for a while now, claiming the shop was too busy so he’d hired a newbie to help him out. A newbie who, unfortunately, required a lot of training from the owner. You had only seen Felix a handful of times these past few months and you were starting to miss the boy a lot.
You also had a few texts from Hyunjin the day after the party thanking you for coming, even promising to invite you the next time they had a celebration.
A celebration.
You scoffed at the thought.
It made sense that Hyunjin had conveniently left out what the celebration was for.
After a little investigating and some help from your friend Google, you found an Instagram page for SEO’S GYM.
Just a few scrolls and you spotted him.
There, in the background of some photo advertising the weight selection, sat Chris. He wasn’t the focus of the image, but he stood out to you. It was an old picture, from 5 years ago. His hair was different. Messier, blonde. And he didn’t look as big, muscles slightly less pronounced in yet another sleeveless shirt. He was mid workout, like he’d been caught between sets.
Seo’s gym, formerly known as S&B Fitness, was located in the downtown area. The same area that you knew for a fact the police had been investigating non stop, in an attempt to expose an underground crime ring.
Was an illegal fighting ring the underground crime? Or did it go deeper than surface level?
You knew Chris had to be involved in this, he had fresh bruises the night they were celebrating a win. It was odd though, that he wasn’t celebrating with the others. If he had won a boxing match, wouldn’t he be at the party in the smaller house? Not hiding away in the big house, play fighting with a doctor.
Nothing about Chris, or this whole situation in general, made sense.
“You ready to go?”
Your head snapped up at the familiar voice, a smile spreading across your cheeks as you nodded. “Give me a sec, just want to say bye to Karina,” you waved over at the receptionist, promising to see her bright and early tomorrow morning.
“Ugh, you work too early,” Seungmin groaned at the thought of an 8am shift.
“I do it for you, you ungrateful child!” You protested. “This way, I have my evenings free for you guys.”
Seungmin shrugged as you dropped your work bag in the backseat of his flashy BMW, moving to sit in the passenger's side. “You’re not our mother, Y/N.”
Fiddling with the volume on the stereo, you huffed out a breath.
“I know, I know. Speaking of, how are your parents doing? They kick you out yet?”
Seungmin gives you a look.
“They don’t want me to get my own place ‘til I settle down. Get married,” he shudders at the thought.
You ruffled his hair at that.
“Aww, baby Seungmin talking about getting married,” you sniffed, wiping a fake tear from under your eye. “They grow up so fast.”
Seungmin doesn’t even spare you a glance as he drives towards Whiskey Business Bakery.
“Keep talking, Y/N. They’ll never find your body.”
Felix’s bakery was close to home, but it was in the opposite direction of the hospital, so you couldn’t conveniently stop by on your way to and from work. You were starting to get withdrawal symptoms from how much you missed the smells of sugar and chocolate in the mornings.
It was early evening when you and Seungmin entered the shop, the little golden bell signalling to whoever was behind the counter.
A large chef’s hat popped up first, followed by a dark head of hair and a familiar flour smeared cheek.
Hold on, you knew this kid.
The patient with the SNU hoodie.
The kid that–
“Yang Jeongin,” you pointed a finger in accusation.
Jeongin looked like a deer caught in headlights.
“You’re the . . the doctor!”
“Doctor? Doctor Who?” Felix made his favourite joke as he joined the three of you in the front of the shop.
“Hey Y/N, Seungmin. I see you’ve met my new hire,” he nodded over to the boy behind the counter as he embraced the two of you in a hug.
“Apparently, the cougar already knows him,” Seungmin teased quietly.
Catching on quickly, you shook your head.
“No, not like that, no.”
“Uhh . . Felix? Boss? Are we turning the ovens back on?” Jeongin seemed a bit confused, which was understandable. You guys had shown up at closing time.
“No, nah, these guys are my friends. They’ll take the leftovers,” he joked. “Are you done with the organising? Come join us for a coffee.”
And that was how you found yourself sitting with two of your old friends and an unexpected new one, holding a cup of peppermint tea and sharing a chocolate croissant with Felix.
“And then the Professor made me stay until 9pm, cleaning up the whole room,” Jeongin, the business student, finished his story with a pout.
You smiled affectionately, offering him a sympathetic nod.
Turns out, Yang Jeongin was a good kid.
You had been too quick to judge him that day at work, he even explained that it was his frat brother that had admitted him to the hospital. The other guy was a politician's son, and it couldn’t get out that he’d smashed a bottle at some scholarship student at a party. It explained why he was so awkward about getting fixed up, he was only there because your silence could be bought. He wasn’t the spoiled rich kid you thought he was.
Jeongin also told you that he had to leave the fraternity and move off campus after that day. He couldn’t hide the injuries from his older brother, and, worried for his safety, he made sure to move Jeongin away from his bad influence frat brothers.
Deep down, you understood.
If you had a little brother who was getting hurt at parties with rowdy kids, you would want him to be closer to home. Safe. Hell, if Felix, Seungmin or Jisung were in that situation, you wouldn’t have hesitated to do the exact same thing Jeongin’s older brother had done.
“I love this movie,” you sighed, staring at the large screen on the other side of the bakery.
Felix’s whole concept for the bakery was an old movie café.
Whiskey Business referenced the Tom Cruise movie, so almost all of the films that played non stop were 80’s films. You had a large hand in that, curating a list of iconic 70’s/80’s/90’s films from before any of you were even born, and they eventually made it into Felix’s final business plan.
A chill bakery where the special was always whiskey flavoured. Whiskey cookies, cakes, crossaints, you name it.
Here, you could get a sweet treat and enjoy a childhood favourite film. He posted the weekly schedule on Instagram so people could come to enjoy a screening with friends and family, even holding a Friday night special where something different was premiered and added to the regular lineup.
Tonight, the ending of Die Hard 2 was playing on the big screen.
Seungmin snorted when he saw what you were looking at, shaking his head.
“One thing you need to know about Y/N . . she’s in love with John McClane,” he whispered loudly, pretending to be talking behind your back.
You smacked his shoulder.
Jeongin giggled at the encounter, about to comment on that when his phone screen lit up with a message. He stared at the screen for a moment, before looking back at you guys.
“My brother’s coming to pick me up, do you guys mind if I wait here a little longer?” He sounded unsure, as if he didn’t want to overstep.
Felix quickly silenced his worries, telling him that you guys were definitely planning on staying late, and that he was welcome to gossip with you guys for however long he needed.
“So, Jeongin,” you smiled when the younger boy sat up straighter. “I have a very important question.”
Jeongin, fearfully, nodded.
Seungmin was fighting a snicker, stealing a mini cinnamon swirl off Jeongin’s plate.
“Out of all the movies you’ve seen here . . which is the best?”
Instead of being relieved that your question wasn’t at all serious, Jeongin seemed to take it as a life or death debate.
“That depends on the genre . . the decade . . can I have a top 4?”
Seungmin and Felix stared at him in shock.
“Oh no,” Seungmin mumbled.
You, on the other hand, grinned. “I think I’m going to like you, Yang Jeongin.”
–
It was nearly an hour later when Jeongin stood up to leave.
You had spent so long talking to him about your favourite movies (he was just as obssessed as you) that you had barely noticed how much time had gone by. Felix had his legs curled up on your lap like a cat and Seungmin was playing a game on his phone, cutting into the conversation whenever he wanted to give his opinion.
A black car pulled up outside, making you frown at Jeongin.
“You’re going?”
“Tell your brother to come in,” Felix said, half asleep. “The more the merrier.”
Jeongin looked unsure.
“He’s not very . . friendly?” He offered.
“Neither is Seung, but we still tolerate him,” Felix retorted.
You smacked his leg for that.
Jeongin looked like he was about to argue, but it was too late.
The bell on the front door ding’ed and Jeongin’s brother walked in.
“Innie? You here?”
Oh fuck.
Oh fuck fuck fuck–
“Yeah, over here!” Jeongin waved him over. “Come meet my boss! And his friends.”
No.
Please don’t do that.
You panicked, not knowing if you should just hide your face in your hands or melt into the floor.
Unfortunately, you spent too long agonising over your options. And now it was too late to run.
“Hey, you’re–” Chris paused, eyes meeting yours in surprise.
“This is Felix, my boss–” Jeongin pointed at your best friend who was curled up in your lap. “–And this is Y/N and he’s Seungmin, they’re Felix’s friends. Y/N’s a doctor and Seungmin’s a manager at Kim Corp.”
“Hey man,” Felix waved tiredly. “Help yourself to some snacks.”
But Chris didn’t move, staring at you.
“It’s nice to meet you,” you finally said, your voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Jeongin’s brother.”
“Chan,” Jeongin offered. “His name’s Channie.”
Chan?
You saw Chris– Chan wince, finally breaking eye contact with you, his gaze moving down to where Felix was cuddling you.
You hadn’t felt shy about physical touch with Felix in years, the clingy boy having broken down all of your walls so that he could treat you like a human pillow. But now . . something just felt wrong.
You needed to remove yourself from this situation.
Holding up your empty mug, you gestured to Felix that you were going to go and wash it, effectively untangling his limbs from yours.
Your shoulder brushed past Chris’ as you went behind the counter, ignoring the way sparks erupted at the minimal physical contact between the two of you.
“Do you guys want anything from back here?” You called out as you dried the mug.
A chorus of ‘No’s and a singular ‘banana milk’ from Seungmin echoed back to you. You rolled your eyes affectionately, making your way to the large fridge and bending down to the lower shelves, where you knew Felix kept treats for his friends.
“Banana milk, banana milk–”
“You look good bent over like that, doc. Exactly how I pictured it.”
You stopped searching, standing up straight and slamming the fridge door shut.
“You’ve been . . picturing me?” You chose your words carefully.
Chris didn’t look ashamed at all, shrugging one shoulder.
“It’s a nice picture, sue me.”
“I just might, Chan,” you said his name with a venom that surprised even yourself.
He sighed.
“Okay, I deserved that one. But in my defense, I never thought we’d meet again,” Chris took a step closer to you, trapping you between the fridge and his chest. There was a hint of bitterness in his tone as he added, “And I definitely didn’t think it would be with some guy on your lap.”
So that was what this was about.
You wanted to be mean.
Say something cruel, cruel enough to make him feel the way you felt when you realised he had lied about his name.
But had he? If he was lying, then why did Hyunjin call him Chris too?
“Lix is just a friend. That’s all that is,” you explained quietly, extremely aware of how close his chest was to yours. “Not that I have to explain myself to you, whoever you are. Chris, Chan, whatever.”
Chris thought about that.
Silently, he reached down, fingertips brushing the side of your lips. “You got a little . .” He brought the pastry flake between his own lips, a remnant of your earlier chocolate croissant.
“You finished cleaning me up?” You narrowed your eyes at him, waiting for him to move so that you could leave.
Chris seemed undeterred by your angered state. In fact, if anything, he seemed amused.
“Y’know, you’re cute when you’re mad,” he mumbled, as if he were thinking out loud.
That was it.
You shoved at his chest, trying to force him to move.
But he didn’t move.
Chris was like a statue, a wall that you couldn’t even make flinch.
“What are you made of?” You huffed out, giving up trying to push past him.
Chris chuckled, grabbing your arms in his big hands.
“Looks like we’re back here, princess.”
You glared at him.
And then a thought occurred to you.
Chris was the overprotective older brother, the one Jeongin described earlier.
“Wait, if you’re Jeongin’s brother . . you took him off campus. So that he’d be safe.”
Chris nodded here, looking confused but agreeing regardless.
So, you continued.
“But you have all that shady boxing shit going on with the police, how is he safe with you?”
And finally, Chris’ sweetness disappeared.
His hold on you tightened, something vicious crossing his eyes and, for the first time since you had met him, a hint of fear trickled down your spine.
“What,” he said slowly. “Do you know?”
“What–”
His fingers dug into your forearm, causing you to wince in pain.
“I asked you, Y/N, what you know. Who do you work for?” He repeated, face dangerously close to yours.
Oh, why couldn’t you have just kept your big mouth shut?
Chris looked angry. He was a completely different person looking for answers. Answers that you didn’t even have, you were just provoking him to be a bitch. Hint at the thought that he might be a bad brother, endangering Jeongin.
Something about that look in his eyes took you back to a place you did not want to think about.
Your eyes closed in fear, shaking your head at him.
“I don’t– I don’t know anything! I Googled you! That’s it, I’m sorry– I’m sorry, I swear–”
“Hyung!”
Chris dropped his hold on you, taking a large step back once a wave reality hit him. It had only been a few seconds, but he had lost himself and you.
“Y/N, I am so fucking–”
You stumbled back, catching yourself on the fridge as Jeongin rushed over.
“Y/N? Noona, are you okay?” Jeongin reached out to you, but you quickly shook your head, a fake smile plastering itself on your face.
There was no need to cause a scene. Or upset a kid.
“I’m fine, Jeongin! We were just talking,” you reassured the younger boy.
Jeongin’s frown deepened.
“Y/N, you’re crying . .”
Were you?
Chris half reached out to you, before dropping his hand, clenching it into a fist.
“Y/N . .”
“I have to– I have to go,” you mumbled, holding your raw wrists to your chest. “Need to tell Seung there’s no more banana milk . .”
“Y/N wait, I’m sorry–”
“It’s– It’s not your fault,” you didn’t meet his eyes, looking down as you spoke. “I shouldn’t have asked about your . . personal stuff. Please forgive me.”
“What? Y/N, no–”
But you had already left the room, just barely hearing Jeongin’s accusatory, “Hyung, what did you do to her?”
If Seungmin noticed anything different in your behaviour when you returned, he didn’t mention it. Jeongin and Chris disappeared before you had even made it back to the front of the shop. You and Seungmin stayed a little later, helping Felix clear up so that he could head straight to bed as soon as the pair of you waved goodbye.
Seungmin dropped you off at home, giving you a look that asked if you wanted some company, but you shook your head.
After all that had happened tonight, you really wanted to be alone.
It was easier to pretend you were okay when you were with your friends, but reality was starting to come crashing down on you.
It was all still a bit of a blur to you, you couldn’t really explain or recall what had happened if you were asked to. What even happened? One minute you were teasing and flirting with a man you had been daydreaming about for weeks, and the next he had turned violent, paranoid.
You tried to rationalise it in your head.
Maybe you had hit a nerve. Maybe he was in trouble with the police, or someone else.
You gave Jisung, who was lounging on the sofa watching Haikyuu, a quick kiss on the forehead as you made your way to your bedroom, shutting the door before letting your emotions get the better of you.
You fell first into your pillow.
Stupid Y/N.
Thinking a stupid man could be nice–
Your mourning was interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing.
Shit.
Were you meant to do something tonight?
You quickly wiped your tears with the back of your hand, sniffling as you scrambled for your phone.
Unknown Number.
Your brows furrowed in confusion.
“Hello . . ?”
“Y/N. Wait, don’t hang up–”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
He sighed.
“I’m calling to apologise. I’d rather do it in person, but–”
“No, no. This is fine. You um . . you don’t need to apologise. I told you, it’s fine.”
“You don’t even believe that yourself, Y/N. Why are you trying to convince me?”
You didn’t say anything.
“Y/N . . I lost control. And no amount of apologies can fix that. I scared you, I know I did. I never . . fuck, I never wanted to act like that around you. Let alone to you.”
You still didn’t speak.
“Silent treatment again? I get it. I just . . I don’t know how to make you understand how much I wish I could take back–”
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why are you apologising? Did Jeongin tell you to? Do you actually feel bad? Do you . . care? You said it yourself, you didn’t think we’d ever see each other again . . why does it matter if you upset me?”
Surprisingly, he laughed.
“You really do know how to make me smile, even when I feel like the world’s biggest dick.”
You fought back a smile.
“And yeah, Jeongin did tell me to. But that’s not why I’m calling. I don’t . . I don’t actually know. It shouldn’t matter, should it? If I never see you again, why should it bother me that I upset you? But it does. It’s pissing me off so much I literally can’t think. Jeongin made me stop and took the car from me on the way home, said I was acting too crazy to drive. You . . I . . I’ve scared lots of people in my life. Comes with the job. But I’ve never been so worried about how someone might view me after. I . . I don’t ever want you to look at me the way you looked at me tonight.”
“Wow.”
“Wow?”
“Wow . . that’s a lot.”
“I really am sorry, Y/N. I don’t want to be the reason you cry.”
“I wasn’t crying.”
“So you just sound like someone blocked your nose for fun?”
“Ha ha. Watch it, boxer man. I know a guy who taught me how to throw a punch.”
“Oh yeah? What’s he like? Good looking?”
“A bit.”
“Just a bit?”
“You want me to set you up? Not sure if you’re his type . .”
“You’re my type, princess.”
And just like that, he was back to normal.
You paused for a second, before speaking again.
“I forgive you, Chris. Really. I overreacted a bit as well, and I shouldn’t have accused you of anything. Or judged your relationship with your brother. I’m sorry too.”
“No, you didn’t overreact. You were . . scared. I wouldn’t have hurt you. You know that, right?”
You scoffed good naturedly.
“Tell that to my bruised arms, asshole.”
He sucked in a breath.
“You’re serious?”
“What? No, I’m joking. Forget about it. Are we good now?”
“As long as you’re not lying to me. And you really accept my apology.”
“You’re extremely persistent, Christopher.”
“I love it when you say that.”
“Is that your real name then?”
“Chan is my Korean name. I use it for fights, Chris is for friends. It’s best to switch between the two when you need a few identities . . for work.”
“What do you prefer?”
“I’ve never really thought about it. Both are fine.”
“Chan is cute. Jeongin called you Channie.”
He groaned.
“I’m four years older than that brat.”
“He’s a good kid.”
“Yeah, he is.”
There was a pause. Some shuffling.
“You going to sleep now, doc?”
“You brought the nicknames back super quick.”
“Well, I thought you were mad at me so I held back. Princess.”
“You need to get help, Christopher.”
“You’re right. I need a doctor.”
You laughed, shaking your head.
“Okay, I wholeheartedly accept your apology and am no longer scared of you. Can we sleep now?”
“So you admit you were scared!”
“Chris!”
“Alright, alright. Goodnight princess.”
“Goodnight, Channie.”
Tuesday
Everything was a mess.
Winter at the front desk had accidentally double booked your afternoon so you had to skip lunch and apologise to a singer for being late to her vocal check ups.
After that, Taeyeon found an error in a discharge form you filled out last week, so you had to stay late checking over all the forms from that day to make sure it wasn’t a mistake you repeated.
And then, the icing on the cake, Felix messaged you to say that he wouldn’t be able to make it to dinner because Jeongin had burned himself with the industrial oven, so Felix was closing the shop by himself.
Not on your watch.
“I’m taking these,” you stole some supplies from behind Winter’s desk, your tone teasing. “Call it reparations for the appointments earlier.”
After stopping at Felix’s favourite Italian restaurant and picking up some takeout, extra for Jeongin too, you approached Whiskey Business Bakery with a renewed sense of confidence.
So what if your entire day had sucked? From now on, everything was going to be perfect. Blissful.
“Y/N?” Felix seemed surprised to see you, which you found odd. Was it so out of character for you to show up to a place where you’d been told there was an injured kid? No, if anything, that was perfectly on brand for you.
“Move aside,” you pushed the pizza boxes into his empty hands, barging into the shop. “Where’s the patient?”
“He’s . . he’s back there, I was just about to give him a lift home,” Felix looked tired, but happy to see you.
You gave him a reassuring smile, your tone lowering to a more serious level.
“Is it okay that I’m here? I wasn’t sure if you guys ate.”
Felix nodded quickly, “Of course! I’m glad you came, Y/N. I just didn’t want to drag you here after work–”
“Y/N noona!”
You turned to Jeongin, flashing him a bright smile.
“Yang Jeongin, just the boy I wanted to see!” You searched through your handbag, pulling out the stolen supplies from work. “Show me where you hurt yourself,” you demanded.
“Noona, you don’t have to–”
“Mate, you can’t stop her when she’s like this,” Felix had already opened a box of pizza and was getting comfortable in front of Pretty in Pink. “Just let her fix you up, eat some food and we’ll take you home.”
“In other words, accept your fate,” you pointed at the empty seat next to Felix. “I didn’t know what toppings you liked but there’s plain, pepperoni and Hawaiian.”
“Pepperoni is perfect, thank you,” Jeongin eased off his baggy cardigan to show you the burn on his forearm and let you get to work.
Friday
Chris pressed you against the wooden desk in his office, his forearms on either side of your hips.
You dared to look up at him, playful eyes meeting his passionate ones when you reached your arms up to his broad shoulders, holding him to you. A few stray strands of hair had spilled out onto his forehead, crowning his kingly face.
Chris’ head leaned down, lips dangerously close to your own as he whispered out an order.
“Stay right there for me, pretty girl, yeah?”
You felt his big hands finally, finally, grip your sides, holding you still, his wet lips planting desperate kisses down your jaw, your neck. Pain bloomed into your skin, Chris worshipping you with more than just his mumbled praise. His teeth dug into your neck, he was starving, sucking and biting until your hands reached up to grip his fluffy curls, pushing him further into your chest and you tugged–
And oh, he moaned.
“Chris,” you whispered shakily.
He grunted in response, kissing back up the column of your throat.
You pulled at his hair again, revelling in the whine that he let out into your neck.
It was beautiful. Like–
You blinked awake, reality in the form of your empty bed and clean bedsheets hitting you like a double decker bus.
“Chris,” you mumbled, still in a trance.
Oh, you were well and truly fucked.
Saturday
“You’re been staring at your phone a lot today.”
You pouted, turning to Jisung, who was setting up the DVD player, unplugging the Nintendo Switch.
“I have not.”
“Uh huh. So who’s the guy?”
“Why does there have to be a guy?” You defended. “Speaking of, how’s Minho?”
Jisung sighed. Loudly.
“Come on Y/N, you really don’t want to talk to me about it?” He sounded almost . . hurt. “I know you’re hiding something. Do you really think I’m stupid enough to not notice that you came home crying last week?”
“Well I was hoping you were stupid enough to–” You were cut off with a squeal when Jisung threw a pillow at you. You met his eyes across the room, considering the logistics of a pillow fight right now. The pair of you had a very short lived staring competition, ending in you both bursting out into fits of laughter on the sofa.
“Okay,” Jisung began when he finally caught his breath. “Now spill.”
“It’s a lot . . and complicated.”
“You know me, I love drama.”
“And now . . I don’t know. I don’t really know him as a person, y’know?”
Jisung was sitting on the edge of his seat, completely invested in your story. His legs were spread, elbows resting on either knee, holding his face in his hands.
Panic started to rise in you as you wondered about his reaction to all of this. Would he think you’re weird for obsessing over some guy you barely knew? You knew it was very out of character for you, but something about Chris pulled you in–
“How big are his arms?”
“What?”
Whatever you had been expecting, it wasn’t that.
Then again, with Jisung, you should’ve considered the option that he would go down this route.
You laughed lightly, shaking your head.
“Big. Really big,” you admitted.
Jisung hummed.
“And it was a sincere apology?”
You nodded.
“Maybe he’s just got some crazy anger issues. Rich guys can be like that,” he shrugged. “And Minho works for him?”
“For him, with him. I’m not sure. It’s not like I’m his friend . .”
“So he hasn’t asked you out or anything?”
You looked down shyly, shaking your head.
“Well fuck him then, why’s he playing around? This seems like some literal soulmate shit. Your neighbour is his friend? His little brother works at Lix’s? How much more poetic can it get?” Jisung let out.
You wanted to laugh at that.
Soulmates?
Yeah, Chris made you feel warm and shy, but soulmates?
Jisung was crazy.
“Anyway, yeah. That’s everything. Just me daydreaming about some gorgeous, unattainable man,” you gave him a weak smile.
Jisung looked surprised.
“I’ve never seen you like this, Y/N.”
He moved over to your sofa, coming to sit next to you and pull you into his side.
He was right. You had never been this vulnerable in front of your friends. You had never let yourself be so honest, so loud about your feelings. Was this what having a stupid crush did to you?
“Don’t get mad but . . this is nice,” Jisung mumbled into your hair, kissing the top of your head. “Can’t believe it took 6 years and some boxer guy for you to finally open up.”
You huffed.
“You’re happy I’m sad?”
“I’m happy you’re being real with me. Now, let’s go find someone to help you get over this douche. Sound good?”
“I don’t know . .”
Jisung gave you a look that said he wasn’t taking no for an answer, pushing you into your bedroom. “Go get ready, I’ll just go tell Minho I’m going out tonight.”
“What? No, Jisung. I’m not taking you away from your date time.”
“Date? Oh, nah, he’s got something else going on with his friends. We don’t have anything planned tonight,” he said casually. “It’s our movie night, Y/N. You really think I’d cancel on you to get some dick?”
You stayed silent, a teasing smile on your face as you pretended to think about it.
Jisung gasped in mock horror.
“I see . . that’s what you think of me . .”
Thirty minutes later you were standing in the entrance of your apartment, adding the finishing touches to your jewellery while Jisung fluffed up his hair.
“Is this shirt too slutty?” He asked, repeatedly doing and undoing the top button to compare how it looked.
“It’s fine, Ji. You look cute.”
Jisung looked at you like he was about to protest, but a knock at the door cut off his silent argument.
“Hey– Minho?”
“Hey Y/N,” Minho gave you a polite nod. “Are you guys going out?”
“We’re going to get drunk,” Jisung showed up behind you, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “You’re going out too, right?”
Minho’s smile brightened at the sight of your roommate, making you roll your eyes affectionately. “Okay, lovebirds. No PDA in the hallway.”
“We’re not even touching,” Minho deadpanned.
“The energy is so charged . . you’re basically on top of each other.”
“Y/N!”
Minho just laughed, shaking his head.
“I’m heading out now too, you guys want a lift? I’m not drinking tonight, save you a designated driver,” he offered in a sing-song voice.
“Club, probably,” Jisung spoke for the two of you. “Anywhere we can get fucked up really.”
Minho seemed to consider his words.
“There’s a bar where I’m heading, if you guys just want to tag along. Or, y’know, if you already had plans–”
“No, that actually sounds alright. Then we can come back with you too?”
“Wait, where is this bar?” You finally rejoined the boys, locking the front door and double, triple checking it was locked.
Jisung giggled at this as the three of you headed down to the car park.
“Just nearby. I’m going to a work thing with my friends but if you two are just looking for a night out . . could be fun,” Minho shrugged.
His friends.
A work thing.
The whole reason you and Jisung were going out tonight was to forget about Minho’s friend. Was it really a good idea to go with him to whatever party Hyunjin or Chris or whoever might be hosting? The thought of bumping into Chris when you were trying your damndest to get fucked by any stranger who could make you forget about him was terrifying.
Terrifying because whenever you’re in the same room as Chris, you lose all capacity to think rationally.
Jisung seemed to understand your dilemma, playing it off as a light hearted joke to Minho.
“You want to introduce me to your friends? How cute . .”
You tuned them out as they bickered playfully, a fondness for the two outweighing the slight stress growing in your chest.
“You okay there, Y/N?” Minho asked, unlocking his car doors.
You paused, looking over the top of the vehicle to where he stood.
“How . . which of your friends are going to be there?” You asked quietly.
Minho raised an eyebrow at you.
“I just mean–”
“I know what you meant, Y/N, trust me,” Minho’s expression twisted into something different. Understanding. “Look, the bar is in a completely separate place to where I’ll be, I'm not trying to interrupt your partying. You don’t have to see anyone you don’t want to see,” he said the last part with a seriousness that told you he knew exactly what you were worried about.
Did they . . talk about you? Surely not. Chris didn’t seem like the type to tell his friends about some girl he was . . God, what were you two even doing?
“Even if Hyune has been begging to see you for weeks now,” he added, rolling his eyes.
You smiled at that. Seeing Hyunjin again didn’t actually sound like a terrible idea.
“I’ll drop you guys off somewhere else if you want, okay? You don’t have to come with me.”
Quickly, you shook your head.
“No, it’s fine,” you reassured him, getting into the car and pulling Jisung down with you.
The drive was long, which made you question Minho’s earlier statement of this bar being ‘just nearby’, but you didn’t say anything. Minho and Jisung were in the front seat, singing along to an old folk song cutely and you couldn’t help but admire how perfect they were for each other.
It wasn’t until Minho pulled up in front of ‘Seo’s Gym’ that reality hit you.
“Lee Minho,” You closed the car door behind you, trying your best to keep your voice calm. “Tell me we are not going to watch an illegal fight.”
Minho shrugged, giving you a cheeky smile.
“Okay, we are not going to watch a fight. You and Sung can go to the bar. I’m going to watch a fight.”
You dropped your head into your hands.
Chris? Fighting? Shirtless, sweaty, bloody–
No.
The doctor in you wouldn’t be able to sit still, itching to patch up both him and his opponent.
The woman in you would want to jump his bones.
Something about the evil look in Minho’s eyes made you think he planned this. He had to know, didn’t he?
“A gym? I think I’m worth a better date than a gym, babe,” Jisung, oblivious to what was going on, finally got out of the car.
Minho laughed, shaking his head.
“It’s behind the gym. Secret club.”
“A secret club? Man, I didn’t know you were this cool– ow!”
You giggled at Jisung’s squeal, Minho pinching his ear and dragging him by it.
“Don’t kill my best friend!” You called from behind them, following Minho around to, as he said, a secret entrance. Hidden behind a back door, at the bottom of some rickety metal steps, there was a door that literally blended into the bricks of the gym.
Damn.
Privacy was a big deal to these guys.
You watched as Minho whispered a code word, password, whatever, through the door and it swung open, letting the 3 of you enter a . . club? The whole entrance led down into a pit of people dancing to music so loud it shocked you that it couldn’t be heard from outside. What kind of soundproofing magic was going on here? Neon green and pink lights danced across the pit, shaking you as if it were just like any other club.
“I’m going to head to the back, you guys have fun. Drinks are over here, place bets over there if you want,” Minho pecked Jisung’s lips quickly and waved to you, before exiting behind the bar.
“Um . .” Jisung looked around, clueless.
“What the fuck?” You finished his question for him.
“This is insane,” Jisung approached the bartender, pulling you by the arm.
“Your boyfriends in the mafia,” you shouted dramatically, flicking his cheek. “You’re living out your preteen Wattpad fantasy,” you pretend to hold a mic to his mouth. “Tell the people how it feels.”
“You are so lucky the music’s so loud,” Jisung yelled back, going over to the bartender.
Before you guys could even order, the bartender gave Jisung a nod.
“You with Minho?”
“Uh . .”
“He said to put your stuff on his tab.”
You giggled at the raging blush on your best friend’s face, cooing and pinching his cheeks.
“This is so embarrasing,” he whined.
“What are you talking about? You’re getting princess treatment from a guy you’ve been in love with for years,” you asked while ordering shots for the both of you.
“Woah, woah. The L word?” Jisung looked at you like you’d slapped him.
“Oh shit. Trouble in paradise?”
“No! No, we’re good . . I think,” he paused for a second. “Do you think he wants me to meet his friends because it’s serious? We haven’t made anything official yet . .”
You shrugged.
“Take the win, Ji. You deserve it. Just try and bring up exclusivity and labels soon, okay?” You offered.
Jisung nodded, staring at your drinks.
“And then step two, find you a man to get over the angry boxer,” Jisung smirked.
You rolled your eyes at that.
“Oh, Jisung. You don’t know how evil your little boyfriend is, do you?”
“What? What do you mean?”
“This is the gym . . where Minho works . . where Chris fights . .”
“You mean . .”
“I mean, this is a party. For the fight. That I’m assuming is starting soon, everyones betting on Chris over there,” you snorted, pointing at the scoreboard across the room. There were too many people for Jisung to notice at first, but now that you’d pointed it out, it seemed obvious. These people were all here to watch the fight.
The scoreboard that had caught your attention listed
‘BANG CHAN, THE KING’ VS ‘DOMINIC RICCI, THE THUNDER’.
Unfortunately for Dominic, Chan had the better odds right now.
“I thought his name was Chris?” Jisung pulled you onto the dance floor with your drinks.
You giggled, trying your best not to spill anything.
“Fake name, stage name, I don’t know. Who cares?” You mocked, taking a sip.
“So Minho brought you here . . knowing that . . wow. That’s fucked up. Is it bad I find that kind of hot?”
You scowled at him.
“I’m not going to watch that fight, I’ll stay here and drink.”
“All by yourself?” Jisung teased. “Are you going to make friends with the bartender?”
“Ha ha. Very funny.”
“Sorry, please don’t tell your big strong boxer boyfriend over me.”
❪ TAKE IV ❫ 🌺 your boyfriends got both the looks and the brains
HOT NERD𖥔BOYFRIEND ! p.sh x 𝑓 ! reader 𝟏𝟏𝟏𝟐 alcohol use implied sex brief jealousy physical marking peer preassure
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤREBLOG4A(˶ > ₃ < ˶)
HOT NERD BF!SUNGHOON
who never really looked up from his notes or laptop in the library, glasses slipping down his nose while people around him whispered about how unfair it was that someone could be both brainiac and gorgeous. he wasn’t hard to notice—tall, broad-shouldered, and always in perfect posture when scribbling equations—but he never seemed to care about the attention. that is until you plopped down across from him one day, asking him to ''explain that formula like you’re talking to a 5 year old.'' he blinked at you, clearly thrown off, before actually breaking into the tiniest smirk. ''you probably skipped class again, huh?'' and just like that, your daily library sessions began.
HOT NERD BF!SUNGHOON
who very quickly opened up to you. and if he was being honest, he didn't even notice it. maybe it was the way you talked in a way that just made him want to forget everything else or the way your eyes sparkled when he'd tell a dumb story. he just liked it. it got so obvious that even jay and jake started teasing him—''look at him grinning at his phone again, loser''—and for once, he didn’t even deny it.
HOT NERD BF!SUNGHOON
who always notices, even the small things. the way you tilt your head when concentrating, the way you press your lips into a straight line when he's explaining something to you, nodding along. every little detail carves itself into his brain until he's forced to look away, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to lean in and kiss you breathless right in the middle of the explanation.
HOT NERD BF!SUNGHOON
who swore he wasn’t going to that stupid campus party, no matter how many times anyone asked. but the second jay casually mentioned you were going, his head shot up. he didn't even hesitate before asking jake, dead serious, what the hell he should wear.
HOT NERD BF!SUNGHOON
whose jaw tightened when the bottle landed on you during truth or dare, and someone smirked, ''kiss the hottest guy in the room.'' his expression stayed unreadable, but jake caught it — the way sunghoon looked away, sharp and cold, like he couldn't bear to watch. but then you staggered over, cheeks flushed, and instead of picking anyone else, you grabbed his face and pressed your lips to his. for the first time in his life, sunghoon forgot how to breathe.
HOT NERD BF!SUNGHOON
who tossed and turned the entire night after that kiss, ears burning red, jaw aching from how hard he was grinning. your lips still lingered on his, your warm hands against his cool skin—burned into memory. how could a single girl make him feel so damn stupid? and yet, he couldn’t stop replaying it.
HOT NERD BF!SUNGHOON
who didn't push for anything more after that. when you avoided him, too embarrassed to face him, he let you—even if it drove him insane. every unanswered text made his mind spiral, every glance across campus felt like torture. for once in his life, he wasn't in control.
HOT NERD BF!SUNGHOON
who ends up drinking more than he ever should’ve and stumbling to your door. glassy-eyed, fingers trembling, voice breaking as he calls your name. ''y/n…'' it’s a mess, but it’s raw and it’s him, and god—he looks unfairly good like that.
HOT NERD BF!SUNGHOON
who woke up the next morning with a throbbing head and clothes scattered on the floor—not his room. panic shot through him until he turned and saw you, still half-asleep, mumbling, ''morning…'' in the softest voice. he swore his heart actually stopped. sunghoon, the calm, composed genius, nearly fainted right there.
HOT NERD BF!SUNGHOON
who never overwhelmed you with questions when you were upset, just gently tugged you into some quiet, empty place. his hands would cup your face, thumbs brushing lightly as you finally dared to look up. then came that smile—the small, crooked one he never showed anyone else—and suddenly your chest was pounding so hard you forgot why you were even crying.
HOT NERD BF!SUNGHOON
who tried to tutor you in math, but you weren’t listening at all—too distracted by the veins on his forearms flexing every time he wrote on the paper. when you leaned over and actually bit his arm, he just blinked, deadpan, and continued explaining like it was the most normal thing in the world.
𝗛𝗢𝗧 𝗡𝗘𝗥𝗗 𝗕𝗙! 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡
who pushes his glasses up with his knuckle while leaning over your shoulder to check your work, his voice low and casual in your ear. he's literally just correcting a math problem, but the way his cologne hits you mixed with that focused look on his face? unfair. you're melting and he doesn't even notice, just mutters, ''no, it's plus three, not minus,'' like he didn't just ruin your brain.
HOT NERD BF!SUNGHOON
who notices instantly when your grip on his hand tightens when standing in line for the drop tower ride, friends around you hyping each other up.
''you okay?'' he asks quietly, leaning down just enough so only you could hear.
your eyes darted anywhere but his, cheeks heating. ''mmhmm.'' but the way your heart raced said otherwise.
''really?'' his brows pinched slightly.
then you finally muttered, ''...i don’t wanna go on it.''
he then blinked. that was it? his lips twitched before softening into the smallest smile.
without hesitation, he started tugging you out of line.
you froze, tugging back. ''w-wait! but you wanted to go—''
''so what?'' he cut you off, voice firm but gentle. his eyes found yours, steady and warm. ''if you don't want to, we're not doing it. simple.''
and yeah, safe to say eating cotton candy while perched on his lap was fun, even better when the same friends hyping each other up held hands over their stomachs.
HOT NERD BF!SUNGHOON
who panicks instantly when he sees tears clinging to your lashes after a long night of dancing and alcohol
''baby? what's wrong?''
your lower lip wobbled, and you reached for him, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie until he let you push it up. your eyes landed on the faint red scratches along his bicep—old ones, from your nails two days ago—and suddenly you sobbed.
''w-who did this to you..'' you hiccuped, voice breaking.
and holy shit did his heart tighten, he just wanted to lock you up forever.
HOT NERD BF!SUNGHOON
who casually lifts you out of the way with one arm when you’re standing in front of the fridge, not even breaking his explanation about some physics concept he's been rambling about. you just gape at him, and he raises an eyebrow like, ''what? keep up.'' sir, you literally just picked me up like I weigh nothing??
HOT NERD BF!SUNGHOON
who goes completely serious the moment you tease him—even something small, like a casual, ''are you always this boring?'' while he's explaining something. suddenly, his whole focus shifts, and it becomes his personal mission to make sure you end the night breathless… and it’s always from his lips.
if u can tell this was supposed to be a long fic, no you cant. also i still might have gotten carried away with the word count ..
To be honest, Damian was only getting close to you to bother Drake. He didn't really have a reason for it either, but bothering is pseudo older brother is entertaining, fun even.
It's not tranquil, like painting. It's not rewarding, like training. It's not adrenaline filled, like patrol. No, it's just... Fun.
Damian can't even explain why it's fun either. There's just something about the look of utter anguish, irritation, that crosses Drake's face that just makes him smile.
It's an evil little thing, all sharp teeth and hard lines. Nothing like those big grins you see kids have in childish movies. No, he looks like a shark in fish infested waters. Like a wolf locked in a pen of sheep.
So imagine his surprise when you derail his plans by being likeable. You're clever, and kind, but not smothering like Grayson. He didn't start showing up at your window to actually get close to you, and yet here is, tucked into your side as he vents about school today.
The people at his school are utter imbeciles, and he only goes to appease his father. Not that he understands why his father sends him. He already has a friend his age, Jon! He's sure you'd be his friend too, if he asked.
... Even the thought of doing that is too humiliating to fathom.
He's sure you'd just look at him with that dumb smile that makes his chest feel tight, and you'd probably pet down his hair, and say something like "Of course we're friends! Why else would I let you crash on my couch after patrol?" Because you're good like that, and always give reasons why you do and feel things.
But he'd rather drop dead than be perceived as childish or immature. Asking someone to be your friend is playground chat, and Damian stopped going to a school with a playground this year so he's much too old for that. Instead he just rambles about how many times he's had to correct his teacher this year, because if he thinks the kids are stupid don't get him started on the adults.
You listen the whole way through, an arm wrapped around his shoulder. He's practically squished to your side. He planted himself there as soon as he got through the lock on your front door, but you don't say anything about it, you never do. It's much more tolerable than Grayson's constant cooing.
"And do you know what the worst part is?" Damian huffs, a balled fist gripping your pants.
"What?"
"She tried to correct me on the Greek Pantheon, me! It's as if my chosen aunt isn't Princess Diana of Themscryia! Imbeciles, everyone of them!"
You nod solemnly, clearly understanding Damian's plight. This is why he comes to you, no one at that blasted manor gets it. They would try and correct him, teach him to be more understanding, but you just listen! You listen, and commiserate! Like any good sibling should.
"I used to have a teacher like that. It turned out no matter what I told him, no matter what evidence I presented, he just decided that I was a lost cause anyway." You roll your eyes, picking at the stitching of Damian's sleeve. He should probably stop you, but he can't even bring himself to give the gesture a glance of his attention. "I ended up transferring out of the class, my peace was not worth the credit. I just took it online instead."
"If only father were that understanding. I would take every class online if I could."
"What, there isn't a single thing you enjoy about school? When I was your age I only ever showed up for extracurriculars, but they managed to at least make it a little worth it for me."
Damian wants to say no, "My art and art teacher isn't deplorable." But that would be a lie.
"What're they-"
The lock of your farthest window clicks, interrupting you. Damian slips a blade out of the pocket of his school uniform, but doesn't bother moving. A measley intruder won't stand a chance against him, especially because they would be interrupting his you time.
A foot slides in through the open window. Black slacks, he can tell by the hemlines they're expensive. The shoes are glossy, but slightly scuffed, also clearly expensive.
Damian glares, he knows exactly who this is. The grip of his blade gets tighter.
"Hey babe." Drake greets, pulling his satchel in the window before closing it. "You'll never believe the day I had at work-"
Damian and Drake lock eyes. He can feel his eyes turn into giddy crescents as Tim's face falls into disbelief. Yes, this is the exact feeling he's been waiting for. He could revel in that disgusted expression he has.
"What's he doing here?" Drake sneered.
"Don't be rude."
"Wha- I'm not being rude. I just- baby, sweetheart, why the fuck is my little brother in your apartment?"
For his part, Damian just snuggles closer to you, causing you to squeeze him tighter. If it's even possible, he looks even more smug than he did before. All according to plan.
"I invited him. He likes to hangout after school sometimes." You smile, it's genuine, as if you're completely oblivious to why this would distress Tim. They both know you well enough to know you're having just as much fun fucking with your boyfriend as Damian is.
"You know each other? You do this regularly??"
"No thanks to you. I've only met your family once and it was in passing, Tim! What was I supposed to do, tell him to leave? He's just a baby!"
Under normal circumstances, Damian would grow irate at being called a baby. He is ten years old, in double digits, basically an adult! However, annoying Drake takes precedence right now.
"Yeah Drake, I'm just a baby." Damian says flatly. "I'm just a baby, and you're scaring me."
You gasp. "Timothy you're scaring my baby!"
"That demon is NOT a baby! Are you under mind control? Blink twice if you need help."
Your hand tugs Damian into your chest, and you plant a kiss on his forehead. His demonic smile wavers for a moment as a flush hits his cheeks, that same icky syrup-like feeling you tend to give him curling in his chest. It comes right back when he sees that absolute offended and affronted look on Drake's face.
This is the best day of his life.
"If you don't start being nice to this sweet baby angel right this second, I'll have to throw you out of my apartment. Sorry Tim, those are the rules."
"You just made that up, those- that's- those aren't the rules!"
Damian pulls out of your hold to sit up straight on the couch, re-pulling out his switchblade. It glints off the yellowish lighting in your apartment, the same glint in his wolfish grin.
"Please." He stands. "It would be an honor if you would allow me."
You pretend to think about it, a matching mischievous look on your face. "Hmm okay, but only because you asked so nicely.
"I'm sorry Tim, but I don't make the rules, I just follow them."
"I'm not sorry." Damian brags.
"Shut it, brat."
Tim begins to climb back out the window, huffing as his satchel gets stuck on the sill for the second time. His head pokes back in before he closes it, a glare, that would be terrifying if Damian was anyone else, on his face.
"This isn't over."
"I disagree."
The window slams shut, and Damian slots himself right back where he was before. Both of you have the evilist of giggles as you basket on the high of teasing Tim Drake.
Despite his shitty day at school, it's a good day, anyway.
You only played along bc Tim's been ignoring you for the sake of work, leaving his stabby little brother here to satiate your boredom. This is petty revenge.
Damian also becomes the biggest cock block in the world after this. You think it's funny, Tim not so much.
Also planning on writing a short follow up to this where Tim comes to you after patrol and needs reassurance.
Getting drunk and asking to touch inumakis markings
Yuji begs reader to join the party and after a few drinks you end up asking to touch inumakis markings. Panda and Yuji being cockblocks because to me it’s canon.
“Cmon, it’ll be fun I promise! Everyone’s going, even Megumi!”
Yuji was stood with his back against the wall of your dorm door as he slid down it with an overly dramatic pose as he begged you to join him at the party tonight. You flicked your eyes over the top of your phone and paused the TikTok video to glare at the overly annoying, pink haired baby infront of you, that had just barged his way into your room unexpectedly. Again. This was the third time today hed asked you to come tonight, each other time you slamming the door in his face, or threatening to get maki to beat his ass black and blue if he didn’t leave you alone, but alas he still continued to pester.
“Fine, I’ll go. But….you have to wear a dress with me. With make up, and heels.”
He visibly punched the air with excitement as he jumped to his feet, satisfaction lacing his cheeks as youd finally given in to his pining, clearly not listening to your conditions. You rolled your eyes, scooted off your bed and raided your wardrobe for the shortest, sluttiest dress you had. You managed to pull out a tiny red number, one your friend had brought for you when you first started at ju-jitsu high years ago, in hopes it would help you get laid. It still had the tags on and was a few sizes too big for you, so of course it was perfectly matched for Yuji. You threw it at him and laughed, confusion and concern lacing his now stoic face.
“Um, I mean yeah youd rock this but, isnt it a little….short?” He held the tiny number out infront of him, trying to assess the damage youd cause if you wore that tonight, especially considering it was a fairly casual evening with the other students. As his eyes finally reached up to see you bent down laughing, your hand sinking into the mattress as you tried to stabilise yourself, what youd said previously finally clicked.
“You want ME to wear it?! I mean, I could probably rock it….” And then he started to strip right infront of you. You span around, barking for him to either go back to his dorm to put it on, or at least go into your bathroom to do it, but before you could finish he had already pulled it on and was checking his ass out in the mirror that hung on the back of your door.
“Damn okay, I look good in this. LOOK AT THAT ASS!” He continued to check himself out as you laughed and shook your head, searching again for any other form of acceptable dress to wear. You trudged through countless options. Too slutty. Too formal. Too exposed. Too clingy. Perfect. You pulled a black mid length dress out that showed enough cleavage to be suggestive, but not enough for Nobara to point at your chest and demand an answer as to when you were going to tell her you were secretly a prostitute on the side. It landed just above your knees and flared around your hips and legs nicely, pairing it with one of your oversized zip up hoodies over the top would make it significantly more smart casual than wearing it alone, perfect for the party tonight.
You stepped out of the bathroom to find Yuji trying to flex in the mirror and see if it made his ass look better in the dress, only for him to catch your eyes and shine you his usual charming grin.
“Looking good there y/n, but….do I really have to be the slutty one here? Can’t you, Yano, slut up with me or something maybe?”
You shook your head and grabbed both sets of heels.
“Not a chance. You wanted me to come, this is the condition, now hold still whilst I do some lipstick on you too.”
You chased him around your room desperately trying to pin him down to trace his lips in the lipstick that matched the dress, only for him to escape your grasp and bolt it from your room, screaming down the hall that hed meet you in the common area in half an hour. You accepted the defeat and continued to do some light makeup in your mirror, a simple winged eyeliner and mascara would suffice enough for tonight, anything more and youd feel completely uncomfortable in your own skin.
The party roared with laughter as Megumi was corned by Yuji as he was twerking on him with his hands on the floor and feet against the wall. If you hadn’t of adored the maniac that was Yuji Itadori before, you definitely did now. You eventually settled down with a drink in hand and chatted away to Yuta who was trying his hardest to beat Panda and Inumaki at Uno.
“Tuna mayo, kelp, wasabi. WASABI!”
“Toge says you can’t put the plus four down ontop of another plus four. It’s in the rules. Also you’re a cheat.”
Panda seemed to be the most fluent in Inumaki language, but sometimes it felt more like he was voicing his own opinions ontop inumakis words than what was originally intended. Either way, it was hilarious trying to watch them all best each other whilst slightly tipsy. You eventually decided it was time for a smoke as Panda nudged the table by accident due to his large size and sent all the cards flying, immediately causing him to try to frantically pick them up and end up nearly breaking the table under his weight. As you stepped outside and lit your cigarette the door behind you then suddenly flung open.
“Room for two more?”
Out walked a very flushed Panda and inumaki slightly behind him, hair tossed slightly and cheeks rosey from the drink hed just finished; it was strange to see him without his usual collar hiding his face but definitely not a bad thing to be graced with.
“Didnt know Pandas could smoke,” you outstretched your packet of cigarettes to the guys and only panda accepted, inumaki holding his hand up and shaking his head gently no.
“It’s my brother, whenever I drink he demands i have a smoke or two…gotta keep him happy somehow i guess.”
You all laughed and shared the break together, Inumaki looking between you two as you spoke and offered a few choice words in reply, his glance sometimes daring to linger slightly longer at your legs as he looked around.
“Think megs will let me snuggle up to the divine dogs tonight? I love those little fluff balls so much!”
“Hey! Im right here….you can always snuggle this fluff ball up Yano.”
“Salmon salmon.”
Inumaki reached up to scratch at pandas head just under his ear to show off how soft and puddle like he becomes once someone scratches his head just right. It was beyond adorable to see how his eyes closed and his head tilted once inumaki scratched in the perfect area, leg almost thumping like a dog on the ground beneath him. You laughed at his reaction and smiled sweetly at them both, sending a perfect proposal their way,
“Doesn’t have to just be the divine dogs, I’ll scratch anyone’s head. Even yours inumaki, I just like making animals and people feel calm i guess.”
His eyes flicked to yours as he slowed his scratches, panda audibly upset at the loss of satisfaction now peppering his fur. He glanced back to panda then back to you and he whispered out a shy reply,
“Kelp.”
“He says yes please.”
He flicked his eyes back to panda as panda pretending to look up and around, averting his gaze at his clearly inaccurate translation. You laughed sweetly and finished your cigarette, flicking the end into the ashtray next to you before heading back towards the party.
“Well, Yano where I am if you want any scratches.”
As you walked back into the room, inumaki and panda stared at each other as panda smirked and pushed into his shoulder, nearly knocking him over and wiggling his eyebrows.
“You’re in toge. Head scratches only means one thing to humans right? You didn’t even need to speak to pull, you gotta teach me your ways man, im serious!”
“Salmon roe.”
“Yeah yeah, “mysterious” only works if you’re not a giant panda i guess.”
You sat with your knees pressed together as Megumi folded his arms next to you and faced slightly away, face annoyed as usual and voice low, monotone and already bored of your questions.
“They’re not pets. They don’t want cuddles and ‘scritches’ whatever that means. Im not going to summon them because you’re bored. Stop. Asking.”
You pushed his knee with yours and faked annoyance, folding your own arms and pouting at him.
“Guummi pleeeeease! I just wanna quick cuddle, nothing crazy. I just love them, and you can’t tell me they don’t love me too. “
“They don’t love anything, they’re literally shikigami.”
Just as you turned away from him and pouted again, panda came bundling over to you and plonked himself on the floor inbetween your legs, throwing his head back into your lap and smiling sweetly up towards you.
“Offer still on the table yeah?”
You rolled your eyes, smiled at him and reached your hand out to scratch under his ear where inumaki had showed you earlier. His eyes lit up and fluttered closed, his smile widening as a small growl of appreciation and euphoria grumbles from his throat. He may not be as cuddly as the divine dogs, but he sure was sweet. Megumi rolled his eyes, huffed and walked away opting to rejoin Yuji and try to stop him from consuming anymore shots from the kitchen table. You reached your other hand behind you and open and closed your hand towards him a few times, eyes pleading for another drink as you were now too busy being crushed by pandas head to move. He reluctantly handed you a few shots and walked back off, pulling Yuji by the back of the hair to stand away from the rest of the bright green shot glasses.
You downed both shots and resumed your scratching at pandas fur as you noticed inumaki taking a picture of you both on his phone. You smiled and winked at him, holding out a peace sign with your free hand and trying to turn pandas face towards the camera, only to find panda was completely lost in his own comfort to even register your hand trying to force his chin in inumakis direction. You ended up dropped your pose and flinging your head back as you laughed, whilst he snapped a few photos of you both. You could see the smile creeping up on his face as your head returned, your eyes locking with his again. You tilted your head to beckon him over, looking down at panda and back at him, implying it was his turn if he wanted. He looked down at panda, then back up at you as his cheeks became slightly tinted pink, contemplating whether to actually switch places or not. He slowly raised his hand as it shook, sporting a nervous thumbs up and tilting his head slightly, ‘are you sure?’ You shrugged your shoulders and laughter slightly, implying that if he was keen you were, causing him to stand up and put his phone back into his pocket.
You stopped playing with pandas fur as he gently pushed him with his foot, hands in his pockets and eyes not daring to meet yours yet. Panda huffed fake annoyance and tried to nestle his head back into your scratches, only to find youd placed your hands to your sides now. He groaned and whinged, folding his arms and protesting to move, only for Inumaki to sigh and slowly open his mouth.
“Move”
Pandas eyes snapped open as his body stood him up and moved him out of the way. Your eyes perked up as an impressed smirk laced your lips, you knew of his cursed speech and its capabilities, but seeing him use it to get inbetween your legs for you to play with his hair stirred something in you. He quickly crossed his legs and sat down in the same position panda was in and gently pushed himself back into your thighs, shoulders tense slightly as he sat bolt upright. You could hear panda groaning in the background, unimpressed that hed lost head scratch privileges but overall impressed that the usually shy and quiet inumaki was taking full advantage of being so close to someone else, especially someone he didn’t really know that well. He crouched down, grabbed his drink from beside your legs and tried his best at a low whisper, which unfortunately came out a little more drunkenly slurred and loud.
“Still gotta teach me man.”
“Salmon roe.” (In your dreams)
You placed your hand on the back of inumakis head gently, almost ghosting over his ashy locks at first, almost too scared to touch him, as you started to push the strands around in your fingers. The feather like touch of your fingers sent a shock down his spine as he shuddered, relishing in the affection and tickles but still extremely nervous. It wasnt everyday someone youd only ever met a few times wanted to play with your hair before after all. You eventually reached to his scalp and started playing with his hair, the alcohol in your system causing a surge of confidence to rise to the surface. As he relaxed into your touch, you could feel his weight laying more into you, his head tilting back slightly and eyes fluttering closed. You could have sworn you heard a faint mumble come from his throat the longer you played, the rest of the room completely disappearing to you now as it felt like you and him had entered into your own little bubble of gentle head scratches and warm bodies touching. Eventually you decided it was time to ask for compensation for your service, the drinks youd consumed completely fuelling this wild spark that was brewing inside of you.
“So, since im doing such a good job, what do I get in return?”
He opened his eyes as his head now lay in your lap, eyes flickering from you to the ceiling quickly, then back towards you, ‘like what?’
“You can play with my hair if you want, or….i have a bit of a, weird request.”
He picked his head up and turned more to face you, now sitting inbetween your legs on the backs of his heels, eye brow pinching up slightly as he waited for you to continue.
“Can I, maybe, see what your markings feel like? Like, with my hands?”
His eyes glanced down to his side slightly, a pink flush pinching the tops of his cheeks as he looked back towards you, smirking slightly. He nodded and stood up, holding his hand out for you to take it and follow him somewhere else. You nervously grabbed it and stood, walking closely behind him as he held the end of your fingers in his and walked you towards the door. If you weren’t so nervous, you would’ve heard Yujis drunkenly shout “USE PROTECTION” from the kitchen sink where his head lay in the bowl, ready to receive his inevitable spewing. Or you might’ve noticed how panda was holding Yuta back from running after you two and asking where you were going, his giant paws almost fully engulfing the poor boy into his body.
You came to the hallway outside of the party and closed the door behind you, inumaki still pulling you down the hall slightly so you were far enough away from everyone that you had some form of silence and isolation but not enough to make you nervous that he was taking you to his or your own dorm. You both stopped by a large window as he let your hand drop and he leant with his back against the nearby wall, positioning one leg up behind him. He tilted his head at your obviously nervous disposition and smiled slightly at you, holding a thumbs up your way. You walked infront of him and awkwardly played with your hands, the drink got you here but it promptly left your body as the anxiety of asking to touch someone’s face now filled your entire lower half. You slowly raised your eyes to his and let out a nervous laugh as he closed his eyes and pushed his face slightly toward you, smiling sweetly and awaiting you to reach your hand to his cheeks.
You raised your shaking hand slowly, fingers trembling as they closed the distance and stopped just before his warm cheek. He opened one eye slowly and looked at you, still smiling, as he raised his hand ontop of yours and pushed it onto his face. He helped dance your fingers over his markings, confirming your suspicion that they weren’t raised at all, and moved you to the other side, dancing your fingers delicately over his soft, impossibly warm skin. As soon as he dropped his hand from yours, he suddenly opened his mouth and slowly stuck his tongue out, showing you the delicately tattooed marking lacing the middle of it. You pulled your hand back slightly as he continued to keep his eyes closed, smirking wildly at showing you his tongue, for you to smirk back and gently press your finger to the mark. His tongue jolted slightly at your touch,completely taken aback that you didn’t backdown, only for it to meet your finger again and let you continue to trace the outline of the mark. When you finished, he playfully bit down on your finger and caused you pullback, both now laughing at his sudden movement.
He slowly opened his eyes and continued to smile at you, a shy ‘salmon?’ (Happy now?) leaking from his lips. You laughed back and nodded,
“Thank you, I know it’s weird that I wanted to touch them I just….”
He shook his head no, nobody ever actually had the nerve to ask him about them, let alone ask to touch them, so it was an interesting experience if nothing else. He saw your smile then promptly closed his eyes, opened them again and pointed at you.
“Close my eyes?”
He held a thumbs up and repeated the action, waiting for you to finally do it as well. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, confused as to why he now wanted you to be the one whose vision was blocked. He reached his hand to your cheek now, slowly and tenderly tracing small circles on it like you had for him, only for you to sheepishly flush and then stick your tongue out as well, mimicking what he had just done for you. A split second after he noticed your tongue, you felt a sudden wet warm feeling against you, his tongue now dancing along yours and moving around it slightly, as his lips then pressed to yours. You never expected him to shove his tongue in your mouth, especially not after awkwardly touching his face,but god damn did it feel intense. It was slow, soft and intimate, he wasn’t in any rush to back away, or to explore your mouth fully yet, only testing the waters to see if youd force him away for being too bold, or if youd receive it and dance yours back. There wasnt anything in this world that couldve stopped your tongue dancing delicately around his in that moment.
After a few seconds he pulled his tongue back and sealed the kiss, pressing his forehead to yours and smiling against your lips, hands dangerously close to pulling you into him and continuing. As he felt you smile back, your eyes started to slowly open to reach his only for panda to burst through the door at the end of the hall and shout for both of you,
“GUYS! YUJIS NAKED COME HELP ME OUT HERE! HES THREATENING TO LET SUKUNA OUT TO PLAY JUST DANCE!”
Inumaki sighed against you and pulled away, hands reluctantly falling back down to his side as he faced towards Panda,
“KELP KELP WASABI SALMON ROE!”
“Okay okay im sorry, you guys can carry on later I just….tell him to go to sleep or something…..please!”
He rolled his eyes, reaching his hand back out to you as he looked back and smiled. You laughed slightly and let out a slightly sigh, grabbed his extended hand and linking your fingers inbetween his as he guided you both back to the party to deal with Yuji.
You made a mental note that once he was sober and slightly less embarrassed in the morning, youd thank Yuji a million times for forcing you to come to the party tonight, and that youd then curse him later on for getting too drunk and ruining your moment with the new found kissing expert that was toge inumaki.
“when our children ask us how did we meet, i’m tellin’ them, ‘gen z luv,’ ‘fyp love,’ ‘ig love.’”
pairings ⟢ down bad tiktoker! sunghoon x fem! reader
contains ⟢ profanity, crack/humour, fluff, frank ocean mentioned, one shot!
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ this is a behind of like a tattoo! sunghoon (my ongoing heeseung smau) <3
⟢ while scrolling on tiktok, you decide to comment under a random guy's viral thirst trap video – completely unaware that you just became the love of his life.
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author's note: i laughed so hard editing sunghoon’s tik tok, ANYWAYS LOL just a little drabble i hope u enjoyed reading it!! if you liked sunghoon’s character check out my smau like a tattoo here! 😸 also this song makes me crack tf up SO BADDDD😭😭
pairing: park sunghoon x reader. platonic!rest of enhypen x reader.
songs: gorgeous by taylor swift. everybody here wants you by jeff buckley. if looks could kill by a heartwell ending.
summary: you tell the group chat about your first impression of sunghoon.
warnings: kys/kms jokes. gender neutral reader. down bad!sunghoon. loser!sunghoon. first time doing a text fic. mentions of niki/heeseung liking a girl. hoon and reader are best friends. sunghoon is smitten. oblivious!reader. humour.
note: i actually don't know if i'll do more smaus in the future bc highkey it's a bit hard for me?? let's see!! depends on the big brain up there. also lol i can't stick to a consistent fandom to write about
𖥔 PRECIS. In which, sunghoon’s feelings for you start to feel like more than he can handle… PAIRING. smitten!sunghoon x tipsy!reader GENRE. fluff, suggestive WARNINGS. skinship, mild kissing, mentions of drinking
authors note ୨୧ I have nothing to say. get into it hoon!
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You were… tipsy. Sunghoon knew that much. The proof was in the flush that colored your cheeks, a vivid contrast against your bonze-toned skin.
Despite the alcohol in both your systems, it didn’t take away from the fact that his mind was reeling.
The two of you had been in attendance for Jake’s birthday trip. A small , cozy gathering at his grandparent’s lakehouse for the weekend.
After a day filled with laughter, games, and a few drinks, the group had winded down for the night.
It was late, and you and Sunghoon were the last ones still awake, sitting on the porch talking under a shared fluffy blanket. It was nice… comforting. Just the two you, sharing quiet laughs and whispered stories under the stars.
But, Sunghoon couldn’t defy the nagging urge at the back of his mind to tell you. Tell you he was in love with you, so in love that it hurt.
It had started to get chilly, and with the others already asleep, you had both decided to move inside to a guest room with two twin beds—it was the only available space left.
Too relaxed to worry about where else to go, you agreed to take up the two beds, facing each other with drowsy eyes and lingering smiles.
As time passed, still laying in silence, Sunghoon couldn’t help but begin to toss and turn with the intention of sleep. The silence that was strangely comforting before, had started to become deafening, heavy with unspoken words.
Finally, Sunghoon rolled over to face you, his breath catching as he took in the sight of you blinking slowly, eyes glazed over yet intensely focused on him.
“You know…” His voice broke the silence, low and hesitant, almost drowned by the pounding of his own heart.
“Hm?” Your eyebrows arched, your gaze still locked on his, those large, innocent eyes piercing through the darkness.
“It’s… it’s nothing.” The courage he had mustered slipped away like sand through his fingers.
“What…?” your voice was soft, the edges frayed with weariness.
“I… really, it’s nothing.”
The silence returned, thicker this time, a suffocating blanket that wrapped around you both.
“Can you sleep now…? Are you sleepy…?” he murmured, voice hushed as though even in the solitude, someone might overhear.
“Mm…” you nodded, pushing yourself up to a sitting position, rubbing your eyes with a pout that made his heart tighten.
“I think I’ll sleep there.”
Sunghoon’s heart skipped a beat, then raced ahead as you slipped from your bed and into his own with a graceful clumsiness that only you could achieve.
When you landed with a soft thud, your noses were mere inches apart, your hushed giggles mingling with his own chuckles as you adjusted yourself under the covers, and rolled over so your back was pressing against his chest.
Warmth flooded Sunghoon’s senses, as if the bed weren’t already small enough. He prayed you could feel the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat against your back…
Feel how fast it was racing. How honest would that be?
You were so warm…
“Use my arm as a pillow…” he offered, his voice barely a whisper as you lifted your head to rest on his arm.
“Why…?” you asked, your voice a breathy murmur.
“So we can be closer…” he answered, the words tumbling out in a rush, his heart still pounding.
You stayed like that, the quiet punctuated only by the sound of your breathing, soft and steady. You shifted again, clearly in discomfort, and a breathy chuckle escaped Sunghoon’s lips.
“Why didn’t you bring your pillow over…?” he teased, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you.
You glanced dismissively at the abandoned pillow on your abandoned bed before your gaze snapped back to him, piercing him to the core.
Your glassy eyes glittered under the moonlight streaming in through the window, long lashes casting delicate shadows on your flushed cheeks as you blinked slowly.
You were… breathtaking. Sunghoon’s heart constricted painfully at the sight of you.
Slowly, you reached up to smooth down your own bedhead, and without thinking, Sunghoon followed suit, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with trembling fingers.
Your eyes never wavered from his, tracing his every feature, studying him with an intensity that left him breathless.
What were you thinking? He could never tell, and as of right now… he was desperate.
You blinked slowly, your lips parting as you finally broke the thickening silence.
“Is this… not a good idea?” your voice was soft, laced with innocence yet tinged with a challenge, your doe eyes searching his own for an answer.
“No…” His voice was hoarse, his throat dry, but he kept his gaze steady on yours.
“It’s good.” He added, pulling the comforter snugly around you both.
“Hm?” you hummed, your eyebrows lifting ever so slightly in curiosity.
“It’s definitely good…” he repeated, his words barely more than a breath.
You smiled then, a fleeting, gentle curve of your lips before your expression softened once more, your eyes large and unblinking.
Sunghoon fought to contain himself, the air between them thick with tension, every innocent thought he tried to hold onto slipping away. God, you were divine.
So pretty, it hurt.
You pulled the covers tighter around your chest, your hands disappearing beneath them. Just then, Sunghoon could feel your cool, slender fingers intertwining with his.
The touch seemed almost electric, almost overwhelming, as you slowly and carefully guided his hand down the length of your body, the soft fabric of your sleep shirt barely a barrier to the heat of your skin, which felt like a burn the moment you guided his hand beneath it.
His heart thundered in his chest, anticipation and desire warring within him, but he never broke eye contact.
Your gaze dared him, testing his resolve with a demure boldness that sent shivers down his spine.
His breath caught as your hand guided his lower, fingers brushing the waistband of your shorts. He watched your expression shift ever so subtly, your lips falling open the slightest bit more, your eyes darkening with something he couldn’t quite name, and yet the innocence remained.
Your head tilted back faintly, almost in a pleading nod when he pressed his fingers down to apply pressure, his palm settling on your lower belly.
Feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his touch, the tension in the air was almost unbearable.
Finally, Sunghoon tore his gaze from yours, letting out a shaky breath as his head fell back onto the pillow you now shared, his hand slipping from your grasp.
You watched him, silent, your chest rising and falling with a matching intensity.
You were nervous, scared…? Excited?
Sunghoon raked a hand through his hair, a pained laugh escaping his lips as he groaned in frustration, draping a heavy arm across your waist.
“(Y/n)…” he whispered, your name like a prayer on his lips.
The bashful grin on his face failed to go away, he could feel the warmth of a fresh blush dancing across his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears.
You said nothing, simply turning your head away and closing your eyes, seeking solace in sleep, an escape from the tension threatening to suffocate you both.
Sunghoon lay still, staring into the dimness of the room, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts.
He tugged at the covers, fidgeting restlessly, squeezing his eyes shut in a desperate bid for sleep.
But the racing of his heart wouldn’t let him rest.
He sat up once more, needing air, needing water, needing…
And then, your eyes fluttered open as you looked up at him again. Without a word, you grabbed his chin, pulling him down into a kiss that stole his breath away.
Sunghoon’s heart nearly exploded, a small sound of surprise catching in his throat as he melted into the kiss, your soft hum of pleasure reverberating through him.
Suddenly you shifted, and it was Sunghoon lying on his back, your lips never leaving his until you broke away, straddling him with careful, deliberate movements, as if afraid of causing him harm.
His heart swelled with emotion as he gazed up at you, completely captivated by the girl who had just turned his world upside down.
“Did I keep you waiting…?” you whisper, expression filled with worry despite your rose dusted cheeks.
“So long… I waited so long.”, Sunghoon teased, squeezing the soft flesh of your thighs as you giggled softly and captured his lips again.
OMG I FELL INTO A TIM DRAKE HOLE ONCE AGAIN AFTER READING YOUR BEAUTIFUL FIC AND NOW DEVOURING ONESHOTS ON AO3 LMAOO. I can send the links if you want to
OH ABSOLUTELY PLSPLSPLSPLS SHARW also i'm so honoured to be ur tim drake appreciation reawakening. i don't play about him
ur tim fic actually healed something in me 😊💗 as a wasian wasian!tim is very real to me LMAO. i love ur acc, it's so spring core !!! i literally feel like im walking through a forest and stumbling across a little cottage it's so cute. moots ?!
I'M SOO GLAD IT DOES i've been on the wasian!tim boat for so long now, i'm practically captain. HAHA yeah that was the vibe i was going for !! pink + green <3 it's so spring core but ironically, i'm a total autumn girl. my blog is probably the exact opposite of my aesthetic but who cares ! cute is cute. BUT LETS TALK ABOUT UR BLOG 😍😍 i absolutely floored, everything about it is so creative. ur serving royalty realness. and ur a classics girlie?? I LOVE THAT. WE CAN ABSOLUTELY BE MOOTS OMG !! the more friends, the merrier
hii! omg, i loved your "juliet, o juliet" fic! oh you write so wonderfully, i adored their banter <3 this led me to check out your blog and... an nctzen who's also into dc and hp?! you and i are like spiritual identical twins lmao (right down to being ace and s.asian 😄). can we be friends haha 😚
renjun is your ult, i'm guessing? who else is in your bias line? (* i ask while buzzing with excitement *)
I LOVE YOU ☹️ genuinely thank you everyone for the support, i was not expecting so many reblogs ?! and here i thought tumblr was dying..
HAHAH literally dc, hp and nct might be my holy trinity. i LOVE finding ppl w similar interests. I CAN'T BELIEVE UR ACE AND SOUTH ASIAN TOO what are the freaking odds — we might actually be long lost twins. OFC WE CAN BE FRIENDS !! my first friend here eee 😚
yessss renjun is my ult! i love him so bad, been his loyal stan since like 2018. he's also my top fancast for tim drake bc they're both up there for me. renjun's my number one bias ever from any dang group — the ULT of ults. but my other neo biases are (so many oh god) .. chenle, doyoung, taeyong, hendery, ten and a retired sungchan stan. help i'm still at the restaurant (nct 2020)
who are ur biases, meli, tell me all about urself !! c:
