#and shame and loss and guilt | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fangel · 1 month ago

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harvest of purity — sunghoon [ 박성훈 ]

pairing ⦂ sunghoon ⨯ fem. reader

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

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

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

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

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

You were positive that it was something they wanted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe all your father really was is the executioner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s safe to have a little fun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“None of that. It’s not what-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think you reminded me of a lamb.”

“Pardon?” His brows furrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What keeps you there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hop on. Let’s go somewhere else.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Both?” his head tilts.

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

“What do you mean? What did he do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sunghoon, do you trust me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I’ve never had-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay…” you swallow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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limerlove · 4 months ago

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KNUCKLE VELVET, TORN ON MY TEETH

❝ VI!ONE SHOT ❞

pairing. pitfighter!vi x bartender!reader

warnings. eighteen+, nsfw content: arcane season two spoilers, soft angst, smut, bartender!reader, crashout!vi mends her cold heart, inexperienced!vi, switch!reader + vi, fem coded reader, coded alcohol addiction, slight spit kink, strap use.

KNUCKLE VELVET TORN ON MY TEETH, there's something charming about the pitfighter who doesn't stop drinking until she reaches the bottom of the barrel and the bartender who keeps walking her home.

wc. 7k+

rayray yaps. popping my vi!oneshot cherry, hehe, and i'm happy to do so. the vi brainrot has been real as fuck lately. i fear it's not going away anytime soon. but i wanted to give a special shoutout to @hypnagogics for proofreading this fic, means sm to me ily + my sweet bubba, @absfawn for the title name, i could kiss you until my lips fall off. the best people ever, i love them so much. okay, now i have yapped enough! happy reading, hope you enjoy.

Trapped in the abyss, just when everything had been taken from her life seems to sacrifice another offering on a silver platter. Something else that she thought could be hers, but wasn’t. In the end, all of it was the same. Life is the same. She takes three steps forward, circumstances out of her control take her apart like enforcers imposing their will on Zaun, and she’s forced to move five steps back. It’s all she feels, powerless.

Wanting nothing more than to drown her sorrows, forget all that she's lost. For everything that’s been taken, Vi feels an overpowering loss, threatening to take over everything she’s trying to build. But Vi thinks of none of it now, she can’t afford to think of one more thing. So, she doesn’t. All of her mind forgets. She forces herself to.

Zaun, Piltover, Jinx, Vander, Silco, and Cait.

She drowns in blood, sweat, and liquor for nights to come. She forgets everything and you are just the cherry top on this one shitty sundae. Anytime she’s here, Vi manages to get herself into a fight. Each time. Every time she tries to apologize or hold an ounce of guilt in her eyes, you see right through her crystal blues. From the very first night, you called her bullshit. Even if Vi didn’t give in, it was hard to hide her small smirk.

She lets herself think it’s because you’re a bartender. You practically get paid to read people, listen to them vent about shit you probably don’t give two shits about and break up the fights that erupt every thirty minutes. Overinflated egos and drunken assholes weren’t a great mix. The jury was still out if you though Vi was one. She could have both, she didn’t really talk much. Vi fought, drank until she couldn’t see straight, and you helped her up to her small apartment right across the street and up the steps into her said apartment.

No matter how hard she tries, it always ends the same. Vi looking like an imbecile and you, the pretty bartender who shuts down every advance she throws your way. Vi wonders who had a stronger shell, what you’re hiding in order to protect yourself.

Maybe she is just an asshole.

“You don’t have to walk me up here. I-I can make it just fine on my own.”

As soon as your fingertips let go of her fragile frame, Vi’s inebriated body collapses on the concrete steps, grabbing onto the metal framing as if her life depends on it.

“Really? Now you wanna prove a point?”

“For your information, I’m always in it to prove a point.”

Even if your words are harsh, with a soft smile and a hand open, Vi takes it as you let her lean on your weight as you assist her up the steps. There’s little shame to be had once the two of you make it in. It isn’t like the first time and when she noticed the scrunch of your nose in taking the smell, tequila and grease. Vi thought it was cute but she halts any further thought.

Quickly, Vi disposed of her leather jacket and pants she’s left in boxers and the wrap protecting her chest. The part of her life that seems to be kept together. She doesn’t really mind it though, you. Seeing her like this. Even more so, she enjoys it. You’re always so dismissive at the bar, hardly holding eye contact, turning down any flirting she hurls your way. Just like the vomit Vi had nearly thrown up on your shoes but made a quick diversion for the bush to the right of her instead.

This is truly the only time she knows you want her. Not so subtly, your eyes trace her like each pinpoint of your gaze is painting her on a clean canvas, one Vi wonders if she’ll like or not. When she’s been around you, she’s been wondering about a lot of things — thoughts she quite literally can’t afford.

It’s her, nothing ever ends well when her feelings can get crushed on the other side.

Everything she touches burns to ash before she can even hold it for a moment, a second of symphony retaliates with years of misery. How could you be any different? She wishes you would burn her underneath your gaze, put her out of the misery she feels growing every day, but you don’t. You’re always pulling her out of trouble when you truly don’t have to. It’s not your job to take care of her or hell, even look after her.

But you do and she can’t seem to figure out why.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Just shut the fuck up and let me help you. Not everyone has a motive. Some people just like to help when someone is so clearly struggling.”

“I’m not—”

You give her a glare that seems to shut her up. You draw a bath for her. It’s easy to find her towels in the only cabinet. It’s an acute studio apartment. More so of a small room with a stove stop, minimal counter space, and one bathroom enough to bathe and brush her teeth in. There isn’t much left of it but it’s hers. Grabbing the first aid kit, you kneel between her legs, the mattress sits on the floor, her legs spread and stretching out in front of you.

“Let me help you. Alright?” Vi grumbles, a incoherent complaint, but she lets you tend to her wounds.

It’s mainly just cleaning off her dry blood as she still complains in the process, but there’s a few cuts on her face and her cheeks are already beginning to bruise. It’s not a secret, she bruises like a peach but she always makes sure her opponent is leaving a lot more with just a few cuts and a bruise the size of a plum.

It’s then, when you’re concentrating on the cuts on her face, the busted lip she’s sporting; she looks at you. Maybe it’s the first time she has, but without even realizing it, she gets lost. Not in the way Vi doesn’t know who she is, that she’s completely lost on, but Vi sees you.

Bright-eyed, optimistic, helpful, kind — all attributes she couldn’t claim but wears like a badge of honor. As if helping others instills you with a sense of purpose, something that’s always been a lost cause to her. Fight until the next fight, and the next, and the next. That’s what she’s done, she's always been a fighter. She’s fallen back on it when needed. It’s clear to her. Like a vision she could see, crystal clear through some stupid ball, it’s always been about survival.

But how much longer does she want to fight and how much more does she have in her?

“Thanks.” Vi speaks softly.

Not knowing where to place her palms, she settles for her thigh. Silent as she watches, nearly analyzing every moment, every glance, every little thing you’re doing. It’s sobering to say the least. You don’t need to be delicate but you are. It’s more kindness than she deserves, nearly leaving a bitter taste on her tongue but when you offer a small smile and a soft whisper, you’re welcome.

It’s the sweetest thing Vi has ever seen.

There’s something different in the way you look at her. The soft omission exposes how sweet on Vi you may be. Definitely more than you’d let on, which was well…none. Up until tonight, she thought you hated her. With each word uttered in your direction, Vi assumed you’d rather swallow bile than stomach her slurred, flirty speech.

“Why do you want to help? It’s not like I’ve exactly been—”

“Kind?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

This time Vi lets the smile reach her eyes and your smile gets even sweeter. She can practically feel the sweetness rotting her teeth as she speaks. It’s the first time she feels something new, something as bright as the light radiating through your eyes.

“You just seem different. Even if you do try to hide it.”

With a flush of crimson coating the apple of her cheeks, she’s never been quite as exposed as this. The next few weeks are spent with less drinking, but Vi frequents the bar just as much as she did before. She orders a few pints just to talk to you. She’s learning more about you, slowly but surely, you’re opening up more. Divulging information you wouldn’t have before, trust is earned. It’s something you told her the first night you met and to this day, Vi still remembers it.

Regardless of how drunk she’d been when you said it.

It’s a typical night. Vi flirted with you but you aren’t being dismissive tonight but you’re careful enough to not let her know exactly how you feel. Everything you say is guarded enough you keep her on her toes, for a moment she thinks she might have to become a ballerina. It’s a slow night, Wednesday. Go figure Vi thinks. There was a woman who’d also been flirting with you all night. Vi thought she was beautiful, sweet, funny…certainly was making you laugh all night.

Part of Vi wanted to feel jealous but it feels too good hearing you laugh, she says nothing. Maybe you just don’t like women. Vi was known for reading into things too much, thinking everyone thought with their heart first just like she did, and assuming every hot and attractive woman was into other women — just like she is.

But the brunette left before closing, leaving Vi and a few other regulars paying their tab as they stumbled home with a belly full of liquor of their choosing.

“Alright Vi, don’t you have somewhere to be? Maybe getting some sleep for the night?”

“I don’t sleep much, it’s better if I don’t.”

“Keeps the nightmares away.”

All Vi does is nod.

“Story of the century.” You take Vi’s empty pint before washing it dispersing in the sink before cleaning up the remainder of the bar top. “Everyone’s got one around here and the new one is usually even more depressing than the last.”

“What about yours?”

“If you wanna hear that, I’ll have to be the one doing the drinking.” You smile but it’s the first one Vi recognizes as insincere.

“Yeah, seems to be the stone cold requirement for a heart to heart.”

Vi’s silent as you vent to her about the customer who refused to pay up tonight until you threatened to kick his ass and that wasn't enough, you threatened Letty on him. Vi found herself only slightly entranced as you spoke with such color, your animated voice doing impressions of the stubborn patreon, moving your hands as you speak, eyebrows furrowed as you finished the story.

You’re done cleaning and are ready to close by the time you finish, locking the door as Vi stuffs her hands in her pockets, “Can I ask you something?”

You cling to your bag like a lifeline. Vi notices how tight your grip is on the strap, almost as if you’re afraid. Of what? She has a craving to find out. “Why’d you turn her away? She seemed plenty interested. Not your type?”

You take a step forward, just as close as the last time you were in her apartment, tending to wounds she wouldn’t have really cared about but still she let you clean them.

You didn’t have to know that. Not yet, anyway.

“No, not really. I like my women a little rough around the edges, stumbling out of bars so wasted they can’t even walk home by themselves.” You smirk, grabbing the lapel of her leather jacket as you tug her closer to you. “Or is that what you want me to say?”

“Is it true?”

You both know the hope in her eyes is dangerous.

Hope.

A foreign concept in Zaun. If you get too close to the flame, you’ll get burned, dusting into ash as if you never existed. It’s what shimmer did to people, wipe them off the map until they reformed into a shell of what they used to be. You didn’t just get out of a place like this, not without some help. Vi could barely even help herself.

The both of you know it’s a bad idea. A terrible, god awful idea, but you still move in closer to her. Vi notices and she wipes the smirk off her face, your warm hands finding purchase on her exposed hips, drawing soft circles on her hip bones. She likes it, even when her heart feels torn from being blown to bits by a certain blue-eyed beauty.

Vi likes you.

“Your skin is softer than I thought it would be, smooth like pure silk. Not that I’ve ever touched it before but I’ve got to believe it would feel a lot like this.”

Vi feels a tingle up her spin, your touch is overwhelming, more than she bargained for really. A stumbling, messy kiss is all she really expected if anything. Not this. Clearly, you knew what to do. Leaving Vi a little clueless in that department, she’s knocked off her feet once again but this time in a way she wants to be. But actually bringing something this special to anything more than a few flirty quips? It never seems to be her strong suit.

So, she puts her best foot forward. Her big stupid mouth, one she can never quite fully silence. “I can guarantee my lips feel a lot softer.”

“Vi—” You speak her name like a warning, an unspoken law you’re breaking by entertaining your feelings and the bubbling sentiments you hold for her close to your heart. You know better than to keep it so close, but the halo in her eyes blinds you to reason and you let it.

“It’s Violet but you can call me whatever you want, sweets.”

You chuckle at the pet name.

“Just one night. That’s it. Just to get it out of our system.”

“One night, sweets. It’s all I need.”

—

It’s how you ended up here, the third night in a row since the first, trapped under the web of Vi and her eager mouth. Slender, perfectly sculpted fingers feel like a hex to your cunt, every moment causing you to fall further into her spell. To say she has a certain talent would be considered an understatement. It’s clear Vi’s enjoying herself, fuck, damn near suffocates herself in your weeping cunt. Last night wasn’t nearly enough, she needs to have you, again. Not that you were complaining.

As much as you hate to admit it, there has been no one as generous as her. As good as her, as sweet, as kind, and she did whatever the hell you asked for. Nothing has beaten the first night, her thumping clit nudging against your as she hiked one of your legs over her toned shoulders.

It’s not a secret how built she is, far from it, but it’s another thing entirely to watch her flexed bicep ripple with every grind of her hips. Each movement seems to be calculated with precision, focused on doing more than just making herself feel good. With pure determination, glazed over crystal blue eyes, and a pouty scarred lip, she makes sure you’re enjoying this as much as her. With each moan you let slip, her confidence only grows until she’s commanded full control over you. She takes what she wants from you and in return you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, constellations created in the shape of her name as you come.

“That’s it pretty girl, just for me, yeah?” Vi talks you through as she works you through your orgasm with her strong hips, not stopping even after you’ve cum. She wants more and Vi pulls three more orgasms out of you before she’s done for the night. You expected her to be good. There was no shocker there but you didn’t expect her to be so sweet afterwards. Vi is a drunk, an addict, whether she wants to accept it or not. You could be just another object she’s addicted to. Somehow, you convince yourself it’s just a one time thing. It doesn’t mean anything, it won’t.

Truthfully it feels much more than just a one night stand, more than an itch being scratched — the blossoming ache in your soul feels tethered to your heart every time Vi makes you feel an ounce of love — even when she tries to hide it behind a wall. Whether you’re aware, the wall can’t seem to stop crumbling. Brick by brick, it’s coming undone just as you have. Weak-willed and with purpose, you fall into her.

There isn’t an inch of your body Vi didn’t kiss. Her lips tattooing every inch of your skin with marked affection, almost as if she’s mending your skin with the burn of her lips. When she claims your soft lips, haunting you with the salvation of perfection as her velvet tongue invades your mouth, the taste of you melting from her tongue to yours. The silent declaration you didn’t ask for but craved, the carnal moan leaving her mouth as she chuckles when your hips pathetically grind into hers.

Vi enjoys your company, that much is clear, but this time you bring her to your place. It’s more or less the same. Both of you coming down from the highest of highs, you feel sticky, dirty, and damn right heavenly. Vi disappears into your bathroom, grabbing a wash rag before dampening the material underneath a warm faucet. Carefully, she kneels by your hips, legs twitching softly as her skilled fingers find your slit before Vi’s sucking the digit in your mouth.

“I just wanted one last taste before I clean you up.”

As she has before, Vi makes good on her promise and cleans you up. She enjoys when the pad of her thumb grazes against your clit, terribly overstimulated, your stomach twitches. All Vi can do is chuckle.

“I’m just a little—”

“Sensitive?” Vi smirks as you hide your face in the palm of her hands, the pad of her thumb gently caressing your skin.

It’s the lightest she’s felt in weeks. Almost as if she’s floating on a cloud, she wants to stay up there in the cloudiest of nines. Just you and her and an aging mattress as she offers you everything she can give. Albeit, it isn’t much but she’ll still freely give.

Like a dog with a bone, Vi corners you on the third night when it’s just you and her in the bar. Closing time has long since arrived and vanished into the crisp air of the night but Vi has you bent over the bar, desperation clawing at the weathered countertop of the bar as Vi’s fingers fucks your pretty little hole while her tongue laps at the slick that’s dripping out of you. Your pretty little skirt pushed up, your panties pushed to the side as she laps and sucks at your juices. She can feel you dripping onto her chin and it only makes her that much more eager to swallow every bit you have to offer.

“We shouldn’t be doing this—” Fuck. Vi starts doing tricks with her tongue, sliding in another finger, pushing against the soft spot buried deep as she toys with you in the way knows best. “We, um, Vi we said just one night.”

“Shut the fuck up and take it like a good girl. Or did you forget?” Vi moans into your cunt, the vibrations causing your thighs to shake under her mouth. “It’s not like you were complaining last night.”

Vi silences you as her pace picks up, her fingers fucking you at such a pretty pace, feeling the build grow in the pit of your stomach edging to come to a full bloom.

All of you begging for it to be released. Vi uses her free hand to slap your ass, sending you moaning and lurching forward. You push yourself back grinding against her tongue, before she removes her divine mouth as she kisses up your spine, her fingers stuffed inside you not faltering for a moment.

Vi continues to kiss up your spine until she reaches the nape of your neck, her breath kissing your skin, your body shivers into her touch. Full lips ghost over your ear before whispering quietly, “Are you sure you want me to stop? I will if you want me to. I just thought you might wanna, you know, take my cock tonight. Give it a good ride.”

The moan you let out would put Aphrodite’s to shame, needy and choked sobs escape you as her fingers thrust inside you faster than they have before.

“Oh? Do you like the sound of that, babygirl? Want to show me how good you can be for me?” Vi doubled down on her efforts, enjoying how much you arched into her body, your hips pushing back as you grind into quick fingers. She’s fucking you better than well…anyone.

“Vi, please.” Your voice catches in your throat, hoarse and full of need. An insatiable craving; one you fear only she can provide. A few mindless days and careless flirting to land in her sheets, her in yours, the details didn’t truly matter. A vampire out for blood, almost more venomous than precious canines breaking the skin, you yearned to suck on every last drop. But she didn’t seem to be in a mind frame to relinquish control.

“Please what? I’m not sure if I understand you.”

All of it, so tantalizing, so fucking infuriating. Three fingers inside you, effectively making you silent, shutting you up as she brings you closer to the edge. That’s the thing, truthfully, Vi has you right where she wants. Only a few thrusts away until you come undone around her. The black haired succubus increases the pace, thumb playing with your clit, her calloused fingers increasing your high as she applies more pressure on the thousands of nerve endings on your precious pearl.

“Shit. You’re gonna pay for this.”

“What? For making you come? I hardly constitute that as a crime.”

Your hands reach for the counter top, you’re not sure what exactly you want, but Vi makes you come for the first time that night. It’s a game, the push and pull. Dangerous. Intoxicating. Some disposition falling far from your fingertips, a game to her and a downward hill spiral for you. Addiction festering next to an open wound and the only antidote can be found on her tongue. Tasting the devil’s mouth is one thing but swallowing the sensation of the woman you’re beginning to love is something else entirely.

Vi, despite her best efforts not to, makes you fall over the edge. It’s more than her eager tongue and expectant mouth slurping at the vindication of your taste. The craving builds like an exposed vein. Her confidence irrevocably soars like a raven through the midnight sky. Even if Vi acts like she’s done this before, you could pull the curiosity intertwined with naivety a mile away. Violet has never done this before, not with a woman at least, you’re sure of it. She’s a fast learner and such a great accomplishment should replenish such a reward.

With the energy you have left, you push your skirt down first, as Vi puts your underwear back in place. She doesn’t stop touching you. She can’t. There isn’t much she feels she has control over, this arrangement being one of them. She’s good at this and Vi enjoys it. Every other part of her life, failure surrounds her, her ability not to please anyone in her life.

In a constant loop, she finds herself caught in the crossfire. Tugged between sister and lover, family and righteousness. Her enemy becomes her lover and lover becomes enemy — all of it poisons her blood and cures her core — and all of it makes her hear a voice she doesn’t recognize but it’s just as true as the four walls surrounding her.

Oil and water.

Collecting like scars on her porcelain skin, Vi feels herself sink like an obliterating star. There’s a wonder settled in her chest, it feels heavy and weak, two incapable fists unable to surround her heart with anything but loss, betrayal even. She can’t punch her way out of this one.

All of it wakes a fire in her chest, a dagger being punctured in her heart by the one Vi thought she could trust the most. She doesn’t want to admit it so she doesn’t.

But this? It feels easy.

She needs easy, light, even good. Maybe she doesn’t deserve it.

Vi definitely doesn’t, the sentence flows like a never-ending stream of waterfall continuously drowning her. The blood on her hands stains her perception of all things pure, she wonders how she even sees you at all. How you see her more vividly than anyone, possibly even Cait. There’s no judgment, no snarky remark of where she comes from. Even if she thought there had once been love, Vi questions it now.

When you come, it feels like a breath of fresh air, a golden wave washing over her sinful hands. Each stroke of gold, your grit and blind hopefulness soaks Vi’s entity. This is what she wants. There’s nothing more than this, someone she could love, who loves her. It’s uncomplicated but the feeling flees as you come to it. Vi can’t help but feel regretful as you cover your ass, it’s such a pretty sight. She can’t stop that she’s greedy, you’ve fed her for the first time in her life and now Vi feels full but she’s only human.

A sinner always craves more.

She lets her touch linger on the gold between your thighs, pushing the white substance back into you before Vi lets you feel how wet you are, the dripping slick feels uncomfortable caged into cotton underwear and she wants you to feel it. The breath Vi hears are still heavy, impossibly heavy, and there’s pride in hearing you center yourself, back pressed against her chest as Vi keeps you in place.

The pleasure within your body begins to slither away as you come back into the angel you are and not the sexual deviant bent over the woman who never pulls her punches.

“Felt good, yeah?” Vi says. Her angelic, sweeter than the cotton candy stick in your teeth, voice penetrates through. You like it too much. It shouldn’t make you feel as good as it does. Desperately, you want to keep this casual but you’re even losing your footing.

You pride yourself on the lack of attachment; you don’t need it. Never really had. But then with her it seems to change even faster than the seasons, your wall breaks somehow in between from spring to summer. With intent, you move around, her bright eyes have darken a bit but the fading light looks brighter than you’ve ever seen it.

Fuck, Vi is making this difficult.

“You could say that.” You speak softly, a tremble in your voice occurs but Vi says nothing but she does smirk. “Can I ask you something?”

You turn around and suddenly Vi is staring at your exposed cleavage, the one you use to draw in patreons and to fill your pockets with as many tips as one can muster. Vi had been one, a faithful one trying to drink her away to the bottom of every bottle until she found something else for her. Something that didn’t leave a burn in her throat.

“What is it?”

“Was it your first time? The first night?”

Sheepishly, Vi blushes. For a second, she contemplates lying but you’d see right through it. Right through her. It would only take one look in her blues and you would know.

“That obvious?” Vi struggles with her words next but she manages to murmur a lame excuse. “Stillwater didn’t leave much time for this.”

“And after?” You tease but the sincerity in your eyes soothes her.

“There could have been but there wasn’t. Some things just don’t fit.” Oil and water is what she wants to say but she bites her tongue.

“You should have told me. I wouldn’t have been so, I don’t know, selfish?”

“There’s nothing selfish about it. I wanted to make you feel good. Did you enjoy yourself?” This time she makes your skin feel hot. Fuck.

“Yeah, I did enjoy myself,” you pressed against her as your arms loop around Vi’s necks to bring her closer “but I think it’s officially my turn to offer my services. Don’t you think so?”

It’s how Vi ends up here, in your place, in your bed — soaked.

If there was one thing you knew, it was how to please someone. You managed to pull whimpers out of her she didn’t even know existed. The desperate plea coming from her shivering body as she spilled in your mouth the first time sent a shiver down her spine, the band in her stomach snapping as you sloppily spit on her cunt, constant circles of pressure on her clit seeing nothing but your eyes look up at her.

Not letting a single drop go to waste, you fucked Vi through it, swallowing her completely. Vi shed the wrap covering her chest next. Her body bruised from the pit fights but you couldn’t think of anyone more beautiful than her. You paid attention to her collarbones, neck, and her tits. Sucking on her nipples as Vi tries to come down from the high you placed her on, she doesn’t think she ever will.

She tries not to think that she wanted these things with Caitlyn. Cait. Cupcake.

Vi only allows herself to think of her when she’s dreaming, visions of what that could have been, what she used to be. All of it so trivial, so senseless when she thinks of you. How you make her feel is different and she tries not to think of what it all means.

One night.

Then two.

Now three.

In another life, maybe she was stronger, and didn't need to be wanted. Hell, even needed. She could wait for someone who she thought loves her but the other part of her doesn’t want to think, she wants to feel. Vi likes feeling the softness of your skin, the light in your laughter, the swell of your exposed chest, the way your greedy eyes take in her abs, your soft lips kissing every part of her skin. The smooth, the scarred, the unworthy — you take it all in such stride.

“Do you want to stop? I think I lost you for a second.” You inquire to the pretty girl beneath you, her hands find your waist, creating makeshift circles on your hip bones.

“No, that’s the last thing I want.” Vi brings you to her lips, capturing your bottom lip, tongue invading your mouth. She tastes herself as your tongue melts with hers and the rest of her worries melt away. It’s just you and her. “I want to keep going.”

“Then tell me what you want, baby. I’ll do whatever you want. It’s yours if you want it.”

It’s spoken as a reminder. All of this is her decision. Vi decides when she wants this, how she wants it, and you’re letting her take all of it in the way she needs. Vi tried not to think the first couple times, she never wanted her first time to be a big deal. Maybe with Caitlyn it could have been, but then she changed.

Vi thought maybe she could too. So, she did.

“Can you—” Vi stutters. Yet again her attention gets pulled to your tits, the softness of your stomach, she can’t stop looking at you. As if she’s trying to remember everything about you. She’s committed to it. Vi wants to remember the soft curves of your hips, the way you moan when she comes on your tongue.

The sight of you looking down at her makes she lose every rational thought, she wants to commit to memory forever. It won’t be something she easily forgets.

“Gotta speak up, babygirl. Especially if you want me to keep my attention focused on this pretty cunt of yours.”

You sit between her legs, tilting your head, you look at her glistening pussy, the way it shines with her cum and your sloppy spit. It would look even more exquisite with a little more. Taking a beat as you take your time, you gather enough in your mouth before spitting slowly, Vi whimpering as your spit makes contact with her lower pair of lips. She couldn’t stop it, it slips and you’re grinning, hips desperately bucking to feel more of it.

“F-Fuck, need your cock. Please? I need it more than anything.” Vi confesses. There’s no need for dignity, especially if she keeps it and you won’t give her what she’s itching for.

“Yeah? Are you sure about it? Don’t want you backing out just in case you can’t be a good girl and take it.”

She can take it but she can’t take the countless teasing, trapped underneath the images drowning in her mind. This is what she wants, someone to dissolve into her, make her forget everything that has happened, just a pretty girl with some pretty tits who knows how to fuck. Right? That’s all this is. It’s all it can be tonight. Her lip is busted from the fight tonight, knuckles bloodied and bruised, but you don’t seem to mind all that much. It’s all the same to you. Vi is all the same, that’s been clear from the start.

Then, she decides to let her mind get shut off, let herself fall into you. You did know how to take care of her and tonight she would let you.

“Let me know if it’s too much, okay?”

“I promise.”

Once the harness is on, you wedge yourself in between her thighs, tattooed and toned, brave and brawny but she transforms into someone else entirely once you’re sinking inside her warm walls. You think about what it would feel like to feel her. Is she clenching around your cock? Would you feel the throbbing heartbreak of her clit? What you can hear is the whimper, uncontrollable and breathtaking, you slip further into her as you make home in her beautiful cunt.

She’s made it yours to take. You’d do anything and everything for her, the thought alone scares so you do what you do best, you grind your hips slowly. Not wanting to overwhelm her too quickly, it’s the first time she’s taking penetration and you want it to be good for her.

“You’re so perfect. Doing so good for me, taking my cock like a fucking champ.” You whisper out, taking too much enjoyment in her getting lost in your soft thrusts. Vi’s chest starts to heave as her hips roll into yours. Vi never even imagined wanting this, or that she could really have it with someone else. It’s not like she’s experienced, she has nothing to compare it to, but it feels incredibly intimate.

She likes how you’re being with her. Soft, gentle, delicate. Vi thought she’d never want to feel that way, but maybe it’s just under the right circumstance in the right light.

“Shit, shit, shit” Vi chants as your hand grabs the headboard, giving her one particular powerful thrust. Perky tits spring to life, jolting against the sudden movement, her moan so fucking load, as you continue your movements. This time not as hard, but you pick up your pace, wanting to see if she would have any arguments against it but Vi doesn’t. Profanities and whimpers leave her mouth as you split her on your cock. Face half-smashed into the pillow, trying to muffle her moans and you offer this one mercy.

She’s still shy.

Now is a good time as any to fuck it out of her.

“Do you want more Vi? Want me to go…faster?” Placing a hand on her abdomen, the abs defined and clenching as you halt your thrust for a moment. “Do you wanna feel me in your stomach, baby?”

“Can you even do that? I’m not so sure you’re even capable. Looks like the rookie knows more moves than the veteran.” Vi bites back. But it doesn’t last for long. Vi thinks she must have said the wrong thing, pushed you too far, you slipped off her but only to move her body to the edge of the bed, placing her on all fours right in front of a very convenient mirror.

“Fine. Thought I’d be sweet but that isn’t what you really want. If you want to get treated like a whore, I’ll fuck you like one.” You take a beat to appreciate her wonderfully sculpted back, the artwork is truly exquisite. It feels so much like her but the foolish girl is smirking at you through the mirror.

You know you’ve been caught ogling at her body, checking out every inch of her exposed body, you slap her ass in retaliation but she just grinds her ass back onto you.

“I’m waiting.” Teasingly, Vi arches her spine more. “Where’s the whore fucking you’re muling about?”

In one move, you’re inside her, fucking her beautiful face into the mattress. Never in her life has she felt so full, so good, so sweet. You grab her by the meat of her hips, bringing you back on her repeatedly. Vi wonders what she would give to have this, have you, and the thought scares her just as badly. She instead focused on you.

Tits bouncing as you thrust into her at a punishing pace. Divinely and so perfectly you, making her see stars, she feels trapped. Not in a punishing way, but in a way that has her never wanting to leave the entrapments of your coaxing cock. At this moment, this is where she’s meant to be, just a toy for you to use.

But it’s more than what meets the eye. If Vi was just a toy, you’d be done after the first night. Tonight, you weren’t using her for your own pleasure. You seemed perfectly content to give. The shine in her eyes gave you something only she could, edging you even further, a constant wave hitting Vi like a tidal wave making home on the shore.

“God, you’re just too perfect. Fuck, just like that, take what’s yours.” Bouncing back on the strap, the words fall from her lips before she can’t stop them. Overflowing like a water fountain, it’s before she really even realizes what she’s saying, it just feels right.

“Mommy, please.”

Vi has had those words on the tip of her tongue but not that you’re fucking her into a different dimension, she lets the aching plea slip from sinful lips. It’s only once but it’s enough to set you off. You pull Vi up, her gorgeous back pressed against your chest, sitting on your thighs as you fuck up into her. Brutally, she takes everything you have to give.

Sweat glistening across her body, accentuating her chest as she tries to compose herself but you don’t give her the option. No. It would be too easy, wouldn’t it?

“I want you to watch, Violet. Watch yourself when you cum, be a good girl and show me how pretty you look, hm? Wouldn’t wanna disappoint, Mommy, now would you?”

Vi sucks on your middle digit, tongues swirling as she feels the tight band in her stomach, threatening to snap. She’s close. When the sensationally soft pad of your thumb applies pressure on her clit, Vi’s done for.

“Shit, oh my fucking god, baby baby babbyyyyy.” Incoherent murmurs and moans come in abundance as Vi bounces herself your cock, falling right apart as you toy with her clit, fucking her through the impending high. Your other arm tweaks around and up, fingers squeezing her tits, over stimulating her as she slumps against you.

It’s the easiest task ever done. Submit to you, your skilled fingers, the power of your sinfully sensational thrusts, she comes all over you. The powerful demeanor weakens before your very eyes. When you gently move her back on the bed, slipping out of her, Vi’s eyes begin to water from the loss.

The first time getting strapped down is always a lot to handle, you’d still taken it easier on her, too afraid you would push her too far but by the blissed out eyes, she’d enjoyed herself. She had enjoyed herself and you couldn’t really ask for much more.

When the both of you are cleaned up, Vi cuddles into your frame and you let her. Even if your first instinct is to push her away, saying something you know that’ll hurt her, none of it finds any merit on your tongue. For the first time, you find it difficult to turn away a pretty girl, her lips kissing your collarbones, up your neck until she finds home on your own lips, sloppily invading your mouth with your tongue.

Hitting you where it hurts, she moans your name in her mouth, unable to contain the neediness she feels around you. It’s worse than Cait. This is pure addiction entangled with something carnal. Vi knows if she doesn’t get to fuck you again, you fucking her cunt again, she might as well give up on life now.

“I could go again.”

You chuckle. Of course she could.

“Don’t know rookie, that might be all you can handle for the night.”

It’s a challenge and you know she’ll bite the bait.

With ease she gets on top of you, and just as if she’s done it a hundred times, Vi sinks on your cock, “I think I can handle another ride, don’t you?”

#m'actually kinda proud of this one #(ᝰ.ᐟ) arcane works.#i hope y'all like it :')#lmk what you think <3 #vi #vi arcane #arcane league of legends #league of legends #vi smut #vi x reader #vi x you #vi arcane x reader #wlw post #wlw fanfiction #lesbian #violet arcane x reader #vi x fem reader #arcane x you #violet arcane

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aceyalonso · 4 months ago

Text

god forbid - OSCAR PIASTRI

pairing: altar server!oscar piastri x pastors daughter!reader

summary : the indulgence in sin wasn't new to y/n, it never has been- but to oscar? he was as pure and innocent as a doe, the thought of sinning never even crossing his mind. but then again, everyone has to sin at one point, right?

warnings/notes : swearing, homoerotic tendencies between alexandra and rebecca, mentions of drinking, smut, sacrilegious themes, unspecified branch of Christianity, loss of virginity, unprotected sex (always use a condom guys!!), corruption, masturbation, improper use of hairbrush handle (iykwim), praise kink, use of "good boy", oral (m!receiving), edging, overstimulation, manipulation (if you squint)

word count : 18.1k

a/n : a very long and self indulgent fic HAHAHAH (please let me know if i missed any warnings, i lost count while writing)

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Y/n took a deep breath, steadying herself before stepping up to the altar. The church was filled with the familiar faces of her congregation, including her best friend Alexandra who had just finished delivering the first reading. Y/n smoothed her skirt and adjusted the microphone, her eyes scanning the pews until they landed on her father, the pastor, watching her intently from his seat.

She cleared her throat and began, her voice ringing out clear and strong. "Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him."

As Y/n continued to read, her mind began to wander despite her best efforts to focus. Thoughts of her secret rebellious side crept in unbidden - the parties she snuck out to on the weekends, the alcohol she experimented with, the boys she flirted with behind her father's back. A thrill ran through her at the riskiness of it all, even as a twinge of guilt pricked at her conscience.

Y/n's eyes met Oscar's as she continued reading, a flicker of something unreadable passing between them. She quickly averted her gaze, focusing intently on the words in front of her. Oscar, with his innocent eyes and pure heart, was everything Y/n wasn't. He never drank, never smoked, never even looked at a girl the wrong way. Her father adored him, always going on about what a fine young man he was, how he might even make a good pastor someday.

God, Y/n couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. She knew she should be happy for Oscar, proud of his devotion and goodness. But instead, it made her feel even more like a fraud. Like she was just playing a part, pretending to be the perfect pastor's daughter while hiding her true, sinful self.

She felt a bead of sweat trickle down her temple as she struggled to concentrate on the reading. Her eyes darted to Alexandra, who sat primly in the pew, the picture of innocence. But Y/n knew better. She knew about the wild parties they attended together, the boys they flirted with and sometimes took home. The way they would pass a guy back and forth, tossing him aside when they grew bored.

It was thrilling and exhilarating, a rush of power and control that Y/n craved. But here, in the church, surrounded by the pious faces of her congregation, it felt dirty. Shameful. She imagined what her father would think if he knew the truth about his precious daughter, and a wave of nausea washed over her.

Y/n swallowed hard and forced herself to focus on the words in front of her. She couldn't let anyone see the turmoil raging inside her. She had to keep up appearances, no matter the cost. Even if it meant burying her true self deeper and deeper until she hardly recognized who she was anymore.

She hurried through the final verse, her voice wavering slightly as she rushed to finish. "But each one is tempted when he is drawn away and enticed by his own evil desires. Then when desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and when sin is accomplished, it brings forth death."

The words tasted bitter on her tongue, a stark reminder of her own hypocrisy. Y/n stepped back from the lectern, her legs shaky beneath her. She glanced at her father, hoping he hadn't noticed her momentary lapse. But his eyes were closed in prayer, his face serene and untroubled.

As Y/n made her way back to her seat, she caught Oscar's eye once more. He gave her a small, encouraging smile, his faith in her unwavering. Y/n felt a pang of guilt, knowing she didn't deserve his trust. She slid into the pew beside Alexandra, who leaned over to whisper in her ear.

"Nice job, girl. You almost had me worried there for a second." Alexandra giggled, her breath hot against Y/n's cheek.

Y/n leaned in close to Alexandra, her lips brushing against her friend's ear as she whispered, "Why the fuck is this the Bible verse chosen for today? It's making me feel so guilty."

Alexandra smirked, her blue eyes glinting with mischief. "You didn't feel guilty making out with that guy last night," she purred, her voice low and conspiratorial. "Or when you downed like, five shots in a row. Live a little, Y/n. God knows you deserve to let loose sometimes."

Y/n bit her lip, torn between her desire for freedom and the crushing weight of expectation. She knew Alexandra was right - she had spent the night before tangled in a stranger's arms, lost in a haze of alcohol and lust. But here, in the sanctity of the church, it all felt so wrong.

They turned their attention to the altar, watching as the altar servers busied themselves with the communion preparations. Oscar was among them, his movements precise and reverent.

Alexandra leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "So, did you even remember that guy's name? The one you were making out with last night?"

Y/n furrowed her brow, trying to recall the hazy details of the previous evening. "It started with an F, I think. Frank? Franco?" She shrugged, the names blurring together in her mind.

Alexandra giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. "Typical Y/n. Always leaving a trail of broken hearts and empty beds wherever you go."

Y/n poked Alexandra in the side, eliciting a small "ow" from her friend. "Hey, don't forget, you aren't that innocent either, you know," she whispered, a mischievous glint in her eye. "I saw you making out with Rebecca last night."

Rebecca was a member of their church choir, known for her sweet voice and demure demeanor. The thought of her locked in a passionate embrace with Alexandra sent a thrill down Y/n's spine.

Alexandra shrugged, a coy smile playing on her lips. "Rebecca just wanted to try on my new lip gloss. You know how curious she is about makeup."

Y/n rolled her eyes, but couldn't help the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Sure, and I'm sure that's all it was. Just two innocent girls experimenting with cosmetics."

The two girls stood to join the congregation in singing the hymn. As the familiar melody filled the air, Y/n noticed Alexandra's gaze locking with Rebecca's across the church. The two exchanged heated looks, a silent conversation passing between them that spoke volumes.

Y/n leaned in close to Alexandra, her breath tickling her friend's ear. "Save the eye-fucking for outside of church, will you?" she whispered, a playful edge to her tone.

Alexandra shot Y/n a quick, apologetic smile before turning her attention back to the hymnal. But her eyes kept straying to Rebecca, a flush creeping up her neck.

As the hymn continued, Y/n found her own gaze drifting towards Oscar. She couldn't help it. There was something about him, something pure and untainted that drew her in like a moth to a flame.

Maybe it was the way her father spoke so highly of him, always going on about what a fine young man he was. Or maybe it was the way Oscar's innocence seemed to shine through in every action, every gesture. An innocence that Y/n suddenly found herself wanting to corrupt.

She shook her head, trying to dispel the thoughts. What was she thinking? Oscar was off-limits. He was practically family, for God's sake. And yet, the more she tried to push the idea away, the more it took root in her mind.

Y/n bit her lip, her heart racing as she watched Oscar from beneath her lashes. What would it be like, she wondered, to be the one to introduce him to the pleasures of the flesh? To watch that innocent face contort in ecstasy as she guided him through his first forbidden experiences?

She continued to sing along halfheartedly, her mind wandering as she imagined how Oscar would sound. Would he moan her name softly, breathlessly? Or would he cry out in ecstasy, his voice echoing off the church walls? She pictured him flushed and panting, his body glistening with sweat as he reached his peak.

The vivid fantasy caused a shiver to run down Y/n's spine, and she had to bite back a moan of her own. She was so lost in her lustful thoughts that she barely registered her father's voice booming through the church, calling the congregation to sit down.

Y/n settled into her seat, her eyes immediately seeking out Oscar. He was standing near the altar, his posture straight and attentive as he listened to her father begin the sermon. She shifted uncomfortably, her thighs rubbing together as she tried to ignore the growing ache between her legs.

"Calm down," Alexandra hissed, giving Y/n a pointed look. "Your dad's starting his sermon."

Y/n nodded, trying to focus on her father's words even as her mind raced with thoughts of Oscar.

"Temptation is a powerful force," her father intoned, his voice ringing out through the church. "It can lead us astray, cause us to stumble and fall. But we must resist, my children. We must hold fast to our faith, even in the face of the greatest temptations."

Y/n squirmed in her seat, her father's words hitting a little too close to home. She knew she should be paying attention, should be taking his message to heart. But all she could think about was the way Oscar's lips might feel against her skin, the way his hands might explore her body.

"Temptation comes in many forms," her father continued, his voice booming through the church. "It can be the lure of wealth, the promise of power, or the allure of the flesh. But we must be vigilant, my children. We must guard our hearts and our minds against the wiles of the devil."

Y/n reached into her small purse, fishing out a piece of candy she always kept on hand for long sermons. She and Alexandra often found their blood sugar dropping during the lengthy services, making it hard to concentrate on her father's words.

She unwrapped the candy slowly, trying to be discreet as she popped it into her mouth. The sweet flavor burst on her tongue, giving her a much-needed boost of energy. But even as she focused on the sermon, her mind kept wandering back to Oscar.

"Temptation can come from the most unexpected places," her father said, his voice rising with passion. "Even those we trust, those we love, can lead us astray if we are not careful. We must be on guard at all times, my children. We must be ready to resist temptation whenever it rears its ugly head."

Y/n shifted in her seat, her thighs clenching together as she tried to ignore the throbbing between her legs. She knew her father was right. Temptation could come from anywhere, even from someone as innocent and pure as Oscar. But that didn't make it any easier to resist.

She felt a jolt of electricity run through her as her father mentioned her name and the Bible verse she had read earlier. She glanced over at Oscar, catching his eye. He smiled at her, his expression warm and friendly, but Y/n couldn't help but imagine what it would be like if that smile was directed at her in a more intimate setting.

"My daughter Y/n read from the book of James earlier," her father continued, his voice ringing out through the church. "She spoke of the dangers of temptation, of how it can lead us astray if we are not careful. Let us all take heed of her words, my children. Let us all strive to resist the temptations that may come our way."

Y/n squirmed in her seat, her mind racing with forbidden thoughts. If anything, hearing her father speak about temptation only made it easier for her to imagine giving in to her desires with Oscar. She pictured him bending her over the altar, his hands roaming her body as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear.

She found herself zoning out, her foot bouncing restlessly on the floor as she struggled to focus on her father's sermon. She couldn't shake the feeling that Oscar was staring at her, his gaze intense and unwavering. It was as if he could read her mind, as if he knew exactly what kind of filthy thoughts were running through her head.

But instead of disgust or judgment, Y/n saw a flicker of something else in Oscar's eyes. Something that looked suspiciously like desire. Could it be that he wanted her too? That he was just as tempted by her as she was by him?

The thought sent a thrill of excitement through Y/n's body, even as a small voice in the back of her mind warned her to be careful. She knew she was playing with fire, entertaining such forbidden fantasies. But the temptation was just too strong to resist.

Y/n tore her gaze away from Oscar, closing her eyes as she tried to regain her composure. She could feel Alexandra's concerned gaze boring into her, and she knew she needed to say something to appease her friend.

"I have a stomachache," Y/n mumbled, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue. She knew damn well that it was everything but a stomachache that was causing her distress. It was the throbbing ache between her legs, the desperate need for release that consumed her thoughts.

Alexandra frowned, leaning in closer to whisper in Y/n's ear. "Are you sure you're okay? You look like you're about to pass out."

Y/n forced a weak smile, nodding her head. "I'll be fine. Just need some fresh air."

She stood abruptly, ignoring the surprised looks from those around her as she made her way towards the exit. She needed to get out of there and clear her head before she did something she would regret. But even as she pushed open the heavy wooden doors, Y/n couldn't shake the feeling that Oscar's eyes were still on her.

Y/n slipped out into the garden near the chapel, desperate for some fresh air and a moment to collect herself. She could still hear her father's voice droning on from inside, his words washing over her in a distant, muffled blur.

She sank down onto a nearby bench, her head spinning as she tried to catch her breath. The scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass filled her nostrils, but even that couldn't distract her from the persistent ache between her legs.

Y/n tuned back in to the sermon every now and then, her father's voice rising and falling as he spoke of the dangers of temptation. But his words seemed to fade into the background, drowned out by the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears.

She felt lightheaded, dizzy with a heady mix of shame and desire. She knew she shouldn't be having these thoughts, especially not about Oscar. But she couldn't help it. The temptation was just too strong to resist.

Y/n took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as she sat alone in the garden. The rest of the Mass passed by in a blur, her father's voice fading into the background as she struggled to calm her racing thoughts.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the gentle breeze that rustled through the leaves overhead. The scent of honeysuckle and jasmine filled her nostrils, a soothing balm to her frayed nerves.

But even as she tried to find peace in the tranquil surroundings, Y/n couldn't shake the image of Oscar from her mind. His innocent face, his kind eyes, the way his lips curved into that perfect smile. It was enough to drive her mad with desire.

Y/n shifted on the bench, her thighs clenching together as she fought the urge to touch herself right then and there. She knew it was wrong, knew that she was crossing a line that could never be uncrossed.

As the Mass ended, Y/n heard footsteps approaching behind her. She turned to see her father, still dressed in his pastoral attire, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Y/n, are you alright?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with worry. "I saw you slip out during the sermon. Is everything okay?"

Y/n forced a smile, trying to mask the turmoil raging inside her. "I'm fine, Dad. It was just really hot in there, and I wasn't feeling too well. Stomachache."

Her father nodded, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Well, if you're not feeling better, why don't you head home and rest? I can finish up here."

Y/n shook her head, determined to stay and make amends for her absence during the sermon. "No, I'm okay. I just need to pray the rosary, to make up for the time I missed."

He nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Alright, but if you start feeling worse, don't hesitate to come home and rest. Alexandra has your purse, so you can swing by their place to pick it up on your way."

Y/n thanked her father, watching as he turned to greet the other parishioners. She knew she should head inside and pray, should try to cleanse her mind of the impure thoughts that plagued her. But as she stood up from the bench, she couldn't help but glance towards the church, wondering if Oscar was still inside.

With a sigh, Y/n made her way toward the church entrance, steeling herself for the battle ahead. She knew it wouldn't be easy to resist temptation, especially with Oscar so close by. But she had to try, had to prove to herself and to God that she was stronger than her baser instincts.

Y/n made her way to the front pew, the chapel eerily quiet save for the occasional chirp of a bird that had snuck in through the open windows. She knelt down on the cushioned kneeler, the cool stone of the church floor pressing against her knees.

She began to pray the rosary, her fingers moving mechanically over the beads as she recited the familiar prayers. But even as she tried to focus on the words, her mind kept wandering, her thoughts straying to Oscar.

She pictured him kneeling in front of her, his head buried between her thighs as he devoured her with his mouth. She could almost feel his tongue lapping at her most sensitive parts, could almost hear the sounds of his pleasure as he discovered the taste of her.

Y/n bit her lip, stifling a moan as the fantasy played out in her mind. She knew it was wrong, knew that she was defiling the sacred space with her impure thoughts. But she couldn't stop, couldn't tear her mind away from the image of Oscar worshipping her body like it was the Holy Grail.

Y/n prayed harder, her whispers turning into full-voiced recitations as she tried to drown out the sinful images flooding her mind. But it was no use. The more she tried to focus on her prayers, the more vivid the fantasies became.

In her mind's eye, she saw herself and Oscar tangled together in the bell tower, their bodies moving in a frenzied rhythm as the church bells tolled overhead. She imagined him bending her over the altar, his hands gripping her hips as he thrust into her again and again.

And then there was the confession booth, the small, dark space where sins were laid bare. In Y/n's twisted imagination, she was on her knees, her mouth wrapped around Oscar's hard length as he groaned in pleasure.

The images were so real, so vivid, that Y/n could almost feel the phantom sensations on her skin. She squirmed on the kneeler, her thighs clenching together as she fought the urge to touch herself right then and there.

Tears began to well up in Y/n's eyes as the guilt of her lustful thoughts threatened to overwhelm her. She had never felt so ashamed, so dirty, so utterly consumed by a sin that she knew was wrong on every level.

But even as the tears spilled down her cheeks, Y/n couldn't deny the truth of her desires. She wanted Oscar, craved him with every fiber of her being. The thought of his hands on her body, his lips against her skin, was enough to drive her mad with need.

Y/n bowed her head, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs as she tried to pray for forgiveness. But the words caught in her throat, choked off by the intensity of her longing.

She knew she was damned, knew that she was straying further and further from the path of righteousness with every passing moment. But she couldn't seem to stop, couldn't seem to find the strength to resist the temptation that called to her so loudly.

As Y/n finished her prayers, she wiped the tears from her cheeks, trying to compose herself. But just as she was about to stand up and leave, she heard a noise coming from behind the altar.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she peered around the edge of the altar cloth to see what was going on. There, in the dim light of the sacristy, she saw Oscar emerging from the changing room.

He was in the process of taking off his robe, his shirt riding up slightly to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of his toned abs. Y/n's breath caught in her throat as she watched him, her eyes tracing the path of his happy trail as it disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants.

Oscar seemed oblivious to her presence, humming softly to himself as he hung up his robe and adjusted his shirt. Y/n felt like she should look away, should give him some privacy. But she couldn't seem to tear her gaze away from his body, mesmerized by the sight of him.

He emerged from the sacristy, his eyes lighting up when he spotted Y/n kneeling in the front pew. "Hello Y/n!" he greeted her warmly, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "Are you okay? I saw you walk out during the sermon earlier. Everything alright?"

She quickly wiped away any remaining tears, trying to compose herself. "Y-yes, I'm fine," she stammered, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment at being caught off guard. "I just needed some fresh air, that's all."

Oscar nodded understandingly, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned to gather his things. Y/n's eyes couldn't help but trace the contours of his body as he moved, the way his shirt hugged his broad shoulders, the way his pants clung to his muscular thighs.

She felt a familiar heat building between her legs, a desperate ache that demanded to be satisfied. It took every ounce of willpower for Y/n to tear her eyes away from Oscar's form, to focus instead on the crucifix hanging above the altar.

Oscar gathered his things, glancing over at Y/n with a curious expression. "What are you still doing here, by the way?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. "I've been cleaning in the back for about thirty minutes now. Shouldn't you be at home resting by this point?"

Y/n felt a pang of guilt at his words, realizing just how long she had been sitting there, lost in her own twisted fantasies. "I...I was just praying," she mumbled, her eyes downcast. "Trying to make up for leaving the sermon early."

He nodded, his smile softening into a look of understanding. "I get it. Sometimes we all need a little extra time with God." He hesitated for a moment, then added, "But don't forget to take care of yourself too, Y/n. God wants us to be healthy and happy, not run ourselves into the ground."

Y/n smiled at Oscar, grateful for his concern. "Thank you, Oscar. That means a lot." She stood up from the pew, smoothing out her skirt as she prepared to leave.

"I should probably head over to Alexandra's to pick up my purse," she said, trying to keep her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach. "I'll see you around?"

Oscar nodded, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he returned her smile. "Sounds good, Y/n. Take care of yourself, and I'll see you soon."

Y/n turned to leave, her heart pounding in her chest as she walked down the aisle of the empty church. She could still feel Oscar's gaze on her back, could still picture the way his shirt had ridden up to reveal his toned abs.

She shook her head, trying to dispel the images from her mind. She had to focus, had to get to Alexandra's house, and retrieve her purse before her thoughts spiraled out of control again.

Y/n made her way to Alexandra's house, the short walk doing little to clear her head. As she approached the front door, she heard the unmistakable sound of giggling coming from upstairs. Curious, she crept up the stairs, following the noise to Alexandra's bedroom.

Peeking through the crack in the door, Y/n's eyes widened at the sight before her. There, on Alexandra's bed, were Alex and Rebecca, their lips locked in a passionate kiss.

Y/n knocked on the door, a teasing lilt to her voice as she called out, "Excuse me, guys, but I need to know where my purse is?"

Alexandra jumped, breaking away from Rebecca with a startled yelp. "Y/n!" she exclaimed, her face flushing a deep red. "I...um...your purse is on the dresser."

Y/n laughed, pushing open the door fully. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I just figured you might need a reminder that you brought my purse with you."

Rebecca laughed, waving hello to Y/n. "Hey there!"

Alexandra turned to Y/n, her expression softening with concern. "Why did you leave the service early? Are you feeling okay?"

Y/n shrugged, trying to play it off casually. "I just needed some air, that's all. It was getting a bit stuffy in there."

Alexandra nodded, but her eyes narrowed slightly as she took in Y/n's appearance. "Are you sure that's all? You look a little...flushed."

Y/n laughed, gesturing to the scene before her. "Oh please, look who's talking. You're the one kneeling on the bed beside Rebecca like you're all innocent."

Alexandra's blush deepened, but she grinned sheepishly. "Guilty as charged. But hey, you caught us. Might as well join in, right?"

Y/n rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help but smile. "I'll pass, thanks. You two have fun, though. I'll let myself out and lock the front door on my way."

"Okay, your loss," Alexandra said with a shrug, a mischievous glint in her eye. Before Y/n could even respond, Alexandra leaned back down and captured Rebecca's lips in a kiss yet again.

As she made her way back to her own house, Y/n's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. On one hand, she was disgusted with herself for indulging in such sinful thoughts. But on the other hand, she couldn't deny the intense arousal that coursed through her veins, the desperate need to be touched and desired.

By the time she reached her front door, Y/n was practically panting with desire. She fumbled with her keys, her hands shaking as she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Once she was alone, Y/n leaned against the wall, her eyes fluttering closed as she tried to catch her breath. Her body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming for release.

Y/n walked over to the fridge, her mind still reeling from the erotic scene she had just witnessed. She reached for the handle, intending to grab a cold drink to cool herself down, when something caught her eye.

There, stuck to the fridge with a magnet, was a note from her father. "Sorry sweetheart, I won't be back till Wednesday," it read. "I just got a call - there's an emergency meeting for all the pastors in the city. Text me if you finish reading this."

Y/n sighed, her shoulders slumping in disappointment. "Fuck," she muttered under her breath. With her father gone, there would be no one to keep her in check, no one to stop her from indulging in her darkest desires.

Her mind immediately wandered back to Oscar, to the way his shirt had ridden up to reveal his toned abs, to the tantalizing glimpse of his happy trail. Y/n bit her lip, her body aching with need.

Y/n quickly pulled out her phone and texted her father, letting him know she was home safe. Once that was done, she headed to her room, her mind already racing with thoughts of Oscar.

Inside her bedroom, Y/n stripped off her church clothes, tossing them carelessly onto the floor. She rummaged through her drawers until she found a pair of soft, worn-in shorts and a loose tank top. The clothes were comfortable, but they also left little to the imagination, hugging her curves in all the right places.

As she changed, Y/n couldn't help but imagine Oscar's reaction if he saw her like this. Would his eyes darken with desire? Would he reach out and touch her, his hands exploring every inch of her body?

Y/n shivered at the thought, her nipples hardening beneath the thin fabric of her top. She knew she should stop these thoughts, should focus on something else. But it was too late. The seed had been planted, and now all she could think about was Oscar, and the way he made her feel.

She laid back on her bed, her gaze drifting over the photos that adorned her walls. There were pictures of her and her father, smiling and laughing together at various events and outings. There were photos of her and Alexandra, capturing their close friendship over the years. Scattered among them were snapshots from her childhood, reminding her of simpler times.

But even as she looked at these cherished memories, Y/n's mind kept drifting back to Oscar. She couldn't shake the image of him from her head, couldn't stop thinking about the way he had looked at her in the church, the way his presence had made her feel.

Y/n sat up suddenly, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew what she had to do. She couldn't fight this attraction anymore, couldn't deny the desire that burned within her.

Y/n locked her bedroom door, the click of the lock echoing in the silence of the house. She sat down on her bed, her heart racing as she debated with herself.

She had touched herself before, of course. It was a natural part of growing up, of exploring her own body and desires. But this time felt different. This time, the object of her fantasies was someone so pure, so innocent.

Oscar was a man of God, a symbol of everything that was good and holy in the world. And yet, here she was, imagining him in the most sinful of ways.

Y/n's hand drifted down to the waistband of her shorts, hesitating for a moment before slipping beneath the fabric. She could feel the heat of her own arousal, the slick wetness that coated her fingers.

She closed her eyes, picturing Oscar's face as she began to stroke herself. In her mind, he was kneeling before her, his hands caressing her thighs as he worshipped her body with his mouth.

Y/n's fingers dipped in and out of her slick folds, barely breaching the entrance to her aching core. She was teasing herself, drawing out the pleasure as she lost herself in her fantasies.

In her mind, Oscar's inexperienced tongue was exploring her most intimate places, his soft lips and gentle touches driving her wild with desire. She imagined herself guiding his head, praising him for doing such a good job, for making her feel so incredibly good.

And then, in her fantasy, Oscar looked up at her with those innocent eyes, his voice barely above a whisper as he asked, "Am I doing it correctly, Y/n? Is this what you want?"

Y/n's hips bucked at the thought, a soft moan escaping her lips as she plunged her fingers deeper into her dripping sex. All it would take was a few more strokes, a few more whispered words of encouragement from her imaginary Oscar.

In Y/n's vivid imagination, her hand wrapped around Oscar's throbbing cock, stroking him with a slow, sensual rhythm. She could feel how sensitive he was, how every touch sent shockwaves of pleasure through his body.

As she worked him closer and closer to the edge, Oscar began to buck his hips, thrusting into her hand with desperate need. Soft whimpers escaped his lips, his breath hot against her skin as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

Y/n held his hand tightly, her fingers intertwined with his as she brought him to the brink of ecstasy. She could feel his heart racing, could sense the intensity of his desire as he clung to her, his body trembling with the force of his impending release.

With a final, firm stroke, Y/n pushed Oscar over the edge, his cock pulsing in her hand as he came with a low, guttural moan. She held him close, whispering words of comfort and encouragement as he rode out the waves of his orgasm, his cum spilling over her fingers in hot, sticky ropes.

Y/n's fantasy had brought her to the brink of orgasm, but it wasn't quite enough to push her over the edge. She stopped, her pussy pulsing with neediness as she took a moment to catch her breath.

After a few seconds, Y/n reached for her hairbrush, a makeshift dildo she had been using for months out of necessity. She couldn't risk her father finding a real sex toy in her possession, so she had learned to make do with whatever she could find.

The handle of the brush was smooth and hard, the perfect size to fill her aching void. Y/n slipped it inside her, a gasp escaping her lips as it stretched her tight walls.

She began to thrust the brush in and out of her dripping sex, her hips rocking in time with the movements of her hand. In her mind, it was Oscar's cock that was filling her, his strong hands gripping her hips as he pounded into her with wild abandon.

As Y/n continued to fuck herself with the hairbrush handle, her mind was flooded with the same forbidden fantasies that had troubled her as she recited the rosary. She pictured herself bent over the altar, her dress hiked up around her waist as Oscar took her from behind. She imagined the cool marble against her skin, the weight of his body pressing her down as he claimed her with his cock.

In another scenario, she saw herself in the bell tower, the heavy ropes of the bells swaying above her as Oscar lifted her onto his lap. She could feel the rough wood of the floorboards digging into her knees as she rode him, her hands gripping his shoulders for support.

But it was the confession booth that really set her imagination ablaze. She pictured herself on her knees, her head hidden behind the screen as Oscar stood before her, his cock hard and ready. She would take him into her mouth, her lips stretched wide around his girth as she worshipped him with her tongue.

Y/n knew that every corner of the chapel was adorned with images and symbols of God - crucifixes, paintings of Jesus, statues of angels and saints. But as she fucked herself with the hairbrush handle, lost in her forbidden fantasies, she couldn't bring herself to care.

The thought of God watching her, of Him bearing witness to her sinful desires, only heightened her arousal. She could almost feel His disapproving gaze upon her, could imagine the shame and guilt that would surely follow if she ever acted on her fantasies and gave in to lust with Oscar.

But fuck, it felt so good. The taboo nature of it all, the knowledge that she was defiling a sacred space with her carnal thoughts, only served to drive her closer and closer to the edge.

Y/n's hips moved faster, the hairbrush handle slamming into her G-spot with each thrust. Her moans grew louder, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she chased her rapidly approaching orgasm.

As Y/n's orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing with the force of her release, she cried out in ecstasy. "God, fuck! Fuck, fuck, so good!"

Her eyes rolled back in her head, her vision blurring as she rode out the intense waves of pleasure. And in that moment, as her mind was lost in a haze of lust and sin, she swore she saw a figure standing before her.

It was God Himself, His face twisted in a mixture of anger and disappointment. He reached out to her, His hand hovering just inches from her flushed skin, as if He wanted to strike her down for her transgressions.

But Y/n was too far gone to care. She was lost in the throes of her climax, her body shaking and twitching as she came harder than she ever had before. The image of God faded away, replaced by a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations that left her breathless and spent.

Y/n collapsed back onto her bed, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of her intense orgasm. Slowly, she withdrew the hairbrush handle from her dripping pussy, a low whimper escaping her lips as she felt the sudden emptiness.

She lay there for a moment, catching her breath and trying to process the overwhelming emotions that coursed through her. Shame, guilt, and a lingering sense of arousal all battled for dominance in her mind.

As the haze of lust began to clear, Y/n's thoughts turned once again to the forbidden nature of her fantasies. She knew that what she had done was wrong, that her desires were sinful and unholy. But she couldn't deny the intensity of her feelings, the way her body had responded to the mere thought of Oscar.

With a sigh, Y/n sat up and tossed the hairbrush aside, wiping the sticky evidence of her pleasure from her thighs. She knew she needed to put these thoughts out of her mind, to focus on being a good daughter and a devout follower of God.

As the post-orgasmic haze lifted, a wave of embarrassment and shame washed over Y/n. She glanced around her room, suddenly hyper-aware of the sacred objects that surrounded her. Her eyes landed on the small statue of the Virgin Mary that sat on a tiny altar in the corner, and she felt her cheeks flush with heat.

Quickly, Y/n pulled her shorts back on, trying to cover herself as if the statue could see through her clothes and judge her for what she had just done. She avoided looking at the altar, afraid of what she might see in Mary's serene, knowing eyes.

Y/n's mind raced with thoughts of repentance and atonement. She knew she needed to pray, to ask for forgiveness for her sinful actions. But even as she thought about kneeling before the altar and confessing her sins, a small part of her rebelled against the idea.

Y/n stumbled into the bathroom, her legs still shaky from the intensity of her orgasm. She turned on the faucet and splashed cool water on her face, hoping to wash away the lingering flush of arousal from her cheeks.

But as she looked at herself in the mirror, she knew that no amount of water could cleanse her of the sins she had just committed. Her eyes were dark and haunted, her expression a mix of shame and lingering desire.

She grabbed a washcloth and wiped between her legs, trying to remove any evidence of her self-pleasure. But even as she scrubbed, she knew it was futile. The stain of her sin ran deeper than any soap or water could reach.

Y/n's mind wandered back to the statue of the Virgin Mary in her room, and she felt a pang of guilt. She knew she should be praying, should be asking for forgiveness, and vowing to do better. But the thought of facing Mary, of confessing her sins to the mother of God herself, filled her with dread.

She emerged from the bathroom, her body still tingling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. She made her way to the kitchen, her mind still reeling from the intensity of her sinful thoughts.

She grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with cool water from the tap, taking a long sip to calm her nerves. The liquid soothed her parched throat, but did little to quench the thirst that still burned within her.

Y/n hopped up onto the kitchen counter, her feet dangling as she sat perched on the cool granite. It was a habit her father had always playfully scolded her for, but in his absence, she found herself craving the rebellious thrill of it.

As she swung her legs back and forth, Y/n's mind drifted once again to Oscar. She wondered what he was doing, if he was thinking about her too. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through her body, and she squeezed her thighs together, trying to ignore the renewed ache between her legs.

Y/n's heart skipped a beat as she heard the unexpected knock at the door. She quickly composed herself and made her way over, smoothing down her hair and adjusting her clothes before opening it.

To her surprise, she found Alexandra standing there, her back turned as she waved goodbye to Rebecca, who was walking away down the path. Y/n blinked in confusion, wondering what her best friend was doing here so suddenly.

"Alexandra? What are you doing here?" Y/n asked, her voice still slightly breathless from her earlier activities.

Alexandra turned around, a mischievous grin spreading across her face as she took in Y/n's flushed cheeks and disheveled appearance. "I thought I'd come over and keep you company while your dad makes breakfast," she said, her tone playful and suggestive. "Plus, I figured you could use some girl talk after the way you were eye fucking one of the altar boys earlier."

Y/n let out an exasperated groan, her face flushing an even deeper shade of red as Alexandra's words confirmed her suspicions. Of course her best friend had noticed her shameless ogling of Oscar. There was no hiding anything from Alexandra.

"Ugh, don't remind me," Y/n muttered, stepping aside to let Alexandra enter the house. "Was I actually that obvious? I must have looked like such a creep."

Alexandra laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she brushed past Y/n and made her way into the living room. "Oh please, you weren't that bad. Besides, I'm sure he didn't mind the attention. He seemed pretty smitten with you too."

As she spoke, Alexandra called out in a loud, sing-song voice, "Good morning, Mr. L/n! Wherever you are!"

Y/n shook her head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "No, Dad's not home. He had to leave for an emergency meeting or something."

Alexandra raised an eyebrow, her nose wrinkling slightly as she sniffed the air. "Huh, that explains why I don't smell any food. Your dad usually has something cooking by now after Mass."

Y/n nodded, feeling a pang of sadness at the realization. Her father's absence always left a void in the house, a sense of incompleteness that she couldn't quite shake.

"Yeah, I'll have to fend for myself until Wednesday," she sighed, leading Alexandra towards the kitchen. "Want some cereal or something? It's not exactly gourmet, but it'll have to do."

Alexandra shrugged, a playful smirk on her face as she followed Y/n into the kitchen. "Sure, cereal sounds great. It's better than nothing at all."

As they rummaged through the cupboards for bowls and spoons, Alexandra couldn't help but notice the lingering tension in the air. She knew Y/n well enough to sense when something was bothering her, and the way her friend had been acting lately was definitely out of the ordinary.

"So, you wanna talk about it?" Alexandra asked softly, pouring milk into her bowl of cereal. "I know something's been on your mind lately. You've been distracted, and I'm worried about you."

Y/n hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the box of cereal. She knew she could trust Alexandra, but the thought of voicing her forbidden desires out loud made her stomach twist with anxiety.

Alexandra's eyes softened with understanding, and she reached out to place a comforting hand on Y/n's arm. "Hey, it's okay," she reassured her, her voice gentle and encouraging. "There's nothing you could say that would be too much information for me. We've been through way too much together for that."

She chuckled lightly, remembering their teenage years and the countless sleepovers and baths they had shared. "Seriously, Y/n, you can tell me anything. I'm here for you, no matter what."

Y/n took a deep breath, her heart racing as she weighed her options. She knew she could trust Alexandra with her life, but the thought of confessing her sinful desires still made her palms sweat with nervousness.

As Alexandra took a spoonful of cereal into her mouth, Y/n took a deep breath, steeling herself for the confession she knew she needed to make. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her palms grew clammy with nerves, but she forced herself to speak.

"I... I masturbated while thinking about Oscar," Y/n blurted out, her voice barely above a whisper. She kept her eyes fixed on her bowl of cereal, unable to meet Alexandra's gaze as she waited for her friend's reaction.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, slowly, Alexandra lowered her spoon, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "Wait, what?" she asked, her voice a mix of shock and disbelief. "Who are you talking about?"

Y/n nodded, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she realized Alexandra's confusion. "Yeah, I know you're not exactly the best with names and faces," she said, shaking her head. "He's one of the altar boys, one of the tallest out of all the servers earlier."

Alexandra's eyes widened as the realization dawned on her. "Oh, shit," she breathed, her voice a mix of awe and disbelief. "You mean the hot one with the wavy-ish hair and the dimples?"

Y/n felt her cheeks flush with heat, and she nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, that's the one," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can't stop thinking about him, Alexandra. It's like every time I close my eyes, I see his face, and I..."

She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence as a wave of shame and desire washed over her.

Y/n buried her face in her palms, a loud groan escaping her lips as she tried to find the words to express the depth of her shame and desire. "Fuck, man," she mumbled, her voice muffled by her hands. "I literally thought about..."

She stopped abruptly, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she realized what she was about to say. Taking a deep breath, Y/n slowly lowered her hands, revealing a face that was equal parts mortified and determined.

"I... I wanted to get bent over the altar," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. "With him. With Oscar."

Alexandra's eyes widened, her mouth falling open in shock as she processed Y/n's confession. For a moment, she simply stared at her friend, her brain struggling to compute the sheer audacity of what Y/n had just admitted.

Alexandra let out a low whistle, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and disbelief. "Lord have mercy on your soul..." she joked, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "I never thought of you as the type to have such wild fantasies, Y/n."

Y/n sighed, her shoulders slumping as she leaned back against the kitchen counter. "I know," she admitted, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "I've always been the good girl, the pastor's daughter who always took the chance to pray and set a good example."

She paused for a moment, her brow furrowing as she tried to find the right words to explain the turmoil that raged within her. "But lately, I've been feeling... restless. Like there's this part of me that wants to break free, to explore things that I've always been taught are wrong or sinful."

Y/n's voice dropped to a hushed whisper as she continued, her eyes downcast and her cheeks flushed with a mix of shame and excitement. "I mean, I've already explored them, yeah, but..." She trailed off, biting her lip as she struggled to find the right words.

"I want to experience these things without the fear of being dragged to hell by the devil himself," she finally admitted, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. "I want to feel alive, Alexandra. I want to know what it's like to give in to my desires, to let go of all the rules and restrictions that have been holding me back for so long."

Alexandra listened intently, her expression a mix of concern and understanding. She reached out and placed a comforting hand on Y/n's arm, her touch gentle and reassuring.

She smiled warmly, her eyes shining with a mix of affection and understanding. "It's okay, Y/n," Alexandra said softly, her voice filled with reassurance. "That's why we have each other. We're here so that we can express ourselves freely to each other without judgment."

She squeezed Y/n's arm gently, her touch a silent reminder of the unbreakable bond they shared. "You don't have to be afraid to explore your... fantasies, Y/n. I'm here for you, no matter what. And if anyone tries to drag you to hell for it, they'll have to go through me first."

Y/n let out a soft laugh, her eyes brimming with tears of gratitude and relief. She knew she could always count on Alexandra to be there for her, to support her no matter what.

Alexandra grinned mischievously, her eyes sparkling with a playful glint as she leaned in closer to Y/n. "Well, if you really want to explore these desires of yours, maybe you should just seduce him," she suggested, her voice low and conspiratorial.

Y/n's eyes widened, and she let out a surprised laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. "Alexandra!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of shock and amusement. "I can't just go up to him and... and..."

She trailed off, her cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and excitement as she considered the possibility. "Although..." she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe it's not such a bad idea. After all, what's the worst that could happen?"

Alexandra took a bite of her cereal, a playful smirk on her face as she chewed thoughtfully. "I don't know, you could get disowned if your father finds out," she said, her tone light and teasing.

Y/n's eyes widened in panic, and she leaned forward, her voice rising with each word. "Wait, do you really think he would disown me?" she asked, her heart pounding in her chest.

Alexandra's own eyes widened in surprise, and she waved her hands frantically in front of her. "No, no, of course not!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with a hint of desperation. "He'll be mad, yes, but he won't disown you. I was just joking, Y/n. Don't freak out."

Y/n let out a shaky laugh, her hand pressed against her chest as she tried to calm her racing heart. "Please, never do that again," she pleaded, her voice still tinged with a hint of panic. "I might die of a heart attack before the alcohol I consume weekly gets to my liver."

Alexandra rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of guilt in her expression. "Fine, fine, I'll try to be more sensitive to your delicate constitution," she teased, her tone softening as she reached out to pat Y/n's hand reassuringly.

"But seriously, Y/n, you know your dad loves you. He might be strict, and he might be disappointed if he found out about your... extracurricular activities, but he would never disown you. You're his daughter, and nothing will ever change that."

Y/n nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she felt the tension drain from her body. "Yeah, you're right," she agreed, her voice soft and grateful. "I know my dad loves me, no matter what."

She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the question that had been nagging at her since she saw Alexandra with Rebecca earlier. "So, what's going on between you and Rebecca?" she asked, her tone carefully neutral. "I mean, you practically pounced on her before I even left your room. Are you guys...?"

Alexandra's cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and she busied herself with her cereal, avoiding Y/n's gaze. "Nothing," she mumbled, her voice barely audible over the clink of her spoon against the bowl. "We're just friends."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, unconvinced by Alexandra's dismissive response. "Just friends?" she pressed, her tone skeptical. "Because it looked like there was something more going on between you two."

The next day, Y/n found herself at the church, as she often did in her free time. She moved through the familiar space with ease, straightening pews and dusting shelves, lost in thought as she reflected on her conversation with Alexandra the day before.

As she made her way behind the altar in search of the broom they used indoors, Y/n ran into Oscar. He was kneeling on the floor, his head bowed in prayer, his wavy hair falling across his forehead.

Y/n froze, her heart skipping a beat as she took in the sight of him. He looked so peaceful, so serene, and she felt a sudden urge to reach out and touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips.

"Oscar?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own breathing.

Oscar startled at the sound of her voice, his head snapping up to look at her. His eyes widened in surprise, and a faint blush crept across his cheeks as he realized who it was.

“Oh my, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were praying.” Y/n said shyly, realizing she may have interrupted his sacred time with God.

Oscar stood up, brushing off his knees as he turned to face Y/n. "Hi," he said, his voice soft and warm. "No need to apologize. I was just finishing up anyway."

Y/n felt a rush of relief wash over her, and she smiled shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, okay. Good," she said, her voice trembling slightly with nerves. "I was just looking for the broom. I'm supposed to be cleaning up around here."

Oscar nodded, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. "I can help you with that," he offered, gesturing towards the supply closet where the cleaning supplies were kept. "It's my turn to clean the altar anyway."

Y/n's heart skipped a beat at the prospect of spending more time with Oscar, and she felt a sudden surge of excitement mixed with anxiety. "That would be great," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Thank you."

Oscar handed Y/n the broom, and they made their way out into the main sanctuary. As Oscar began cleaning the altar, Y/n started sweeping the floor, the soft swish of the broom mingling with the hushed conversations of the churchgoers.

The congregation seemed unbothered by their presence, as it was a fairly normal sight to see the altar boys tending to the altar and Y/n cleaning. They went about their tasks quietly, the only sounds being the soft rustle of fabric and the occasional clink of metal as Oscar polished the candlesticks.

As Y/n swept, her mind wandered back to her conversation with Alexandra. She couldn't help but think about what it would be like to be with Oscar, to feel his strong hands on her body, to taste his lips against hers. The thought made her cheeks flush with heat, and she quickly pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand.

Y/n found herself zoning out, her mind wandering as she swept the same spots over and over again, as if trying to erase some invisible stain. She was so lost in thought that she didn't even notice when Oscar had finished cleaning the altar and had moved on to wiping down the glass cases that held the statues of various saints.

It wasn't until she heard the soft clink of glass that Y/n snapped back to reality, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she realized how distracted she had been. She glanced over at Oscar, who was diligently working his way down the line of statues, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Y/n bit her lip, her heart racing as she watched him work. She couldn't help but admire the way his muscles flexed beneath his shirt, the way his hair fell across his forehead as he leaned in to clean the higher shelves. It was almost enough to make her forget where they were, to make her want to reach out and touch him, consequences be damned.

She quickly made her way back behind the altar, putting the broom away in its designated spot. She then headed to the front pew, the same place she had sat in yesterday and for years before, having been the one to always read the second readings during mass.

As she settled onto the hard wooden bench, Y/n let out a soft sigh, her chest rising and falling with each breath. She could still feel the heat of Oscar's presence, the way her heart had raced as she watched him work. It was almost too much to bear, the desire that coursed through her veins, the longing to be close to him.

Y/n closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the pew as she tried to calm her racing thoughts. She knew it was wrong, that she should be focused on her faith, on serving God, but she couldn't deny the way her body responded to Oscar's presence.

As she sat there, lost in thought, Y/n couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to change, that her life was about to take a turn she never could have anticipated.

Y/n's eyes fluttered open as she felt the pew shift slightly beside her. She turned her head to see Oscar settling in next to her, a slightly damp rag clutched in his hand.

"Man, that was exhausting," he said, his voice low and tired. "I don't know how you do it, Y/n. Cleaning this whole place by yourself."

Y/n smiled softly, her heart skipping a beat at the sound of his voice so close to her. "It's not so bad," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's kind of peaceful, actually. A chance to clear my head and just... be."

She shifted slightly, her thigh brushing against Oscar's as she did so. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through her body, and she felt her cheeks flush with heat.

Oscar turned to look at Y/n, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Be...?" he repeated, his voice trailing off as he searched her face for answers.

Y/n bit her lip, her heart racing as she tried to find the right words to explain the turmoil that raged within her. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's just... sometimes I feel like I'm not really living, you know? Like I'm just going through the motions, pretending to be someone I'm not."

She paused, her gaze drifting to the stained glass windows that cast a puzzle of colors across the sanctuary. "But when I'm here, cleaning, praying... it's like I can finally breathe. Like I can finally be myself."

Oscar nodded slowly, his eyes softening with understanding. "I know what you mean," he said, his voice low and earnest. "Sometimes it feels like the whole world is expecting us to be something we're not. To fit into these perfect little boxes that don't really exist."

Y/n let out a quiet groan, her shoulders slumping as she leaned back against the pew. "This is making me sad," she admitted, her voice heavy with emotion.

Oscar's brow furrowed with concern, and he reached out to place a comforting hand on Y/n's arm. "Hey, it's okay," he said softly, his thumb rubbing small circles on her skin. "Let's do something fun. How about we go get a milkshake at the diner?"

Y/n's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise crossing her features. "Sure," she said, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "That sounds perfect."

They stood up from the pew, Oscar's hand lingering on Y/n's arm for a moment longer than necessary. As they made their way out of the church, Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement mixed with nervousness. She knew it was wrong, that she shouldn't be feeling this way, but she couldn't deny the way her heart raced at the prospect of spending more time with Oscar.

The diner was a short, five-minute walk away from the church, nestled on the corner of Main Street. As they stepped inside, the bell above the door chimed, announcing their arrival. The scent of fried food and coffee hung heavy in the air, mingling with the sound of clinking dishes and low chatter.

Oscar led the way to a booth in the back, sliding in across from Y/n. She watched as he flagged down the waitress, ordering a chocolate milkshake for himself and a vanilla one for her. Y/n's eyes widened in surprise, a soft blush coloring her cheeks.

"Vanilla is my favorite," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "How did you know?"

Oscar grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Your dad talks about you a lot," he admitted, his voice low and conspiratorial. "I may have picked up a few things."

Y/n felt a warmth spread through her chest at the thought of her father talking about her, of Oscar taking the time to listen and remember the little details.

As the milkshakes arrived, Y/n found her mind drifting back to her conversation with Alexandra. The words "seduce him" echoed in her head, a tantalizing whisper that set her heart racing.

Without thinking, Y/n reached for the whipped cream on top of her milkshake, scooping up a dollop with her finger. She brought it to her lips, her tongue darting out to lick it off slowly and deliberately. It was an innocent gesture, but there was something undeniably sensual about the way she did it, the way her eyes locked with Oscar's as she savored the sweetness.

"Mmm, delicious," she purred, her voice low and sultry. "I love vanilla."

Oscar's eyes widened, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He couldn't tear his gaze away from Y/n's lips, from the way they glistened with the remnants of the whipped cream.

"I... I'm glad you like it," he stammered, his voice rough with emotion.

Y/n tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her fingers lingering on the soft skin of her neck. She bent forward, her lips parting as she took the cherry from the top of the whipped cream, her tongue darting out to catch the sweet, sticky juice.

She sat back up, a playful laugh escaping her lips as she caught Oscar's wide-eyed stare. He was praying in his head, begging God not to tempt him like this, to keep him pure and innocent. But with each passing moment, each glimpse of Y/n's flesh, his resolve was crumbling.

"What's the matter, Oscar?" Y/n teased, her voice low and sultry. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Oscar swallowed hard, his throat dry and tight. "N-nothing," he stammered, his eyes darting away from hers. "I'm fine."

As they sipped their milkshakes, Y/n continued her innocent yet seductive antics. She ran her fingers along the rim of the glass, her eyes never leaving Oscar's face as she watched him squirm in his seat.

"So tell me, Oscar," she purred, her voice low and breathy. "What do you like to do for fun?"

Oscar nearly choked on his milkshake, coughing and sputtering as he tried to regain his composure. "I... I like to read," he managed, his voice hoarse. "And play guitar. And... and help out at the church."

Y/n leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table as she propped her chin in her hands. "That's nice," she said, her voice dripping with honey. "I bet you're really good with your hands. With the guitar, I mean."

Y/n leaned back in her seat, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she took another sip of her milkshake. "You know, Oscar," she said, her voice low and sultry, "I've always wondered what it would be like to play the guitar."

She set her glass down, her tongue darting out to lick a stray drop of milkshake from the corner of her mouth. "Maybe you could teach me sometime," she purred, her gaze never leaving his. "I'm a quick learner."

Oscar's heart was pounding in his chest, his palms sweaty as he gripped the edge of the table. He knew he should put a stop to this, to tell Y/n that he couldn't be her teacher, that it was wrong. But the temptation was too great, the desire too strong.

"I... I'd be happy to teach you," he managed, his voice rough with emotion. "Anytime you want."

Y/n smiled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Okay, I'll think about it," she said, her voice light and airy. As she shifted in her seat, her foot brushed against Oscar's thigh, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through his body.

"Oops," she giggled, her cheeks flushing with feigned innocence. "Sorry about that."

Oscar's breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to maintain his composure. He knew it was just an accident, that Y/n didn't mean anything by it. But the way she looked at him, the way her foot lingered on his thigh, it was enough to drive him wild with desire.

"It's... it's okay," he managed, his voice hoarse and strained. "Accidents happen."

Y/n leaned forward, her eyes wide and innocent as she looked up at Oscar through her lashes. "Hey, Oscar," she said, her voice soft and sweet. "Can I try a sip of your milkshake? I've never had the chocolate flavor before. My dad always gets the black coffee, and I've just been getting vanilla ever since I was a kid."

Oscar's heart skipped a beat at the request, his mind racing with the implications. He knew it was just a milkshake, just a simple, innocent gesture. But the way Y/n looked at him, the way her lips parted as she waited for his answer, it was enough to make his head spin.

"Sure," he managed, his voice rough with emotion. He slid his glass across the table, his fingers brushing against hers as she reached for it.

Y/n wrapped her lips around the straw, her eyes never leaving Oscar's as she took a long, slow sip. She let out a soft moan of appreciation, savoring the taste.

"Mmm, it's good," Y/n purred, her eyes half-lidded as she set the glass back down on the table. "But I still prefer my vanilla milkshake."

She took another sip of her own drink, her tongue darting out to catch a stray drop of cream on her bottom lip. "There's just something about the simplicity of vanilla, you know? It's pure, untainted. Innocent."

Oscar swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He knew Y/n was just talking about the milkshake, but the way she spoke, the way her words seemed to hang in the air between them, it was enough to make his head spin.

"I... I understand," he managed, his voice hoarse. "Vanilla is a classic for a reason."

Y/n smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Exactly," she said, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table. "Sometimes, the simplest things are the most satisfying."

Y/n leaned back in her seat, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she looked up at Oscar. "Hey, Oscar," she said, her voice low and sultry. "My dad's not going to be home tonight, so I was thinking... maybe you could come over later and help me practice guitar?"

She bit her lip, her teeth sinking into the soft, plump flesh as she waited for his response. "We could stay up late, just the two of us. I'm sure you could teach me a thing or two."

Oscar's heart was pounding in his chest, his palms sweaty as he gripped the edge of the table. He knew it was a bad idea, that he should say no, that he should run as far away from Y/n as possible. But the temptation was too great, the desire too strong.

"I'd- I'd love to," he managed, his voice rough but hesitant. "Just give me a call when you're ready."

Y/n clapped her hands together, her face lighting up with excitement. "Yay!" she exclaimed, her voice high and girlish. "I can't wait to learn how to play guitar."

She leaned back in her seat, her demeanor shifting to something more playful and innocent. As they continued to talk, Oscar found himself struggling to focus, his mind still reeling from Y/n's bold flirtation.

He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, his skin flushed and tingling with a strange new sensation. He had never felt so... desired before, so wanted. It was both exhilarating and terrifying, a rush of adrenaline that left him breathless and dizzy.

Throughout the rest of their conversation, Oscar found himself stealing glances at Y/n, his eyes lingering on the curve of her lips, and the softness of her skin. He knew it was wrong, that he should push these feelings aside and focus on his faith, but he couldn't help the way his heart raced at the thought of seeing her again later, of being alone with her in the privacy of her home.

Y/n walked towards the door, her heart racing with anticipation. She had chosen her outfit carefully, wanting to strike a balance between comfort and allure. She wore a pair of shorts that were short enough to reveal an unholy amount of skin, the fabric clinging to her curves in all the right places.

On top, she had opted for a white shirt that was sheer enough to hint at the outline of her bra beneath, the delicate lace peeking through the thin fabric, contrasting the gold cross necklace she had worn her entire life

As she reached for the doorknob, Y/n took a deep breath, steeling herself for the evening ahead. She knew it was wrong, that she shouldn't be feeling this way about Oscar. But she couldn't deny the thrill that ran through her at the thought of being alone with him, of having his undivided attention.

With a final twist of the knob, Y/n pulled open the door, her heart skipping a beat as she saw Oscar standing on the other side. "Hey there," she purred, her voice low and sultry. "Come on in."

Oscar stepped inside, his eyes widening as he took in Y/n's appearance. "Thanks for inviting me," he said, his voice slightly hoarse.

Y/n smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "No need to thank me, Oscar," she purred, her voice low and sultry. "I'm the one who should be thanking you for agreeing to teach me."

She gestured towards the living room, her hips swaying slightly as she walked. "We can practice in here, it's nice and spacious. But fair warning, it's a bit hot in here. No AC."

Y/n turned back to face him, her eyes narrowing playfully. "Or we could practice in my room. It's a bit smaller, but the AC works perfectly. Your choice."

"I think I'd prefer a cold room over a hot one," he said shyly, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

She shot him a warm smile, "Okay, follow me." She gestured, making her way up the stairs.

scar's gaze flickered over the photos lining the walls as Y/n led him upstairs, his heart clenching at the sight of her and her father together. There were pictures of them at the beach, at her graduation, at various milestones throughout her life. Occasionally, a photo of Alexandra and Y/n would appear, the two girls grinning at the camera, their arms slung around each other's waists.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Y/n paused, turning to face Oscar. "My room's just down the hall," she said, her voice soft. "Last door on the right."

She started walking again, her hips swaying slightly as she moved. Oscar followed behind her, his eyes glued to the gentle curve of her spine, the way her shirt clung to her back.

When they reached her room, Y/n pushed open the door, gesturing for Oscar to enter. "After you," she purred, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

The room was exactly as Oscar had imagined it would be. Simple, minimalistic, with a white metal bed frame and a small crucifix hanging above it. In the corner, there was a small altar with a statue of the Virgin Mary, and on the bedside table, a pink pearl rosary lay coiled neatly. The bedspread was mostly white, with delicate pink flowers scattered across the surface, and the pillowcases were the reverse, with a pink background and white flowers.

"You can sit wherever you're comfortable," Y/n said, gesturing to the bed and the floor. "I'll go grab my dad's guitar."

As she turned to leave, Oscar's eyes lingered on the bed, on the soft, inviting surface. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He was here to teach Y/n how to play guitar, nothing more.

He settled himself on the edge of the bed, his fingers tracing the intricate pattern of the bedspread. The room was cool and quiet, the hum of the air conditioner a soothing background noise.

As he waited for Y/n to return, he couldn't help but notice the subtle details of her room. There was a faint, delicate scent of jasmine in the air, which he later discovered came from a small air freshener perched on her dresser. Everywhere he looked, there were hints of innocence - the soft pink hues of her bedding, the occasional hair tie scattered on her nightstand, the various rings she wore on her slender fingers.

On the wall, there was a framed dried flower, its petals faded and brittle with age. Oscar wondered about its significance, about the memories it held for Y/n.

The sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned to see Y/n entering the room, a guitar case in her hands. She set it down on the bed beside him, her fingers lingering on the smooth, worn leather.

"Okay," she said, her voice bright and eager. "Let's get started."

Oscar helped Y/n remove the guitar from its case, his fingers brushing against hers as he took it from her hands. He held it up, examining it closely. "When was the last time this was tuned?" he asked, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Y/n bit her lip, her eyes darting away from his. "To be honest, we haven't used it in about two years," she admitted, her voice sheepish. "We kind of forgot about it."

Oscar nodded, his fingers plucking at the strings experimentally. They were out of tune, the notes discordant and jarring. "No worries," he said, his voice reassuring. "We can tune it right now."

He sat down on the bed, patting the space beside him for Y/n to join. As she settled in next to him, Oscar began to tune the guitar, his fingers moving deftly over the strings. The room filled with the soft, melodic sounds of the instrument coming to life, the notes blending together in perfect harmony.

Oscar finished tuning the guitar and handed it to Y/n, his fingers lingering on hers for a moment longer than necessary. "Here you go," he said, his voice soft. "Now, let's start with the basics."

He sat beside her on the bed, his leg brushing against hers as he demonstrated the proper way to hold the guitar. "Keep your thumb behind the neck of the guitar," he instructed, his hand guiding hers. "And wrap your fingers around the fretboard like this."

As he showed her how to position her fingers, Oscar couldn't help but notice the way Y/n's hands felt in his, the softness of her skin, the delicate strength in her fingers. He swallowed hard, trying to focus on the task at hand.

"Now, let's try strumming," he said, his voice slightly hoarse. He reached over, his hand covering hers as he guided the pick across the strings. The guitar came alive under their touch, the notes ringing out clear and bright.

"Good job," Oscar said, his voice warm with approval. He leaned in closer, his eyes focused on the way Y/n was holding the guitar. It seemed awkward, her fingers splayed across the fretboard in an unnatural position.

As he tried to adjust her grip, his gaze drifted lower, drawn to the tantalizing glimpse of cleavage peeking out from the neckline of her shirt. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as his eyes lingered on the soft swell of her breasts.

Realizing what he was doing, Oscar quickly closed his eyes, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He couldn't let himself be tempted like this, not when he was supposed to be teaching her, guiding her.

He forced himself to focus on the guitar, on the feel of the smooth wood beneath his fingers, the cool metal of the strings. "Let's try that again," he said, his voice strained. "This time, keep your wrist straight, like this."

His hand covered hers once more, his touch gentle but firm as he guided her through the proper technique.

As Y/n began to get the hang of the guitar, her fingers moving more confidently across the fretboard, Oscar felt a sense of pride and accomplishment. She was a natural, her hands seeming to instinctively find the right positions, the right chords.

But then, in a moment of enthusiasm, Y/n applied too much pressure to one of the strings, the sharp edge of the fret digging into her fingertip. She gasped, her hand jerking away from the guitar as a thin line of blood welled up on her finger.

"Ouch!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with surprise and pain. She brought her finger to her mouth, sucking on the wound instinctively.

Oscar's heart clenched at the sight, his hand reaching out to steady the guitar as it threatened to slip from her lap. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

Y/n nodded, her eyes meeting his. "It's just a little cut," she said, her voice muffled by her finger. "Nothing serious."

Oscar could see the pain in Y/n's eyes, the way she was trying to hold back tears. His heart ached for her, and he reached out, taking her hand in his. "Let me see," he said softly, his thumb brushing over the cut on her finger.

"It must hurt," he murmured, his brow furrowed with concern. "Do you have a bandaid here?"

Y/n nodded, pointing to the small desk in the corner of her room. "Yeah, there's a box in the drawer."

He stood up, crossing the room to retrieve the bandages. As he rummaged through the drawer, he couldn't help but notice the personal items scattered amongst the clutter- a hairbrush, a tube of lip gloss, a few loose change. He felt a pang of guilt for intruding on her private space but pushed the feeling aside.

He returned to the bed, sitting down beside Y/n once more. "Here," he said, holding out a small, square bandage. "Let me put this on for you."

Oscar carefully applied the bandage to Y/n's finger, his touch gentle and precise. As he finished, their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away. There was only the two of them, the warmth of the room, the softness of the bed beneath them.

Before Oscar could react, Y/n leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a tender kiss. He froze for a moment, his mind reeling with shock and confusion. But as Y/n's lips moved against his, he found himself kissing her back, his own inexperience evident in the awkward, tentative movements of his mouth.

Y/n could tell that Oscar hadn't kissed anyone before, and a part of her was thrilled at the idea of being his first. She deepened the kiss, her tongue darting out to trace the seam of his lips, coaxing him to open for her.

Oscar pulled away from the kiss, his heart pounding in his chest. He was flustered, his mind spinning with a whirlwind of emotions and desires. "Y/n, we can't," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "This is the devil tempting us, trying to lead us astray."

But Y/n wasn't having it. She leaned in closer, her breath hot against his ear. "Then why does it feel so good?" she whispered, her voice low and seductive. "Tell me you want me too, Oscar. I don't care if we're going to hell for it. I just need you."

Her words sent a shiver down Oscar's spine, his body responding to her touch, her proximity. He knew it was wrong, that he should resist, that he should push her away. But the desire coursing through his veins was too strong, too overwhelming.

"I... I do want you," he admitted, his voice trembling with longing. "But we can't. It's not right."

Y/n's eyes gleamed with determination as she gazed into Oscar's conflicted face. She knew she had him on the hook, and she wasn't about to let him slip away.

"Oscar," she purred, her voice low and seductive. "Don't you believe that God forgives those who truly repent? That He understands the weakness of the flesh?"

She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "We can give in to this temptation, just this once. And then we can confess our sins, ask for forgiveness. It's not like we're doing anything truly sinful, after all. We're human, we can sin every once in a while."

Oscar's breath hitched in his throat, his resolve crumbling under the weight of Y/n's persuasive words. He knew what she was saying made sense, that it was a logical argument. But still, a small part of him hesitated, unsure if he was truly ready to cross that line.

Y/n's words washed over Oscar like a tidal wave, eroding his resistance with each passing second. "It's a sign, Oscar," she breathed, her eyes wide and imploring. "Look around you. It's just the two of us, nobody to disturb us, nobody to judge us. Maybe it's meant to be. Maybe we're meant to give in to our desires, just this one time."

Her hands slid up his chest, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt. Oscar's heart raced, his body responding to her touch despite his mind's protests. He knew what she was saying made sense, that they were alone, that no one would ever know. But still, a part of him hesitated, unsure if he was truly ready to cross that line.

Y/n leaned in closer, her lips hovering just inches from his. "Please, Oscar," she whispered, her voice a seductive purr. "I need you. I want you. Let's just forget about everything else for a while and focus on each other."

Oscar's resolve was crumbling, his body betraying his mind as Y/n's seductive words washed over him. "But they're watching," he whispered, his eyes darting to the crucifix and the statue of the Virgin Mary.

Y/n followed his gaze, a wicked smile playing on her lips. "Let them watch," she purred, her voice low and sultry. "They know this is natural, Oscar. They'll understand. It's not like we're committing some unforgivable sin."

She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "God created us with these desires, Oscar. He wouldn't condemn us for acting on them."

His heart raced, his body responding to Y/n's touch despite his mind's protests. He knew what she was saying made sense, that it was a logical argument.

Y/n's hands slid down Oscar's chest, her fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt. "Don't you see, Oscar?" she breathed, her eyes dark with desire. "This is meant to be. We're meant to be together, to share this moment. It's a gift from God."

Her lips trailed along his jawline, her teeth grazing his skin. "Think about it," she murmured, her voice low and seductive. "We're alone, with no one to disturb us. No one to judge us. It's like we're in our own little world, a world where the only thing that matters is us."

Oscar's breath hitched in his throat, his body responding to Y/n's touch despite his mind's protests. He knew what she was saying made sense, that it was a logical argument. But still, a part of him hesitated, unsure if he was truly ready to cross that line.

Oscar's resistance finally crumbled, his body melting into Y/n's embrace as he returned her kisses with a shy, tentative passion. "I... I don't know how to please a woman," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've never... I'm a virgin."

Y/n's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise crossing her features before being replaced by a look of tender understanding. "Shh, it's okay," she murmured, her fingers caressing his cheek. "I'll guide you, Oscar. We'll take it slow, and I'll show you everything you need to know."

She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "Just trust me, and let yourself feel. Let yourself experience the pleasure that God has gifted us with."

Y/n gently guided Oscar to sit on the edge of the bed, her hands resting on his shoulders. "Just relax," she murmured, her voice soft and reassuring. "I'll take care of you."

She knelt down in front of him, her eyes level with his crotch. Slowly, teasingly, she ran her hands up his thighs, her fingers tracing the contours of his muscles through the fabric of his jeans.

Oscar's breath hitched in his throat, his body responding to her touch despite his nervousness. He had never been this intimate with anyone before, and the thought of Y/n touching him in such a way both thrilled and terrified him.

Y/n's fingers dug into Oscar's thighs, her nails lightly scraping against his skin as she squeezed and massaged the firm muscle. She could feel him shudder under her touch, his body responding to her teasing caresses.

A wicked smile played on her lips as she heard his sharp intake of breath. She loved seeing him like this, vulnerable and at her mercy. It was a heady feeling, knowing that she had the power to make him tremble with desire.

Slowly, deliberately, she reached for the zipper of his jeans, her fingers toying with the metal tab. She could see the bulge in his pants, the evidence of his arousal, and it only served to fuel her own desire.

With a swift tug, she pulled down his zipper, the sound of the metal teeth parting echoing in the quiet room. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans and boxers, pulling them down in one smooth motion until they pooled around his ankles.

Oscar flinched as Y/n eagerly tugged down his jeans and boxers, exposing his most intimate parts to her hungry gaze. Feeling shy and embarrassed by her boldness, he quickly covered his face and mouth with one hand, hiding behind it as she began to touch him.

Y/n's fingers danced along his inner thighs, slowly making their way higher and higher. She could feel his body trembling under her touch, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She reveled in the power she held over him, in the way she could make him quiver with just a simple caress.

"Relax, Oscar," she purred, her voice low and seductive. "There's no need to be shy. I'm going to make you feel so good."

Her hand wrapped around his hardening length, her fingers stroking him slowly, teasingly. Oscar let out a low moan, his hips bucking involuntarily as she touched him.

Oscar whimpered as Y/n's fingers danced along his sensitive skin, her touch both tantalizing and overwhelming. "Have you ever touched yourself?" she asked, her voice low and seductive.

Oscar's face flushed a deep crimson, his eyes darting away from hers. "N-no," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n chuckled, her fingers continuing their teasing exploration. "I don't believe you," she purred, her thumb grazing the tip of his hardening length.

He let out a low moan, his hips bucking involuntarily as she touched him. "I... I tried," he admitted, his voice trembling with embarrassment. "But I didn't know how."

Y/n smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Give me your hand," she purred, her voice low and seductive.

Oscar hesitated for a moment, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. But as Y/n's fingers intertwined with his, he found himself giving in to her guidance.

She wrapped his hand around his hardening length, her fingers gently curling around his own. "Like this," she murmured, her voice soft and encouraging. "You can go slow."

She guided his hand in a slow, steady rhythm, her fingers gliding along his shaft with each stroke. Oscar let out a low moan, his eyes fluttering closed as he savored the sensation.

"Or you can go faster," Y/n whispered, her hand speeding up the pace. Oscar gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily as she increased the intensity of his strokes.

Oscar's shy moans filled the room as Y/n continued to guide his hand, her fingers curling around his own as she showed him how to stroke himself. "That feels good, doesn't it?" she purred, her voice low and seductive.

He nodded, his eyes fluttering closed as he lost himself in the sensation. He had never felt anything like this before, the pleasure coursing through his body like a raging river.

Y/n's hand sped up, her fingers gliding along his shaft with each stroke. Oscar's breath came in short, sharp gasps, his hips bucking involuntarily as she increased the intensity of his pleasure.

"You're doing so well, Oscar," she murmured, her lips curling into a sly smile. "Just let yourself feel it. Let yourself enjoy it."

Y/n's fingers slowed their strokes, her hand still intertwined with Oscar's as she guided him. "I'm going to do something now," she whispered, her voice low and seductive. "Don't freak out, okay?"

Oscar nodded, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Okay," he managed to choke out, his eyes wide with anticipation and nervousness.

Slowly, teasingly, Y/n leaned forward, her lips parting as she took the tip of his cock into her mouth. Oscar let out a low, guttural moan, his fingers tightening around hers as he felt the warm, wet heat of her mouth enveloping him.

Her head bobbed up and down, her lips sealed tightly around Oscar's shaft as she began to suck. Her tongue swirled around the sensitive tip, her cheeks hollowing as she increased the suction.

Oscar's fingers tightened around hers, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. But as Y/n guided his hands away from his cock, he found himself letting go, his palms coming to rest on her shoulders as she took him deeper into her mouth.

The cross necklace around Y/n's neck dangled and swayed with each movement of her head, the gold chain catching the light as it brushed against her skin. Oscar watched, transfixed, as the symbol of her faith bounced and twirled, a stark contrast to the act she was performing.

Y/n's lips stretched around his length, her throat constricting as she took him deeper and deeper. Oscar's head fell back, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he lost himself in the intense pleasure of her mouth.

Oscar's eyes rolled back in his head as Y/n's mouth worked its magic on his throbbing length. "Oh my god," he groaned, the words tumbling from his lips without a second thought.

For a brief moment, the realization that he had just taken the Lord's name in vain flashed through his mind. But the overwhelming pleasure coursing through his body quickly pushed any thoughts of sin or guilt aside.

Y/n's tongue swirled around his shaft, her lips sealed tightly around him as she bobbed her head up and down. The wet, obscene sounds of her sucking filled the room, mingling with Oscar's breathy moans and gasps.

He tangled his fingers in her hair, his hips rocking back and forth as he lost himself in the sensation. Nothing else mattered in that moment - not his faith, not his vows, not the consequences of his actions. All that existed was the feeling of Y/n's mouth on his cock, and the all-consuming need for more.

Y/n could feel Oscar's body tensing, his grip on her hair loosening as he neared his climax. His moans grew louder, more desperate, his hips rocking erratically as he chased his release.

But just as he was about to reach the peak, Y/n abruptly stopped, pulling her mouth away from his throbbing length. Oscar let out a strangled cry, his body writhing with frustration.

"No, please, don't stop," he begged, his voice hoarse and pleading. "It felt so good. Please, I need..."

Y/n placed a finger against his lips, silencing him. "Shh, it's okay," she whispered, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Calm down. It'll feel even better later, I promise. Just trust me on this, okay?"

Oscar's breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling with need. But as he looked into Y/n's eyes, he found himself nodding, his trust in her overriding his desperation.

Y/n smiled, pleased with Oscar's compliance. "Good boy," she purred, her eyes roaming hungrily over his nearly naked form. "Now, why don't you take off the rest of your clothes for me?"

Oscar nodded, his hands shaking slightly as he reached for the hem of his shirt. He pulled it over his head, tossing it aside carelessly before kicking off his jeans, which were still bunched around his ankles.

In his haste to obey Y/n's command, Oscar didn't even notice that she was undressing as well. His eyes were fixed on her face, his body trembling with a mixture of nerves and anticipation.

Y/n's fingers deftly traced the bottom of her shirt, her hips swaying seductively as she slipped it off her shoulders. Her bra followed soon after, revealing her pert breasts to Oscar's wide-eyed gaze. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts, shimmying out of it before sliding her panties down her legs.

Oscar's face flushed a deep crimson as he took in the sight of Y/n's naked body. He wanted to speak, to express the multitude of emotions and desires coursing through him. But the words caught in his throat, his shyness overpowering his courage.

Y/n noticed his hesitation, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Do you need to say anything, Oscar?" she asked, her voice low and inviting. "Don't be shy. It's just the two of us here."

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "I... I just..." he stammered, his eyes darting away from hers. "I've never seen a girl naked before. You're so beautiful."

Y/n's smile widened, her eyes sparkling with approval. "Thank you, Oscar," she purred, taking a step closer to him. "And you're pretty cute yourself."

She reached out, her fingers trailing down his chest, his abs, his hips. Oscar shivered under her touch, his body responding to her closeness despite his nervousness.

Y/n noticed Oscar's nervousness, the way his body trembled under her touch. She leaned in, capturing his lips in a soft, gentle kiss. "Hey," she whispered, her breath mingling with his. "Calm down for me, okay? You need to relax."

Oscar's eyes fluttered open, his gaze meeting hers. "S-sorry," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just a bit scared."

Y/n smiled, her fingers tracing the contours of his face. "It's okay to be scared," she murmured, her lips brushing against his forehead. "But I'm here with you. I won't let anything happen to you."

She kissed him again, her lips moving softly against his. Oscar melted into the kiss, his fears slowly dissipating as he lost himself in the sensation of her touch, her warmth, her presence.

Y/n noticed the worried expression on Oscar's face, his body tense and uncertain. She cupped his cheek, her thumb stroking his skin. "Hey," she whispered, her voice soft and reassuring. "I'm okay. Don't worry."

She leaned in, capturing his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. As she did, she rocked her hips, taking him deeper inside her. A gasp escaped her lips, her eyes widening as she felt him stretch her further.

"Fuck," she breathed, her voice strained with a mix of pleasure and discomfort. "You're huge."

Oscar's eyes widened, his body relaxing slightly at her words. He had never heard such a compliment before, and it sent a surge of confidence coursing through him.

Y/n smiled, her hips moving in small, circular motions. "See?" she purred, her lips curling into a seductive smirk. "I can handle you. Just relax and let me take care of you."

Oscar nodded, his body relaxing under Y/n's guidance. "Okay," he breathed, his voice trembling with anticipation.

As Y/n began to move, Oscar's eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth falling open in a silent cry of pleasure. "Oh god," he gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily as she rode him. "Oh fu- oh my god."

She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice low and seductive. "It's okay to swear. It's just between us."

Oscar's eyes widened, his cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. "Fuck," he breathed, the word falling from his lips like a forbidden fruit. "Fuck, Y/n. You feel so good."

She smiled, her hips moving faster, harder. "That's it," she purred, her voice encouraging. "Let go. Say whatever you want. No one's here to judge us."

Y/n's eyes sparkled with mischief as she heard Oscar swear, his voice trembling with pleasure. "That's it," she purred, her hips moving faster, harder. "You sound so pretty when you swear."

She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. "God forbid my father ever finds out," she whispered, her voice low and conspiratorial. "But I'd gladly risk it if it meant I could hear this every night."

Oscar's eyes widened, his body tensing at the thought of being discovered. But the pleasure coursing through him was too intense to ignore, and he found himself pushing the thought aside, focusing instead on the feeling of Y/n's body moving against his.

Y/n threw her head back, a loud moan escaping her lips as Oscar hit a particularly sensitive spot inside her. "Fuck, right there baby," she cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders.

But as she felt him tense beneath her, his body shaking with a mix of pleasure and panic, she realized what was happening. "Stop, stop," he whimpered, his voice muffled against her neck. "I-I think I'm gonna pee."

Her eyes widened, but she quickly reassured him. "No, you're not," she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear. "That's just your body's way of telling you you're about to cum."

As if on cue, Oscar's body convulsed, his hips bucking as he released inside her. Y/n gasped, her own orgasm crashing over her as she felt him fill her with his seed.

They lay there for a moment, their breaths gradually slowing as they came down from their high. But as the post-orgasmic haze began to lift, reality started to set in.

Oscar buried his face in Y/n's neck, his voice muffled as he spoke. "That was so... oh my god..."

Y/n's arms tightened around him, her fingers running through his hair in a soothing gesture. "I know," she whispered, her voice soft and understanding. "It's a lot to take in."

She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching his face. "Are you okay?" she asked, her brow furrowed with concern. "I mean, physically. Did I hurt you at all?"

Oscar shook his head, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "No," he mumbled, his eyes darting away from hers. "I'm fine. Just... overwhelmed."

Y/n smiled, her fingers tracing the contours of Oscar's face. "That's okay," she murmured, her voice soft and reassuring. "It's normal to feel overwhelmed after your first time. Just take a deep breath and try to relax."

But before Oscar could respond, a loud crack of thunder echoed outside, followed by the sound of heavy rain pelting against the window. Oscar's eyes widened, his body tensing at the sudden noise.

"What was that?" he asked, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and confusion.

Y/n glanced towards the window, a small smile playing on her lips. "It's just rain," she explained, her fingers still tracing patterns on his skin. "A big storm must have rolled in while we were... distracted."

Oscar's eyes darted between Y/n and the window, his mind struggling to process the new sensory input. The sound of the rain, the flashes of lightning illuminating the room, the scent of petrichor wafting through the air - it was all too much for his overstimulated senses to handle.

She felt his body tense against hers as another clap of thunder boomed outside. She could sense his fear, his discomfort with the sudden storm. "Okay, lay down for me," she murmured, her voice soft and soothing. "You can use the pillows to cover your ears while I go downstairs, okay?"

He nodded, his face still buried in the crook of her neck. He slowly laid down on the bed, his hands clutching the pillows tightly to his ears.

Y/n smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "I'll call your mom on the landline and let her know you're staying over tonight," she explained, her fingers tracing the shell of his ear. "I can't let you walk home in this rain."

Oscar's eyes widened, a flicker of panic crossing his features. "But my mom..." he started, his voice muffled by the pillows.

"Shh, it's okay," Y/n reassured him, her lips brushing against his temple. "I'll explain everything. Just try to relax, okay?"

Y/n slipped out of the bedroom, pulling her clothes back on. As she made her way downstairs, she glanced back at Oscar, who was lying on the bed staring out the window. His ears were still covered with the pillow, and the bottom half of his body was now draped with the blanket.

She couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, his vulnerability and innocence shining through despite the intimate act they had just shared. She knew he was scared, overwhelmed by the storm and the new experiences of the day. But she also knew that he trusted her, that he felt safe with her.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, Y/n took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation with Oscar's mother. She knew it wouldn't be easy, to explain why her son was spending the night during a thunderstorm. But she also knew that it was the right thing to do, to keep him safe and protected.

Y/n picked up the phone and dialed Oscar's mother's number, her heart pounding in her chest. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves as she waited for the call to connect.

When Nicole answered, Y/n explained the situation, her voice trembling slightly. "Hi Nicole, it's Y/n. I'm so sorry to call you out of the blue like this, but... Oscar is here with me. We were practicing guitar when the storm hit, and it's just too dangerous for him to walk home right now."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, and Y/n's heart sank. But then Nicole's voice came through, warm and understanding. "Oh honey, don't worry about it. I was actually just about to call you. I was going to ask if Oscar could stay the night, because I don't want him walking home in this weather either."

Y/n let out a sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging as the tension drained from her body. "Thank you so much, Nicole," she said, her voice filled with gratitude. "I really appreciate your understanding."

Y/n hung up the phone, a wave of relief washing over her. She had been so worried about how Nicole would react, but her understanding and support had put Y/n's mind at ease.

She made her way back upstairs, her footsteps soft on the carpeted steps. As she entered the bedroom, she found Oscar still lying on the bed, his ears covered with the pillow and his body tucked under the blanket.

"Everything's okay," she said softly, perching on the edge of the bed. "Your mom knows you're here, and she's happy for you to stay the night. She was actually just about to call and ask me the same thing."

Oscar's eyes widened, the pillow slipping slightly as he turned to look at her. "Really?" he asked, his voice a mix of surprise and relief.

Y/n nodded, smiling reassuringly. "Really. She understands about the storm, and she doesn't want you walking home in this weather either."

Y/n rummaged through her closet, pulling out an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts. They were clearly her father's clothes, the shirt hanging loosely on her frame as she held them out to Oscar.

"Come on, sit up," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "Let me help you get changed."

Oscar hesitated for a moment, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. But the thought of wearing his own wet, sticky clothes made him shudder, and he slowly sat up, the blanket falling away from his body.

Y/n helped him into the oversized shirt, the fabric swallowing his smaller frame. She then handed him the shorts, averting her eyes as he slipped them on.

"There," she said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "Comfy?"

Oscar nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he looked down at the oversized clothes. They were comfortable, and he felt a sense of safety and security wearing them.

But as he went to stand up, he suddenly pulled Y/n down with him, plopping back onto the bed. She let out a small "oof" of surprise, but didn't comment on it, realizing that he was just tired and seeking comfort.

Oscar wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as he snuggled into the pillow. Y/n could feel his body relaxing against hers, his breathing slowing as he drifted off to sleep.

She smiled, her fingers gently stroking his hair as she watched him sleep. Despite the events of the day, the intimacy they had shared, she felt a sense of peace wash over her.

The following Sunday, Y/n and Oscar found themselves back at church, sitting in their usual pews. Y/n was scheduled to read a Bible verse about lust, a topic that had taken on a whole new meaning since their encounter last week.

As she stood up to approach the podium, Y/n couldn't help but steal a glance at Oscar. Her eyes met his, and she saw his cheeks flush a deep crimson, his gaze darting away from hers.

She suppressed a smile, remembering the intimate moments they had shared. The thought of the pastor's daughter and an altar server engaging in such activities would surely raise some eyebrows if anyone found out.

Y/n cleared her throat, the microphone crackling to life as she began to read the verse. "For this is the will of God, your sanctification: that you abstain from sexual immorality; that each one of you know how to control his own body in holiness and honor, not in the passion of lust like the Gentiles who do not know God..."

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macheriee · 7 months ago

Text

𝒜pocalypse ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

⌗ everyone knew the boy’s father was lord commander of the city watch, that much was apparent. to your mother he was another insult to the throne, to you he was just the bastard, until he wasn’t.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 tags enemies to lovers, hate-fucking kinda, aunt-nephew incest, targaryen-hightower!reader, TW: dub-con (oc struggles w/ accepting she got the hots for jace) call it horny guilt lmao but the first encounter is very much dubious but she gives in, lust at first sight, domesticity, fingering, pussy-eating, jace is low-key a simp/sub, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, impact play(?), breeding kinks cause it’s HOTD, rough sex, oc is mean asf at first, happy but angsty ending, light to medium angst, pregnancy mention, kinda canon it lowkey follows ssn 2 n some of 1 but not by a lottt (ex. mentioned scenes/flashbacks), oc n jace have been aged up (20), tweaked a few things to make sense so not completely canon, slow-burn ish but then it’s just fast burn lmao, curly-headed!jace 4ever, TW: oc has a panic attack

ᯓᡣ𐭩 word count 10.7k

your lips my lips, apocalypse..

“Bastards,”

You’ve heard the strange term tumble from your mother and grandsire’s lips the day king Viserys brought forth princess Rhaenyra’s children. They each stood mockingly with their dark unruly curls and equally colored eyes, an uncanny resemblance to the city watch commander.

The truth of it was they were no true Velaryon, nor Targaryen—but a Strong. You wondered if Rhaenyra felt shame the way they came out with their plain features, mayhaps not as your mother said the princess was as stubborn as her dragon mount.

From the start Jacaerys was an aggravating little thing to look at as children when you both clung to your mother’s skirts. His eyes were filled with curiosity as were yours before Alicent found herself shielding you from his sight like she was afraid he’d sully you.

It was clear she had zero desire for her children to associate with Rhaenyra’s much to the king’s dismay (but when has father ever cared?) Your mother hardly kept you out of her sight and if it wasn’t her you were accompanied by your siblings, a handmaid, or Cole.

You never lacked in needing “friends” and grew fine without their company as you had Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena. Occasionally you saw Jacaerys and his brother running about like little savages in the halls but you’re pulled away by a Septa just short of crossing paths.

Jacaerys was the one who intrigued you the most. It might have been age but you didn’t understand why it was so bad? What had Jacaerys done for your mother to forbid you from speaking with him? He was a bastard, yes, but what did it exactly have to do with you?

Jace—Jacaerys, wasn’t a threat. You had no throne nor a title of some sorts to claim; there was nothing to your name, so why?

As children during joint lessons there were timid but not so secret glances exchanged. Mostly curiosity but it was something both Cole and your brothers disapproved of, especially Aemond who had come to Helaena’s chambers angry after a lesson in the dragon pits with Aegon and Rhaenyra’s sons.

Eventually they left for Dragonstone, never to be seen again until a day before your tenth name day when you’re called to Driftmark for Lady Laena’s funeral. Why you were called upon such a thing you don’t know, nor care really as you hadn’t known the lady much.

The entire event was a waste—your brother was maimed, the king being the king chose his eldest’s side and the family further divided. Alicent wept and mourned Aemond as Rhaenyra’s bastards would have your brother’s eye. You looked at Jacaerys in anger, resentment, and frustration.

Who was responsible, you don’t care, what angered you was the fact that they paraded their entitlement so freely and shamelessly. Rhaenyra could have outright said she wanted Aemond’s head and your father would still find a way to make excuses for her. (Maybe even give her what she wanted.)

That was the last you ever saw of him before leaving for Kings Landing to resume life without them. You found it much more enjoyable without your half-sister and her family around, in fact you’d rather it stay that way forever.

On occasion you found yourself thinking of your nephew. The memories clung to the walls leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, one in particular haunting:

You and the king stood together atop the balcony watching as Ser Cole trained with the princes—including Rhaenyra’s sons. It was clear Cole favored your brothers evident in the way he praised one side but barked orders (or completely ignored) at the other.

“They’ll make fearsome knights, don’t you think?” Your father turns to you with a gentle smile, his tone warm but distant.

“Possibly, if Aegon ever decides to leave his cups.” You fall into silence shortly after.

You never knew what to say to your father having been so distant and neglected it felt like you didn’t know him at all. You tolerated him at best and affection was out of the question leaving you with nothing, just mere acquaintances.

The king chuckles quietly and his mouth parts to speak with his Hand but Jacaerys interrupts with his angry cry as he charges forward at Aegon. Your lips part in surprise and out of the corner of your eye you see Ser Harwin circling, watching.

Aegon uses the straw dummy to avoid Jacaerys. He’s quick to corner the smaller, kicking Jacaerys down in the process.

“Don’t let him get up.” Cole barks which spurs the commander into action.

You watch in amusement as Cole is beaten to a bloody pulp by the bastard’s father. The king turns with concern, given this was no sight for a lady, “Why don’t you go and see if your mother needs something, perhaps your sister?”

You bow in courtesy, escorted away by your sworn shield but your mother’s apartments aren’t the place you’ll be going, no, you want to watch this mess play out a little longer.

“I wish to see my brothers.” You command softly, already walking towards the training grounds even if your knight was willing or not.

They’re pulling Harwin off when you step foot outside, Jacaerys and his brother huddle close while your older brother in particular looks both amused and bored of the entire ordeal already. No doubt still pissy about being grabbed and promptly scolded by the king (‘Aegon!’) .

“Sister,” Aemond greets once you’ve joined him and Aegon.

“How were your lessons?” You quietly fuss over his messy tunic whilst checking for any bruising or cuts on his face, thankfully none.

Aemond responds in kind with Aegon loudly interrupting but you ignore him and his poor manners. You can’t help the way your eyes flit over him and his brother from across the yard, your gaze scrutinizing and judgemental like your queen mother often wore when she expressed her displeasure.

The little bastard actually rises to the challenge. “Jace!” You turn in time to see him advancing quickly, expression full of anger and accusation.

“Is there something you have to say?” Jacaerys glares.

You look over your shoulder with a cool expression, “I don’t have anything to say, what makes you think that?” It’s agitating having to explain yourself to him of all people.

“Because you look like you have something to say, so say it!” It’s comical the way his cheeks and entire face glow red from anger.

You slowly turned to Jacaerys with folded hands placed politely over your front (as the Septa and your mother taught you), “I was merely talking about how Strong the two of you were out here.”

This immediately draws the attention of Ser Harwin. His face easily betrays his emotions but you simply smile at the commander, “It’s a good thing they have the city watch commander to guide them, isn’t it?”

Challenging little cunt you were, Harwin forces a tight smile, “Indeed, princess.”

He doesn’t get to stay much longer as the guards begin pushing him in the direction of the castle, away from his two Strong boys. You were going to wipe the smug face off that bastard–

Aegon shoves Jacaerys first into the dirt, sending the poor boy flying back as Lucerys panics calling out for him. Lucerys charges with a wooden stick in hand, his face twisted in anger and fear as he swings for Aegon, “Let my brother go!”

You scoff and stick your foot out, tripping the boy as you swiftly place a foot over his back pressing down, “Dohaerās!”

You put more pressure with each passing second he squirmed and cried. “Get off of him!” Jacaerys shoves Aegon off and runs at you, pushing past Aemond knocking him down too in the process.

You turn in time to see a head full of dark curls charging, your father yelling for everyone to put an end to this nonsense. “Or what? You’re going to run to mommy and tell her what I said?”

He stops dead in his tracks when you stalk towards him with a predatory look in your eye, “What’s wrong? Not strong now are you?” You shove him harder, causing him to stumble over the wooden sword, “Better yet, why don’t you call for your father to come save you?”

Harwin stills by the doors and the entire yard grows silent. Jacaerys clenches his fists tightly, “Ser Laenor isn’t here.” He grits.

You lean closer, eyes meeting Ser Harwin’s over Jacaerys’ shoulder, “Is he?”

The ‘Velaryon’ stiffens and you can’t hide your grin, “I was merely joking, relax.” You finish softly pulling away.

Aemond is there holding his elbow out for you to take, the two of you (Aegon included) disappear into the castle passing by the commander. Aemond himself shoots Harwin a look before uttering loud and clear:

“Bastards.” No one corrects him.

You remember the outrage you and your brothers caused with Rhaenyra. She demanded justice—especially towards you after learning you pushed her Luke to the ground and commanded him like an animal. She pushed for a harsh punishment, hell-bent on it.

Alicent, who usually was spoken over by her husband and every other man in her life, for once refused. Your mother made sure of it that no one, not even the king, was to touch or harm you, fiercely defending you against your half-sister.

‘Over words? You wish to have my daughter flogged over an insult?’

Needless to say your mother had the last say after some unsavory words and threats were exchanged in the council room. As Rhaenyra passed you met her eyes briefly before Alicent covered you with her own body.

They left like dogs with their tails tucked between their legs. You, Aegon, and Aemond stood over a balcony watching the ships sail and dragons pass overhead. It was as if they were never there to begin with.

It wasn’t always unpleasant you suppose but with age you slowly begin caring and thinking less and less about those Strong boys.

༺ ──────────── ༻

“There’s to be a petition in court.” Your mother solemnly mumbles from her place by the open windows, she’s in one of her moods again and you wish no part of it. Was it Aegon who went and managed to piss her off for the umpteenth time?

You barely look up from the embroidery you’re working on (it’s a beetle for Helaena who has been feeling blue these days), “A petition for what?”

Alicent turns to you with a melancholic look on her face, she’s smiling but it falls short and her somber mood once again returns. “Nothing of importance my sweetling.” She lifts her skirts to take a seat beside you on the floor, “What are you working on?”

“A beetle, for Helaena.” As you’re showing her the doors to your rooms open and a handmaiden stands by with a soft ‘Prince Aemond, your grace,’

“Mother, y/n.” Aemond greets as he takes a seat in the chair next to you, leg crossed over his other. “For Helaena?” He murmurs, leaning down to get a better look.

You speak amongst quiet whispers while Alicent watches, content to see her two children together. “Mother, the petition does it have anything to do with Rhaenyra and her sons?”

Aemond, who had taken the embroidery to try for himself, stops in his tracks. Alicent feared she wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret, especially not with you two being so perceptive all the time. Her prolonged silence was enough answer anyway.

“Yes,” she finally relents, “Lord Corlys’ younger brother wishes to challenge Lucerys’ claim for Driftwood.”

Her tone is hesitant and careful, she looks at Aemond when she says his name. She’s treading carefully with her third born knowing he was particularly sensitive when he got angry.

“By extension the rest of her I presume?” You reach for a lemon cake mumbling to Aemond (‘Share one with me… I said to split it, not have it all.’—‘I did.’)

With the king bed-ridden nearing death and his first born off at Dragonstone, there was no need to hold your tongue. “Her claim will be questioned, as will her first born and second,” Aemond adds.

“I worry sometimes,” Alicent finally says, silence following, “for you, Helaena, Aegon—the children.” You know exactly what she means to tell.

“I do believe Helaena has been in need of some company. You may leave me, I have Aemond.” You reach for her hands and gently squeeze, “I will catch up with you two, yes?”

Alicent studies your face in worry before settling on brushing a few stray hairs out of your face, “Alright, I will see you.” She lays a gentle kiss over your head and rises to her feet.

Once the doors slam shut you finally release the sigh you’ve held in through the entire conversation with half a mind to ask for a bath to soothe your oncoming headache. “Seems our dear nephews will be arriving on the morrow.” He comments.

“Hm, seems so.” You’re not entirely sure how you feel, are you supposed to feel anything?

Things were different now you suppose, your hatred died down over the years without their insulting presence. You didn’t like them either, merely tolerated the idea of them.

Then there was the great Jacaerys Velaryon, future of the realm and heir to the throne, the same boy who plagued your dreams and memories all these years.

And he was to be here tomorrow, the first since Lady Laena’s funeral (which you had believed to be the last time you would ever have to see him).

“You’re free to speak plainly sister, we’re in private, we don't have to keep pretending.” Aemond mutters, head lolling in your direction as he stares at you.

You tilt your head, “And what would you have me say? That I’m looking forward to their little visit?”

“What excuse will it be this time? I don’t think she can easily sway the people with the evidence right there in plain sight,” he hums.

The more you think about her and her children coming here into your home tainting it all over again—you grow furious.

“Help me up will you? I think I’ll take a bath and meet you with mother.” You hope it will be enough to curb your anger for now.

Aemond holds you upright and levels you with a stare, “Something’s bothering you.”

“Well, yes–”

“Not them.” Aemond replies quietly and for a second you still.

You gently stroke the side of his face, watching as Aemond leans into your touch with a closed eye, “I’m fine,” you murmur, “now go.”

Luckily Aemond’s just as sweet on you and Helaena as he is stubborn and observant. He lets it go (thankfully) and you’re left alone to think about tomorrow. You could easily feign sickness or escape to the Sept (you were due for a prayer anyways) but mother would never let you as much as she would like to—your grandsire’s word evidently still strong over her.

You soak in the boiling hot tub, enjoying the steam delicate scents from the oils you regularly use. “That’s a problem for another day,” you find yourself murmuring to no one in particular as you sink further into the tub, eyes slipping shut.

༺ ──────────── ༻

You had done your best to carry on with your duties the following morning.

Nearly an hour had passed since you sat around staring at your reflection instead of allowing the handmaids to dress you. By this hour you’d be with your mother and Helaena in the gardens. Your absence however prompts the queen to come searching.

“What’s wrong?” Alicent whispers sitting beside you on the bed with worry etched on her brow as she gently moves your hair from your shoulder, “y/n?”

You place your hand over hers, “Braid my hair, like when I was child?” You hold the brush out for her to take.

She has you sit on the floor in front of her, gently combing the hair brush through your soft locks handling each strand of hair with care. The two of you fall into comfortable silence (save for her soft humming). All of your frustrations quickly lift off your shoulders the more you sink into her gentle caring touch.

“The dress is beautiful, when did you have this tailored?” Alicent comments softly, it was no secret to anyone that she saw herself in her youngest daughter—dutiful, composed, a good daughter.

The only difference was you had freedom she never did. While she had been made a child bride by her own father, you remained an unwed maiden at the age of twenty by choice. Alicent didn’t push for proposals and Otto knew better than to try and meddle with you like he had with Aegon and Helaena.

(‘Aemond had it made for me, Helaena has one in blue.’—‘The fabric, I don’t believe we have that around here do we?’) Your doors open and your drunken (maybe hungover) brother comes stumbling gracelessly.

“Well don’t you look darling.” He comments under his breath and saunters over to where you sit, falling flat on his back with his head in your lap.

“Aegon.” Alicent warns as she starts on another braid.

You look down and flick his forehead, “You smell of wine, and you're going to dirty my dress.” Despite the annoyance you still comb your fingers through his hair affectionately.

Aegon snorts unceremoniously, “Is it a crime to visit my sister now? My very beautiful sister—do say, when are you going to choose a husband? You’re past the age, and well nearly every lord in the realm’s been asking for your hand.” He smirks slyly knowing very well the topic of marriage angered the shit out of you.

“Aegon that’s enough, stop pestering your sister.” Alicent sighs heavily.

Your eyes flick over to the wine pitcher in your maid’s hands, the threat clear. A harmless grin forms on his face, one you can’t help but mirror teasingly as the two of you settle in silence as to not disturb your mother with children’s banter. You left that for your niece and nephew to do.

“There,” Alicent shows you through the mirror, “do you like it?”

“I love it, thank you.” You leaned back to lay in her lap.

Normally she would frown at receiving such affections but because it was you she held her tongue, never truly bothered by any of it. She allows it for a little longer before gently patting your shoulder.

“I must go and see to it that preparations for our guests are going well my sweetlings. I will see you in court later.” She departs hastily.

“Have you eaten?” You ask Aegon, who shakes his head as you rise to your feet together, “I haven’t either.”

Rhaenys and her granddaughter are the first to arrive on dragonback, and then your dear half-sister with her entourage of children and Daemon.

‘Ha, so they really did it,’ Lady Laena hadn’t been dead for a week and these two had already frolicked around (the night at Driftmark, you’re sure the two figures on the beach were them).

No one had been there to receive them—you certainly didn’t bother, you doubt any of your siblings would. You’re outside in the yard watching Criston Cole train with Aemond again, your brother much more swifter than the knight in comparison to when he was a child.

There’s a proud smile on your lips when Aemond emerges victorious, looking your way with a grin. “Come to watch me?” He tilts his head.

“What does it seem like?” You muse softly after seeing that Aemond has garnered attention from other knights and maids, making a spectacle of his sparring in a outstandish way.

“It seems you want to spar with me,” he smirks.

“Daor.”

Aemond snorts, “Fine,” he picks his sword back up and points it to Cole, “again, I wish to win this next round in my sister’s honor.”

A handmaid is quick to bring you a chair, the sound of swords colliding once again filling the yard. Aemond’s eager to prove he’s surpassed Ser Criston and judging by the small crowd forming he’s eating the attention right up. You hear distant murmurs and whispers but pay no mind, it must’ve been the women from court again who didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut.

“Just look at their hair..” One of them says.

Everyone knows, father, just look at them..

“Princess? Are you alright, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” you hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath in shock and anticipation the entire time.

The swords have stopped and everything goes still, Aemond stands with the tip of his blade pointed in your direction—not at you, but behind you. He had that crazed look in his eye again. You share a look and rise from your seat slowly.

“Nephews, have you come to train?” Your brother’s tone is cold with bitter hate.

Jacaerys stands dumbfounded and unable to form a response, you watch his (soft, plump) lips part but not a single sound comes.

“Nephews.” You quietly say with the tiniest of nods, “It’s been long hasn’t it? I take it the trip over was comfortable, was it not?”

Neither Lucerys nor Jacaerys answer at first with the younger curly-headed boy awkwardly muttering his response, very unbefitting of the next Lord of the Tides.

You barely spare him a look as you turn to Jacaerys, “Would you like me to show you your rooms? I’m sure they’ve been prepared already.”

“..We would appreciate it,” he finally replies, his voice no longer squeaky and high—rather low and suave, “seeing as there was no one to properly welcome us earlier.” His snarky response makes your skin crawl and your temper flare, but for appearances you reel yourself in.

“Apologies, nephews—it’s been a rather exhausting day preparing for the guests.” You force a polite smile.

He fixes you with a dark stare, his gaze dropping from your lips and then back up, “Mm.”

“Follow me,” you hum disappearing into the castle with the two Velaryon boys following close.

Neither one of you made an attempt to speak. What was there to talk about, they were practically strangers and you doubted Lucerys would’ve enjoyed recounting the last time the three of you had the pleasure of sharing the same roof. Jacaerys on the other hand must’ve believed you to be a fool if he thought you hadn't noticed him looking.

Annoyance runs hot through your veins as you finally reach the wing where their rooms sat, “I hope everything is to your liking, don’t hesitate to ask if you need something.”

‘Thank you.’ You hear Lucerys mumble but Jacaerys offers nothing but his heavy stare. “I’ll see you later,” your voice is soft and silky but the lingering (wanton) look you give speaks in volumes.

“Later.” You hear him faintly reply once you’re out of earshot, you can’t help the tiny smirk on your lips.

༺ ──────────── ༻

Court was as you expected—boring and another waste.

You stood by sweet Helaena, who was equally bored, listening as the second son of Driftmark cried over being replaced by a child. A bastard no less, you could only imagine the embarrassment he must have went through—or rather going through because it didn’t seem like he’d be getting a rest from it anytime soon.

During his speech you made eye contact a few times with Jacaerys. You don’t know why it felt natural, like gravity pulled your gaze to him over and over. When you would look he was already watching with the same hunger from before.

The whole fiasco ended in total failure because Vaemond’s killed leaving no challenger. You’re not surprised things worked out in Rhaenyra’s favor after your father wobbled his way to the throne and then had to be carried out because he overexerted himself.

Aemond shields both you and Helaena from the dead body lying on the floor, “That’s enough for today, you’re all dismissed. Someone dispose of the body.” Otto barks through the mess caused by Daemon.

You manage to sneak a last look before being ushered out by your mother and brothers. The walk back quiet and awkward, what was there to say?

“That was..something.” Aegon finally breaks the tense silence.

Your mother doesn’t reply and Aemond snorts, “It was another mess that’s what it was.” You murmur loud enough for them to hear, “Like always, they make a spectacle of themselves and father comes to save the day.”

“Should’ve known father would do that.” Aemond adds in, and it’s true.

You already knew the petition against Rhaenyra’s children of all people would be useless. It was as if the king had a sixth sense when it came to Rhaenyra. Funnily, he was sick enough to be bedridden these past years but well enough to come defend his first born one final time.

“Helaena, why don’t we take the children to the gardens? I’m sure we could both use some fresh air.” You find yourself asking, desperate to forget.

You end up spending the afternoon with Helaena in the gardens talking about everything and nothing. It was always a relaxing affair when it came to your sister and her children. You liked lounging around and watching the twins with a lazy eye. It felt nice having this small escape, kept you from ripping your own hair out over the family drama.

You’re in the middle of playing with Jaehaerys when your mother’s sworn shield interrupts, “Forgive me princesses but your mother has sent me to escort you to tonight's dinner with the king, he has requested all his children be present.”

Helaena’s smile fades and your mood is spoiled for the day, of course the king would pull a stunt like this.

“Hel.” You put a tentative hand on her shoulder, relieved she merely relaxes under your touch. The two of you hesitantly part from the children after promising sweets and more playtime.

Everyone’s barely arriving with your seat being between Aemond’s and grandsire. Aemond looks disinterested (as does everyone else) but you try to put up a farce for the dying old man being carried in. It was possibly his last dinner, might as well make it a memorable one you suppose.

No one wants to speak, Aegon’s got his hands cupped in front of him in exasperation like he’s itching to reach for his wine goblet. Helaena is mumbling to herself mostly and Rhaenyra’s other children stare at their plates.

“Father,” all eyes are on you, “forgive me as I know it was your wish for us to dine together but I’m feeling unwell and would like to rest if I may..” You trail off softly placing your hands on the table, ready to flee.

Jacaerys is still looking down at his plate with a deathly tight grip on his fork. The old croak waves his hand dismissively, smiling painfully, “Yes, go on that’s fine.” He offers a gentle nod at most, you don’t think he even remembers your name.

“Thank you, if you’ll excuse me.” You bow politely,

quickly moving for the exit without a spare glance.

You hear another voice but you can’t make out what they said other than the sound of a chair being pushed out. Something was telling you it was your Strong boy and the thought brings a mischievous smirk to your face as you look over at your sworn shield.

“Leave me, I’ll retire to my rooms alone; you’re dismissed.” You calmly begin walking away.

“But Princess—”

“Go Ser, I will be fine.” You leave no room for argument and hear him reluctantly let out a sigh before heading in the opposite direction.

With the guard handled you find your way through the halls humming in high valyrian until you reach your destination: the king’s council room. It’s dimly lit inside by candles, the windows are open with sounds of small folk singing and dancing heard below.

The slightest creak has you looking to the side without turning your head, “Unwell you said, you must like lying a lot..” He trails off in amusement as he plays with an ornament nearby.

“And what have I lied about nephew? Enlighten me.” You reply softly.

There’s no denying the thrill you’re getting out of this, Jacaerys was bold for following you like this, in a room all alone with no guards around. The secrecy excited you because if anyone were to find you two together—oh they’d think the worst.

An unwed maiden and the prince bastard of Dragonstone.

“You’re acting dense on purpose, putting up a farce—tell me does it make you feel better? Your words, actions—they’re insulting. I don’t think for a moment you’ve had a change of heart.” He scowls, stopping short of the king’s chair.

You spin around to face him with your hands behind your back, “Whatever do you mean?” You can’t help but bat your doe eyes.

Jacaerys hesitates for a second, “You know what I mean, do you take me for a fool.” He says low and threatening, ever so guarded with you.

“Hmm, I’m afraid I don’t know and if you’re just going to keep repeating yourself the door is right there.” You enjoy the look of anger on his face and part your lips to speak once more when he stops you with a hand on your forearm.

The touch is hot, scorching even as you feel the rush of arousal and excitement hit you all at once. No one has ever grabbed you this roughly, or been in the same proximity long enough to keep their head (you had your own way of dealing with unwanted advances).

Yet, Jacaerys still has his hand.

The audacity. “Let go you—” You move to slap him but he grabs your wrist just short of connecting to his face.

“You what? Go on, say it,” he eerily whispers as his hot breath fans over your lips.

Your calm demeanor slips and eyes narrow in anger, “You fucking bastard—unhand me right now!” Your yells are muffled when he seals his lips over yours.

You violently flinch backwards, the kiss bruising as you try pushing him off. In response he merely tightens his hold reminding you he was much stronger than the brat he used to be. Where you move he moves and if you take a step back he takes one forward. Jacaerys slips his hand through your hair and tightly grips, yanking you forward to keep you in place whenever you squirm too much for his liking.

You somehow manage to sneak a hand below your skirts for a dagger you kept and without hesitating bring it up intending to puncture his side. He sees and quickly seizes your wrist, squeezing tight as the blade slips and lands with a clank on the ground.

“I can see the way you look at me,” he whispers all breathless and breathy, “and it kills you to know you want a bastard like me doesn’t it—I wonder if you picture the same things I do,” he briefly pauses as his eyes trail over your swollen lips.

He crowds you into the table with a hand dropping to your hip, “It’s only you and I,” his lips connect with your ear trailing downwards, “you don’t have to pretend; all you have to do is let go.”

Your spine involuntarily arches from his electrifying touch with goosebumps erupting all over. You can’t help the soft gasp when he tugs you towards him by the hip. The very large bulge in his slacks presses stubbornly into your pelvis, hot and throbbing.

“Jacaerys we can’t,” you begin quietly.

“We can’t or you won’t?” He questions dismissively like he doesn’t believe you.

Your lips part and a shaky sigh escapes when he begins leaving open mouthed kisses over your collarbone and shoulders. You pray he doesn’t leave any marks to the naked eye as you’d hate to have to explain the marks on top of your request for moon tea.

“I can’t.” You hope he’d reconsider but to your utter horror Jacaerys sucks harshly over the soft skin of your chest where your tits sit perfectly cupped and pushed together in your dress.

You cry out from the surprise and sensitivity as your hands came up to grip his shoulders tightly. He gives your other tit the same treatment before dropping to his knees with the same lustful look in his eye from earlier.

“Tell me you want this as much as I do,” he pleads as if he desperately needed to hear it from your lips.

“I..” Do you really want him as much as he believes you do? The very thought of him defiling and tainting your purity caused a dark swirl of emotions within you—you want all of him.

Jacaerys licks his lips hungrily and pushes up your skirts until he’s settled in front of your soft thighs. His hot breath fans over them as he inches closer until he’s eye level with your moistened, throbbing cunt.

“..Yes,” you find yourself whispering after a few moments.

A pleased rumble leaves him and he closes the distance between him and your aching cunt. The first stroke of his hot tongue over your sticky folds has you keening in pleasure and your eyes rolling shut, head thrown back. You can’t help your lewd moan—all high and breathy.

Jacaerys works his tongue over your throbbing clit in firm strokes, hands greedily feeling every inch of your smooth skin. You choke when he throws one of your thighs over his shoulder, the angle shattering as he gains more access to your soft virginal pussy; ripe for the taking.

His lips part over it and he takes your aching bud into his mouth, vigorously sucking and lapping. “Jacaerys–” You choke out as his fingers tread over your folds dipping in to press against your soppy hole, the digits gliding rather easily aided by your dripping wetness.

His middle finger slips through—poking and prodding—until he breaches and pushes past the resisting barrier. There’s a sharp whine as your cunt flutters, greedily swallowing up his fingers, “Mmn..”

You notice how he gets when he hears you make those filthy little noises, the flick of his tongue sharp and his grip growing just a bit tighter. You can’t help eagerly rolling your hips on his face, shuddering as your bare cunt slides over his hot mouth and the tip of his nose dips between your folds brushing over your clit.

“Oh gods,” you gasp breathlessly, hips baring down faster and your grip on the table getting tighter.

There’s a filthy moan below your skirts, the vibrations against your pussy have you mewling needily. With little strength you manage to smother your cunt over his face again until he decides to stop teasing and seals his mouth over your throbbing clit once again.

You whimper out a garbled version of his name as the pleasure simmers hot in your lower belly. Your release hurdles towards you fast, almost knocking the breath out of you from how intense.

“Fuck Jacaerys..!” You gasp as the coil finally snaps; leaving you with legs spread wide and hips angled down with your clit in his mouth and his fingers curled up inside you.

You’re blinded by the hot white pleasure and the slick dribbling down your thighs (to which he greedily licks it up with loud unabashed slurps and moans). You shakily push his head away from your sore spent pussy, whining when he lands one last lick over your throbbing clit before letting up.

Jacaerys stands before you in a disheveled state with his swollen, glossed over lips. His tunic’s slightly rumpled and hair clearly out of place from being buried under your skirts for so long.

“Jacaerys,” you quietly start but he quickly silences you with another kiss, this one sweeter than the last.

You can’t help your sigh leaning into his touch, he treats you much more delicately than his harsh bruising kisses from before. He handles you like you’re meant to be—gentle, pampering, soft. The sentiment leaves you eager but disappointingly he pulls away and just..leaves? If you hadn’t been so out of breath you’d call out to him.

You lay your hand over your chest shuddering at the cool sensation of drying slick between your thighs. A rational side of you argues it’s for the best things ended before escalating but another wants to seek him out.

“Princess?” You hear one of your ladies in waiting from the other side of the door.

You shove your skirts down and fix your hair in an attempt to look modest. “Princess,” her face relaxes and she approaches you with open arms, “your mother sent me, are you still feeling unwell?”

“I’m fine, I’d like to have a bath now,” you take her arm biting your inner cheek to fight the fierce heat blossoming over them from embarrassment, “you shall speak nothing of this to my mother, yes?”

“Yes, my lady.”

No one comments on your troubled look while they bathed and dressed you. They knew better than to poke at the dragon; especially one that was upset.

You’re dressed in a white dainty dress you’d gotten as a gift from Aegon (though you suspected he had other intentions when he gifted it to you). You’re left sitting prettily over soft comforters and cushions, skin still smelling like rich oils and softer than a fox's fur.

“That will be all, thank you.” You bid your ladies good night and see them out just as your sworn shield takes his place in front of your chambers.

༺ ──────────── ༻

Sleep does not come as quickly as you had hoped. You’ve lost count of the hour, too entranced by the crackling firewood and waves hitting the cliffs. The candles have long died out and the moonlight took its place as your source of lighting.

You were tempted to escape to Helaena’s room using the secret tunnels but your sister could either be with Aegon or asleep. Your mother was out of question as she would chastise you about how unbecoming it is of a lady to be sneaking around during the hour of the owl.

(You’d never hear the end of it you’re afraid.)

As you roll over onto your stomach your breath hitches when the soft material glides against your swollen cunt. You quietly hiss and rub your thighs to ease the tension but it only worsens. Your clit pulses wildly, simmering heat boiling in your belly.

“Fuck.” You mutter rolling onto your back with your knees knocked apart, Jacaerys had really done a number on you.

You swallowed harshly thinking about his thick fingers and how your pussy was stretched to the brim. Your cunt flutters as you gasp softly, gods how you wanted to finish what he started earlier in the council room.

Would he lay you down tenderly and fuck you sweet or would he have you like one of those women from the streets of silk? Like a whore bent over and mounted like a bitch where he’d fuck years of hate and anger into you. Anger for what you had done and said about him and his brothers.

The thought does not bother you in the slightest, rather you’re aroused. You don’t have to pretend; all you have to do is let go..

You set your pride aside and slip into slippers sneaking into the secret tunnels. You walk with haste recalling where every room was after Aegon first showed you and Aemond the tunnels. You stand before his door waiting anxiously after giving three hard knocks.

The tunnel floods with light and Jacaerys stands over you, his own body casting a shadow. You stare up at him with parted lips and a dreamy glaze in your eyes. He doesn’t hesitate to bring you closer until your cheek is pressed against his chest.

“Jace,” your voice is nothing more than a whisper yet the grip you have on his robes says otherwise.

He hauls you into his arms leaving you no time to gasp before he’s pinning you onto the silken sheets. He stares down at you intensely, his grip around your wrists tight and secure. Both arms encase you on either side of your head leaving you to marvel up at the Strong Velaryon boy.

Jacaerys says nothing when he tugs his own tunic and robes off with one hand. Each article of clothing falls one by one onto the ground, the bed creaking in protest under his weight as he comes to kneel over you once again.

Throughout this whole ordeal you’ve held intense eye-contact with him, a challenge you most certainly welcomed as he still possessed those flames of desire and anger from before. With a clenched jaw he brings both your wrists to one hand and reaches below with his free to grasp his hard cock.

You can’t help but look, having to bite down on your tongue to hold in the whine that threatened to escape. The weeping head dripped pearly white seed over your soft mound from where he stroked himself. The pulsing heat between your thighs quickly becoming unbearable.

He lowers his hips until his pelvis is smushed into yours, his hard dripping cock trapped between the two of you pressed into your inner thigh. The contact is scalding with the way it throbs, how you yearn for him to take it and fuck you silly with it.

“Jacaerys,” you quietly choke, voice raspy and thick with want & need.

“This will hurt.” He carefully gauges your reaction for any discomfort or hesitance.

“Show me then, my lord Strong. Claim me as you would if I were yours, your ‘plain’ appearance is not of importance to me sweet nephew,” you purr sweetly, “we share blood of the dragon, you and I..”

You decide he needs one last push.

“Imagine a babe just like us…he wouldn’t look like a bastard, no,” his nose flares and grip tightens, “but everyone will know when they see his strong curls—”

A cry spills from your lips as Jacaerys slams his cock into you, buried to the hilt where his soft balls meet your pert cheeks. The pain burns but it’s laced with pleasure in a bittersweet way, still you can’t help the soft hisses that slip through clenched teeth each time he shifts around.

You struggle to house all of him inside, what he lacks in length he makes up for in girth; fat and thick with swollen pussy lips stretched around him wrapped tight and snug. To your utter surprise however, he’s not upset at your small jab—he looks as if he were actually picturing a child with you.

“And yet you still lie beneath me, speared on a bastard’s cock,” he grunts.

Jacaerys rolls his hips, not giving you any time to adjust, “You’ll bear my children fearing they won’t come out like their father—brown hair,” thrust, “brown eyes,” thrust, “every bit of me.” He whispers low and menacing in your ear, his speed relentless and punishing.

The stinging pleasure worsens and your eyes water, it’s a sort of bone deep pleasure balanced out by the pain that was beginning to dull. You were powerless under the Velaryon Prince as you could only helplessly toss your head back from the sweet pain.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you? To have my bastards?” He licks his lips and switches his pace to a more smoother one, still jabbing nonetheless but albeit more calmer.

You grit your teeth in refusal to answer, but he didn’t need your answer as he descended upon your lips hungrily and fucked into you faster. Your moans get swallowed up by both him and the slick accompanying his wet thrusts causing you to burn with embarrassment over your filthy coupling.

Your traitorous gaze drops downwards again, the sight leaving you in breathless awe. He has specks of blood smeared against his skin, his cock faring no better as it’s covered in creamy pink. You experimentally squeeze around him just to watch his mouth drop open in a small ‘o’ shuddering through the pleasure.

“Again,” he groans softly, “fuck, more.” He gasps while desperately grinding into you.

You wrap your shaking thighs around his waist and tug him closer until he’s trapped against you unable to pull out. He huffs and kisses your sweaty skin, his hips tilting to bump and grind into that sensitive spot from before.

“Oh Jacaerys,” your back arches and toes curl.

Throaty little moans spill from his lips over each rhythmic squeeze around his swollen cock. He fucks into that soft sticky heat just listening to the filthy wet sounds your cunt makes. He enjoys the soft thwacks of his balls slapping against your taint, splattering creamy slick over the sheets.

“Oh,” you shudder, peak hitting harder than ever

You feel the warmth and utter bliss/satisfaction when you come down from your high. Dollops of wet slick spill from the sides of your stuffed pussy, a phantom pulsing sensation most likely from the aftermath of your orgasm.

“Fuck, I’m gonna–” He bites back his needy moan, pressing deeply to ensure every drop gets buried in your cunt. It seemed like you were going to pay a visit to the maestar soon for moon tea.

However you were far more concerned about your ability to walk, you could barely even feel the space between your legs much less your cunt and knees.

༺ ──────────── ༻

Peace never really lasts long in the Red Keep, not with the never ending feud between both your families.

From what you heard, shortly after Jacaerys left you the first time he joined dinner again only to find himself punching Aemond while Aegon slammed Lucerys into his plate. Aemond had done it again with his taunts over your nephew’s legitimacy.

Rhaenyra was leaving again after those years gone, which meant Jacaerys would be gone too. You hadn’t voiced your displeasure nor let it show when the boys were seen off to their dragons at the pit. You hid by a column, peeking out watching them saddle up for their journey home.

Jacaerys doesn’t notice you at first but when he does he stops and his gaze softens with pity. “Aunt.” He greets striding over with his arms behind his back.

“Jacaerys.” You greet quietly, refusing to meet his eyes in a stubborn act of defiance.

He tilts your chin up gently and forces you to look, “This doesn’t have to be the end you know,” he brushes a stray hair from your face, “unless you want to stop?”

“I don’t,” you find yourself snapping quicker than he can finish which makes him smile, “you know I don’t. I just don’t see how it’s possible to continue..this, if you’re so far away on Dragonstone.” You mumble and cup his cheek.

Jacaerys leans into your touch with a hum, “I’m a dragon ride away my love,” your cheeks burn at the endearment, “I’ll send ravens if I have to—you don’t need to worry about a single thing.”

You gently peck his lips and sigh, “..If you don't write to me, I will..” You trail in high valyrian whilst squeezing his hand until it pops threateningly. He laughs low and brings your hand up to kiss, instantly quelling your temper.

“I swear it,” he replies, kissing your knuckles once more despite Luke calling out to him in the background, his dragon calling out for him.

You allow a soft smile as you whisper ‘go’, no doubt your mother would be looking for you as well. You watch him leave your side once again only this time you knew he’d be returning sometime soon as the king neared the hour of death.

No one knew of your little letters you exchanged with Jacaerys over the course of weeks. He would send you flowers and other things he’d find around Dragonstone while you sent perfumed handkerchiefs or oil scented letters.

You knew he particularly loved when the paper smelled like you. (You’d be rewarded with vulgar responses.)

‘My beloved, everything reminds me of you and how you might enjoy this if you were here. I’d give anything to have you here by my side dressed in Targaryen colors. I personally think red suits you best my love, don’t you think? I’ll have a dress tailored to fit in all the right places, perhaps we can arrange a slit for easy access? You’d enjoy that wouldn’t you?’

If your mother noticed your odd behavior, she didn’t comment. Alicent knew very well what a lovestruck girl looked like as she had been one herself not too long ago. No one comments on the frequent visits to the dragon pit where you’d disappear for hours on end returning once the moon had risen.

The illusion shatters however when Viserys dies.

Right away your mother and grandsire crown Aegon as king. You should feel indifferent about the throne but you can’t help the ugly feeling you get upon seeing Aegon the conqueror's crown over your brother’s head. He was no king. He was not made to be king.

War was coming. With Aegon usurping Rhaenyra, as if that wasn’t enough, Aemond goes and fucking kills your nephew in some petty child’s game.

You heard the boy sunk into the waters after Vhagar mauled his tinier dragon. When you were flying over you heard Vermax’s loud cries of anguish, no doubt feeling his riders emotions as Jacaerys mourned Lucerys.

Your own dragon cried out in return as you swiftly landed and hopped off, stumbling through the sand as Jacaerys quickened his pace. You meet each other halfway with him falling into your arms, brokenly sobbing.

His loud cries are drowned out by the harsh waves hitting shore and seagulls flying around. At that very moment it’s only you and him standing on that beach wrapped up in each other’s arms. You press a series of kisses against his temple, tightening your hold when you feel him tremble.

“Shh.. sh, my love. I’m here.” You murmur soothingly.

Jacaerys swallows harshly, “He…he killed him,” he croaks out, “he’s gone.” It physically hurts seeing him unable to speak, just choking up over his words like a little boy crying for his mother.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

You hold him until he grows tired of sobbing, resorting to softer sniffles as he cowers in your hold. Jacaerys has a death grip around your waist where his fingers dig into you unknowingly. “I can’t lose you.” He mutters.

You will never forget the haunting look in his eye. Jacaerys had already lost his brother, he would not be losing you either..

༺ ──────────── ༻

..A son for a son they said after the ratcatchers beheaded Jaehaerys in his sleep.

You were up for days unable to process the grief and horror, moreso you felt for Helaena (beautiful Helaena who hadn’t deserved any of this). The way your mother had allowed the death of a child—her own blood—to be handled was despicable.

You saw Otto Hightower for what he was: a power hungry cunt. Your own brothers were strangers to you, Aemond having killed his own nephew in cold blood and Aegon a bloodthirsty idiot who didn’t know what he was doing.

You understand why Viserys favored Rhaenyra now.

“He’s a fool, mother was right to tell him he would be more useful doing nothing,” you sharply reply.

You’re in Jacaerys’ room after a sneaky endeavor in his bed all afternoon, complaining about your stupid brothers. Your lover lays on his side with a hand supporting his head listening attentively with a loving gaze.

“What was it you said that he told Aemond—I can have to make a war?” Jacaerys snorts in amusement brushing his fingers through your hair.

“He’s an idiot. It’s a wonder anyone can actually stand being in the same room as him, if he’s not crying about Aemond making plans behind his back then he’s crying that no one respects him.” You shake your head.

“Hm, my mother still thinks we can avoid war,” he sighs deeply, “if only it were easy, right?” He slides your hand in his, holding it tightly while stroking over your knuckles with his thumb.

You can’t help but squeeze back, “Patience my love, everyone already sees how incompetent Aegon is. He’s already the usurper in their eyes and nobody really listens to him so to speak.”

“Suppose you're right about a few things.” Jacaerys’ gaze drops to your plush lips, still swollen and bitten-raw from his punishing little nips and aggressive kissing.

Your stomach swoops with excitement as a playful grin forms over your lips, “Only a few things?” You lean down to whisper, lips inches away from his.

He smiles lazily and cups your cheeks, “Of course not you know I trust your judgment, my love.” He mumbles soothingly while brushing over your loose curls.

He looks beautiful like this—the sheets hung low around his bare hips and the love bites littered across his shoulders and neck. You’d like to stay forever like this with him, all tangled up and the only sounds being your soft voices and the waves hitting the cliffs by his open window.

“Do you? Or is my prince only saying that because he desires a kiss?”

It’s comical the way Jacaerys lights up like a child faced with a fresh batch of lemon cakes. He eagerly slots his lips over yours and draws your naked body closer to him until his stirring cock is pressed flush against your hip—still coated in wet slick and oils from earlier.

You reach with one hand to tangle it through his soft curls, yanking his head back, “That isn’t an answer my love; does my prince want a kiss or not?” You ask firmer this time.

His eyes hollow darkly as he licks his lips, “May I? Your prince desires it.” He whispers low and breathy. When he says it like that you simply can’t deny as you eagerly press into him.

Jacaerys wraps his arms around your back and hauls you under him pinning you down against the soft sheets. You moan into his mouth reaching below to grasp his heavy cock in your soft palm and squeezing the head.

“Seems he desires more than a kiss,” you husk, tugging at his cock and enjoying the way he chases your touch.

“I want to claim every inch of you until you’re filled with my cum, maybe this time you will catch,” He finishes with a growl in high valyrian.

His cock slides between your sticky folds bumping and slipping against your clit. You angle the tip downward until it catches against your rim with a hitch, “Jace,” you sigh.

You feel every inch until he’s fed your cunt his cock. The stretch is mouthwateringly good, you don’t think you’ll ever find anyone else who could come this close to pleasuring as Jacaerys did. He wastes no time in rocking into you with long forceful thrusts.

“Oh fuck,” you thread your fingers through his hair turning your head away.

Jacaerys messily mouths along your neck and shoulder with muffled groans while desperately covering every inch of your skin with his mouth. You catch him off guard when you wrap your limbs around him and roll the two of you over.

“Lie back my love,” you seductively whisper.

He watches, entranced as you set your hands over his bare chest and push. The delicious weight combined with the heavenly warmth around his cock has his head rearing back and a long moan escaping.

You bite down on your lip taking in his every reaction. From this angle he strikes deep leaving you with a pleasant ache you’d be feeling the coming days. “Oh fuck.” You gasp, hips stuttering in their movements.

Jacaerys gets his hands over your hips and tugs you back down over his lap causing a groan to bubble out of your throat. He uses his newfound grip to bounce you in his lap until a low fopping sound from his thighs smacking into your cheeks fills the room.

Your gasps come out in short stuttered breaths with the occasional ‘mm’ thrown in there. Mid-roll you manage to firmly plant yourself in his lap trapping his fat cock in your wet cunt. You feel it twitching inside, desperate for another release.

Soft ‘ah, ah, ah’s fill the room alongside the sounds of sheets shuffling and seagulls in the distance. You’re lost in the moment basking in sunny rays and hot bubbling pleasure. His grip not once loosening nor slipping.

“Seven hells, you’re going to be the death of me.” He breathlessly groans.

His cock pulses faintly and then you’re being filled with thick spurts of white. He lazily squeezes your soft cheeks, watching with a blissed out expression. While you had yet to reach your own peak, you also didn’t mind just this.

Your hips came to a stop and you found yourself laying over his chest staring out at the orange-pink sky as you mumble, “I love you.”

༺ ──────────── ༻

Helaena hasn’t spoken much about your nephew since the funeral. She says she’s fine but you doubt that’s any true, you supposed she grieved differently. Helaena has always been a special case (in a positive light).

“Aegon left to battle,” you find yourself saying after an hour of silence, “Aemond too.”

Helaena can offer no insight as she kneels before her caged insects, speaking in soft whispers like she usually did, only this time her tone accompanied by her soft hums.

“How is Jaehaera?”

“..Fine.” More humming.

“And what have you embroidered as of lately–”

“You can go,” she softly interrupts, “everything is fine.” You’re stunned, maybe you overstepped and she wasn’t in need of visitors. That was fine, Helaena’s doing fine—

Your sister reaches over to grasp your hands tightly, staring into your eyes, “Everything will be fine. You must leave or else it will be too late,” a pained smile forms over her lips, “you will be one soon, and then two.”

“..what about you?” Your eyes watered, you dread the thought of leaving her here to suffer alone at the hands of Aegon.

Helaena lays a sweet kiss over your head, “There’s a storm coming, it makes flying harder.”

You wipe your tears and shakily nod, embracing her one last time before rushing through the hidden tunnels to your room. In a satchel you threw a few items of importance along with jewelry you doubt you’d need but something in your gut told you otherwise.

It’s easy to slip unnoticed through the tunnels and keep, the city proves much harder. You manage to pass through the small folk using alleys and hidden paths until you’re outside of the dragon pit. None of the dragon keepers question you and simply bring out Melaxes.

She senses your anxiety and begins to whine, “Shh, lykirī.” You’re quick to soothe her by leaning your forehead against her side.

When she calms down you guide her out of the pit, “Soves,” you murmur and Melaxes roars into the sky disappearing into the thick clouds.

You will be one soon, and then two.

Realization dawns: you haven’t bled for two moons now. Your hand immediately comes up to cover the swell of your stomach. Of course, what were you expecting?

You didn’t drink fucking moon tea and Jacaerys never cared to pull off. Your throat tightens up and tears spring to your eyes, “No,” you claw at your collar heaving.

Rook’s Rest. Rook’s Rest. Rook’s Rest. Your eyes widened—Larys Strong had heard talks of Princess Rhaenys and Prince Jacaerys going to battle together..

“Naejot!” You plunge forward until Melaxes zips above the sea, you pray to whatever god listening that Jacaerys is there safe and sound waiting for you.

You leave her not too far from the castle as you run up the hill towards the one place you knew he’d have to be. It’s a miracle no one notices Alicent Hightower’s youngest daughter storming through the halls until you reach Rhaenyra’s council room.

No one’s there.

“Oh fuck..” You whisper with a hand over your stomach, “No, no, no, no.” (There’s a loud ringing in your ear and it won’t stop.)

The tears come before you can even stop them as your vision quickly blurs. There’s something in your throat but it won’t come out no matter how much you heave and gag on your saliva.

“Mmn,” you whimper in discomfort and pain while curling away, refusing to believe Jacaerys was gone. You want your mother.

Your arm shakily shoots out to grab onto the stone for balance, “..please,” it comes out as a wheeze.

“y/n?” Was this a cruel dream? Jacaerys frowns and immediately starts walking to your side, “What’s wrong?”

He’s met with your lips and a tight crushing grip when you bury your fingers through his hair. You fiercely smother him in a desperate kiss which draws out a hiss from him when you bite his bottom lip.

“..We have to leave,” you mumble.

“Leave?” He frowns, “What do you mean?”

“Jacaerys, please trust me—we need to go,” you desperately plead.

Jacaerys shakes his head, “y/n you’re not making sense right now, leave where? And what of my mother? What of Baela, Rhaena, Joffrey? What of my duty as heir to the throne? You say it as if it’s so simple.”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“Why won’t you just tell me?!” He slams his hand over the table.

“I’m expecting a child,” you choke up, “and I don’t want my baby to die, Jacaerys. I want our baby to live.” You cry softly.

Jacaerys goes eerily still, silently watching you weep all you’ve held in until now. His eyes cast downward over the Targaryen pin on his tunic, glistening under the light shining proudly as a reminder of where he came from.

He says nothing and reaches up to unpin the dragon sigil resting over his shoulder. He reaches over to silently do the same with your own before neatly placing both over the table, releasing his sharp breath.

There’s no other way around this regardless if you stayed or not your child was in danger simply by living and breathing. The Greens would come after you, maybe Aemond would be the one to kill you or perhaps even Daemon. Your child would be dead either way as the king made it obvious how he felt about bastard children.

Jacaerys turns to you with a gentle but pained smile, and in that moment you knew what he chose. Your lip curls sadly and with an outstretched hand you accept him. He squeezes tightly like he’s afraid you’ll vanish into thin air.

“I love you.” He whispers, pressing his forehead to yours, his hand manages to sneak between the two of you to press into your stomach where your child would soon grow.

Neither one of you says anything while Jacaerys packs what he plans to take. He writes to Rhaenyra and leaves the letter in plain sight over his desk. It’s quiet but comforting as he leads you to Melaxes and Vermax.

When she finds the letter Rhaenyra weeps. She can’t find it in her to be upset with him and while yes you had been another insolent brat as a child; you were still her half-sister who was now carrying her grandchild.

“If we fly out now we might catch up to them.” Daemon seethes as he paces back and forth before the queen, “This is just absurd, has the boy officially gone mad? A Hightower cunt no less.” He scoffs.

“Leave them, they’ve made their choice and we will make ours.” Rhaenyra shoots a pointed look at anyone who dares protest. She knows she’s vulnerable now that she’s lost two heirs.

..and if she hears the small folk speaking of two dragon riders traveling across the narrow sea, months later after reclaiming Kings Landing; she turns a blind eye and prays.

+ translations:

dohaerās (serve)

daor (no)

lykirī (be calm)

soves (fly)

naejot (forward)

#hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys smut #hotd smut #house of the dragon

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