#but the WAY this man writes. like with words.........not for me. like REALLY not for me. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jakesimfromstatefarm · 3 days ago

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

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

“Because his hands roam your body as if they have in every world; as if there is not one timeline where you have not been made for him. Like you were carved from his rib every time.”

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

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

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

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

"I love you too," he whispers back.

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

AND THEN THE ENDING !!

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

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

harvest of purity — sunghoon [ 박성훈 ]

pairing ⦂ sunghoon ⨯ fem. reader

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

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

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

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

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

You were positive that it was something they wanted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe all your father really was is the executioner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s safe to have a little fun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“None of that. It’s not what-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think you reminded me of a lamb.”

“Pardon?” His brows furrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What keeps you there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hop on. Let’s go somewhere else.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Both?” his head tilts.

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

“What do you mean? What did he do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sunghoon, do you trust me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I’ve never had-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay…” you swallow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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itelya · 2 days ago

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bikini. nerd bf! gojo satoru x fem! reader

The sun had finally returned, casting its warm light over the city, and with it, the desire to escape the stifling heat to enjoy the ocean. So naturally, you suggested a trip to the beach, and Gojo enthusiastically accepted, his sunglasses perched on his nose, his smile wider than ever.

You discreetly slipped on your turquoise bikini under your clothes before leaving, without saying a word. A little surprise. Just for the pleasure of seeing his reaction.

Arriving on the sand, the waves gently crashing in the distance, you began to take off your t-shirt, your feet already bare and your hair tied back. But no sooner had you taken off your top than Gojo rushed over and handed it to you with a dramatic gesture.

"Hey! You're not going to go swimming in your bra in front of everyone?!"

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk on your face.

"A bra? Really? Do you think I'd go to the beach without a swimsuit?"

"So... what are you doing here?"

You yanked your shirt off, letting it fall into the sand, revealing your perfectly fitted turquoise bikini; it showed off your curves. Your perky breasts and the subtle shape of your waist immediately caught his attention.

Gojo blinked, took a step back as if he'd been slapped, and... blushed all the way to his ears. You almost swore you saw a drop of blood trickle down his nose, but he quickly wiped it away with the back of his hand as if nothing had happened.

"Don't act like you've never seen me without a shirt, you nerd," you huffed, rolling your eyes. He looked away, his mouth hanging open.

"It's not the same," he mumbled. "Right now, you look like... like a super sexy video game character with a premium design and broken stats." You narrowed your eyes, amused.

"Seriously? Is that the only comparison you could come up with? I'm a character with rare skins now?"

"I didn't say that!" he stammered, running a hand through his hair, clearly panicking.

You burst out laughing at his genuine embarrassment, unable to stop yourself. His bewildered expression, his awkwardness, that barely contained twinge of jealousy or adoration... It was irresistible.

"So you have inappropriate thoughts about characters in swimsuits? You're allowed to confess, right?"

He threw his hands up in the air dramatically.

"Objection! You're the one provoking it. And I'm just a weak man in the face of such curves."

"You mean in front of your beautiful, angel-faced girlfriend," you corrected him with a smirk. He looked at you. For a long time. Then he moved closer.

"Exactly. You."

You stared at him too, then took off your shorts to reveal your thighs and the pretty ass he loves so much. You saw his sunglasses slide down his nose as if to better look at you like a pervert.

"Pervert."

"I'm just admiring my beautiful, angel-faced girlfriend."

You laughed lightly, which made him smile genuinely. You took his hand and pulled him towards you so he could follow you into the water. But unfortunately for him, he hadn't had time to take off his clothes.

a/n: tysm for the 700 followers! Im srry if im not posting rn but I have some writing in progress that I'll post soon!<33

nerd gojo series - masterlist

taglist: @hyori2 @bakugouswaif @bnbaochauuu

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huntingcupid · 2 days ago

Text

THE MAN WHO CAN'T BE MOVED — S.L

cause if one day you wake up and find that you're missing me and your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I could be thinkin' maybe you'll come back here to the place that we'd meet and you'll see me waiting for you on the corner of the street

⌗ SOPHIA — fem!reader, angst, friends to lovers to strangers, swearing, homophobia, sophia is kinda mean here, break up, crying, CHEATING, etc...

⌗ SYPNOSIS — sophia always told you she was confused with her sexuality, how she wanted to know if she liked men or women or maybe even both — yet what she didn't tell you was how you were her experiment

⌗ CUPID — hey, third angst on a row so please don't kill me i js like writing angst :-(

you never really knew how it started yet it went something like this

sophia and you were best of friends, ever since you knew — sleepovers here and hangout there, name an activity you two have done it — sophia was a silly and smart girl one thing you adored about her

“here you can have pink, I'll have purple!” you excitedly hand a matching bracelet to the filipina who accepted it happily hugging you tightly, unknowingly you felt butterflies in your stomach, you always did — whenever she hugs you, compliments or just be close with you, you felt a whole zoo in your tummy

you wanted to ignore it, to pretend it didn't exist, at least you tried, the whole of highschool you pretended to have boy crushes as you really had your eyes set on her, sophia would often ramble to you about a boy she liked and you acted like you cared and you did just not in the way a friend should

“sometimes i just wanna be your girlfriend, how i wish you were a boy y/n” sophia murmurs sighing defeatedly as she lays in the grassy land — “really?, i mean sometimes i wish I'm a boy too” you replied softly gazing across seeing the sun set, painting the skies a orange and pink hue

“y/n, do you ever think you like girls? — i mean sometimes i do, i just wanna know if it's real or just a stupid thought” sophia asks sitting up and looking at you, her eyes seemed to spark with curiosity, “i do think that, yet sometimes it's confusing” you replied averting her gaze, “who do you think you like right now” you follow

for moment she was silent before speaking again, “y/n, i think i like you” sophia murmurs, her hands now on top of yours — you wanted to jump up and down from joy and excitement — “are you sure?” you ask looking into her adoring gaze, “i am, do you like me?” sophia follows tilting her head to the side

a warm breeze of air passes by and you form your words quietly and wisely, “fuck liking you, i love you” you giggle, the girl smiles so widely it felt like she was the happiest girl in the world — “awh” she pouts and hugs you tightly

the first week of you two dating, you took her out to the aquarium, checking out aquatic animals that sophia always talked about, she looked so precious taking pictures of the fishes — “let's take a picture?” she asks, you nod going next to her and smiling for the picture, “you better use this as your wallpaper” she says sending the picture to you, “yes ma'am” you replied, quickly following her orders and showing it to her, “better” she smiles proudly before walking hand in hand with you as she points to various tanks with different aquatic animals

after the date sophia invites you to dinner with her family, nothing out of the normal, sophia's mom was like your mom too — “anak!, tara kain na! (children!, come eat!)” carla calls out seeing you two arrive — “hi tita! (auntie)”, you replied waving, taking a seat next to sophia, “we were at the aquarium, it was so fun, ma” sophia says, taking a bite of her food — you take a bite, enjoying the evening, when sophia's mom suddenly jokes

“parang magjowa na nga kayong dalawa soph (it seems like you two are in a relationship)” carla laughs, sophia giggles yet her eyes met yours for a split second, “kapatid ko yan si y/n ma! (y/n is like my sibling mom!)” sophia replies, for a moment you were hurt yet you knew sophia wanted to tell her parents later since you two had just started dating

yet even as you two became official sophia still denied your relationship to her parents, always saying she's not ready — it felt bad since you always told her you wanted to tell her parents even family

“y/n stop rushing me, i just don't want them to think anything badly about me” sophia grits her teeth, as you two sat in her bedroom — “badly?, are you saying I'm a bad person to be with?” you scoff, feeling somewhat degraded by her words, sophia slaps you across your face, it burned so badly that you couldn't help but tear up, you cup your cheeks feeling the warmth

“gosh, you're so fucking pushy y/n — let me breathe!” sophia screams, massaging her temple — she grabs her things and went out, “don't follow me, I'm gonna clear my mind” sophia murmurs before slamming the door

left there with your thoughts you never felt this hurt, you wipe away your tears taking a shower and clearing your mind for a while, after so you lay in her bed watching some netflix from her ipad

till you saw some notifications pop up — “james chatted you!”, sophia always told you not to snoop with her things, yet something told you to open it — which you did

[my j] “soph, where are you?”

[sophia] “on my way love, I'm js driving rn..:)

[my j] “stay safe my love!”

[sophia] yes babe — ill be there in 10 minutes

[my j] “is y/n with u?”

[sophia] “what? fuck no — its our date why would i bring her”

[my j] “idk yall seem close”

[sophia] “I'm just tolerating her lol”

your heart sank, seeing message after message of the girl you call the love of your life degrading and berating you — what's worse? she's dating someone while you two are together

you couldn't help but just cry, sob your eyes out seeing how much sophia actually hid from you — you pull out your phone taking pictures of the messages to confront the filipina later

the clock strikes 2:00 am — that's when you heard faint rustling and the front door opening, she was home, “babe? — i got you something” sophia excitedly says entering the bedroom only to be met with your red puffy eyes and tear streaked face, “babe?, you okay?” sophia quickly says running to your side

as she tries to lay her hand on yours, you flick it away earning you a confused look, “if it's about earlier, I'm sorry-” you cut her off showing your phone and the pictures of her and james messages, “why? — you're just tolerating me right?, why are you saying sorry then?” you mutter, choked sobs coming out too

“it's not what it looks like y/n, that's just my, my friend!, nothing more, please baby understand me” sophia sputters excuse after excuse, placing kisses on your cheeks and rubbing your arms

she looked like a defeated puppy, her eyes wide with horror at what you found — “baby don't you love me?” sophia says, grasping your cheeks to make you look at her as tears start to flow to her eyes too

“i love you, soph — i love you so much..” you mutter back to her, “then let's move past this — okay?, ill forget that you snooped through my things and you forget that you ever saw that” sophia explains in that sweet motherly voice coaxing you to agree

and as stupid as it sounded you agreed, feeling special for once, “okay soph, please forgive me, i didn't mean to look through it” you mutter hugging her tightly as you bury your head in her chest, “i forgive you baby, just don't do it ever again” sophia tsks

after that instance sophia changed all her passwords and kept her things farther away from you, she always kept an eye at you and never told you about james ever again — for a while it felt peaceful, even happy, sophia will always come home with flowers and chocolates for you, yet she still hid it from her parents

it all came crashing down when she invites james to a birthday dinner, sitting next to him even clinging to him through out the night — “anak, sino yan boyfriend mo? (daughter who is that, is that your boyfriend?)” carla asks sophia, instead of denying she nods happily hugging his arms tighter

you stood there, like a stranger towards her — you two made eye contact only for sophia to look away abruptly, that night you stayed outside by the grill with sophia's dad — “uwi na po ako tito (I'll go home now uncle)” you say, sophia's dad only nods waving you off

you walk to sophia's room getting your things and to her bathroom, you stared at yourself, you wore your favorite dress and did your hair extra, even took your time with make up — it felt so annoying and upsetting, there you stood in front of the mirror, wondering if you were ever worth to love, a minute passes and you went out the front door seeing sophia flaunt her awesome boyfriend in front of the family

sophia sees you leaving with your bags and waiting for your uber — she runs up to you quickly excusing her self — “y/n it's just for tonight i swear” she murmurs pleading with you, “i know, i just want to go home” you replied, she nods and waves you off

that night in your bedroom you sobbed for hours on end, feeling your world crumble around you, you wanted to just jump off a cliff and forget that you ever liked her — pretend that everything is fine for once, “how can i love you” you mutter holding a picture of sophia as you felt new tears cover your face

it was raining heavily at this point, thunder striking every now and then, the wind was strong and unforgiving — it made the trees around sway and some plants even flew

your phone dinged with a notification, a message from sophia, you look at your phone, debating whether to check or not — against your better judgment, you opened it, getting greeted with something you never expected, or maybe you did, you just chose to ignore it

[my future wife] “i don't know how to start this y/n, but i want to say I'm thankful, for you, thank you for making me realize that i never liked women, only men, I'm no longer confused and know what i have with you is a family like love, never romantic nor anything like so — I'm happy with james, y/n i never thought I'll be happy in a relationship ever since i was with you, thank you for everything”

you read the text in silence, feeling your heart slowly shatter, you read it over and over again, making sure you weren't seeing things, “family like love?” you stammer, you wanted to reply and say how you felt and beg her to stay, beg her to give you another chance, yet she had blocked your contact

“soph please don't” you sob, against the pouring rain you went to her house, soaking yourself as you stood outside her gate, “sophia!, please! baby give me a chance, i love you!” you scream, sophia came running out holding an umbrella over her head, “y/n shut up!, mom would hear you!” sophia says, she looks at your defeated form and felt guilt creep into her

“please sophia, i love you!” you sob, the thunder got stronger yet you stayed there begging sophia, “y/n, i can't please leave, move on!” sophia says frowning, you sobbed at her words your hair clung to your face due to how hard the rain was

“how can i move on, when I'm still in love with you?!” you replied, breaking down in front of her house — “I'm sorry y/n” sophia replies going into her house and closing the lights

is that it?, she's really ready to replace you? forget about everything, was it all a joke to her? — you loved sophia with you whole heart, trusted her more than anyone, yet she used you, made you her experiment

“so that's it sophia?, am i your fucking lab rat? just to experiment on?!” you scream, yet you knew she couldn't and wouldn't hear you

you walk home as the rain finally stopped leaving you with a aching heart and a bruised ego

you'd still see sophia, only she would be with james, she would always look happier and more fulfilled with him — it felt like a stab to your being, you felt worthless for the last few months of highschool

“aren't you friends with soph?” megan asks as you two study in the back of class, “we were” you replied, “what happened?” megan follows tilting her head to the side — “we outgrew each other, i'll always love her though” you smiled softly

megan hums and continues her work on her book — “you'd be an awesome girlfriend y/n, in my opinion” megan giggles looking at you with those adoring eyes

and for the first time in quite a while you felt special again, a spark of something filling your heart, “you too” you murmur back, megan blushes a bit and it doesn't go unnoticed by you

“hey, do you want to hang out after this class?” you asks the girl, “really?, sure!” megan happily replies

from across the room sophias eyes follow you two, a small smile creeping to her lips, finally seeing you find someone who would actually care about you

maybe this time you'll be loved the way you love

wc: 2.3k words

#katseye #wlw #fem!reader #katseye x reader #kpop #gg fics #katseye sophia #sophia laforteza #sophia katseye #mentions of #megan skiendiel #megan katseye #katseye megan

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mytherapyisreading14 · 3 days ago

Text

The Professor Effect

Summary: You were always one of the best students - until you got a new professor. Now you're often distracted and your grades are dropping. He notices and decides to confront you.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Smut (18+ MDNI)

Warnings: dirty talk, kissing, making out, praise kink, fingering, oral sex, spanking, orgasm denial, unprotected sex (stay safe pls), dom!spencer (pls let me know if I forgot something)

Word Count: 4,2k

It's Monday morning, 8:15 a.m. The air in the lecture hall is fresh. The windows are still open, even though it's noticeably colder outside. Autumn has begun, and the first leaves are already falling from the trees. You're sitting in your usual seat in the second row, right by the window.

You're prepared, as always. Criminology is more than just a subject for you. It's your thing. And yes, you're good at it. One of the best, according to your professor. But you simply have a good memory, and it's easy for you to find the connections. You love what you do.

Professor Hartmann is a great professor. Old-fashioned, but smart. And strict. He challenges his students, never going easy on you. You respect him and like his teaching style. But a few weeks ago, in one of his lectures, he said that he is soon retiring because of health reasons. The announcement came unexpected.

Since then, no one knows who will replace him. No information, no photo, no name – just an email from the student council with the vague sentence “We're looking forward to a fresh, modern perspective in the Criminology department." And then... he enters the room.

You don't know whether you notice his voice or his face first. Maybe both at the same time. "Good morning. I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. I'm excited to be exploring criminology with you starting this semester - with an eye on the reality out there,” he says when he comes in.

He's tall, slim, with an almost outrageously casual elegance. Shirt, dark brown blazer, sleeves slightly rolled up. His hair is messy and curly. And his eyes... those eyes. You can't look away. Your heart is beating faster. What the hell is wrong with you? You usually never get distracted, especially not because of a man.

You’re one of the students who always writes everything down, who thinks along, analyzes, asks critical questions. But at this moment? You have no idea what he's saying. Something about the history of profiling, you think. Or is it forensic psychology? You look at your notebook. Empty. Your pen lies there. Untouched.

As he explains the semester's outline, your gaze keeps wandering to him. Not just because he's handsome - that's almost beside the point. It's the way he moves, the way he speaks. The way he treats the topics as if they were alive. As if he weren't just teaching them, but understanding them on a whole other level. He's smart. And not just "I have a doctorate" smart.

And you? You sit there, as if hypnotized. Completely distracted. Your mind is racing. You don't know what to do. The semester hasn't even really started yet, and you know you're in trouble.

Since that first Monday, something has changed. You still arrive on time, sit in your usual seat, prepared and yet it happens every time. As soon as he enters the room, your mind is blank. Not blank-blank, but full – with the wrong thoughts.

His lecture on perpetrator typologies? Fascinating. His explanations of psychological casework at BAU? Impressive. You want to listen, you want to think along, but all you do is look at him. The way he walks around the room. The way he sometimes speaks too fast because his mind is apparently faster than his words.

He's a genius. Not in that exhausting way, but in the way that fascinates and leaves you speechless. And he's not even arrogant about it – just completely absorbed in what he's doing.

You're lost in your thoughts. More and more often, you find yourself watching his hands as he writes something down. Or how his voice changes when he talks about difficult cases. It’s more quiet, more serious, with an expression you only have when you've seen things you'll never fully forget.

You understand the content but there's this discrepancy between knowledge and performance now. You don't lose track. You trade it for thoughts that have nothing to do with the class but rather with him. In the third week, you're unprepared for the first time. It's not a disaster, but you haven't finished reading the case study. And you hate it.

You hate not being able to concentrate as much anymore. Not being properly prepared. But you've been too busy trying to explain to yourself what's actually going on with you and how to get yourself back on track.

It’s another Monday morning and the room fills with nervous murmuring. Spencer is standing at the front of the desk, handing out the marked exams. You don't even want to know what grade you got. The subject actually suited you. You knew the answers - at least until you looked up for a moment and saw him roll up the sleeves from his shirt. That was enough to completely distract you.

You wait, trying not to let on, but your gaze keeps wandering to him. You're trying really hard to ignore him. But it's not working. As he places your exam on your desk, he gives you a quick nod. You can barely look at him. When you glance at the grade, the infatuation immediately disappears.

You understand the material. You used to be the best. But lately, your mind seems to be more focused on your professor than on studying. You shove the papers into your bag and are about to head for the door when you hear your name. You freeze. His voice hits you like an electric shock. You slowly turn around.

"We need to talk about your exam. Let's say around 3 p.m in my office?” he asks. You feel hot. Not from fear but because your mind immediately runs through a thousand scenarios. You nod. "Yeah, sure," you mumble, trying to hide your blush. "Fine," he says and smiles before he goes back to his papers.

Now you're standing in front of the building. Third floor, left corridor. Room 3.17. His office. It's 2:56 p.m. You arrived way too early, hiding in the library for ten minutes, but now you're here. You take a deep breath and try to stay calm. Your heart isn't cooperating. This is just a conversation. Maybe he wants feedback. Maybe it was just a bad exam. Maybe he's noticed how you look at him in every lecture - then you have a problem.

You push your hair back from your face and knock. "Come in." You press the handle and step inside. He's standing at the window, just turning around. Shirt, sleeves rolled up. And oh god, he’s wearing glasses. Your brain is on strike. "Hello," you say. Or do you think that? No, you're really saying it. Luckily, your voice sounds more stable than you feel.

He nods at you. "It's great to have you here. Please sit down." You take a seat, put down your bag, and try not to appear nervous. He sits down and folds his hands. "I wanted to talk to you about your exam," he begins calmly. "You were one of Professor Hartmann's strongest students. According to him, your contributions were precise and analytical. He specifically praised you." You nod.

"That's why your grade surprised me," he says. "The analysis was superficial. And I wouldn't have expected those mistakes from you." You want to say something. An explanation. But your mouth remains dry. So you just nod. Then he asks, "Is there anything going on in your life that distracts you from studying?" You look at him. A moment too long. Your lips part. But what are you trying to say?

That he’s the reason? That your head is chaos every time he enters the room? You swallow. "It's nothing bad," you say quietly. He raises an eyebrow, tilts his head. He's analyzing you. Reading you. "Good," he says. "Then let's change that. I think there's more to you than this grade shows." His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer. You nod and try to avoid his eyes. Sitting here, alone with him, in his office - it makes you nervous.

For a moment it is quiet and you are about to say that you should leave now when he speaks up again. "You know, it's not hard to see that you were a little... distracted." Your heart races and your eyes widen. Oh no. You know you've just given too much away. "Don't worry," he continues. "I understand. Thoughts sometimes take on a life of their own. Especially when you're sitting across from someone so... fascinating."

Fascinating. The word echoes in your head. You feel like he knows exactly what he's doing. And you have no idea how you'll ever get out of this. He leans back and looks at you, a small smile on his lips, while you almost feel like he's secretly wondering how much longer you'll last without blushing with embarrassment.

He raises an eyebrow, as if trying to read you - as if he's already read you. "Or did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice?" Your heart skips a beat. Heat crawls up your neck. Too late. Your eyes give you away and he sees it. He continues leaning back ever so slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. It’s a slow, calculated move, as if he’s savoring the moment, stretching it out.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, how he’s doing it. And you have no idea how you’ll escape this, or if you even want to. He watches you as though he’s already playing a game you don’t know the rules to. His lips curl slightly, a hint of something almost teasing. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you. "I wonder..." His voice lowers and he leans closer to you, "What exactly occupies that pretty little head of yours... to the point where you almost forget how obvious it all is."

He lets the words hang in the air, like a challenge or a threat. And as you hold your breath, you realize: you’ve already lost. The only question is whether you’ll admit it - or if he’ll make you. Your breath hitches, barely audible, but it’s enough. His eyes flicker. He looks pleased. Not surprised. Like he was expecting it, like he was hoping for it.

You try to speak, to say something, but you can’t get a word out. He stands up, walks around his desk and comes closer to you. You can smell the faint trace of coffe and books. You blink once and suddenly he’s in your space, hovering just at the edge of touch, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. He doesn’t touch you, that would make it too easy.

“I think,” he says slowly, every word deliberate, “you like pretending you still have control.” His gaze drops for the briefest second and when it meets yours again, it’s different. Full of lust and desire. “But you gave that up the second you lied to me.” You feel your heart beating faster and faster.

He leans in, mouth near your ear now. “The question, sweetheart, isn’t whether I noticed,” his breath is warm, intoxicating, “it’s what I’ll do now that I have.” Something inside you unravels. His lips linger against your ear, resting there like he belongs there, like he’s earned the right to touch you this way. And maybe he has. Maybe that’s the most dangerous part: how natural it feels now, to have him this close, this deep under your skin.

You exhale shakily as his hand trails lower, fingertips ghosting along your thigh, teasing, never quite where you want them, where you need them. Your hips shift instinctively, seeking more, but he only smirks, dragging his mouth down your neck, each kiss deliberate, maddening. "Still holding on?" he murmurs, voice rough, lips brushing just below your collarbone.

You want to challenge him. Tell him he hasn't won. That you're still in control. But the words never make it past your lips. Because his hand finally slides exactly where you need him, and your body arches into his like it was made for this moment. A quiet curse slips from your mouth, caught somewhere between surrender and desire, and he drinks in the sound like it's a reward.

He looks up at you, eyes half-lidded and burning. "Say it. Say you want this." And you do - god, you do -but your pride clings to silence even as your body betrays you, trembling beneath his touch. He leans in again, this time pressing his lips to yours, his breath uneven, his control clearly thinning.

“Why don’t you get up and lock the door for me, sweetheart?” he asks and that’s the moment you give in. You've dreamed about it so often, so why not take the chance and make it come true? Besides, you're too much turned on right now to leave. It’s wrong, you know that - he’s your professor after all - but you don’t care. You want him. You need him.

So you get up and quickly lock his door. When you turn back to him, he's leaning against his desk, grinning. "See, it wasn't that hard to listen to me, was it?” he says and motions for you to come closer. Your heart has never beat as fast as it does now and when you feel his lips on yours again, you could swear that it is bursting with excitement.

He doesn't stop kissing you, even as he shifts, fitting his body more fully against yours, like he's been waiting for this moment far longer than he'd ever admit. His hand slides behind your knee, lifting your leg to wrap around his hip, guiding you into him with aching precision. The friction alone draws a gasp from your lips-and his in return. "You feel that?" he growls softly, teeth grazing your jaw. "That's what you do to me."

There's no space left between you now and you cling to him, hands roaming, greedy, nails dragging under his shirt and down his back just enough to make him hiss through his teeth. Then he moves, a slow roll of his hips that sets every nerve in your body alight. It's maddening, torturous. “Oh god, Professor. I - I need more.” He slides his hand up your thigh slowly, stopping where you need him the most.

“Then beg for it,” he says. “What?” you ask, confused. “You heard me. Beg for it. Beg me to touch you, to fuck you, to ruin you,” he says and smirks. “I’m not going to beg,” you say, annoyed that he’s not giving you what you want so bad. “Then I won't fuck you, it's that simple. And I don’t think you want that, do you?” he asks you and pushes against you. You can feel how hard he is and it drives you crazy.

“I hate you,” you hiss out, grinding against him in order to release some friction. He grabs your hips and holds them still before leaning down to whisper in your ear. “No, you don’t. And now, be good girl and beg. If you keep making this difficult there won’t be much time left for me to fuck you and that would be such a shame, considering I wanted to take my time to worship you like you deserve it,” he says.

You didn’t think it was possible, but these words turn you on even more. You need him, now, everywhere. You push your pride aside and look up to him through your lashes, roaming your hands over his chest and opening the first buttons of his shirt while maintaining eye contact. “Please, Professor. I need you to touch me. I need you to fuck me. Please make me come on your cock,” you say and he looks pleased.

“See, that was not hard, was it?” he asks but you ignore him. He presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your throat - anywhere he can reach. "You're mine now," he breathes, hips grinding more against you, slower, enough to leave you trembling. "Every inch of you,” he says before he finally slips his hand up your skirt again, grazing your clit through your panties. You shiver.

His hand tugs at your panties before he pulls them to the side, sliding a finger through your folds. “Now look at that. You’re already soaked,” he says with a smirk and slips a finger inside you, while his thumb circles your clit. You moan out loud and his other hand covers your mouth immediately. “Shh, sweetheart. You have to keep quiet for me if you don’t want us to get caught,” he says.

The thought makes you clench around his finger and he chuckles. “Interesting. You like the idea of getting caught, don’t you?” he asks and pushes another finger in. You bite down on your lip in order to stay quiet because he is right - you don’t want to get caught. Not here, not now. But the thought definitely turns you on. “Answer me,” he says, pumping his fingers faster. “Y-yes, I - I do.”

Your legs begin to shake and you hold onto his arms in order to still stand up straight. He notices your struggle and lifts you up so you sit on his desk. He finally takes your panties off, stuffing them in his pocket. You spread your legs wider for him and he looks pleased at the sight in front of him. “Please fuck me, Professor. I need you so bad,” you whine but he shakes his head.

“Not yet. I have to taste you first,” he says and leans down, his head disappearing between your thighs. He wraps his arms around your thighs to keep you close to him before he leans forward and places a kiss on your cunt. You can feel his breath on you and reach for his hair, pulling him closer against you. Then his tongue finally makes contact with your cunt, flicking over your clit first. You gasp out loudly, tugging at his soft, brown curls and looking down to him.

Seeing your Professor down on his knees, between your thighs is a sight you will never forget. He eats you out like he wants to draw every last sound out of you. And he does. When he finally starts to push his tongue into you, he drinks all your whimpers and moans in like they're fuel, like they prove something, and in the way he watches you, you realize that this isn't just about lust. This is control. Intimacy. A claiming.

He adds his fingers again and the pleasure becomes too much. Your toes are curling and you can feel your orgasm approaching. Spencer can tell that you’re close too. He sucks at your clit again and your mind goes blank. But then he suddenly pulls back. You pant and give him an angry look. “What are you doing? I was close,” you breath out, already fucked out. “I know. But I decided I’m not letting you come yet,” he says.

“Asshole,” you hiss through gritted theeth and he shakes his head in disappointment. “That's no way to talk to your professor. It looks to me like I need to give you a lesson in respect,” he says. “I -“ you begin but he already pulls you from the table before turning you around and bending you over it. He pulls down your skirt in one quick motion before his hand roams over your ass.

You turn around to look at him, to snap at him, to tell him you hate him for doing that but you can’t because his hand is coming down onto your ass, spanking you. You didn’t expect that but it turns you on immensely. “Count and take your punishment like a good girl,” he says. “O -one,” you breath out and feel a wave of excitement washing through you. He was really not lying when he said he’s making all your dreams come true. Because as much as you hate to admit it, this is what you dreamed about too.

His hand comes down again and you feel the sharp pain again. But it feels good. You didn’t think it’s even possible but every minute with him turns you on even more. You push against him to show him you want more, feeling his hard cock again. “Oh you are enjoying this, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he asks and you nod. His hand comes down again and you continue counting. After ten strikes he decides that you have enough.

“That’s it, you took it like a good girl for me,” he says and leans down to kiss your neck gently. It’s a sweet, caring moment and it makes you feel safe with him. However, you’re still turned on, especially after he punished you like this. “Will you fuck me now?” you ask him eagerly and he laughs. “Of course, sweetheart. You think I don’t want to feel your pretty pussy wrapped around my cock?” he says and begins to open his pants.

When he finally pulls out his cock your eyes widen. He is big, way bigger than you always expected. He strokes his cock a few times and you watch him with a hungry look in your eyes. If you weren't so turned on right now, you'd be embarrassed about how much you want him, need him. But you don’t care, who blames you? He's hot and smart, the perfect combination.

He comes closer and finally slides his cock through your folds, hitting your clit and teasing you yet again. “Just - just fuck me already,” you hiss out through gritted teeth. When he stops you quickly add a “Please, Professor” and he praises you. “Good girl, that’s what I wanted to hear.” Then he finally pushes in.

It feels even better than you expected. You can’t help but moan out his name loudly. “Shh, quiet sweetheart,” he reminds you and you nod. He’s right. You don’t want anyone to find out or worse, get interrupted right now. Not now, when you finally have him.

He starts to pound into you and your eyes roll back in pleasure. The sensation of him inside you drives you crazy. Low groans fell from Spencer's lips when one of his hands moved to your clit, rubbing rough circles. The way you move with him, the way your body responds, open and aching and utterly undone - that's your surrender.

And he feels it. You can tell in the way he growls your name like it's sacred. “You look so good like this, completely fucked out by your Professor,” he says and his pace falters, deepens, roughens. The rhythm between you spirals into something frantic, raw-beautiful in its chaos. The kind of connection that blurs the line between pleasure and need. Between dominance and devotion.

When he hits the right spot over and over again and trails his hand down to circle your clit, you completely lose it. You clench around him and he knows you’re close. He almost feels bad for what he’s about to do. He pushes deeper, increasing his pace until he’s close too. But instead of making you two come together, he pulls out. “What the fuck are you -“ you start but he shifts, pulling you up from his desk to push you on your knees. “Open,” he says and you obey, taking his cock in your mouth to swallow his cum.

You think he has something else planned for you, convinced he still wants to make you come but when he finished and starts to put himself together again you give him a questioning look. “What are you doing?” you ask him. “As you can see, we’re done, sweetheart. I’m putting myself back together. My office hours start soon. You have to leave now,” he simply says and sits down at his desk. “Are you fucking serious?” you ask furiously. “I didn’t even come,” you say.

“Only good girls - good students - get to come. And you haven't been that lately. Show me you're getting better, focus on your exams, get a better grade the next time and you'll get what you deserve,” he says with a smirk on his face and you are so angry, so frustrated that you can’t get a word out for about a minute. Then you have an idea.

He’s not playing fair, but you can do that too. “I can just report you, you know,” you say. You never plan to do that, but he doesn’t need to know that. He looks up and laughs before getting up from his chair, walking around his desk and slowly approaching you again. Your whole body is shaking with anger, frustration and pleasure. “You can, but you won’t,” he says with a grin on his face.

"Oh yeah, and how do you know that?" you ask him defiantly. “Because these lips long for me," he says and unexpectedly pushes a finger inside you again. You tremble. Oh god, he just knows you too well. “And in order for these lips to get what they want, these lips,” he says and traces his finger over your lips. “have to stay quiet.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #post prison reid #professor reid #professor x student

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sniktbaby · 3 days ago

Text

something you could sin for

summary: logan is your dad's best friend. both of you struggle to come to terms with your growing feelings for each other.

warnings: angst, dad's best friend, a hint of jealousy-based misogyny, age gap (reader is in her late 20s!), size difference, some dirty talk, size kink (logan has a huge d), smidge of praise, pet names (baby, princess, darling), shower sex, oral sex (f + m receiving), pain kink if you squint, riding, clitplay, creampie, lots of religious terms (idk man), cliffhanger ending maybe???

word count: 6.6k

author's note: yeehaw cowboy logan!!! i had such a fun time writing this one! i might do a sequel to this if you guys like it! title is from midnight cowboy by jade <3

It is your birthday. Logan, your dad’s best friend, stands by the barbeque, chatting it up with your dad. He steals glances at you, hoping you don’t notice his gaze underneath his signature cowboy hat and dark aviators.

He really has been making an effort not to look. Trying not to notice the baby blue dress you’re wearing, the way it cinches at your waist. How the thin fabric flows over your hips. And he definitely didn’t catch sight of you bending down to pet his dog, your breasts barely contained by the cups of the dress, revealing that you’re not wearing a bra.

No, he didn’t notice that at all.

Fuck. What is he thinking? You’re his best friend’s daughter, for Christ’s sake! He even brought a date, some little redhead he picked up at the bar, just so he’d have an excuse to stay away from you.

But the truth is, the second he saw you - barefoot in the grass in that damn dress, laughing with your friends while you posed in front of the balloon wall - he couldn’t even remember the redhead’s name. He didn’t want to remember, checked out of that whole idea.

The sun is setting now. Logan goes to help your dad with getting a bonfire started as you sit on the porch, a slice of cake balanced on a paper plate in your lap. The redhead Logan brought stands so close to him, hanging off his every word, and it makes your muscles tense. You’re so distracted, watching this woman laugh at Logan’s dumb jokes, that you don’t notice Addy, Logan’s dog, sprinting up to you. Before you have time to react, you’re absolutely covered in vanilla cake and strawberry frosting.

Logan looks over, noticing the commotion. He can see your cheeks flush and your eyes water as you stand there, smothered in cake. He knows you would never be mad at Addy over an accident. You’re too understanding, as sweet as the dessert smeared all over your pretty dress. You’re crushed because the redhead beside him is pointing at you, laughing.

You’re embarrassed, humiliated, and his little date isn’t helping. His jaw clenches as he watches you hurry inside the house.

“Shit. Logan, go check on her, will ya?”

Logan turns toward your dad, who is still occupied with getting the fire just the way he wants it. A stubborn perfectionist. You inherited that from him.

But Logan can’t go after you. He can barely be alone with you these days, much less when you’re upset. He’ll just want to hold you, stroke your hair, tell you the truth about how he feels. He can’t do that. “Why me?” he asks, taking a step to the side as the redhead goes to lock arms with him.

Your dad chuckles, breaking a branch over his knee. “You’ve always been better at cheerin’ her up when she’s like this.”

He’s not wrong. With a sigh, Logan nods, then makes his way towards the house.

You disappear inside. Honestly, Addy did you a favor. You needed a moment to yourself, to clear your head. Get Logan out of it.

You were already jealous that he brought another woman. Then you think of her laughing face when Addy knocked the slice of cake against you. And now you’re so fucking humiliated, it stings your skin. Sure, it was funny, but her pointing finger and high-pitched giggle felt like malice. She already has the man you want, she has to laugh at you too?

Ugh. You can’t keep pretending like your feelings for Logan aren’t bigger than a silly childhood crush.

You retreat to your bedroom, sitting on the edge of your bed as you take a couple of deep breaths. You look down at the cake staining your dress, frosting smeared on your chest. It’s even in your hair.

You sigh. You need to calm down before going back out there.

Logan follows you through the house. This was a bad idea. He knows he shouldn’t have come after you. He should have stayed outside with the others, kept his hands clean of anything that doesn’t involve whiskey or cigars. But seeing you walk away, knowing you’re upset…

He’s here now, standing outside of your goddamn door.

He clears his throat, making you look up. You’re surprised to see him, his arms crossed tight over his chest, the fabric of his t-shirt pulled taut over his muscles.

He lifts his chin at you. “You okay?”

Your lips lift. “Fine,” you reply, lowering your gaze. You pick at a piece of cake stuck to your thigh. “Guess Addy was mad I didn’t cut her a slice.”

He lets out a rough chuckle as he pushes off the doorframe. Your joke lands soft and he hates that he put that tremble in your voice. He folds his arms tighter across his chest like it’ll somehow hold everything in - his control, his guilt, the goddamn animal inside him that perks up every time you look at him, like he’s worth something.

You look at him like you know him. Like you can see past the claws and the scars and the rage that lives under his skin. You look at him like you want all of him, even if it’s broken, even if it might hurt you.

And that scares the hell out of him.

You search his face. He looks troubled, like there’s something brewing beneath the surface if you could only pull it out of him. “You could’ve given me the heads up that you were bringing someone,” you murmur, shrugging your shoulders, feigning nonchalance though your fingers twist anxiously in your lap. “I mean…it’s your life, right? You can bring whoever you want. The guy I’m seeing was gonna come, but…”

A lie. You swallow hard, forcing a bitter smile.

His jaw clenches, nostrils flaring slightly. “You’re lyin’.” A slow exhale, one of his hands coming up to rub the back of his neck, knuckles brushing against the collar of his shirt. His dog tags shift under the cotton. He takes a step closer, drawn to you like a moth to flame.

You stiffen at his accusation, lips parting in surprise before pressing into a tight line. Your gaze drops to the floor. “You think I’m lying?” Your voice is quieter now, but still laced with defiance. You raise your chin, meeting his eyes again.

He takes another step, close enough now that he could reach out and touch you. Wipe the frosting from your skin. Taste it. Taste you.

Instead, he braces a hand on the bedpost beside your head, caging you in without laying a finger on you. “Think you’re lyin’ ‘bout the guy.” He tilts his head, jaw tight, eyes locked on yours. “Doubt he exists. Doubt anyone else gets that look from you.”

Your breath hitches, caught somewhere between fear and desire. He’s standing so close - too close - but he still hasn’t touched you. He’s choosing restraint, control. Something you don’t want from him. But you refuse to give in first.

You angle your head away from him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Stubborn girl. You always have been. You were always one to bite your lip bloody before admitting you were hurt.

Logan smirks, reaching up to tug off his hat. Without breaking eye contact, he settles it atop your head. It dips low over your brow, too big for you, shadowing your face just enough to make you raise your chin towards him. His thumb brushes the shell of your ear before pulling away completely, letting you feel his absence now that you’ve tasted his touch.

“Sure you don’t,” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement and something darker.

The weight of his hat feels heavier than it should. Your fingers twitch at your sides, itching to touch him, to tear that fabric off of him until there’s no space left between you. Your heart pounds wildly beneath your ribs, hopeful and terrified all at once. Your breaths are coming fast, shallow, like you’re scared one wrong move will end whatever the hell is happening between you.

Your voice cracks when you speak. “You shouldn’t be in here, Logan.”

You’re right. He shouldn’t be in here. The curtains are drawn, the whole damn world waiting outside for them. None of them know how close he is to crossing a line he can’t come back from.

But he doesn’t move.

Your eyes. The way you look at him with desperation. Hunger. It mirrors something dark and restless in him. Something that has been clawing at his ribs for years, begging him to stop running. Stop hiding behind rules and regrets.

He shifts, just enough to close the distance between you. His knee presses into the mattress beside your thigh. His movements are slow, careful, wanting you to feel what you should know by now.

That he wants you.

Your breath catches, your thighs squeezing together. A million thoughts race through your head. You should tell him that this isn’t right. That he’s too old, too forbidden, too connected to your family to ever truly belong to you.

But instead, you lean into him, your chest rising and falling faster now. Your voice is barely above a whisper. “Logan…” Your fingers curl into the fabric beneath you, fighting the urge to pull him closer. To kiss him.

Your voice, his name on your lips - it sounds like a prayer. A surrender. A warning.

He shouldn’t. He really fucking shouldn’t.

But you leaned in. That tiny, traitorous shift of your body towards his - that was all it took. The last thread snaps. No more lies. No more pretending he doesn’t want you like this. Like he hasn’t wanted you for years. He cups your face before he loses his nerve, rough palm cradling your jaw like you’re both delicate and dangerous - which you are.

“Shouldn’t…” he mutters, thumb grazing your bottom lip, feeling you tremble underneath it, “...but I was never very good at doin’ what I should.”

And then he kisses you. Hard.

The kiss steals the air from your lungs, hot and demanding and utterly consuming. You go rigid beneath his touch, stunned that this is happening - that he is kissing you, claiming your mouth like he owns every secret you’ve whispered in the dark.

And then you push him away, roughly, causing him to stumble back a few steps.

The loss of your warmth hits him like a punch to the gut. He staggers back, blinking rapidly as if just waking up from a dream where he got to pretend he deserved to touch you like that.

Shit.

He rakes a shaky hand through his hair, teeth gritted against the self-loathing crawling up his spine. He came in here to check on you, to play it cool, and instead he kissed you like he had some sort of claim. Like he wasn’t supposed to be the responsible one.

“I-” He stops. Can’t even finish his sentence. He doesn’t know what the hell to say.

You bring a trembling hand to your lips, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin like you’re trying to memorize the feel of his kiss. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, uneven breaths escaping your parted lips. Your eyes well up, but you blink furiously to fight it back. Not here. Not in front of him. “No…” Your voice breaks on the word, and you shake your head violently. The cowboy hat slips sideways and you snatch it off, tossing it onto the bed like it burned you. “You don’t get to do that.”

The hat hitting the sheets feels like a slap to his cheek. You’re crying. Trying not to, stubborn girl, but he can see it. Smell it. That salt in the air - sharp and painful, like blood. And it’s his fault.

He exhales, eyes fixed on the floor between you like he’s staring into the grave of every rule he swore he wouldn’t break. “No…” He swallows hard, fists clenching at his sides.

You stand abruptly, the mattress creaking softly beneath you. The wood floor is cold on your bare feet, grounding you, reminding you who you are - who he is. You wrap your arms tightly around yourself. “I’m going for a shower.” You turn, heading for the bathroom connected to your bedroom.

He watches you, muscles coiled tight like he expects you to vanish the second you’re out of his sight. But when you start to close the bathroom door, something inside of him snaps for the second time tonight.

No. Not after that kiss. Not after years of watching you grow up, laughing when he picked you up after your first night of drinking because you were too scared to call home. Hurting when you cried over boys who never deserved you, little pricks. Loving you in ways he buried so deep he convinced himself he could live with this ache.

He pushes the door open before you can close it completely, his actions gentle but firm. Letting you know he’s in this. Letting you decide if you want to throw him out. He’ll leave if you tell him to.

You freeze. Your back to him, shoulders rising with each breath. You ignore him, moving to the faucet to turn on the water. Steam begins to rise as the water heats, fogging up the room. Then you turn to face him. “Logan…” Your voice wavers, partly a plea, a little bit of a warning.

The door clicks shut behind him and he takes a step towards you, close enough now that his heat licks at your skin like the thoughts tear through his skull. You’re trembling, shakes that tell him you’re barely holding on. Just like him.

He doesn’t respond. Words failed him the moment your mouths met.

Slowly, he reaches for you and brushes your hair over one shoulder. You turn away from him again, but he doesn’t falter. He takes in the curve of your spine beneath your dress, vertebrae pressing against fabric like the keys of a piano - each one a note he wants to play until you make music.

His knuckles graze your neck as he finds the zipper of your dress, his touch a promise, maybe a threat.

You can still stop him. You should stop him.

The sensation of his knuckles against your neck sends a jolt down your spine, electric and terrifying. Your eyelids flutter shut, your breath catching in your throat as goosebumps erupt across your skin despite the warmth from the steam. You stand there, immobilized by the suffocating haze of want and guilt until a shaky whimper escapes your lips. You reach out, your nails digging into the porcelain of the sink, your entire body taut like a bowstring pulled to its limit. “Please…”

That whimper nearly undoes him. You don’t tell him to get lost. Didn’t slam that door in his face like he wished you would’ve every goddamn day since you stopped being a girl and started walking through the world like a storm he couldn’t outrun.

So he takes his time, moving slow. Fingertips taking a hold of the zipper, he peels it down like he’s unveiling something sacred. Inch by inch, the curve of your back is exposed. His chest presses lightly against you, solid and impossibly warm.

You feel him - the breadth of his shoulders, the tension humming in his muscles, the heavy beat of his heart echoing your own. Your knees threaten to buckle. Your head drops forward, chin brushing your collarbone as a soft, strangled gasp slips free.

His touch feels safe, like coming home.

But you’ve been starved of this for far too long. You don’t want to be safe. You want him.

“Don’t…treat me like I’m made of glass.” You shift back, just a fraction - an invitation. A challenge. You want him to handle you like you’re real, not some memory wrapped in lace and nostalgia. Want him to stop tiptoeing around what you both know is real.

You want him to stop acting like he’s scared.

He tightens his grip on your hip, breath skating along the shell of your ear. “Patience, darlin’.” He murmurs it like a sin, his thumb hooking just beneath the loosened strap of your dress, teasing it down your shoulder. Slow. Deliberate. Driving you both insane.

He peels the dress from your shoulders, gentle, like he’s unwrapping a gift he never thought he’d be allowed to open. Fabric bunches at your elbows, the straps sliding down your arms, then pooling at your waist before he lets it fall entirely.

He drags his palms down your sides, feeling every tremor, every hitch of your breath against his chest. You’re so small in his hands. So soft. So damn perfect. He presses his mouth to your neck.

But you pull away and turn around, taking a moment to soak in the way his pupils dilate at the sight of your bare breasts. Slowly, not breaking eye contact, you pull off your panties, leaving you completely nude before him. He reaches out to touch you, but you don’t let him.

You pull back the shower curtain, stepping under the hot water. The shower douses your back as you watch him peel off his shirt and strip out of his jeans. You hold his gaze, fighting the urge to lower your eyes to the large tent in his boxers.

You don’t have a choice but to look when he steps out of the fabric. God, every single part of him is just so fucking big.

Logan watches the way the water drips from your hair, runs in rivulets down your collarbone, your breasts - perfect, full, begging for his mouth. You’re watching him like you expect him to hesitate. Like you think he won’t follow through.

He doesn’t give you time to second guess. Doesn’t give himself time either. He steps into the spray, steam swallowing you both, hot water scalding his back like penance.

Driving you back against the tile, hands braced on either side of you, he cages you in. Trapping you with him in this moment, this madness. “You sure?”

All you can do is nod, and he pushes you against the wall. Your head tips back as you close your eyes, a gasp escaping your lips as he bends, his mouth covering your nipple.

You taste like heaven and sin all wrapped into one. Your nipple hardens against his tongue, and he groans, the sound swallowed by the rushing water. You arch into him, offering yourself like an answer to a prayer he never knew how to say.

One hand finds your hip, anchoring you as he feasts on you, his mouth greedy and punishing. You’re soft everywhere he’s rough. It makes him want to mark you. Claim every inch of your skin until there’s no doubt in your mind who you belong to.

But you don’t belong to him, and you’re not his. Not really. Not in any way that matters beyond this steam-filled prison you’ve built together.

You laugh suddenly, bringing him out of his thoughts. You’re thinking about all the times you imagined this moment. Rutting against your pillow, soaking through the fabric, whispering his name into the mattress…

“What’s so funny, darlin’?” he murmurs against your skin, trailing kisses upwards, to the hollow of your throat. His fingers flex on your hip, urging you to open your eyes, to look at him. Steam swirls around your bodies, the water pounding down like judgement.

He signed his soul over to the Devil the second he walked into this bathroom.

You respond to his question by grabbing his face and bringing him closer. “Nothing.” Before he can probe further, you kiss him. You lick into his mouth and wrap your arms around him, holding him tight against you as the warm water blankets your bodies. You never take your hands off of him as he kisses down your neck again, trailing down to your belly.

You kiss him like you’re starved for it. Starved for him. Tongue sliding against his, soft and wet and desperate. He groans into your mouth, hands tightening on your waist as he deepens the kiss. He feels you melt against him, eager, finally in his arms where you belong.

Then you’re pulling him down - hands in his hair, guiding him lower, arching into his touch as he trails kisses down your throat, between your breasts, over the plane of your belly. Water slicks your skin, making you shine in the dim bathroom light. You shiver as his stubble scrapes against the sensitive skin of your stomach, sending sparks straight between your legs.

You get the urge to ask him something. Your voice comes out breathless and thick with longing. “What would you have done-” He bites you, causing you to gasp. “-if I had brought another guy?”

The unexpected question hits him like a blade between the ribs. If you’d brought someone else. If he had walked in tonight and seen you wrapped around another man - laughing, touching, kissing.

Jealousy roars in his veins, loud and primal. His grip on you tightens, almost bruising. Intentional. He lifts his head just enough to meet your eyes, steam and lust warping the space between you. His voice is gravel and venom and something dangerously close to confession.

“Broke him in half.” He drags the words out, letting them simmer in the heat between you.

That isn’t enough for you. “Sooo…” You lift a brow, aware you’re being a brat. “...you don’t like the idea of me fucking other men?”

A growl rumbles from his chest. He stands to his full height, bracing his forearm against the tile beside your head, leaning in until his breath ghosts over your lips. Close enough to kiss. Close enough to choke. “Not a fan, no.” He smirks, but there’s no humour in it. His thumb drags slowly across your bottom lip.

His words awaken something in you, an animalistic ache that you didn’t know existed. You roll your hips forward, feeling his hard length press against your thigh. “Well then…” You bite down on your lip, lashes fluttering as you look up at him. “Start getting more possessive and I won’t have to.”

Your hands find purchase on his strong biceps. “Tell me I’m your girl.”

The words wrap around his throat like chains. Sweet, deadly chains.

Tell me I’m your girl.

He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head, slamming them against the wet tile and holding you there like a warning. Like a vow.

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’, huh?” He grinds the words out through clenched teeth.

Maybe you pushed too far. “Trying to make you jealous,” you admit. You kiss him, deep and strong, covering his mouth like it’s your last meal. “Is it working?”

The kiss hits him like a bullet to the chest - fast and lethal. You’re not playing fair, and he’s had enough of this game. Enough of you testing him, pushing him, making him say things he can’t take back.

He releases your wrists and shoves his hands into your wet hair, gripping tight as he angles your head back, breaking the kiss. Your throat arches beautifully, vulnerable and open, and he growls against your skin. “Smartass.” He mutters it like a curse before he drops to his knees in the slippery tub, taking your thighs in his hands and hauling you against him. Roughly, Logan yanks your hips towards his mouth. His tongue glides up your pussy over and over again, each swipe ending in a nibble.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, groaning, gasping for air. His lips are relentless, tugging on your clit and making you shudder. You don’t care who can hear you. You lift your leg, placing a foot on the edge of the tub behind him, fisting his hair with one hand and reaching up, gripping the windowsill behind you with another.

Logan devours you. You taste like honey and sin, like every wicked thought he’s ever had about you curled into one addictive flavour he can’t get enough of. His tongue drags deep and slow - marking you in the way only he can. He groans around your clit, the vibration making you jerk against his mouth.

“Ride my face, princess,” he rasps against your soaked cunt, his voice rough, one of his hands digging into your ass to keep you grounded. You want to be heard? Want the whole damn world to know who has you screaming? Fine.

He bites you, and your head pushes back against the wall, overcome with ecstasy. You roll your hips, thrusting into his mouth. He kisses and tugs, sucking on your inner thighs and swirling his tongue over your slit. He’s messy, his saliva mixing with your slick until your pussy is dripping.

“Fuck.” You’re trembling. You grind against his mouth faster. “More, Logan.”

More. Goddamn, you’re shameless when you want to be. Voice raw, hips grinding like you were born to chase this kind of pleasure. And he’s the bastard feeding it to you.

He bites down again, just hard enough to make you squeal, then he soothes it with his tongue, dragging slow circles around your clit while his fingers dig into your ass cheeks, spreading you wider. He wants every drop of you. Your juices coat his beard, slick and sweet, and he growls against you. “Greedy girl,” he mutters, lips brushing your clit with every word.

He takes your ass in both hands, diving inside of you with his tongue. You cry out, gripping his hair so tight you hear him hiss in pain. But he doesn’t stop fucking you. Not for a second.

Heat fills your stomach, and you throb as his tongue thrusts in and out you. You peer down, taking in the view, and you notice one of his hands has left your ass to tug on his own cock. The sight makes you feel dizzy.

He can’t get enough of your soaked cunt - dripping, pulsing, perfect. His tongue dives deep, chasing every ripple of your walls clenching around nothing. You taste too good. It feels too right. He hauls you harder against his mouth, growling as you grip his hair like reins, like you’re riding him to ruin. Good. You can use him. Take whatever you need.

He looks up at you, jerking himself slow and rough, thumb rubbing the slit as he pictures burying every inch of his cock inside of your tight heat. Stretching you wide. Making you take all of him until there’s no mistaking who owns that sweet, greedy pussy.

Every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire, your body aching to come. “You wanna fuck me?” you ask him breathlessly, your eyes locked on to the way he pulls on himself.

The words hit him like a match to gasoline. Fuck yeah, he wants to fuck you. Has for years. Every damn day he told himself no, every night he lied awake wishing he could say yes.

He pulls back just enough to sit, brute force dragging him down to the slick porcelain floor. Legs splayed, dick jutting up hard and ready, beads of pre-come glistening in the bathroom light. He braces his arms behind him, holding himself steady for what he knows is coming.

His voice is like sandpaper when he answers. “Climb on, darlin’.” He tilts his chin up, eyes locking on yours. He reaches out, pulling you down on top of him.

Logan’s large frame in the tiny bathtub makes you want to laugh, and you almost do, but then he rolls his cock against your slit. You gasp. That’s one way to shut you up.

Logan lets out a low chuckle, his large hands traveling over your body. He lets you grind down slowly until you’re panting and clutching at his shoulders. He braces one hand on the small of your back, the other gripping your thigh, guiding your movements. Dominant because he knows that’s what you want. What you need.

“Easy, princess,” he murmurs against your neck, lips grazing damp skin as you writhe against him. “I’ve got ya.”

He doesn’t know if he can hold back much longer. You’re slick, swollen, rocking against him like you’re trying to set yourself on fire - and him with you.

Leaning down, you kiss and lick a path down his chest, his stomach. You nibble the prominent vein leading down to his length, wanting to take your time with him the same way he did with you. Prove to him that you know patience too.

You lower your mouth on his tip, taking him down your throat and giving him something to watch. Your mouth wraps around him like velvet, tight and wet and way too fucking good. He fists one hand in your hair - holding on, feeling you, reminding himself that this is real.

You take him deep, slow, teasing - like you’re trying to prove a point. Taunting him with that pretty mouth, showing him that you can be cruel and kind all at once. He watches you - every damn second of it. Lips stretched around his length, cheeks hollowing, eyes fluttering shut like you’re savouring him. You own him right now. His body, mind, and soul - it all belongs to you. “Damn, baby…”

The way his voice cracks. The plea in his tone. It’s too much.

Fuck patience.

You swing your leg over his hip, straddling him once again, lowering yourself on to him. You hold his cock in your fist as you sink down. The tip dips inside, and your nails dig into the meat of his shoulders as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your body tenses.

The second you sink down on him - slow and agonizing - he sees stars. White-hot and blinding. Your heat wraps around him, tight and perfect, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut too, suck in a breath through his nose, and pray to a God he doesn’t believe in that he doesn’t blow apart like some dumb kid getting his first blowjob.

Then he notices you’ve stopped, freezing halfway down, muscles tensed like you’re trying to hold yourself together. He hums, pleased with himself. Brave girl you are. Stubborn too. You don’t need to look at him to know he’s smirking like he just won the lottery.

He shifts his hands to your hips, thumbs pressing into the bone, steadying you. Keeping you still, but he urges you forward. “C’mon, darlin’.”

You start to move, your hips circling at a slow pace. He doesn’t stop caressing you, motivating you. You drop lower, sinking an inch of him inside you, then another. And then you stop again. “Just…give me a second,” you breathe.

You move like you want to torture him. It is driving him absolutely insane, how good you feel wrapped around him. He lets out a harsh breath, eyes rolling back for just a second before snapping back open.

He nods at your request, his voice gruff and strained. “Take your time, princess.” His thumb strokes soothing patterns on your hip, trying to be gentle. For you.

You start to slide up and down, just barely. He’s long, and thick. The stretch burns, it hurts, but you sink further down. The pain is uncomfortable, but bearable.

Logan can feel your heat, your tightness, and you’re so wet - but you’re still fighting through the burn. He braces his hand firmly on your hip, holding you. Anchoring. Letting you feel him, letting you set the pace even though every part of his being wants to flip you over and pound into you until neither one of you can think.

“Easy, baby,” he murmurs, voice raspy, eyes hooded as he drinks in every reaction, every flinch, every moment of pleasure etched onto your face mixed with the sting.

Your hips shift - just a little - and he feels it. That instinct to move, to chase the rhythm, but you’re not ready yet. Not fully. He can still feel you tensing, fighting through the discomfort like you always do - never backing down, never asking for help.

He tightens his grip on your hip, firm but careful, using just enough pressure to still your movements. His other hand reaches up to cup your face, his thumb brushing away a strand of damp hair stuck to your cheek. He tilts your chin down so you have to look at him. “Give yourself a minute, darlin’,” he says, voice rough with restraint but softened by something he’s afraid to name out loud.

You lean down, stretched, a little sore, and filled. He’s inside you all the way. You kiss him, and then you start to move, rolling your hips. Both of you moan at the new sensation.

You settle on him fully and he swears he dies for a second, going to some version of heaven where he actually deserves to touch you like this. Where he doesn’t have to carry every regret, every rule he broke to get here. He deepens the kiss the second he feels you roll your hips - slow and uncertain - and he groans into your mouth, because holy fuck, you feel too good. Too right. It’s too much.

He kisses you harder, ruthlessly, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and biting just enough to make you gasp. His hands on your hips guide you, lifting you slightly before pulling you back down. “Ride me, baby.”

You moan as his tongue swipes over your bottom lip. “Okay.”

You rut against him. It isn’t long before the discomfort is gone completely, replaced by a throbbing warmth. You slide up and down his length, his cock moving in and out of you easily now. You move like you’ve found religion - hips rolling and taking him deep. Wet, slick sounds fill the cramped bathtub, drowned out only by your ragged breaths and the constant hum of the shower.

He watches you ride him. “That’s it, princess,” he murmurs, thumb pressing into the notch of your hip, guiding your rhythm when you stutter - when you get too greedy, too fast. “So damn good.”

You smile at his praise and lean back, gripping both sides of the tub as your hips roll. You tilt your head back, and you know his eyes are on you. God, you love the feeling of his eyes on your body as you put on a show for him. Water still streams down from the showerhead, droplets catching on your skin, sliding down your collarbone, disappearing into the valley between your breasts. He wants to lick every trace of it off of you.

But he doesn’t move. Just watches, letting you take control. Letting you show him exactly how much you want this - how much you want him.

You grind down faster. The thickness, his tip hitting you deep inside, his thumb finding its way to your swollen clit - it’s all too much, and also the best fucking thing you have ever felt. “Oh…” you groan, bouncing quicker now. You can feel your climax building.

You’re moving like you’re possessed - wild, uninhibited, chasing that edge like he’s not right there with you, praying for mercy. His thumb circles your clit, firm and relentless, matching the frantic pace of your hips. You’re soaked, swollen.

You’re close. So damn close.

And he wants it. Wants to feel you come apart on him. Wants every asshole at that party to wonder where the hell you disappeared to and what the fuck he’s doing to you. His voice is pure sin when he barks out, commanding, “Fuck me harder, baby.”

You grab his hand from your hip. You place the tip of his index finger on your tongue, slowly taking him down to the knuckle. You take his finger like it’s his cock - slow, wet, deep - and he swears he can feel it in his fucking toes. His hips jerk up on instinct, chasing friction, chasing relief he doesn’t deserve yet. Not when you’re still riding him like a damn fever dream.

He lets out a choked whimper - pathetic and desperate - and his free hand leaves your clit to dig into your thigh, like he needs leverage just to survive you. “B-Baby…” he tries to warn you, his voice cracked and breathless. He’s hanging on by a thread.

He’s going to come. You’ll never forget that sound.

It hits him like a freight train, merciless. His back bows off the porcelain, every muscle locking up as he lets himself go.

He comes hard, a groan ripping from his throat like he’s being torn apart from the inside out, your name spilling out like a curse and a prayer all at once. “Baby…fuck…”

You keep moving - relentless little vixen you are - and he lets you, even though he swears he’s going to die from it. He lets you chase your high while he tries to remember how the hell to breathe.

And then you come too. “God! Logan!”

His hands fly to your tits as you shake and shudder above him, your insides bursting with wave after wave of euphoric bliss. Your hips piston against him, jerking harder and faster until your climax begins to fade, and you collapse on top of him.

He holds you against him, his grip tight. You think you can feel him kissing your hair, but the world is still spinning, everything moving too fast to be sure. He’s right there, holding you through every tremor, every gasp, every shattered moan that leaves your lips.

Your breasts are soft and warm, nipples dragging across his chest with every shiver, and he groans, wrapping his arms around your waist. You’re exhausted, spent, and he holds you like you’re the most precious thing in the world - even though he’s the last man alive who should be allowed to.

He presses his lips to your wet hair, breathing you in, anchoring himself to this moment, even though he knows what comes next. Regrets. Rules. Consequences.

Still panting softly, you lift your head from his chest just enough to meet his gaze. Your cheeks are flushed, your lips parted, and your hair sticks to your skin in damp waves. There’s a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at your lips - one that says you don’t regret a single second of this.

Your smile hits him square in the chest, soft and sleepy and full of something he doesn’t deserve. He wants to kiss you again. Wants to taste that satisfaction on your lips, seal it in like a promise. But he doesn’t move. He can’t. Reality is creeping in now. Outside this bathroom, people are laughing, drinking, wondering what you two are doing. Your dad, his best friend, is out there, slapping backs and pouring drinks, telling stupid stories around the fire, completely clueless that Logan just ruined his trust.

You shift slightly, resting your chin on Logan’s chest so you can look at him better. Your fingers trail lazily over his shoulder, tracing invisible patterns along his skin. “You’re thinking too loud,” you murmur, your voice soft but steady. Your expression doesn’t lose that quiet happiness. With a smirk, you add, “They can wait five more minutes.” You press a lingering kiss to his collarbone before settling back against him, your ear over his heart.

He feels your kiss everywhere - in his ribs, his throat, in the marrow of his bones that have carried shame and guilt for far too long.

You’re right, he is thinking. Thinking about what happens now. About what happens when the water goes cold and you have to step back into a world where he’s supposed to be untouchable. Where you’re supposed to be off-limits.

But you dare him to stay. Dare the world to interrupt.

He exhales slowly, one arm curling tighter around your back. The other drifts absentmindedly through your hair, fingers threading through the strands like he’s done a thousand times in dreams he woke from ashamed.

“Yeah,” he mutters, voice low. “Five more minutes.”

#hugh jackman #logan howlett #logan howlett oneshot #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x you #wolverine smut #wolverine x you #logan howlett x reader #cowboy logan #dbf logan #mine

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excusetowrite · 2 days ago

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Let Him In (2)

Part One Part Two Part Three

Summary: On a sweltering southern film set, our young actress discovers that the hardest part of her role isn’t the intimacy written in the script—it’s the desire building between takes. With every lingering touch and look that lasts too long, her co-star Jack pulls her deeper into a dangerous game of blurred lines and buried desires. And when the cameras roll on their most intimate scene yet, she’s left wondering if she ever really had a choice—or if the performance became something far more consuming.

Warnings: Minors DNI. Lots of themes of obsession and possession here. Flirting, tension, talks of smut, and a very very heated filmed scene that you'll have to read for yourself. Nothing too out of the ordinary for this type of fic, hope you enjoy part two. And yes, there will be more >:))

The Taste of Pretending

At first, I thought his Irish accent would be the death of me, but I quickly learned I also have a thing for Southern men. Jack was kind-too kind sometimes. And whether he liked making me nervous or just cared too much about his craft, the effect was the same: I couldn’t breathe around him. We spent a long time that first night going over our scene for the next day and though I fought my mind from roaming Jack was nothing but respectful- and charming, and dreamy, and distracting. He fell into character in a way that shocked me and for me it was easy to pretend to be infatuated with him because it wasn’t so far from the truth.

The first scene was on the log with Mary. I didn’t have many lines, Imogen in general doesn’t have many lines after she’s turned. All I had to do was sit there, on his right, his arm possessively around my waist, then later when the scene turned more intense gripped on my thigh. Imogen stares at Mary as if in a love-sick trance, only speaking up when spoken to directly. We filmed that scene many times that day and from many different angles. Hours of close intimate contact, some takes more, some less, but always constant.

The next few weeks were more of the same. We filmed most of the outdoor scenes and fight sequences—those were tough. One night, we had to cut because of an alligator in the water, and after that, Jack kept very close. Hiding my attraction was incredibly hard especially when the work was already so intimate. I caught myself staring at him- his arms, his chest, his waist, lower. No better than a man. At least I could blame it on method acting- pretend that my lingering stares and flushed cheeks were just part of the role. When we would wrap for the night he would walk with me to our trailers after we got out of hair and makeup, sometimes asking to come in to work on something and sometimes I think he could tell I was just too tired. The nights were long, and most of our sleep schedules were completely ruined by that point.

There came a point when I noticed that some of the times I invited him in we talked less and less about whatever we were working on the next day, around this time I also noticed his roaming eyes. I was partial to nightgowns and it wasn’t like I wasn’t already treating him like eye candy. Our scenes were becoming dangerously easy to shoot. I wanted to believe it was chemistry, but deep down, I knew it was something else, something harder to turn off when the cameras stopped rolling. One particular evening we were sitting across from each other sharing some drinks in my trailer, supposedly giving each other notes, when he let me go off topic. It was so easy to talk to him, and he seemed like he wanted to listen, and my drink had me feeling a little tipsy, so I talked. Rambled, really. He would interject curiously to keep the conversation moving but really I think he just wanted to hear me. That's when it came up that I used to write.

“Oh that’s awesome, a woman of many talents. What’d ye write about?” he asked as his lips perked up at the corners.

“Fanfictions,” I blurted, regretting it the second the word left my mouth. “That was a long time ago though, I stopped when I was sixteen or seventeen maybe.”

His laugh was low and knowing, not mocking—more like he’d just confirmed a long-held suspicion. “Of course ye did,” he teased, eyes sparkling over the rim of his glass. “Let me guess... scandalous ones?”

There was no stopping the heat that rushed to my cheeks and my comfortable demeanor immediately fell away as flashes of my stories of him rushed through my mind. Involuntarily I crossed my legs as embarrassment, and slight arousal overtook me. He could see the shift and his eyes and smile widened in a way that reminded me so much of Cook. I tried to take the humility on the nose as I shrugged and we laughed.

“Who was lucky enough to earn the perverted attention of teenage you?” he asked as our laughs calmed.

I leaned back into the cushion, his eyes jumping for a split second to the rising hemline of my nightgown. His gaze flicked lower, and I swear I felt the path of it like a physical touch. My skin prickled under the thin fabric. I shifted, suddenly hyperaware of how every small movement seemed like a silent confession. Lifting my drink to my mouth I responded, “That—I’m not sharing,” I shot back, trying to sound confident even as my cheeks burned. “Some things are better left buried in the dark corners of the internet where I left them.” Sure, he could know I was a horny teen—I mean, who wasn’t? The rest stays a secret.

His smile turned sharp. “Dangerous to leave things buried, love. They’ve got a way of clawing their way back up.” For a beat, the air felt heavier, like the moment just before a storm breaks. He leaned back in his seat, legs stretched out, his eyes dragging over me slow and deliberate. I suddenly became acutely aware of how thin my nightgown really was. He eyed me curiously and smirked before moving back to our scripts.

That was the first night I crossed a line. An imaginary line that only I knew about, but a line nonetheless. By the time Jack retired to his own trailer it was early morning and I was just a little more than tipsy. The alcohol made it harder not to look at him, to think about him, and the time I spent sitting there became incredibly frustrating. As soon as he was gone and I was in my bed alone, I did it. Reading it was bad enough. Finding release to the stories and photos of the man in the trailer next to mine made me feel wrong, but also more excited than I had been in a very long time.

—

I’m proud to say that I’ve held my own as an amateur in this cast of actors by trade. I was also happy to have built a genuine friendship with my co-stars, especially Jack. We were always together on set of course, but I felt myself gravitating towards him off set as well. An intrusion he did not mind.

The flirty game of a friendship we had was fun, but the first time I noticed a real shift was when we filmed the scene trying to get into Club Juke. Remmick and Imogen, Joan and Bert, two white couples just trying to sing some music and have a good time. Like always Jack- Remmick’s arm was around my waist and on one particular take Michaels character Stack looked over me in a different way than the previous takes. More intently, with more intrigue. We all tried different stuff many of the takes we did and this was no different than that, just an option to pick later. Completely improvised.

What was also improvised was the flash of anger that crossed Remmick’s face, just for a split second, blink and you’ll miss it. And the charming smile was back, but not before his grip on my hip tightened to almost an uncomfortable amount. The mood shifted—subtle but sharp, like the snap of a wire pulled too tight. No one else seemed to notice, but I felt it in every nerve under his hand. Still I stayed in character. Still I looked at Jack starry eyed and tried to capture a reason on his face but the character had taken over him again. It was the way his fingers dug into my hips—not enough to hurt, but enough to leave the ghost of pressure behind. His grip said, mine, even if no one else could see it. And the way he looked at me—dark, focused, like he was memorizing every inch—made me feel owned in a way that wasn’t in the script. We finished the scene and that was the end of it, though when our characters walked away slowly I couldn’t help but notice how tense Jack was, how the arm shrugged over my shoulders was not loosely hanging but wrapped possessively.

Later that evening when I left hair and makeup he was already waiting for me. We walked in near silence this time. The air between us felt heavier than the heat hanging over the set. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his head ducked just enough to make me wonder if he was thinking as hard as I was trying not to. Every few steps, our arms would almost brush. Almost. Neither of us closed the gap. As we approached our trailers I went to ask him if he was alright but before I could he turned and asked, “You know what we’re filming tomorrow, right?”

I racked my mind for a moment before my cheeks flushed, yes, our next scene was the one where he turns me, and during a lustful act to say the least. I had been putting off mentally preparing for that day and for the separation I’d have to manage in my head between my own attraction and Imogens and in doing so the day snuck up on me. His words felt like a warning and a promise all at once. I nodded, but my throat had gone too tight to say anything clever back. And wasn’t that just the problem? I never had the right words around him—not when it mattered. He returned the nod as I began to walk up the steps to my trailer, eager to be out of the uncomfortable situation.

“Will you ever tell me?” he asked up at me. I turned to look at him, confusion furrowing my brow. “Who you wrote your smut about?”

I laughed lightly and shook my head, again turning to go into my trailer. I stopped at the top of the steps and turned, just enough to look down at him. He stood there, hands in his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or go. For once, I wasn’t the one squirming under his gaze. He was the one hesitating. Waiting.

“So, I take it you don’t want to invite me in to practice tonight?” he asked. This time when I turned to look at him he was smiling, but I could tell he was nervous.

I let my eyes drag over him slowly- deliberately. His jaw tightened. His shoulders tensed like he was bracing for a blow or something much worse: rejection.

“Do you want me to?” I asked, voice light, teasing. But it was the kind of tease that knew exactly how much weight it carried. His mouth parted- no sound. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, and God, it was almost too easy now. I watched the nerves flicker across his face like he wasn’t used to being the one left standing in the heat of his own want. I asked. I don’t think he was expecting that response because his smile fell away and for the first time he was the one looking at me nervously. “Hmm,” I hummed, stepping back toward the door, letting the screen swing half-closed between us. “I think I’m better at improvising that sort of thing.” Then, with a smile just this side of wicked, I added, “Goodnight, Remmick,” and closed the door behind me, leaving him out there in the thick, humid air with nothing but his imagination to keep him company.

Later that evening in the comfort of my own bed I did it again. Masturbating to someone you know personally will always be weird, and I am not recommending doing it. But there is something about it that gets me very hot and bothered. Especially knowing he’s right next door, and especially after trying to prepare myself for the next day.

—

The next day was a closed set. Only us, the intimacy coordinator, director, and needed techs. We had already filmed the scene leading up to it days ago. Imogen, walking home from her job in town late at night, unknowing of Remmick watching her from the woods. He could smell her blood and it smelled like his own, he liked that- took that as a sign. That’s what the script says at least. Of course they stumble across each other and he offers to walk her home like a gentleman, it’s dangerous on these roads at night for a pretty lady to walk alone. Imogen isn’t used to the attention, especially not from a handsome man. Her fathers protective and the only interaction Imogen usually gets is from customers at her job, customers who do not like her Irish born father.

It’s a long walk of course and Remmick asks for a drink of water when we reach the porch. Imogen considers for a moment, her father would not approve, but her mother and father were out of town right now. And Remmick was very, very convincing. So she does what any other girl in her position would do. She lets him in.

We ran through the rough blocking with Ryan and the intimacy coordinator a few times before we started filming for real, and that was intense enough. Starting in the small living room and moving to the kitchen, the counter, the table. I could do this. This is going to be easy. I’m a professional. Before I know it we are on our marks and someone yells action.

It’s easy to fall into Imogen especially after all this time, easy to remember my lust as I look at him standing in front of me, and equally as easy to anxiously turn and rush into the kitchen to start filling a glass of water. My back is to him but I know he’s approaching. Predator and prey.

“So, pretty girl like yourself lives out here all alone?” he asks as he enters the kitchen.

I turn to look at him, his grey contacts are in but I pretend like I don’t notice. “No,” I respond as I hand him the glass of water and continue, “My Ma and Pa are usually here but they’re gone right now.”

He nods his head knowingly and drinks the water, a smile spreading across his face as he starts to approach me. My back hits the counter as he enters my space to set his glass behind me and I- Imogen- suck in a breath. He smells like Jack, like cologne and tobacco. I close my eyes at the realization and hope it fits for the scene. How many time had I imagined that scent late at night? He doesn’t move out of my space. Remmick takes space; he doesn't retreat from it.

His voice is low as he says, “Hmm, don’t they think that’s kinda dangerous? Leaving you out here all by yourself?” He shrugs a little, the distance between us nearly closed as I come to meet his eyes. I can’t tell who I’m looking at. Jack, or Remmick.

“I can take care of myself,” I say as I turn my head to the side sheepishly. I know he’s hit his cue to stare at my unknowingly exposed neck when I hear him suck in a sharp breath.

“Oh, I bet you can.” The scene moves at an agonizing pace, and I can feel the tension rising—between us, in the room, in me. It only breaks when I finally look up at him and for that split second I see him, not Remmick but Jack, before the obsession returns and he closes the distance, lips crashing into mine.

Being kissed like this feels like possession, feels like melting into him, feels like full surrender. It was hard and fast and heated. His hands grabbing and roaming my middle. Suddenly I’m lifted off the ground by strong arms and set firmly on the counter earning a gasp even though I knew it was coming. He’s standing between my legs now, just close enough to be professional and just far enough to be frustrating. Still we devour each other. His hand goes to my hair and nestles for a moment before pulling my head to the side, exposing my neck to him.

He kisses down my flesh sloppily, nibbling and sucking in all the right spots. A moan escapes me, a real one, but no one will know. I’m an actress, I’m supposed to be acting. Still at this I feel him groan into my skin before continuing his assault.

He doesn’t bite, not how Remmick is supposed to. Instead after we know they have more than enough film he pulls away and sucks in a deep breath, composing himself. His hand is still rooted in my hair and his eyes lock onto mine as he says, “I want to taste you.” It’s the closest to a question that he was going to get. I nod my head eagerly and he smiles greedily, as far as he’s concerned he already has me. And as far as I’m concerned he does as well.

He returns to kissing me, gentler this time, hands sliding up my exposed legs and under the hem of my skirt at an agonizing pace. There's lube spread across the inside of my upper thigh and as soon as I feel him run his fingers through it my eyes widen and I throw my head back in a gasp. Remmick smiles and watches me greedily, finding pleasure in knowing he already has this control over me. We act it out for a few more beats before he finally removes his hand and lifts his glistening fingers for me to see.

“All this for me?” he asks, lifting his finger to his mouth. He sucks on it slowly, eyes closing, brow furrowing like he’s savoring a delicacy. I watch him, hungrily and enthralled, then when his finger finally leaves his mouth he's dead calm as he lifts his pointer and middle to my lips. “Taste,” he orders. So I do. Slowly at first, then more greedily. The lube is strawberry flavored, but I can taste him as well. Sometimes there is no movie magic for these sort of one shot scenes. He just stands there watching me, heavy breathing and eyes blown out. When he finally removes his fingers with a pop he doesn’t hit his line immediately, for a second he just blinks, as if for just a second he forgot. But then he shakes his head. “Not enough,” is the only warning I get before he's kneeling before me and hiking my dress up, head dipping between my thighs.

Of course it went no further than that but we still had a job to do. He started miming the intimate moment, just inches away from where I wanted him the most. I threw my head back and moaned, brow furrowing, one hand bracing myself on the counter while the other flew to tangle in his hair and I gently began pulling. This earned a growl from him and he moved more feverishly. I felt him rub his lips and chin across the lube and I could have sworn I felt it, soft kisses moving along the inside of my thigh where the lube was placed, a trick of the mind- heat of the moment. It helped me perform either way, helped me be more believable. His hands held my hips firmly in place, legs hiked over his shoulders, if I wanted to move I couldn’t- I didn’t want to.

I gently squeezed his head twice—just barely. The cue we decided to use when I’d act like I was reaching climax. And boy, was I acting. I’ve never seen him move so quickly, one second on the ground before me and the next he was up again and lifting me off the counter earning a genuine gasp from me.

“Not yet,” he said, his mouth and chin glistening with more than just the lube on account of the drool-inducing mints. “Not until I say so.” My legs wrapped around his center and arms around his neck as he turned and walked me to the table, holding me with one strong arm as the other brushed everything off of it in one swift motion before setting me down and standing before me.

My hands moved hastily to grasp at the buttons of his shirt, but he stopped that with one swift motion yanking it over his head and slinging it on the ground. Chest now bared to me I made quick work of curiously roaming and kissing his newly exposed skin. His head dipped back and he let out a moan. I may have been leaving marks, but I didn’t care, and he must not have either because he didn’t stop me. Just left me to make sloppy work across him while they got their shot.

Then, more calmly than any man should have been, he grabbed either side of my shirt collar and ripped my blouse open, loosely sewn buttons flying everywhere, leaving me in just the bra. He moved fast on the newly exposed skin, kissing and sucking, nibbling and- biting. There was only one place to go from here and we were fastly approaching that cue.

His hands hiked my skirt up before fiddling with his buckle. My arms wrapped around his neck, our brows pushed together, eyes locked as we acted out passing that final precipice. We both let out groans of satisfaction before he started to move his hips, hands gripped on my waist. Of course there was fabric between us, but every few thrusts he got just a little too close, brushed up against where I wanted him the most ever so slightly, earning real moans and groans from me- but they were frustration not pleasure. I hope the camera can’t tell the difference.

I had to move or I was going to explode, so I did. I improvised, laying back on the table, arms stretched above my head, body revealed and vulnerable before him. He didn’t miss a beat, and when I opened my eyes to glance up at him, his brow was sweaty and furrowed with pleasure, mouth hanging open, letting out lewd noises I’d only dreamed of. His chest still glistened, blooming with fresh marks just how I’d left it. His eyes locked on mine, and we shared a few glorious, intimate beats holding that eye contact. It almost felt real. Almost.

Then they yelled cut.

He stopped and backed away immediately, eyes darting anywhere but me. The sudden lack of warmth felt wrong. I felt vulnerable. I sat up and pulled my blouse closed with both hands.

“Was that good?” I called out toward the lights and cameras. The response was an enthusiastic yes. They just had to switch Jack's contacts and put in his prosthetic teeth for the final shot. No blood this time- leave that to the viewers’ imagination. I was told to stay put while they got him ready. He didn’t look at me as he walked away. Didn’t look at me when he came back, either. Eyes red now, the simpler set of sharp teeth in.

He got into position between my legs again, and we waited a minute while they reset the shot. Even this close, inches away, he avoided my gaze. Anxiety twisted low in my stomach and climbed, cold and tight, into my chest. Sitting bare and exposed in front of him, and he wouldn’t even look at me. He’d had no problem looking at me a few minutes ago when he was pretending to fuck my brains out.

“Did I do something wrong?” I whispered, the space between us so small no one else could hear.

His head snapped toward me, eyes wide. “No, no,” he said quickly, in his regular accent. “Just trying to stay in the right headspace is all.” He offered a weak smile. It didn’t make me feel any better. But it didn’t matter. They called for us to get back into position.

I laid back again, and before I knew it, Jack was gone—once again replaced with Remmick’s hungry gaze. So I tried to do the same, to put on the mask that was Imogen just as easily as he did. We picked up right where we’d left off- just a few seconds while they captured the transition. But my mind wandered, anxiety still lodged in my chest.

“Come here,” he commanded, loud enough for the boom mics to catch. I saw his eyes, his teeth, but Imogen’s lust had blinded her, or maybe made her unafraid of the man in front of her. So I rose to meet him.

His arms wrapped firmly around my bare waist, mine went around his neck once again—but that was all I could manage. I was struggling to find the rhythm again, to pull myself back into the aroused state I’d been in just minutes before.

He didn’t falter. He just gripped me tighter and whispered in my ear, low enough that no one else could hear:

“What’d you write about me?”

I gripped his neck harder, and a moan escaped my mouth as images flashed through my head. The stories I had written. The ones I had only imagined. The heat I felt each night in bed, thinking of him- him, the man in front of me.

I was back- lost in it. Moaning, head thrown back, eyes rolling. Then my brow pressed against his again as the camera moved behind him, angling for the final shot. While his face was still out of frame, he whispered:

“I knew it.”

He smiled, sinister with the teeth and contacts, and it only made me act harder.

The camera captured the shot of us, hungry, locked in each other’s gaze. We both began to speed up, reaching our fake climaxes. It was so easy to pretend. That’s when she does it- when I do it. I tilt my head to the side, baring my throat to him, offering myself without hesitation, without fear.

The last thing the cameras catch is him going in for the bite. The last part I feel is his breath- hot, deliberate- right where my pulse hammers loudest. And I don't know where Imogen starts and I begin anymore.

#remmick fic #remmick #remmick x reader #remmick smut #sinners remmick #sinners fic #sinners #jack o'connell fic #jack o'connell x reader #jack o'connell #remmick fanfic

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pinescent-and-gingerbread · 1 day ago

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Hi Pine!! shamelessly requesting Arthur Morgan x female reader... Reader patching up Arthur after a fistfight in Valentine? She's chiding him but also her heart is fluttering and she's blushing because her big man protected her

Thank you lovely!!!!!!!!!!

Heeey Cassie!! Thank you so much for your ask, I love it! Felt like it has been done a lot already, so I never dared do my own version, so thank you once again for giving me an excuse to write it eheh! (Also this is pretty funny because it could be a sequel to this mini prompt!)

"Just, stay seated, for God's sake!"

Arthur grumbles, not hiding his discontentment for a bit. It had been a struggle to drag him and make him sit on a box behind the supplies' wagon.

"Look at you..." You sigh, tilting his head up with your index finger under his scared chin. Arthur looks at you with two puppy eyes, their blue color so bright, even more vibrant than usual, compared to the black of the bruises dappling his skin. Even like that, he was so beautiful, in his rugged kind of way. This man could have been a painting; you were just sorry that it would be a violent one.

"Always been ugly darlin', a few scratches ain't changing much..."

"Hush now. You're not getting up from that box until I take care of you, Mr Morgan." Your tone is firm and soft at the same time, and he knows you're right. There's just something in his guts that tells him it's not right. That he doesn't need any of that, that you shouldn't waste your time on him. He doesn't deserve it.

He concedes and nods without another word. Finally. You grab the medical supplies and start working, focused. You clean his cuts, and you notice how he stiffens at the pain when the alcohol reaches his flesh. You gently apply ointment to his bruises, trying to be as delicate as possible. He doesn't complain anymore.

You try not to look too flustered when he undoes a few buttons from his shirt, pulling his it down to grant you access to a big cut he had right between his neck and shoulder.

"It's going to sting." You warn him, and he nods again, knowing already how it feels to get patched up after a lifetime of fights turned bad. He only grunts when the needle pierces through his skin for the first time.

"That one was a really close one. Do you ever think, Arthur?" You scold, realising just how deep he was willing to go to defend you.

"Not that close." He mutters, his eyes looking away from you as he tries not to look at your chest bent over to him as you're patching him up. The way you were so close, he could even smell your heady scent, his heart beating faster at this sudden proximity. "Would do it all over, if I had to."

You feel your cheeks heat against your will. Fuck, blushing isn't going to help your credibility reprimand this six foot tall beast of a man. There are a few moments of silence as you finish with a small knot, and you catch his cerulean gaze, fingers lingering on his skin more than necessary.

Through those eyes, you know the man before you could handle a hundred more wounds like those, just for you to be safe and sound, and this vertiginous idea never leaves you as you cross all limits and gently press a kiss on the side of his face, scratchy stubble tickling your lips. It was the least you could do in return, after all.

You don't see it, but your blush spreads and leaks onto his own cheeks, a timid and juvenile flame igniting two souls and consuming them silently.

#very very sweet prompt!!#wrote a bit more because I wanted to write something like that for so long!#arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fluff

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noodles-doodles01 · 8 hours ago

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The journal is def my favourite aspect of his character bc it’s the perfect way to show the audience that how people perceive him isn’t how he actually is.

Don’t get me wrong, how people see him isn’t unjustified. He’s very much a violent, angry giant of a man (esp by 1899 standards), but the journal shows that he isn’t just Dutch’s rabid dog.

It also shows us that Arthur is a private person, which we can see in how he reacts to physical touch from different people. He is most private with the men in the gang (most likely due to the concept of masculinity that the group seems to convey) aside from John, Hosea and Charles (to varying degrees).

He’s more open about his feelings with the women, most of whom is Mary Beth, who iirc is the only person who he openly talks about his journal with (Mary Beth explains how she feels that she can come up with great writings in her head, when she writes it down it sounds foolish. Arthur then replies that he feels the same about his journal, where when he’s writing he feels like he’s writing smth great and when he reads it over he sounds like a downright fool.) He openly discusses his thoughts with the girls, whether his personal standing or political views (lack thereof really).

In most cases, the most honesty we get from Arthur is when he’s angry. I want to delve into another post about this, but Arthur’s sarcasm isn’t just him being hilarious, but very much reflective of his dissatisfaction with the group, ESPECIALLY with Dutch. As the game progresses, his sarcastic jokes toward Dutch become sharper, less funny and more accurate. When Sean dies, Arthur flips out on Micah and the other boys, expressing his unease on the job that he didn’t mention before, and he fully yells at Micah. When he meets with Mary both times, the only time he expresses his grief over the end of their relationship is through frustration and anger.

It makes the journal all the more jarring, because you get to read his thoughts as he expresses all his emotions. Not only that, it’s the only time we get Arthur’s true thoughts (explicitly or implicitly) without the threat of being disloyal looming over his words (which side note, man is a damn poet and so well spoken. Arthur is his own biggest hater). We learn how he genuinely loves the people of the gang, much more than anything he does for the gang. We learn hints of how his redemption was always a potential, and how he kind of always knew about Dutch (paraphrasing: “I love Dutch like a father, but I believe I may love Hosea more. He cares and looks out for people like a human being. Dutch is something else”). We learn he’s a yearner, with how he talks about Mary, and how his handwriting becomes lighter when she sends him that final letter, as though he were crying when he’s putting the entry. The extra long strokes when he seems to be writing in anger and frustration, the genuine wonder he has which he doesn’t share with anyone else.

The most insightful bit are his drawings, he is GENUINELY TALENTED (and I say this in a way where I fully believe that if Hosea, John, Abigail, Jack, Charles, Sadie and Arthur left together they would’ve been able to live and go straight just fine), he shows that he relaxes and enjoys his time outside of camp by admiring the world around him. It’s such a soft part of his character that we get to see and it’s my favourite part of the game personally.

Arthur Morgan I will always be obsessed with you

I love that so many gang members mentions that they wanna look into Arthur's journal, like just a little peaky, just a small one. And I 100% get it, I mean you got this big violent dude who protrays himself as stone cold (several characters comments on this), yet has a little journal, a little note book to write down stuff. If I was them I would want to know what he was writing as well, though I like it is just for us players because it feels like we are being let in on a little secret.

Also, do yall think any of the others knows about Arthur's drawings? The other characters mentions journalling but never art, he doesn't mention drawing specifically either only writing and he doesn't display it either. Is he just keeping it his own little secret or do they by other means know?

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #red dead redemption community #red dead redemption two #red dead fandom #rdr2 community #dutch van der linde #roger clark

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forkshighschooler · 2 days ago

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can you do some Paul Lahote headcanons where he finally allows himself to be vulnerable around his imprint, the reader? (paul lahote x female!reader)

Thank you soo much, love your works 🩷

~love, Lacy

Paul Lahote Headcanon

( Him being vulnerable to his imprint)

A/N- Thank for reading some of my other work! I hope this is what you meant!if you have any others requests I would love to write again for you!

1.It Doesn’t Come Easy

Paul grew up equating strength with silence. Vulnerability was something people used against him — something unsafe. So when you come along and treat his rage and silence with patience instead of fear, it unnerves him. It takes months for him to realize you’re not just tolerating him — you see him, and you stay.

⸻

2. He Talks About His Dad Once

Late one night, you’re both lying in bed — he’s warm behind you, arm loosely wrapped around your waist. Out of nowhere, he says, “He used to hit the wall. Never me. Just the wall. But I always thought… someday he would.”

He doesn’t elaborate. You just hold his hand, interlacing your fingers with his. It’s quiet, but your presence says everything. Paul doesn’t cry, but he doesn’t sleep much that night. He just holds you tighter.

⸻

3. He’s Afraid You’ll Leave

Even after imprinting, there’s a voice in the back of his head that whispers: She could still leave you.

It’s not insecurity in the usual sense — it’s abandonment trauma, buried deep. You catch it in the way he sometimes stares at the door too long when you say you’re going out. The way he texts, “you okay?” when you’re gone longer than expected. The way he sleeps with his arms wrapped around you, like you might vanish.

⸻

4. He Trusts You With His Temper

He tries so hard to keep his temper in check around you — and he’s mostly good at it. But one day, something sets him off. You’re there when he phases, panting and growling in the trees. Instead of being scared, you speak to him softly.

“Paul, I’m not leaving. Come back to me.”

He does. Shaking, naked, eyes wide with shame. He expects you to flinch. You just wrap him in the blanket you brought and rest your forehead against his chest. His breathing slows. That’s when he knows: you’re his anchor.

⸻

5. He Lets You Touch His Scars

Paul never talks about the worst fights. But when you trail your fingers along an old scar on his ribcage one night, he doesn’t stop you. He just says, voice low, “That one was mine. I lost control.”

You kiss it without a word. He closes his eyes and exhales — like he’s been holding that shame in for years.

⸻

6. His Love Isn’t Loud — It’s Honest

He doesn’t say “I love you” often. But when he does, it’s raw and unguarded. It’s whispered in your hair when he thinks you’re asleep. It’s muttered into your skin after a bad nightmare. It’s spoken with wide eyes during arguments, as if losing you would be the final crack in him.

“I love you,” he says one night, barely above a breath. “Even when I’m scared of what that means.”

⸻

7. He Apologizes — Really Apologizes

It’s a big step for Paul. Not the casual “my bad,” but the real, trembling kind: “I was scared and I pushed you away. That’s not fair to you. I’m sorry.”

His voice shakes. His jaw tightens like he expects you to lash out or walk away.

Instead, you cup his cheek and say, “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

Paul doesn’t speak. He just leans into your hand like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.

⸻

8. The Softest Moment: He Lets Himself Fall Apart

It’s a quiet night. Rain outside. No patrol, no pack, no pressure. You make him tea. He sits beside you on the floor, head resting against your shoulder. For once, he lets the silence stretch — no front, no mask. Just a man who’s tired. A boy who grew up too fast. A soul learning how to be loved.

He whispers, “I don’t know how to do this. But I want to try. With you.”

You brush your thumb under his eye where a tear threatened to fall. “That’s all I need.”

Disclaimer:

I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.

#forkshighschooler #twilight fanfic #twilight wolfpack #twilight x reader #paul lahote x reader #twilight #paul lahote #paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote x y/n #paul lahote x yn #wolfpack headcanon

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starlitunicorn · 2 days ago

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Scar Tissue, Chapter 1

Zayne x Reader. University AU. Reader is not MC. Slow-burn. Angst!

When you begin your university year with an accidental collision with her new professor, Dr. Zayne, your world is thrown into awkward chaos. What starts as a simple mishap spirals into a tense dynamic between you and the former surgeon. Word count - 4.3k Chapter 2

A/N: I was really inspired by the wonderful @eelliotss and their story "Borrowed Time". It made me want to try writing something, for the first time in my life. It was definitely a hard challenge, since English is not my first language, and I don't have a writing style, but I really wanted to create something as wonderful as them (please check out Borrowed Time, it's literally a masterpiece). I would be more than happy to hear criticism or suggestions, just be gentle, I'm really new to it. ♡

Throwing a playlist I used while writing, hopefully it will help you immerse yourself in the story.

The fresh, slightly cold air tossed fallen leaves, lifting them from the ground, forcing them into a bizarre dance mid-air. Slightly cold autumn air is pushing its way through the tops of the trees, carrying careless talks and laughs of the students, who are slowly approaching the big, towering building.

The start of the new academic year is always worrying in anticipation of new acquaintances, new friendships, and new experiences. But the least exciting part here is probably the lectures, a bunch of homework, that will keep you away from going out with your friends, and tests. Fixing the loose strap of your backpack, you slowly walk along the stone pathway, tossing the golden leaves with your shoes. The lingering summer memories are flashing in your mind, making you miss hot sunny days and carefree time away from the town. Approaching the big, open glass door, you look up at the large building with the flashy name of your university. Covering your mouth with your hand, you yawn, stepping over the doorstep. Even though you promised to go to bed earlier last night, you stayed up too late, like usual, playing games. It will be hard to get back into the “normal” schedule after three long months of going to bed at sunrise. A loud laugh and hustle behind makes you turn your head. A group of students, walking inside the building, was laughing and talking loudly, sharing some funny moments from their summer vacation. They were so loud that it was hard not to hear what they talked about. You huffed, turning your head away, when suddenly, you bumped into something. Or someone.

A strong smell of cologne and coffee enveloped you when your nose touched the soft fabric of a coffee-colored coat. Base notes of wet moss and amber with light heart notes of jasmine and pine hit your sense of smell, leaving a transparent cocoon around you. A loud gasp escaped the lips of the person you just walked into. You slowly looked up with your guilty gaze, but you underestimated how high you had to lift your head. Your gaze stopped first on the steaming brown blotch staining his chest: a fresh splash of coffee. Then, higher, to meet a pair of deep hazel eyes burning with irritation.

His pale face looked irritated. His refined features were nicely framed by the dark, short hair, which looked shiny and well-styled. His thick eyebrows were furrowed, making his eyes appear even more piercing. Scarred fingers were clenching the half-empty cup of coffee as if waiting for something. An apology, perhaps. You quickly snap back from observing the man, nodding your head in a guilty gesture. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Your hands searched your pocket, getting out a clean handkerchief, and handing it to the man in front. He swiftly grabbed the cloth from you, rubbing it on the wet spot, seemingly making it worse, smearing the coffee around the white shirt. Mortified, you murmured another apology and turned on your heel, rushing toward the stairs to escape the heat of his gaze—and the burning embarrassment tightening in your chest.

Swearing under your breath, you quickly move up the stairs, hoping this encounter won’t cause any trouble for you. Your palm slightly tapped your forehead, as if punishing yourself for not being careful enough. He didn’t look like a student. Maybe the way he wasn’t rushing anywhere, like other students, or the fact that he looked older than all the boys around, made you think he was the new lecturer, or someone with a higher position. What can make it worse?

The morning encounter disappeared from your mind really fast, in the rush of the day. Running around the halls, trying to find the correct lecture hall, and meeting with classmates quickly took your thoughts to a different place. Your phone was exploding with new group chats and new contacts, trying to keep up with everything. The buzz already made you miss the quiet of your room and the comfort of your bed. Quickly unfolding the piece of paper with your schedule, you glance at the sign with the room number. Making sure it’s the correct one, you step inside, looking for an empty desk. Your gaze fell on the empty desk near the window in the room's far corner. You never liked sitting right in front of the teacher's face. If you took the front row, it always made you feel more supervised. This could take away the pleasure of doodling when the lecture gets too dull. Just as the bell rang, the door slowly opened, and the sound of footsteps echoed in the spacious room. Weirdly punctual, you thought, tapping the pen on the empty page of your notebook. The teacher's arrival time tells a lot about their teaching and their temper. Someone who is constantly late is usually laid back and a really easy-going teacher, letting students slack, or will try to blend in and joke around with them. As for someone who arrives with the bell.. It can be a tough one. Meaning, no relaxing in their lessons.

It was enough for you to see the coffee-coloured coat that flashed in the doorframe, as your head sank into your shoulders. Soon, his tall figure was standing next to the teacher's desk, as he carefully put the cup of hot, fresh coffee on the table, next to the pile of files. He didn’t seem to rush, slowly taking off his coat and placing it on the back of the chair, exposing the faint coffee stain on the white shirt.

Arms crossed, as the gaze of his hazel eyes carefully studied the room. It stopped on you for a second too long, forcing you to look away with a hint of guilt, once again reminding you of the incident in the morning. You slid down the chair, grabbing your notebook and hiding your face. It seems like he didn’t forget about the spilled coffee as fast as you did, since it ruined his outfit for the day. And it’s the first day of the new year, what a look to show up in a stained shirt. He finally stopped drilling your notebook with his eyes, slowly walking in front of his desk and leaning on it. “I hope you all had a nice summer, but it’s time to get serious and put a great start to your new academic year,” his voice, calm yet loud and clear, filled the room. It didn’t sound as you imagined it would, and there were no angry notes, so it made you relax and brush off the embarrassment once again. “I’m Zayne Li, a former awarded Cardiac Surgeon from Akso hospital, and now, your new anatomy teacher. You can call me Doctor Zayne. Hopefully, we can all work well together and achieve great results by the end of the year.”

A wave of whispers rumbled across the class. Zayne Li was a well-known surgeon in one of the most prestigious hospitals in the town—the person who conducted tons of scientific research and was even awarded for one of them. Students seemed to wonder why he quit his job to teach at the university. Giving up something you've built for a long time isn't logical. “You have a lot of questions, I see. You can ask,” he lets out a quiet chuckle, turning around and grabbing the files from the table, opening them, and scanning through the text. The voice from the first row yelled out first, “Dr. Zayne, why did you quit your job as a surgeon at Akso hospital?” Zayne stopped, tapping his finger on the hardcover of the files. “You can ask anything not related to my dismissal.” Other students started asking questions about his work. Some had questions about his research, while others said he inspired them to enter this university. Zayne graduated as the best student from this exact university, which many think made the place special, and studying here could open many doors in the future.

As for you, your inspiration to enter this university is your parents. They insisted, you didn’t complain, since at the time, you didn’t have any ideas for your future direction. The physical therapist wasn’t that bad, and your grades allowed you to get in. Still, his answer left you wondering. What could make such a successful doctor leave his position to be a teacher? You trailed deep in your thoughts, doodling some chaos on the pages of your notebook. You didn’t notice how the conversation shifted from questions to introductions. Your name was called twice, before you finally came back to reality, lifting your head up, and getting up. “Sorry. Uh, that’s me. Nice to meet you, Dr. Zayne.” Still struggling to keep eye contact with the man, you stare at the coffee stain on his shirt. He seems to notice, letting out a quiet hum and ticking your name in his journal. “You seem very windy today. Not the greatest first impression,” he murmured, looking down at his shirt. Some students turned their heads around to look at you. Annoyed, you don’t say anything, swiftly sitting back in your chair. Embarrassment burns in your chest, but it goes away fast. It must be the payback for his ruined outfit. Quickly wrapping up introductions, Zayne starts the lesson with some literature recommendations to get into the subject. Writing down the necessary books, you feel Zayne’s heavy gaze on you as you glance up. His unblinking hazel eyes, as if looking somewhere past you, make you feel cold shivers on your back. So much for wanting to stay “unnoticed”, that’s why you chose the furthest desk, but it seems like there’s no hiding in this class.

After the bell rang, class ended. Everyone collected their scattered belongings, leaving the classroom. Zayne, on the other hand, wasn’t rushing to pack. His files were standing on the table in a really nice pile, placed on top of each other. He tried to be precise even in the way he put things on his desk. You were leaving last, since the way from the corner of the room to the exit door was the longest, but just as you prepared to step out of the class, you heard a clear call. “Hey. I think I should give this back to you.” Zayne reached into his pocket and handed you the handkerchief from earlier. Now, stained with coffee and shriveled, it was saturated with the smell of Zayne’s detergent, sitting in his pants pocket all day. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not mad. But you should be careful spilling someone’s hot drink like that. Others might not be as forgiving.” His strict tone echoed in your head, like a parent lecturing the child about putting on the hat before going outside. Your fingers slowly grab the handkerchief, shoving it into the open backpack. Your lips curve into a smile, which you usually give someone when you mess up, showing a barely visible dimple on your cheek. It seems that in that exact moment, Zayne froze on the spot. His fingers dug into the edge of the table, and his mind shifted somewhere far away from here, deep in his memories. Noticing that his consciousness left the walls of this room, you quietly smacked your lips, rocking back and forth. Maybe he tried to remember something, to tell you about an assignment, or something else, so you just decided to give him some time. But it didn’t look like he was about to return anytime soon, so you slowly started backing up from the class, looking all around the place in a silent embarrassment. “Soo-oo.. I think I will go, I need to find another lecture hall. Have a nice day, Dr. Zayne,” you murmured, quickly turning around and disappearing from the classroom, like the wind. You heard him say something in return, but you couldn’t understand it, since the sound of his voice was drowned in the crowded corridor. Blinking several times at a loss, you shake your head, trying to eliminate the feeling that your new teacher is a weirdo. After a tiresome first day, your next destination was the university library. You decided to grab all the literature needed for your new subjects while you were at it. The library hall was in the farthest corner of the building, so reaching a big room stacked with books took some time. A library assistant handed you a little piece of paper with blanks, so you could write down all the books you’re taking. You ran your fingers through sparkly clean shelves, which were polished before the start of the new year. Your hand stopped at the “scientific research” section for the correct title. You scoffed under your breath, fingers closing around a book with Zayne’s face staring back at you from the cover. “Recommending your own research as class literature,” you muttered. “What a braggart.” But the smug satisfaction barely had time to settle before a low hum sounded behind you. Your arms instinctively wrapped around the book, clutching it to your chest. You didn’t dare turn around. The scent of coffee hit your nose, sharp and unmistakable. A sigh slipped out of you, heavy with dread, as you slowly turned, already picturing the furious expression you’d seen that morning when you'd spilled his drink.

“I mean… that’s wonderful. You must be really proud of it.” The corners of your lips twitch as you force an awkward smile. He doesn’t react, just rolls his eyes and takes a slow sip of his caffeine-heavy drink. Your ears burn. No way you’ve embarrassed yourself twice in front of your new teacher on your very first day. And to top it off, insulted him to his face.

“I just wanted to see who would actually stop by the library to get the books,” he said, pausing to lick the bitter remnants from his lips, “so I could maybe point them out as dedicated students next time.” Then his gaze flicked toward you, sharper now. “But I wouldn’t mention you. Since you already think I’m bragging, you should go ahead and read all my research.” He tilted his head with clear irritation, then set his coffee cup on the nearby table.

Zayne stepped forward, closing the distance between you in one long stride, never once meeting your eyes. Your fingers dug into the book’s hardcover, but your legs refused to move. His chest stopped just in front of your face when he finally closed his eyes and exhaled—a long, heavy breath, like the weight of the entire day had just dropped onto his shoulders.

“Move.” The word came low and calm, almost a whisper scraped from the back of his throat. It cuts through your trance like a blade. You jolted, stepping aside without a word. His hand brushed past you, reaching for the book you'd unknowingly been blocking.

Finally, lowering the worn research in your hands, you feel another heavy weight pressing down on your arms. Zayne places a thick, glossy book on top of your little pile. He moves past you, calm and deliberate, retrieving his coffee from the table. He said nothing, leaving you in the quiet of a library, staring at his light smile from the book cover. You lift your head and furrow your eyebrows at his echoing presence. Shoving books in your backpack, you try to fit everything without damaging your belongings. You quickly fill in the book registration paper and leave it on the desk at the exit, sprinting out of the library and soon out of the building. In your thoughts, you are already home, leaving the heavy day behind the university doors. The trip home doesn’t take long. The bus ride almost lulls you to sleep, but you manage to jump out of your seat before missing your stop. Entering the small apartment building, you climb the stairs, dragging your feet behind you. Stopping in front of your apartment, you slowly open the door, yelling, “I’m home!” from the doorway. You hear the quiet hustle in the kitchen when a dark-haired girl peeks out of the corner. Seeing your exhausted face, she offers you a warm smile. “Oh, hi. How was the first day?”. She finally leaves the kitchen, wiping her hands with a stained towel. It’s been the second year you and your friend Simone have been renting an apartment together. Living with her was not draining. She was a great roommate, and it took some weight off your shoulders regarding payments.

“They already loaded us with a mountain of books to read, and I’ve managed to get on my new teacher’s bad side. Wouldn’t be surprised if he fails me.” You flopped onto the couch, grabbing a pillow and pressing your face into it, trying to bury yourself in the soft, forgiving embrace and shut out the world. Simone laughed, perching on the armrest and promptly stealing the pillow, your only line of defense, exposing your face to the light. “No one’s going to fail you,” she said with a grin. “Just get your teacher something nice. A bottle of wine, some fancy chocolate—boom, apology accepted. Who wouldn’t love that?” She flashed that radiant smile again, the one that always, without fail, made you feel a little better. “I was just cooking. Food’ll be ready in ten. Go wash your hands.” But you were already sprung to your feet, yanking open your backpack and dumping the books onto the couch to make space for something else.

“You’re a genius! I’m getting an apology gift.” You were halfway out the door before you finished the sentence.

“You can start without me!” you shouted back. Simone didn’t say anything, but her smile lingered. Somehow, she always knew exactly what you needed—even when she didn’t realize it.

The late afternoon air hit your face the moment you stepped outside—crisp, laced with the distant scent of city exhaust and someone grilling down the block. You didn’t slow your pace. You zigzagged past the corner store, dismissing the sad stack of mass-produced chocolate bars in the window.

No, this needed to be thoughtful. Personal. Maybe even charming. If Zayne was the type to wear expensive cologne and carry himself like a walking thesis paper, he probably wasn’t a fan of cheap sweets or mugs that said #1 Professor.

A small boutique caught your eye, tucked between a flower shop and a bookstore. Its window displayed neatly wrapped gift boxes, jars of imported honey, artisan teas, and a pyramid of dark chocolate truffles that looked sinfully expensive.

A soft chime rang as you stepped inside. The place smelled like cinnamon, cedar, and vanilla—like December wrapped in tissue paper.

A woman behind the counter looked up with a warm smile. “Looking for something in particular?”

“Yeah,” you said, breathless. “Something for a… teacher. As an apology.”

Her smile widened knowingly. “Tough start to the year?”

You nodded, laughing a little under your breath. She guided you toward a velvet-lined shelf of truffles—dark, decadent, and neatly boxed with subtle gold accents. One label caught your eye: Dark Chocolate with Whiskey Ganache. You picked it up. Rich. A little bold. Slightly dangerous. Just like the man you were trying to appease.

“This one,” you said, nodding. “It feels… honest.”

“Excellent choice,” the woman said, ringing you up. “Strong enough to say sorry without groveling.”

You left the shop ten minutes later, the gift bag swinging gently at your side. In it was your olive branch—boozy, bittersweet, and slightly impulsive, just like you. Simone was right. You couldn’t undo the mess, but maybe you could sweeten the aftermath.

Arriving back home, you realize that Simone has already vanished from the apartment. You notice a little note on the fridge, with her pretty, neat handwriting: I’ll be late, don’t forget to eat something. You look around to notice a small plate of pasta with meat sauce on the table, served with cheese, and even cutlery laid out for you, like a quiet invitation.

A warmth spreads through your chest like a blanket. You didn’t need grand gestures. This was enough. This was Simone. Thoughtful even in something so simple as making dinner.

You scooped up the plate and made your way to your small but clean room. It was lined with bookshelves, scattered with little figurines, and glowing softly from a tangle of LED lights. Nothing extravagant—just yours.

Devouring the still-warm pasta, one hand already hovering over your laptop’s trackpad. The screen lit up as you opened your browser, fingers hesitating for only a second before typing: Zayne Li. The search bar flickered, loading results almost instantly. Articles. Publications. Academic praise. But nothing, nothing about his sudden departure from Akso Hospital.

You leaned in, scanning the titles again. If someone like him, arguably one of the best surgeons in the country, had walked away from such a high position, shouldn’t that be front-page news?

You even found his social media profile, though it felt sterile, curated, like a gallery where only the right parts of a life were displayed. Polished. Untouchable. Whatever happened… it was hidden. Intentionally. A soft sigh escaped you as you leaned back in your chair, pushing the empty plate aside.

If the truth was hidden five feet deep, you weren’t curious enough to grab a shovel. At least, not yet. So you decided to get your mind off it by launching your favorite game, slightly glancing at the gift box, in anticipation of tomorrow.

The morning was quiet, cold but fresh and welcoming. You arrived earlier for the possibility of meeting up with Dr. Zayne and giving him your apology present, that you so thoughtfully prepared yesterday. The university halls are half-empty, still sleepy from the quiet night. Only the most dedicated students roamed these corridors at this hour. Those chasing scholarships, high honors, or simply the peace in the quiet of the library.

You look through the schedule sheet, scanning the list of classrooms and lecture slots, stopping on the ones marked with his name. First period. It has to be the chance. But, arriving at the destination, you’re met with silent, empty walls. Your stomach twisted. What if you can’t find him before classes start? What if you lose the moment, or worse? What if the chocolate melts? You run around the halls, mind racing with possibilities. Where would Dr. Zayne go this early? What is the first thing he does in the morning? Then it hits you. Coffee. Of course. Without hesitation, you pivot towards the side exit to find a small coffee corner in the university garden. And there he is. Sitting alone on a bench, a paper cup cradled in his hands. He’s not on his phone. He’s not reading. Just sitting. His eyes are distant, as if he’s entertained by some unspoken deep thoughts. The rising steam curls around his face in soft spirals, making his glasses fog. He didn’t have those yesterday, but chose to wear them while drinking a hot drink.

You slow your step, heart thudding from the sprint. Finally, taking a deep breath, you walk closer to the bench, figuring out how to start your heartfelt apology, since you didn’t think it through before. Your fingers clench around the pretty red box as you slowly nod, clearing your throat, trying to grab his attention, as he seemed not to notice you.

“Good morning, Dr. Zayne.”

He glances up, brows faintly raised. You push through the knot forming in your throat.

“I know we had a… rough start.” You try to keep your tone light, but the words already feel like too much and not enough at the same time. “And I realize we’ll have to tolerate each other for the rest of the year, so—”

A pause. Your mind races ahead of your mouth, tripping over everything you didn’t rehearse.

“I just wanted to apologize for yesterday. I wasn’t careful and didn’t mean to sound rude or disrespectful. Especially toward your work.”

You extend the box toward him, almost too fast, and squeeze your eyes shut the moment it leaves your hand, bracing for laughter, or worse, complete dismissal.

“I don’t like alcohol.” He cut as sharp as a blade, making you freeze on spot. Somewhere in your mind, you could almost see a black Game Over screen flashing across your vision.

Of course, you managed to mess up again, and how did that even happen? There’d been no way to know his preference, but that didn’t make the sting any less brutal. Pulling your hands away, your face darkened. Your shoulders dropped, the heat rising in your cheeks, as you were already prepared to leave without saying a thing, because it seems like a silent retreat is better than taking the embarrassing hit in the gut.

“But you put in the effort,” he murmured, voice low and edged with something unreadable. “I appreciate that.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“I accept your apology. Though you should know. I was never mad to begin with.”

You blink, caught off guard.

“I’ve had worse from first-years. It takes more than spilled coffee and a stray comment to make me hate someone.”

Zayne’s long fingers grasped the box, tucking it neatly under his arm as he rose from the bench in one smooth motion. His height loomed for a second before he gave a small, deliberate nod—an understated gesture of gratitude. Then, unexpectedly, his hand landed on your shoulder. Firm. Measured. His gaze locked onto yours, eyes scanning your expression with unsettling precision, making you feel like after a carrot, there will be a stick. “You really are.. windy.”

It wasn’t quite an insult. Not quite praise either. But it lingered in the air, and for some reason, it felt like he wasn’t entirely wrong. With that, he disappeared from your view, behind your back, entering the building, leaving a somewhat bitter aftertaste of your failure. But at least you know your teacher is not holding a grudge, so there’s nothing to worry about. Right?

#love and deepspace #lnds #zayne love and deepspace #lnds zayne #l&ds zayne #dr zayne #lads zayne #zayne x you #zayne x y/n #zayne x reader #x reader #reader insert #lnds angst #angst

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pricesprincess · 2 days ago

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fat hyper feminine! reader + sugar baby! reader + sugar daddy! price + smut drabble maybe over 1k written on phone + edited repost from my old blog

Sugar Daddy Price! who you meet one night at a bar when your date ditched you with the bill and a broken heart surrounded by couples who were visibly in love, which only made you feel worse than before.

John hadn't meant to listen in on the conversation you had with your waiter telling him that the wine wasn't needed, but it was hard when you started crying, sniffling quietly in the napkin you balled up.

Sugar Daddy Price! can't stand when pretty girls cry, and well, you're the prettiest one he's seen, so he pays the bill from his spot while watching you from afar, all dolled up and with that empty look in your eyes.

You squirm in your seat as you wipe away your tears. It was embarrassing! You came in with someone who left you high and dry after giving you the classic "I need to use the bathroom." excuse.

Maybe it was a good thing because he wasn't as really good-looking as the man who approached you with a warm smile and a smooth British accent and crinkled blue eyes that made your tummy flutter.

Sugar Daddy Price! is smooth with his charm. "Couldn't help but overhear, love. What arse would leave such a pretty little thing hangin' here all alone?" He asked, taking the empty seat across from you.

His words made you flush with heat as you shrugged, unable to meet his eyes. "No need to be shy, bird; I bet you'd sing really pretty' for me when you talk."

Your hand instantly shot up to the necklace you wore with a small bird pendant, the one given to you a few years back from someone important. "Not shy," you hummed and looked at him.

Sugar Daddy Price! He takes the seat across from you and introduces himself, and when you give him your name, he takes your hand and kisses it.

The restaurant already provided an intimate setting, but now with him so close, smelling so good, and dressed in a three-piece suit that screamed expensive, it now felt more personal.

You looked so cute with pink glittery and glossy lips and the satin baby pink dress you wore hugging your curves and tits spilling out.

Sugar Daddy Price! knows that you're going to be so sweet with how you respond, your giggles as he makes jokes and talks about his life.

He enjoys it when you lean over to listen more, your eyes shining with the little bit of happiness he gave you.

An hour later you end up on your back in his bed wrapped up in silken sheets as he sinks his cock into you over and over after having you cum on his fingers and tongue twice.

Sugar Daddy Price! Who loves when you squeal as his fat tip kisses your cervix.

Each thrust drove you up on the mattress as you clung to him, panting and crooning his name like a dove, so sweet and docile.

Your body was soft and pliant under him; the softness of your belly rubbed against the thick, coarse hair as he fucked into you.

"Shush, pretty bird, taking' me so well, love." His beard tickled you when he dipped his head down to nuzzle his face in your sweaty neck.

He had already riled you up in the car, removing your panties, and now your dress was bunched around your hips so he could fuck you properly.

Sugar Daddy Price! I loved the way your makeup was now a mess and how your tits were whisker-burned and your nipples were stiff, throbbing peaks.

You cried out each time he bottomed out, his legs rubbed against yours, reminding you he was everywhere. His body pressed against yours, and his mouth licked into you with hunger.

There was no escape from him after that night.

It's not like you wanted that anyway.

Sugar Daddy Price! gifts you things off your wishlist he had you write down and makes sure to spend all his time with you no matter what.

Somehow you end up moving into his house when, after he had you in a mating press already fucked out on promising you a lavish life.

Sugar Daddy Price! promises to cherish and take care of you just as long as you're a good girl.

And oh, aren't you just the best?

#minx writes #cod x reader #cod smut #call of duty x reader #price x reader #price x you #john price cod #price x reader smut #cod x reader smut #john price smut #captain price x reader #john price x you #price cod

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mokulule · 3 days ago

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Dead on MAYn - Day 1

Trope | Ghost Culture is Weird Word | Bones Situation | Jason meets Danny as a ghost. Dialogue | "Wait, you can see me?" Warnings: this is rather angsty and I almost made myself cry writing it. It also has Jason crawling out of his grave. This particular ficlet does not have a happy ending, but I imagine one for the AU, I will explain at the end for those interested. -

It was a rare cloudless night in Gotham Cemetery. Those were the best nights because in the pale light of the moon Jason almost felt physical enough to touch things. He couldn’t of course, but it still made him feel like maybe he could, that he was more than a shade, that he existed at some point as more.

A figure walked alone along the paths and Jason followed them with his eyes. He supposed it was a nice night for a walk, but it was still an odd thing to do. When he got closer he could tell it was a young man who couldn’t be much older than Jason was. Unexpectedly instead of walking past him, he looked up and met Jason’s eyes.

“Wait, you can see me?” Jason asked in surprise at the stranger who looked straight at him. He halfway expected the tired blue eyed gaze to slide right off him as they aligned on someone behind him as had happened so many times before - but they didn’t. They stayed focused on Jason, met his eyes and there was the slightest uptick of his lips before he spoke to Jason.

“I can.”

Such simple words, and yet they brought such strong hope into Jason’s chest, he felt like he could soar, but a sudden thought brought him straight back down to Earth.

“Are you here to collect me?” He certainly didn’t look like the grim reaper. In fact he looked pretty regular in his worn jeans and dark canvas jacket. His black hair was messy and he had nothing like the sort ominous important aura you’d expect the grim reaper to have. That didn’t stop the chill down Jason’s back when he replied:  “In a way.”

“You see,” the stranger continued tilting his head looking from Jason and then down to his grave thoughtfully, “I heard rumors of a ghost stuck to his grave, so I came to investigate.”

Jason unconsciously folded in on himself, rubbing an arm. So it wasn’t normal. One would think a graveyard would be full of ghosts, but it wasn’t. It was just him. “So what’s the verdict?”

“Well, I see the problem alright. You’re still tethered to your body. Probably something to do with this weirdo city, it’s got a strong grip on you.” He looked around with a frown.

A shiver went through Jason as he looked down at the well-kept ground that hid his rotting corpse six feet under.

“It’s not as bad as all that.” The guy rightly read his expression. “Body’s probably not in that bad a shape, you’re taking baby steps to becoming something like me.

Jason swallowed and looked back up at the seemingly human being before him. “And what’s that?”

“Something both alive and dead,” he shrugged. “Anyways, the way I see it you have a choice to make. One-“ He held up a finger - “We let things be as they are, see where this brings us.“

He waved his hand around encompassing Jason and his grave.

“Two.” Another finger joined the first. “I sever the tether and allow you to move on.”

Jason felt like a hand was squeezing his non-existent heart. He didn’t want to die. He knew he was already dead, he’d after all been right there when it all exploded, but right now he wasn’t gone. Even so, the idea of staying here alone until whatever was happening finished happening was torture. He couldn’t do that.

“How long?” Jason should have specified, but the guy seemed to know what he meant.

“Probably years.”

Years. Jason couldn’t do it. He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily before meeting blue eyes head on - and it was really curious the way that was the only color Jason could see.

“Is there really no other way?”

Thick eyebrows rose in surprise, then drew together. “You’re not even considering being allowed your rest?”

Jason laughed humorlessly. “I’m a ghost ain’t I? Unfinished business and all that.”

Jason’s murderer was still out there, and so were so many others who would hurt and kill people like Jason - Jason’s people.

Something flashed across the guy’s face, but it was quickly dismissed. He shook his head. “No, look, if you don’t want me to sever the connection, I will visit you when I can?”

But Jason had seen it, that flash of something on his face. “No, please.”

He floated forward and grabbed onto the guy’s jacket, surprised to actually feel the fabric real beneath his fingers, instead of his hands going uselessly through him, but that wasn’t important now. “You thought of another option!”

He grimaced and then to Jason’s shock leaned his forehead gently against his. His skin was cool, definitely not warm like a human's, but it was real real real. The simple touch sang in his soul.

“It is not a good option, Jason.”

Jason startled at the mention of his name, momentarily moving away but then quickly moving back in desperate for touch, desperate to feel anything other than despair. It was not strange the guy knew his name, it was right there on his fucking tombstone.

The guy welcomed him, allowing him to lean his forehead back against his. Then a hand cradled his head, fingers digging slightly into his scalp and Jason would have choked on a sob if he actually breathed anymore, instead he just hurt.

“I swear, I will visit you.”

“Tell me.”

“Jason, I am not supposed-“

“Tell me.”

The guy’s shoulders raised and lowered. Even his cool breath let go in a sigh could be felt against his face like a breath of air Jason hadn’t been able to take for who knew how long now.

“I could give you enough power to let you merge back with your body.”

“Why is this even-“

“Jason,” he said intently, grabbing and holding each side of Jason’s head so he could look at him. He spoke fast as if he knew if he gave Jason a moment to speak he would interrupt, “I am not supposed to interfere like this. It will have consequences. I won’t be able to help you. I cannot disturb a body laid to rest, you will end up down there and have to dig yourself out, do you understand?”

Jason stared wide-eyed into intense ice blue eyes that seemed to almost glow. The concept was horrifying- but the idea of years of loneliness was worse. His jaw tensed in determination.

The guy shook his head mutely in disbelief.

“What’s your name?” Jason asked, suddenly realizing he wanted to know.

“If you go down this path you won’t remember it anyways.”

“I still want to know it.”

There was an immense sadness in the gaze that met him. “It’s Danny.”

“Danny please, I can’t stay like this for years.” Jason knew he wasn’t fighting fair, but he was Robin and when you were a kid fighting crime you learned to use everything at your disposal.

Danny wavered, then finally, “Alright.”

His right hand moved down to Jason’s chest and for a moment it felt like something inside him was tugged forward like a pull, then there was a pulse. If Jason had ever imagined what a defibrillator felt like this had to be similar, it felt like a kick to his chest. It was a flood of power filling up every inch of his being.

Suddenly, Danny fell to the ground with a gasp. Heavy, green glowing chains weighed him down, around his ankles and wrists and, to Jason’s horror, tight around his throat. Danny fingers turned white as they tried fruitlessly to pull at the band locked tight around his neck. His mouth opened but no sound came out.

“No!” Jason screamed, and the force of it came out as burst of wind rustling every bit of greenery around them. But Jason didn’t have time to think about the fact that he could apparently affect his surroundings, because a glowing green portal had appeared in mid air at the other end of the chains and they were hastily reeling a struggling Danny in.

He flew forward, desperately reaching out. When Danny mentioned consequences, he hadn’t really realized they were consequences for Danny. Somehow Danny got his feet under him, tried to dig his heels in, he reached for Jason.

Jason was almost there. Their fingers were just about to touch, just a little more- the tether to Jason’s body abruptly went taut, stopping him dead in mid air. No! Jason was helpless, useless.

The last he saw of Danny was a look of resignation as the portal swallowed him up.

There was a moment of stunned silence. He failed. The only person who could see him, who could touch him. Then he screamed, a sound like no other that had ever left his throat. Almost as if Gotham herself responded the previously clear night was swallowed in clouds and it started pouring rain.

He sunk to the ground over his grave. Not that he could feel anything. It was an illusion that he actually sat on the ground. The rain poured right through him, splattering on the dirt below him.

His hand hovered over his chest. He could feel it humming, the cool power of Danny’s parting gift turning into a burning blaze in his rage. He would not waste it. He looked down at his grave, at the soon to be experienced horror.

He would make it.

He would find Danny.

Jason awoke with a gasp, eyes wide and unseeing. There were plush walls all around him. His fingers struggled to gain purchase. He could barely breathe. He had to get out! Finally the fabric tore. The was a sharp pain in his fingertips, under his nails. Wet warmth dribbled down his fingers.

The was something important. Something he couldn’t grasp.

A pulse in his chest lent him strength and his fist went through the wooden barrier with a crack. He pulled his hand back thoughtless of the way pointy edges scratched open his forearm. Dirt fell down and he coughed. The was no more air. Still he pulled at the edges of the hole, uncaring of the dirt that fell down choking him. He coughed and spluttered and fought to get out. Through the dirt. He didn’t know how he did it, only knew as he clutched grass, that he had to go.

He stumbled forward, on stiff awkward feet.

A bright light. A high pitched screech. Then nothing.

Hope you liked it! I don't know if the feelings I intended to come across worked as well on paper as in my head since I've just written it today and it's not had a chance to sit and get a proper edit. For those interested, this basically leads into canon, from my memory of reading the Lost Days comics Jason is hit by a car after crawling out his grave so that's what's going on at the end there. Then ten-ish years later Jason and Danny will meet again and get a chance at a happy ending, not that it will be easy. Jason cannot shake the feeling he's met Danny before and Danny is pretty tightlipped, cause he don't want Jason to get in trouble. I don't wanna reveal everything cause I do want to write it, though I can't say when, and I need to figure out how long I want this to be.

#dp x dc #dead on main #deadonmayn25 #angst #tw claustrofobia #tw Jason crawls out of his grave

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yestrday · 1 day ago

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: ̗̀➛ IN TIMES OF LONELINESS. yan! kaveh / gn! reader

you'd hope your lover would be more than supportive after a rare job opportunity comes your way. but you know how this story goes, not when the job listing needs you to be seas apart from this man.

( emotional dependence, emotional manipulation, you 👊👊 are a sucker for this blondie, subtle yandere )

kaveh is breathtakingly beautiful.

golden locks meticulously pinned into place, cascading down into a dark brown, once kaveh pulls the pins out and lets them free, he lowers his head to you. you're free to do whatever you want— tug it, pull it, ruin it, but you opt to run your hand through it. tenderly massaging his scalp, twirling the honey strand around your finger as he rests his head on your lap.

it’s a sight one might behold— the beauty of domestic bliss between lovers. the words pouring out of his mouth, however, leaves the air with a sour tang.

“please don’t leave me,” he whimpers. he’s been crying for an hour now, and as you wipe his newest tears off his delicate face, you wonder how he hasn’t run out yet. “i’ll do anything, anything. just– just don’t go, [y. name]. i’m begging you, don’t leave me alone.”

you sigh, and kaveh’s body seems to shake even harder at that. like every breath of air that comes from your lips holds nothing but contempt and disappointment for him. he’s heard you say the same reassurances again and again— that no, it’s not him, he’s never the problem, he’s just overthinking. he’s long kept quiet about those kinds of thoughts, but it’s still there, plaguing his mind till it goes mad with insecurity.

“i’m not leaving you, kaveh,” you try to explain to him for the nth time. “i’m leaving sumeru. there’s a difference.”

“i’m in sumeru!” his cries grow frantic as he clutches onto you. “our life is in sumeru! what– what do you expect me to do without you!"

pretty as your lover might be, there is a time when too much becomes too much. yet you try not to exhale too deeply, twist your lips too much, anything that might make his thoughts turn for the worse. you of all people now how bad that could be.

"kaveh..." you start as softly as you can, yet he still flinches. you pat his blonde hair down to soothe his badly shaken nerves, not knowing what tragic scenarios he's already imagined in that pretty lil brain. "i'll be gone for maybe, like, two months. tthreee months at most, maybe." you wince. maybe you shouldn't have added that last part. "in that time i will be writing you letters, sending you trinkets... there's fontainian desserts that i'm sure you're dying to try. it's like i never even left!"

he lifts his face from the wet patch of tears he's stained your pants with, staring at you with wide red eyes like he can't believe you. "are you even hearing yourself?" he sniffles, wiping his tears away. "it's not the same. letters and souvenirs won't change the fact that you're not here by my side."

you bite down your lip, frustrated. "is it really that bad?" you try to plead with him. "just give me two months at most and i'll be back. you have plenty of projects to keep your mind off of me. before you know it, i'll be right back here with you!"

again, he stares at you. it's not the pleading, teary ones that remind you of a neglected labrador but more like the academic that he is— looking into your eyes to strip you of every layer till you laid your soul out bare. you hate it when he looks at you like that; the jarring shift between the clingy crybaby and the man you've barely begun to know.

"you think that's enough to keep you off my mind? projects?" he tucks back a strand of your hair and trails his finger down your chin, absentmindedly taking in every detail of your face. when he becomes like this, you feel like one of his art projects rather than his partner, but you stomach it. "there's not a single second i don't think of you, priya. even if i toil the nights away, even when these unreasonable clients drive me crazy, you will always be the one to ground me. so you see—?"

twirling a strand of your hair and bringing it to his lips, his gentle red eyes take you in so lovingly and fondly that you feel all drive and determination shatter within you.

"it'd be punishment to derive me of you."

you suck in a breath. he's done this many times before; take you in and plead with you so lovingly that you bend to every whim of his. but not today, surely not—

"don't leave?" he murmurs, a poor man begging for crumbs. "please?"

he watches you. you watch him. and when your body folds and the light flickers from your eyes, he sighs happily and kisses you like you're the sweetest nectar in the world. you wonder if you can even forgive yourself after this.

#yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere kaveh #yester.writes

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moonlight-prose · 3 days ago

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RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 09. DESPERADO

a/n: i want to say that i waited so long to put this one out because life got unruly and unmanageable and horrid and while that is true that's not why i waited. i don't want this story to end. i don't want to say goodbye to logan and his honey. this fic has meant so much to me the past nine months. it inducted me into a fandom that became a comfort for me to turn to. but it's also my whole entire heart poured into a love story filled with tragedy and pain. and i couldn't bring myself to write its ending. but here it is. the final chapter (excluding the epilogue of course).

summary: time is cruel. time is infinite. time is...you. when you first came across the lonely x-man you never thought he'd carry you through a love that felt as delicate as time. yet there you stood on his front stoop - a different person - asking him to save your life. one last time.

word count: 10k

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, angst, and overt amount of angst, heartbreak, arguments, ptsd, superhero training, arguments, mean!logan, laura kinney being amazing, violence, tw: blood, mention of death, love confessions, spit, cum eating, creampie, rough sex, tears, so much crying it's actually concerning, small amounts of fluff (but not really), p in v sex, hope, time.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | EPILOGUE | SERIES MASTERLIST

"Logan...tell me about your dream."

"I will. I'll tell you everything. Just not tonight."

The crunch of dirt beneath worn tires rocked the old car the harder you pressed on the gas. Speeding down a deserted lonely road felt exactly as you expected. The shitty coffee you bought at a nearby gas station sloshed in its place near the dash—the scent of whatever food you could find on the way here forced you to roll down the windows. All of which were somehow cracked in particular places and squeaked with each movement.

Laura prompted you to bring a jacket. Wade did what he could to loan you a knife (even as you rejected him). Althea gave you the keys to her beat up car—a grin on her face and the reminder of her pistol in the glove compartment. Each offering their own version of a goodbye they never thought might come to pass.

Instability became the makeup of your life, the echo of who you used to be disappearing into smoke and ash with each passing day. The unfamiliar itch beneath your skin screamed between the bars of a cage you trapped it in. You could hear its call—the need to flow between gaps and crevices of your bones. The demand to embed into your veins rang true with fear and agony. Emotions you could taste like fuel on the back of your tongue.

You tried to live with it. Forget that what she placed in your body even existed. And some days you found you could fall with ease back into a version of yourself that once walked this Earth. The normalcy that came with having a job and going home to an empty apartment, the promise of simplicity until the very end.

A person before the other half of his soul carved his way into a dull life.

You could pretend you were anything but a person afraid of their own body.

Terrified of the mind ravaged by centuries you had yet to live; by the promise of one day outliving Death.

You could separate yourself from the memory of him, from the hope that he would come find you. But when fate's distinct grasp yanked harshly at your psyche it returned. Flaring to life with a vengeance that would linger long after you managed to capture it again—forcing it into the darkness with a snarl. It pulled you through time, fought with tooth and nail to find space in a still healing body.

After finding yourself in the X-Men mansion thirty years in a future you barely recognized, you knew the short span of time spent ignoring it was rapidly coming to an end.

"Send her here."

"I'll keep her safe."

His voice cracked through your skull, pounding against bone the longer you drove—the wind whipping through the rapidly approaching car.

Laura spoke his words over her soda, the clock nearing three in the morning as you fought anxiety and nausea. A mere whisper of truth to keep you sane—a reminder that someone in this world ached for you, that you could still be saved in spite of the chaos that stirred in your lungs.

His promise should have warmed your heart, brought tears of relief to combat the madness you drowned in. But they tasted like ash from a fire that still roared. Words pulled from a life he already lived, meant for a woman he used to love.

He made that same vow before. He promised to protect Fortuna, even after life handed him the severed and bloody strand of fate. The faith you once held for a man who still owned your soul—who clung to every living breathing part of your overwhelmed body—diminished. Slowly yet all at once you understood who Logan Howlett was. Who he might never be.

You were never supposed to be this. Finding your path now carved by eternity was never in the cards of your small life. Yet how could you ignore what burned its way through your skin? How long could you push off deciphering the unknown before it tore you apart?

How were you meant to put trust in the man who'd broken this promise before?

How could you call him a savior? After so much grief.

"You have to go!" Laura shouted dumping the burnt pieces of her toast in the trash. "He can help you."

"I can handle this myself."

"He's trained to help mutants-"

"And I said I'll take care of it," you snapped.

She knew you were lying; you knew she could see right through your false sense of calm. You had nothing left to offer, no parts of yourself to give as you stared forever down the barrel of a gun yet to be fired. The bullet was locked in the chamber, waiting for someone to pull the trigger. Breaking down felt wrong. Merely another burden added to an ever growing pile. But moving mountains had never been your forte.

Laura fixed problems. She took care of those she loved.

She was all the things Logan yearned to be—a protector who never abandoned the other half of their heart. She stood tall and bared her teeth and when life offered only one way out she dug her claws in to carve out something new. She solidified herself as your kin—a daughter left by her father with an unspoken promise that hung in the air.

Protect her family.

The decision to leave came swiftly. With the swing of a hammer nailing your coffin shut and devastation painting the grave he never buried you in. Whatever existed in your body rose to a crescendo you couldn’t control anymore.

Laura dragged you out to an open clearing near the mansion days before. A space hidden away from others that liked to talk—as she put it. Here you could exist as yourself. No longer the hermit dreaming beneath the floors of a library, shuffling papers and boxes older than you into their rightful place. Here you could be time. Endless, forever growing, forever shaping what you never thought possible into reality.

You could let go.

But that was the thing about chaos. It cherry picked moments never meant to be damaged. Instances in time that were swallowed by peace—light flickering behind memories you would have had centuries to replay. Eons to contemplate and eternity to revisit.

You shut your eyes to the sight of Laura bracing herself into the ground, claws puncturing her boots and burying into inches of hardened soil. She expected the power to unleash itself in waves, lashing into the surrounding area with the need to consume. Until you slid the lock out of place, released the breath trapped in your tight chest, and drowned in the anger that broke free with vengeance.

It blinded you, overwhelmed every sensation you might have been able to focus on. Slamming into Laura in an all too familiar rough strike you’d witnessed once before—in the crack of Fortuna’s whip. She went flying into a tree and the deafening snap of her body hitting the floor forced you to shove it back down. Swallow the pain that flared through your cells, screaming for a sliver of the freedom it once had.

Time encased itself into an already fragile body.

It only seemed like a matter of time before the clock ran out and outrunning the detonation was futile.

Causing harm was inevitable. A side effect you swallowed down alongside the shitty whiskey Logan drank—the burn a rope you latched onto. Dragging yourself up and out of a pit you were trapped in. You knew pain would follow, pressed into your unstable footprints. But hurting Laura is where you felt the rope wrap tight around the raw skin of your throat.

She’d suffered enough; experiencing the instability of your powers was never part of the plan.

“I’m not hurt. I heal fast-”

“I can’t. I won’t hurt you.”

“Even if you do…”

“No.”

Perhaps this was the burden Logan bore like a wound that burned. The possibility that he could hurt the ones he loved without trying. A streak of paranoia tangled along the makeup of your DNA, strangling the breath from your lungs. He ran from you once before—pushed down his feelings for your sake.

Back in a time that felt like decades before all of this. Bound by the freedom of humanity you never realized you should have cherished.

He left to keep you safe.

Ironic that it would be you doing the same.

Even though she existed as another version of him. A hero in her own right. Hurting her—by accident and fault of your own obliviousness—forced bile up your throat. The ache in your chest suddenly a flare of emotions you were afraid to pick apart.

She was your own. You came to that conclusion the day she came to your rescue, willing to save the stranger her father’s soul was tied to.

So you left—to keep every part of her safe.

You wouldn’t save yourself because Logan believed in you, or because Laura and Wade fought to keep you afloat. You’d save yourself because she deserved a better protector. Someone who would finally take the weight off shoulders that were far too young to bear the brunt of the world’s pain. A girl—brash and brutal and exactly like her father—who never asked for this.

You’d survive for her. Until her dying breath one day existed in your mind fractured by time.

The house was breathtaking, standing at the edge of a cliff encased in hills and mountains covered by trees so thick sunlight would never break through. Wood and windows and the comfort formed by a man who no longer walked this Earth. Yet there it was, his memory carved into the structure of a place meant to outlive him.

Laura told you about this house—how she lived here on her own for a year in an attempt to remember her father—but nothing prepared you for the sight of it in person. It suited him. A perfect reflection of a soul you got to know over what little time you had together. Simple yet sustainable. A home meant to survive.

It shouldn’t have surprised you to see him waiting. Standing at the porch, a mug of coffee on the wooden railing in front of him, a forgotten novel left in a chair crafted by hand. Surely the other Logan’s work in another life you were never meant to be apart of. He watched with scrutinizing eyes of hazel and a body tensed for the appearance of yet another mistake—the harm he caused blatant on your exhausted form.

You should have expected this.

Prepared for it.

But the longing that slammed into your chest, twisting the knife deep enough to crack bone, sent you reeling. Gasping for air as sat in the idling car, hands gripping the wheel tight enough for your knuckles to scream out in pain.

He was here and he was watching you as if the world suddenly started to spin again. A man who finally managed to kill the hollow ache in his body—the other half of his soul feet away and close enough to touch.

You and Logan moved in unison. An extension of one another even after so long spent apart. He stepped off the porch quickly, you stumbled out of the car—the keys pressed hard and unrelenting in your clenched palm. And for the first time in months you didn’t know what to do next. He’d been the shaky one in this relationship, clutching onto you for guidance, but now the roles were switched.

Now it was up to him to lead you.

“Honey,” he breathed, voice softer than before.

You gasped for air, unsure of where you stood—what this new power meant for something that once existed with such ease. Would he love you in spite of your powers? Would he only see her? Would he save you…one last time?

“Hi Logan,” you uttered meekly, lips hesitant to curl into a wry grin he’d never seen cross your face.

So timid compared to the person from before; new and afraid and yet still drenched in the familiar warmth of a love he’d claw his way back to every time. He came to the conclusion long ago, the moment he watched you meander out of that store—unassuming and unaware of what was to come. He’d die for you. There was no place for him if you didn’t exist.

No matter the universe you were meant to find one another.

A match made at the beginning of time and stardust and the collision of galaxies. The was no stopping the inevitability of love.

“I’ve missed you.” The truth wasn’t hard for him to admit. Not when it was you.

Surprise flickered across your face, lips twitching as a smile fought to bloom. “I missed you too.”

“There’s so much I need to fuckin’ tell you honey.” He surged forward, hand outstretched with his heart bleeding into the lines of his palm.

What he didn’t expect was for you to flinch back, feet stumbling in the dirt as you put distance between your bodies—enough to stop him in his tracks. This wasn’t borne out of the displaced fear that he might hurt you. Quite the opposite. You were terrified you might hurt him. That this unhinged power would break him in ways he couldn’t fix—wounds his body might not be able to handle.

“Laura explained what happened.” He took a step and the hot burn of tears welled in bloodshot eyes. “You’re not gonna hurt me honey.”

“I could. I hurt her without meaning to.” How could you explain the surge of anger that overwhelmed your body, firing along snapped synapses and half formed memories? “I…I can’t control it Logan.”

“I know,” he uttered, his hand curling around the shape of your jaw, tilting your head back to see the tears that blinded your vision. “I know what that’s like.”

Reasoning with the darkness in your own mind felt like an impossible task—something he’d never witnessed in someone with so much light. You weren’t meant to be broken this way. Never supposed to be handed the weight that came with powers—the future of struggling to maintain some semblance of control every second of every day. His soft sweet girl. Bent into something new, yet entirely familiar as he watched your lashes flutter.

You relaxed into his touch, the caress of his thumb along your cheek a welcome warmth you could lose your pain in. He was there. He would drag you from the edge of an ocean you couldn’t traverse alone.

He’d dig you out of your grave with bare hands bloody from the pain you might cause.

“That’s it,” he murmured, blue sparking to life in the whites of your eyes. “Let it in for me honey. Don’t push it down.”

A breath escaped your lungs, tension wound tight enough to splinter down a stiffened spine began to dissipate, and suddenly you could feel the grasp of power settle into your open palms. Blue unfurled from your body in waves, cerulean and midnight, the shadows of night and day colliding around you. It bled into the space, wrapping around his body, lapping up your arms until the rope around your throat snapped.

“It’s…” You gasped, molding your hands around something solid, a unfamiliar welcome weight. “I can feel it.”

Logan felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, hackles coming to attention as the shift happened in quick succession. It cracked through the air, lightning along the horizon of darkened storm clouds. Burning down his back until he staggered away from you shouting. That all too familiar whip slid up around your arm, wrapping tight to flesh and bone as your eyes flared white.

Anger seethed in the air, pungent and bitter along the back of his tongue. Only this wasn’t coming from you—barely a fraction was tinged with your honey-like scent. This stemmed from the rage Fortuna left behind, the lingering agony she set into the DNA of your body without asking for permission. She left you brittle, waiting to shatter as madness crept into your heart.

The sight of blood seeping through his flannel snapped you back into place, body going rigid and hands curling into fists as you shoved it down far enough to hurt. He was already healed—skin stitching itself back together—but you couldn’t see straight. A cry emanating from your parted mouth.

“I’m sorry. I-I didn’t meant to-”

“It’s healed.”

“She’s in my head. That fucking rage is in me and I can’t get it out.” Your hands slapped over your mouth as the muffled sob broke free, strong enough to slice another string of his heart.

“Honey.” Grasping your hands in a tight grip, he pressed them around his waist—his blood soaked shirt seeping along your palm. “Feel that? No scars, no open wounds. It’s done and gone.”

Solid muscle rested beneath the soft press of your fingers, the steady thump of a heart you could pick out with your eyes closed lingering where you touched. He cupped the back of your neck and suddenly you weren’t a helpless case unable to be saved. You weren’t the person destroyed and brought back from the brink—someone capable of causing enough pain to scar.

You were his, the same person from all those weeks ago, and you were going to be okay.

The space felt familiar—filled with a peace you knew Logan sought. Even if it was subconscious. He set the coffee on the coffee table, settling into a leather couch large enough to make him look small. The tables were hand carved with designs you’d seen once before. In the door his hands set in place so long ago; the gift of his love before he even knew what to call it.

“It feels like you.”

He huffed, ducking his head to stir sugar into your mug—the tips of his ears blooming crimson. “Yeah well it’s not really mine.”

“It’s yours,” you assured. “Laura wouldn’t have handed you the keys if she didn’t see it too.”

Seeing him here dragged the overwhelming all encompassing love back to the surface. Until you were swallowing around it thickly, battling the last dregs of pain that pierced your spine with your chilling new reality. It wouldn’t be the same. None of it. Falling for him, letting him back in, it would forever be stained with the grief of what happened.

The death of the person he used to know clashing with the mutant sitting before him.

He cleared his throat, settling into the creaking couch. “How is she? Laura.”

“Strong,” you smiled. “A lot stronger than me.”

“You’re strong too,” he replied.

“She’s different.” The coffee was a sweet bite on the tip of your tongue—ridding your body of whatever exhaustion still lingered. “She’s like you. Stubborn and angry, but there’s something there beneath it all. Like she knows what she has to lose and refuses to let it happen.”

Logan went stiff, hands mechanically bringing the mug to his lips. “She’s better than me,” he muttered.

You hummed. “Better than either of us. You’re lucky to have her as your own.”

“Not just me.” The words sunk deep, right down to the root of all the grief you refused to dig through. The cloud that hung just a bit too low. “I don’t think you saw it honey. But she chose you. Probably even before she fuckin’ chose me, you were hers.”

When you met Logan in that parking lot you expected things to shift. The winds were always meant to change, pieces finally clicking into place as he happened upon the other half of his lost soul. But Laura snuck up on you. She latched onto your bleeding heart, the kindness you showed even as you grieved the person you used to be. A girl who fought alongside her dying father—a lost soul begging for redemption at the end of the timeline.

Without knowing it she became everything you searched for.

The daughter that dug her heels in and vowed to love you. Even when you couldn’t love yourself.

Home would always exist in his arms, a place of safety you knew you would fall into. But now you found it in the eyes of a girl who could finally sheath her claws and settle. Home existed with both of them. A family found and forged in the chaos of time.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he finally spoke, pulling you from the thoughts that ran rampant. “I know Fortuna’s…your power. I’ve helped get a handle on it before. And I’ll tell you everythin’ you need to know about it, all the research Charles put into figuring it out.”

Believing him was easier than breathing. What reason did he have to lie? When the alternative was already a future you watched play out before your very eyes. You couldn’t turn into her—refused to lose any more of yourself to a power that remained unwanted and unsteady.

Sucking in a breath, you felt yourself settle into the comfort of his presence. Oh how you missed him—your heart pining for him to come close, to press his lips along your skin that now ran hot. If you asked him to drop to his knees he’d relent without question. So you kept your mouth shut. Offering him a smile as the olive branch.

Your time would come again. An inevitable future written in the stars of every universe.

For now you were okay with this. Friendship and support as you struggled to keep your head above water.

“What do I have to do?”

Logan exhaled, shoulders falling with a grin. “Stop pushing it away. You’ve gotta accept it as your own.”

“But it’s not mine.”

“It is now,” he stated. “Whether you want it or not honey this power is with you. There’s no gettin’ rid of it.”

Much to your own disappointment, he was right. “What if…”

“Say it,” he said softly, urging you into the waves that crashed at your legs, his hands clamped around yours.

“What if I accept it and nothing changes? The anger…I can’t live with it Logan.” Swallowing the stone lodged in your throat, you bit back whatever tears crested to the surface. “I-I don’t want to die like she did.”

They were unrelenting and hot against your cheeks, spilling over your trembling lips, and before you could blink Logan was in front of you. Crouched before the chair, his hands gathering yours to the soft press of his lips. A mouth you dreamed about—kisses that haunted the back of your mind every time you closed your eyes. He inhaled your scent, pressed a line down your palm and into the juncture of your wrist; your vein thumped an unsteady beat he smiled against.

“You aren’t dying,” he whispered like a vow, reverence dripping off his tongue. “You are going to live for a long long time honey. And you’re gonna do it with me. I won’t let this power take you okay? I won’t.”

He’s made promises once before, now broken and tossed to the side. But you swallowed his words with a sigh, cupping his face to draw his forehead to yours. To indulge in the contact you never thought might come again—at least not in this lifetime.

“I have your room ready,” he said as if he wasn’t prostrated before you, praying to the love of his life that you might grace him with your forgiveness.

You laughed, light and airy and a balm to his cracked heart. “I have a room?”

“It’s mine. I figured you’d want the bed.”

“Logan I’m not going to kick you out of your bed-”

“No use arguin’.” Calloused palms set themselves on your shoulders, gentle and promising in their soft brush. “I’ll be fine on the couch. Besides…I’ve been there before.”

You huffed, sliding to the edge of the chair as his hands found purchase on your hips. “Is there a window to see you through?”

“Don’t need a window bub,” he breathed. “You’ve always been able to see me.”

Right from the very start you caught sight of the man you would love through the ends of time. The one who had your name written in the tissue of his heart the day he was born. You were always meant to find one another. Always standing at the end of each other’s path—willing one another forward with a love greater than the universe.

“I should go get my bag.”

With a sigh he reluctantly let you go, helping you stand. “Take your time honey.”

The trunk creaked as you pushed it open, the keys dangling from your front pocket. Logan stayed inside dragging what wood he had left into the bedroom’s fireplace. The nights were cold here—temperatures never an issue for him—and you could still feel the brunt of it. Though your body now ran warm it didn’t deter you from freezing in the middle of the night, blankets barely enough to keep what body heat you had trapped inside.

You yanked open the small duffle bag stolen from Wade’s closet, seeing what clothes you managed to find in half empty dresser drawers and a closet that held most of Laura’s things. Sweaters were stuffed in the bottom, a book or two, and the small Polaroid gifted to you by Wade. Even though Logan was here in person you still clutched it tight, welcoming the comfort it brought.

Set atop the mess you haphazardly packed was a small key chain tucked into tissue paper. Bright blue and painted with enough tender care that could only come from one person. A bird ready to take flight.

The familiar scrawl of her handwriting was squeezed on a torn sticky note, the words barely legible yet utterly her.

Good luck.

P.S. Peter helped me make it.

Such a simple phrase to bestow on someone who ran from her. But there she was pressing her faith into your hands, wishing nothing but to see you bring her father back to her.

A family awaited your return. That was enough.

THREE DAYS LATER

“I can’t do it!” you screamed, falling to one knee with a harsh grunt as Logan wiped the sweat off his forehead. “It’s to much to fucking hold.”

“You were born to do it.”

“Coming from the man who doesn’t have to do much. How reassuring.”

He laughed, offering and hand up as you struggling to catch whatever air your lungs could hold. “Charles said it’s never from where you think it is. So where is that?”

Your face scrunched, eyes flicking down his bare chest glistening with sweat. Logan fought against the itch he couldn’t scratch—his relationship with you temporarily on unsteady ground until the dust eventually settled. That still didn’t deter his feelings. The stirring in his stomach at the sight of you panting and gasping for air, scent calling to him the longer you stood there drenched in sweat.

He would be your friend. The person you needed in order to get you through this. What happened after would be entirely up to you.

“Focus honey.”

Sighing, you shut your eyes to the sun. “It’s a pull on my insides. A sharp kinda painful tug on the stomach.”

“‘S not supposed to be painful. Means you’re fighting it.”

“How am I supposed to know I’m fighting it?” you bit out, nails burrowing into your palm hard enough to draw blood. “If I don’t know where its source is then how can I control it?”

Hands clamped onto your forearms, dragging your palms to rest over the heart you knew beat for you—the organ he’d gladly rip out if you wished it. “Here,” he said, voice a soft rasp that rang in the back of your mind. “This right here is where its buried. In the very bottom. So deep you’d forget what you were fuckin’ looking for if you tried to search. You pull it from there and you got your control.”

That was the thing…how could you pull from a broken heart? How could you find anything amidst the shards of something that was once your sole purpose for living?

When he left he took the last pieces with him, ripping them directly from your chest. So how could you work with half a heart?

The anger still existed in the far reaches of a darkness you tried to ignore. Swallow the pain, place it somewhere unreachable, and perhaps you might find a semblance of the person from before. But finding them was like digging into a shallow grave with no body. How were you meant to crawl out? Find the easiest path to fixing what was beyond saving.

“And if I can’t?” you asked. “If…If that’s too much?”

“I’ll be right here honey,” he assured, thumbing the pulsating vein on your wrist. “I won’t let you fall alright?”

Easier said than done.

“Okay,” you sighed. “I’ll try again.”

“Good girl.”

You snapped to attention, eyes wide as his lips curled into something you replayed on a loop for weeks on end. A smirk that burned a hole in your chest, heat curling at the base of your rigid spine. He said it on purpose. This you were aware of. And it did exactly what he intended—dragged you back to the present moment, beyond the cloud of rage begging to escape.

He kept you centered.

Shaking loose the tension in your arms your eyes slid shut, mind opening like the blooms found on the edges of his property. A flower ready to welcome the sun. You fixated on the rhythm of your heart. Each beat pumping and flowing enough blood to keep you upright; you dug there. Pulled at the veins and muscles, cracked open your ribs to inspect the makeup of your most precious organ. A surgeon ripping yourself apart in an attempt to save what still remained.

Blue flared to life dimly, peeking between the aortas and tissue as you clawed at what stood in your way. So close to finally grasping hold of what refused to give itself over. So fucking near to the end of what pain sunk its teeth deep enough to scar.

So close…

A clock ticked in the back of your mind, unrelenting in its monotonous function. Each one louder than the last—drawing you to the edge of the unknown that called your name. You scrambled to silence it.

Seconds, minutes, hours, days, years, decades, centuries-

All of it too much too soon. It wrapped tight around your throat, yanking you back hard enough to send you flying into the ground. Logan’s voice shouting barely broke the surface as you struggled to gasp for air—fingers tugging weakly at the whip that slid around your limbs.

Trapping you in the darkness, feeding what little strength you had left to the all consuming nature of what she left you. This was to be your future. Death by the time she allotted you, the expanse of a universe you would get to see grow and one day wither away—fading into existence like the man who stood before you now.

“Let me go!” you shrieked, waves of sapphire swarming your body, painting over your skin and sinking down to the bones that burned.

It wanted to consume you. Leave nothing behind for him. No parts of you left to bury in yet another grave. The image of that shovel standing upright flashing bright in your mind, dirt smearing along your cheek as you kicked out into the air—oxygen depleting quickly. Until your eyes were filled with black spots, the haze of blue cresting the edges of your once clear vision.

Hands wrenched you still, slamming them to the ground by your head as the familiar echo of his claws pushed to the forefront of your mind. Slicing through the whip with a shout, he felt the power seep into his body. Time stripping away his skin, peeling the flesh until blood steadily leaked down his arms. Your eyes were white—iris swallowed whole by the threat of what took hold inside you.

An anger he put there. A rage he should have stopped.

The last tendrils of the woman he never saved.

“Let her go,” he roared, pulling the whip free from your neck, feeling it dissipate into the air around him. “Let her live!”

Slowly at first and then all at once the hold released. Air burned your lungs rushing in, filling you with an eerie calm as Logan knelt over your body—his hand turning your face up to check the state of your eyes. Back to normal. Free of the milky white hue that haunted him in the middle of the night. You were safe from whatever existed in your heart—the power that held enough reluctance it could very well kill you.

This wasn’t new information. You both knew this might not work; keeping powers that were corrupted once before housed in your body would only lead down one path. Yet that was the reason you were here, laying beneath him as your mind finally settled—hand laying over his to keep him close.

Logan refused to let you succumb to the anger.

He wouldn’t stand there watching as you drowned beneath the weight of what he caused.

He wasn’t going to run from what felt so right. He’d dig his heels in, claw at the darkness that begged to keep you, and forever remain the man who kept you from falling over the edge. He would do for you what Charles did for him; what he never got the chance to do for her.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, thumb dragging along the length of your jaw. “You’re still with me.”

You swallowed, eyes fluttering at the warmth of his palm—turning your lips to the rough skin. “I don’t think that went too well.”

“No,” he chuckled and the sound lit your insides on fire. “No I think we still have some work to do.”

Thirty minutes passed before you found yourself alone in his bedroom. A towel held tightly closed against your chest as he rummaged in the living room. The scent of dinner wafted through the open door, pasta and wine shared at a table in the middle of nowhere—reminiscent of a past that you weren’t sure belonged to you anymore. That night happened so long ago, in a time where you held onto the certainty you could be happy with him.

That even as the world crashed around you, this would remain solitary.

A flannel lay in front of you. Tossed beside your bag as a peace offering you weren’t quite sure what to do with. Take it and open the door just a bit more to a love that continued to hang over your heads. A ghost buried in the walls of your apartment, painted over walls that could reflect your laughter back to you—a space tainted by the image of simple joys.

Leave it and allow yourself the time to heal—to figure out where you stood as someone merely trying to survive. You weren’t the same—Logan knew this. But ignoring the way your body came to life in his vicinity would be what killed you in the end.

Not time itself but the time you spent apart from him.

The door creaked loud enough to break the stilled water you sunk beneath, his shadow casting over the bed beside you. He stood in the doorway, eyes dragging down the length of a body he could picture behind closed eyes. Limbs he felt twine around his own, skin he sunk his teeth into. There was no denying he could barely handle being away from you, but being this fucking close without any barriers nearly drove him mad.

“Dinner is ready,” he throatily muttered, hazel eyes swallowed whole by a dark pupil.

“Logan.”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.” Breath came out in shaky exhales, hand barely able to hold the towel up after a day of straining yourself. “I don’t know how to repay-”

His growl was familiar, a rumble that came from the depths of his chest as he took the final two steps to press himself into your back. “Don’t finish that fuckin’ sentence honey.”

Sighing you clasped a hand over his along your stomach. “You keep saving me.”

“I’ll save you for the rest of our lives,” he admitted, complete certainty bleeding through the strength in his voice. At least that’s what you let yourself believe. “Even if after all this you make a different choice.”

You turned sharply, nose brushing his—lips desperate to seek out the ones that claimed you long before tonight. “It’s you. My choice will always be you.”

Maybe this was it. The point of finding him, the reason he came to this universe in the first place. Maybe it was all to stand here, pressed tight and breathing in the air you both exhaled, for as long as time would allow. He smiled against your cheek, fingers curling into the towel that hung loose at your hip, before he pulled away. Patting the spot with a hum—light shining in eyes that you would recognize even at the end of the world.

“Come and eat bub. Before it gets cold.”

Silence ate away at your mind in the darkness. The bed was too large for just yourself. A massive thing in the center of the room meant for comfort and peace of mind and a man who took up space. You could hear him shift on the couch every hour, the door left ajar as you fought to find sleep in this place.

Over the weeks you’d grown used to Laura on your couch. The shuffle of her boots as the night waned—always worried that something might happen. Now her father echoed the same sentiments. His feet padded along the floor as he moved to and fro, his shadow lingering just outside the door. Waiting for you to invite him in, give him the chance to cross that threshold.

You wondered if he would hold you if asked. Would he sleep with no nightmares?

Twisting into the covers, you watched a hand peek through the gap. The question hung in the air before it ever left your mouth—silence exchanged in the air between sleep hazed looks and longing hearts. He shut the door behind him gently with a click. Solidifying the line now fazed out of existence.

However much you tried to pretend this would remain a friendship the truth was far louder in contrast.

A love like this would never be diminished. Not even by your own hands.

“Can’t sleep?” he whispered, sliding beneath the comforter.

You hummed. “The bed’s too big.”

“Feels that way for me too.”

The words stuck to the back of your throat, daring you to finally take what was right in front of you. “Will you stay?”

His arm curled around your waist, lips finding your shoulder beneath the dark flannel you wore. “‘M not goin’ anywhere.”

This time without hesitation…you finally believed him.

ONE WEEK LATER

Frustration became a comforting ally in the days that followed. You were doomed to snap eventually. A time bomb ready to explode as the hours passed and failure became something you were accustomed to. Training your body to accept a power it couldn’t understand weighed on you—drawing the anger you swallowed down tight into the confines of your chest. It pleaded with you to be let out, to finally have a place to go.

“We’ll go again.”

You scrubbed a hand down your face. “This isn’t working.”

“It will.”

“When?” you snapped. “When I finally have no hold over my own fucking actions? When I kill someone?”

Logan caught it before you ever did. The flick of a switch, the door that needed to be opened. You were swallowing emotions down as he did liquor, shoving them back into the carcass of who you used to be. Trying to mold yourself back in the box of humanity wouldn’t work—he could already see the detrimental effects on your mind. The hatred you held for something you couldn’t control.

You were walking the edge of a thin line slowly sinking into the sand.

Perhaps you needed to drown.

“Go again,” he pressed, watching the anger surge to the surface.

The cruelty wasn’t ripping you open, forcing that rage to finally sputter out of existence. It was that he allowed you to keep it in for so long. Hiding what you struggled against, keeping him from seeing the pain—the grief. You were begging for help—gasping for air—and he just stood there.

Now things were different.

Bracing himself as your eyes closed, he watched the spark of power begin to emanate from your hands. The opening of that blistering hatred, the fury you needed to confront. You glowed in the last hints of the days sunlight, blue pouring off your body, settling above the ground in a cloud of your own making. Past, present, future. They met in the middle, twisting and tangling within your body.

The embodiment of something that rivaled Death.

“You’re not trying hard enough,” he barked out the words—eyes catching every minor shift you made.

“Let me do this my way-”

“Do it again.”

You sucked in a breath, chin raised in a defiance that never burned so strong. “You need to stop.”

Logan could practically hear the clock tick down, the wires and mechanics settling into place. “Start over and this time do it right.”

“Logan-”

“You said you wanted to learn. So we’re gonna learn.” His claws slid forth, body tensing as the blue burned white in the center of your chest—irises flashing gold. “First lesson. Listen to what I fuckin’ say.”

He went flying as the blast ripped from your body, slamming him into the side of Al’s car. The sound of metal crunching beneath his body made him wince—your form advancing quicker than he expected. He knew he would see a glimpse of her peeking out behind your power. He waited for it. So it surprised him when he saw nothing but you.

You finally wielding a power that belonged to no other. It submitted with ease, filling that void you could no longer ignore. Your hand pulled from the air, melding together the unfamiliar form of something he’d only seen once before. A blade—long and dripping gold—was clutched in your palm, the snarl along your face enough to have him bracing for the final blow.

The knife went in easier than expected, plunging into his stomach with enough strength to jolt him back. But the task was done. You sliced the final chord holding it all together and when blood poured over your hand, you finally came back.

“No!” you cried, hands flying to cup his already healed wound, the weapon nowhere to be found.

What was once apart of the universe would go back, falling into the rules of nature set long before you were born. You could borrow. But none of it was yours to keep.

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t-”

“That was progress,” he smiled, getting back to his feet.

You gaped at him, tears spilling across cheeks smeared in his blood. “Progress?” you exclaimed.

“It had to happen-”

“What part of this is progress? I stabbed you. I lost control!” Your voice ricocheted off the trees, his heart twisting at the sight of you so brittle. So fucking broken.

Life was painful—this he was used to. He was comfortable with it, understood it. But watching you shatter is what brought every fucking agonizing thing back. He lived it all over again, all at once.

“Honey-”

“I wanted to hate you.”

Now it was his turn to feel the grief that clung to his body like a second skin. He knew he hurt you. Could see the anguish plain as day play across your face as you swallowed the choked sob that bubbled to the surface. You didn’t come here to be saved. Neither of you did. Logan wasn’t even sure it was possible…to be rescued from this hell.

“You left me,” you sobbed and hated yourself for it. “And I wanted to hate you for it. You just walked away from everything! From our life and what we planned. From…what did I do wrong? Was it so painful to see her in my face that you had to go?”

“I didn’t want to go,” he rasped. “Wade and Laura-”

“Bullshit!” The touch of him grasping for your hands set off exactly what you were afraid of parting with. Emotions that kept you alive, pain that you could count on. “I was thrown into this and you weren’t there! You weren’t there to help me, to keep me from death. You weren’t there Logan!”

“I know!” he roared. “And I fucking hate every goddamn second I spent away from you. I hated myself for leaving you!”

“Then why did you stay away?” The crack in your voice did him in. Loaded the adamantium bullet into a gun only you could hold.

When he spoke he barely recognized his own voice. Dull and empty and the lilt of a man from a different universe. The man who fucked it all up—again. “I don’t know.”

Nodding, you did what you could to create a chasm of space—fighting for breath as he all but punched it out of your lungs. “I went looking for you.”

His heart stopped.

“In the past,” you choked out through fresh tears. “It was an accident. I didn’t even know what was happening, but apparently even unconscious and out of control…I still want you.”

“You can hate me,” he offered. “If that’s what you need to get through this.”

“That’s just it Logan. I couldn’t hate you even when I tried.”

“Baby…” It was wrong to let hope linger. To stare at the mess he made, the person he swore to love and protect. He should have killed the flicker as it bled into his twisting heart and he nearly did.

“I love you too much to ever hate you.”

And everything stopped.

He saw your eyes widen as he rushed towards you, the hitch in your breath and falter of your heart at the unexpected. Logan couldn’t control his own actions. He didn’t want to. He’d gone weeks without your touch, eternity wondering if someone existed to match his imperfections. Until there you were, wounded and jaggedly scarred and flawlessly fitting into the gaps of his soul—the darkness he could see reflected in your own eyes.

He kissed you. Violently. A mash of teeth and tongues as you met him in the middle—hands clawing at his shoulders when he hauled you up his body. You clung to him, uncaring that you looked desperate because that’s what you were. Wretched and lost without the man who molded the shape of your heart in his hands.

A moan stuttered out from the back of your throat, throaty and loud. He swallowed it with one of his own. You could feel his hands everywhere, gripping your hips, along the back of your thighs, digging into your ass hard enough to hurt. But you held onto the pain. Welcomed it with a pleased sigh as he stumbled up the steps into the house—his tongue wet and demanding against your own.

“Fuckin’ thought about this,” he got out between a groan—your teeth scraping the vein along his neck. “Every night.”

You could picture him in bed alone, head pushed into the pillows far too soft for his own liking, rapidly stroking his leaking cock. All to the thought of you. The memories spent buried between your legs, lapping at a cunt he could practically taste.

It spurred you to drag him back to your lips, hips canting along the buckle of his belt. “Need you inside baby.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded, licking along his bottom lip. “It hurts without you Logan. Need you to fuck me. Please.”

The wall was cold against your back—his hand slamming beside your head to keep himself steady. Your words dug right to the base of his spine, chest heaving as you whined into the kiss. Breath wasn’t important; focusing on anything other than the feel of your hands tugging at his shirt slipped his mind because you were here and you were pleading with him to touch you. Take what he’d been longing for.

Silver glinted in the darkness, metal wrapped around his neck, and you nearly missed the sight of familiar dog-tags resting right above his heart. A name etched into the metal you traced many times before.

“You kept them,” you breathed, dragging a finger along the tag.

He grinned. “They came from you.”

So easy to admit. So simple to say.

Suddenly it hit you that the Logan before you had changed. Healed in his time spent away. He did exactly what he promised he would when he scribbled it in that letter. He’d come back to you someday. Even if it wasn’t the way you expected.

“Take me Logan,” you pleaded. “I’m yours.”

His hands ripped at your top, teeth sinking down hard into the plush skin of your breast. Crying his name, you tugged at his hair—whether to pull him away or draw him in you didn’t know. All you could feel was the delicious flicker of pain curling tight around your stomach. Slick pooling into the pants he worked a hand into.

“You got no idea what you do to me.” Words were cut off at the feel of you dripping wet and hot along his palm.

“Fuck Logan.”

Muffling you with a kiss, he curled two fingers around your clit that practically begged for attention. He wanted to suck it into his mouth—taste you until you had no choice but to wrench him away from you. Time spent alone wouldn’t be what drove him over the edge. Sliding into your tight cunt as you cried for him would be.

His eyes rolled back when he pushed into you, the stretch of his fingers pulling a rasped moan from your throat. You pushed yourself into his touch—grasping at any part of his body you could reach when he found the spot that made you wither. This was how you wanted to die. Trapped in his hold as the burning pleasure shot up your spine, a haze clouding every other thought but him.

He possessed you from the very start. If only he understood how willing you were. How pliable you became at his touch along your body.

“Still so fuckin’ tight,” he growled, pumping into you fast enough for the squelch of his fingers to echo off each wall.

You drowned beneath the sound—gasping in his mouth when he fixed on that one spot and became unrelenting. “I’m gonna-baby I-I’m gonna cum.”

“That’s it. Be a good girl and make a fuckin’ mess on my hand.”

The final fraying piece holding you altogether finally snapped. Your sob was broken against his parted mouth, thighs trembling from the pleasure that nearly became painful. He held you close, hips grinding into your inner thigh as you gushed over his palm—the flutter of your walls sucking his fingers in even further.

Did you finally break beyond repair?

Your body sang a tune you couldn’t recognize, a glow emanating beneath the skin dim enough to remain unnoticed. But you felt it all the same. A warm soothing caress along every nerve and vein. Welcoming you in as your chest pressed to his—heart beating in time with his. Logan kissed you, messily licking into your mouth when he pulled you from the wall and made his way into the bedroom.

“You’re glowin’,” he mumbled, pride glimmering in his eyes.

“What?”

Focusing on anything beyond the touch of his hand along your bare waist, the burn of his gaze along your breasts, wasn’t possible in this moment. When the world came to a halt and time finally allowed you to meet one another in the middle. This time as two halves of one whole.

He closed his lips around your nipple, fingers pressing into the wet cavern of your mouth—spreading your taste on the flat of your tongue. Your hips jolted, fingers scrambling for the button of his jeans. A task he was more than happy to appease you with. Teeth scraped along your skin and your stomach leapt—heart blooming under his attention. His mouth met yours, teeth clacking together hard enough to hurt, but you never noticed.

A hold tugged on your chest, gold flaring to life in lidded eyes. Beneath the layers of lust and wanton need lay the power you’d been fighting. It floated to the surface, grabbed your hands tight enough to blister the skin, but Logan’s tongue along your stomach soothed the pain. You sighed and tipped your head back into the pillow, fingers carding through his hair.

“Prettiest fuckin’ pussy in the world,” he rasped yanking down your pants until they were a rumpled mess on the floor. “And all mine.”

You smiled, drawing him close enough to feel his lips brush along yours. “All yours Logan,” you purred.

“And this-” His hand clutched your own, dragging it over the straining bulge of his jeans, grinding up into your touch hard enough to pulled a gasp from lips still smeared in his spit. “‘S all yours honey. Every part of me.”

“I want it.”

He smiled, canines bright in the dim room. “Yeah? You want me to fuck you?”

You nodded. “I missed your cock baby. How you fill me.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, head falling to your shoulder. “You’re gonna kill me if you keep runnin’ your mouth like that bub.”

“Sorry,” you giggled. “I forget how old you are.”

“Old huh?”

“Can’t have you dying on me from it baby.”

Whatever he said next went unheard—something along the lines of I’ll show you fuckin’ old—because he stuffed you full of those same spit slicked fingers. His other hand busy on working himself out of his jeans. You melted into the bed with a cry of his name, fingers clawing at his wrist to pull him closer, to press against your throbbing clit. Until you felt the head of his cock slide through your dripping folds and tap right where you needed it most.

“That feel old to ya honey?” he cooed, lining himself up as he pushed your cum into your already parted mouth. “C’mon. Use that pretty brain of yours.”

A muffled shout was all he got in return, pressing into you slow enough to muddle every thought that could have entered your mind. The stretch felt like everything you’d been longing for. All those nights spent alone wandering the pitch black maw of your own head—every fucking morning waking up without him. They built in the base of your chest as he finally pushed right up to the base of his cock—filling your cunt to the brim.

You felt him in your chest, along the length of your throat, and even then it wasn’t deep enough. Another fractured piece of your heart sewed itself back together, the needle puncturing the thrumming organ as he groaned long and hoarse against your neck.

“So fuckin’ good,” he murmured. “Squeezin’ me just right.”

“L-Logan-”

“I know baby. I know.”

The first thrust sent your head back into the bed, your legs hitching up around his waist and nails digging into his shoulders. But Logan wasn’t looking to be kind. He couldn’t find it in himself to fuck you slow.

He broke you. Sliced through whatever bonds were tying you down to the Earth and yanked you up to be in heaven right by his side. A god among men—how could you not worship at his feet?

Claws slid free puncturing the mattress as he fucked into you without mercy. Plunging into your sopping pussy loud enough to pierce the grunts and moans echoing through the room. It was wet and raw and you clung to him tight enough to draw blood to the surface—the sticky mess between your bodies enough to shove you close to the edge.

“Gonna fuck you full honey. And this time it’s gonna fuckin’ stay there,” he bit out, hand sliding along your stomach.

You nodded dumbly, voice practically unrecognizable in the haze of lust you were lost to. “Please-”

The cold metal of his dog-tags bumped against your chin and without even registering, your teeth closed around them. Logan swore he died and went to the fucking afterlife at the sight of your mouth stuffed full of his name. Muffled moans and a mess of spit spilling free as his hips stuttered, body tensing to fight the impending release.

He wouldn’t finish without you. Not until he heard those sweetly whispered words—the vow that lived and breathed a life of its own.

“Tell me again,” he breathed against your lips, thumb pressing hard and fast to your clit. “Say it for me honey.”

“L-Love you Logan.”

He nearly collapsed over your body, cock pounding into your hard enough to send an ache through your hips. “Again.”

“I love you,” you sobbed.

Grinding deep he came with a shout, pulling you off that cliff right alongside him. You felt white flash behind your eyes, legs locking behind his back as his mouth crushed to yours, his spend filling you until it dripped down and around his balls. Pooling along your thigh. For whatever time remained you were outside of your own body, bliss restructuring the fragments of your darkest parts. Each part of you he broke.

Everything he swore to fix.

“I love you,” he breathed against your lips, running a thumb along the line of your throat. “‘M gonna love you for the rest of my life.”

A sharp prick punctured your heart, unraveling the ties that bound you to the body you’d known your whole life—pulling free each lock and barrier set in place the day you changed. You didn’t fight it, barely found enough strength to recognize what it was. But before you could grasp for the remnants of your old self, you found it pouring between your fingers like sand.

Logan sucked in a breath, eyes drinking in the sight of you glowing. Blue and gold and a the burning white he knew only came from the insides of stars—cosmic power stripped from the universe around you now pulsing in time with a heart he owned.

Warmth pooled over your head, spreading down to the tips of your toes as you lay beneath him—finally at ease with who you were. Time peeked out behind the curtains of your mind, settling along each bone, burning itself into your being. Solidifying itself into a soul that now shined in the glow of his love.

You sighed into its touch, eyes fluttering shut as Logan cupped your cheek. “I can feel it Logan. Time.”

“Where’s it comin’ from honey?” he whispered.

With a smile, you watched the centuries flash in your mind, time spent with friends with a family and daughter yet to play out in real life. Moments you’d revisit and cherish. A path you finally walked freely.

“My heart.”

a/n: i want to say so many things about this series and how much it has meant to me. but i will save that for the epilogue. thank you so fucking much for sticking around this long. i hope you love the small snippet to come.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x f!reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #my writing

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