#finally making an account on it to write this
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⭐️MAKEUP OVERHAUL MOD⭐️
I finally updated my vanity table overhaul mod! This mod now includes 4 modules, each working on their own, but I recommend downloading them all together!
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1. VANITY TABLE OVERHAUL
I took into account all the problems with past makeup looks (some makeup looks were not as in the title, and also not suitable for darker skin tones).
I used incredibly beautiful makeups from TwistedCat and Miiko, which you should MUST DOWNLOAD from the links below (about 10MB total):
♡ Stalker Eyeshadow&Eyeliner ♡ Spiceberry Lipstick ♡ Soft Glam Lipstick&Glitter Overlay ♡ Slayer Eyeliner Low ♡ Prism Lipstick&Eyeshadow ♡ Date Night Eyeshadow&Eyeliner (03) ♡ Dark Hour Eyeshadow ♡ Basic Please EyeLid Eyeshadow ♡ Wing It Eyeliner
Examples of some overrides:
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I've tested each makeup on different appearance types and skin tones, so everything should look great this time around! But if something suddenly goes wrong - be sure to write!
Also, all these makeups are applied on the stylist station from the «Get Famous» add-on. Now you can organize a real beauty salon, for this I even made a small fix, allowing you to ask to do hair or makeup of any sim, even strangers!
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2. APPLY MAKEUP MOD
All these ready-made game makeup, of course, are good, but there are times when we don't need a full makeup, but still want to put on lipstick or eyeliner!
For this, I made a mod that allows you to choose any makeup, be it eyeliner, lipstick, blush, eyeshadows or highlighter, and apply it individually!
Now, a new 'Choose and Apply Makeup' menu will appear on your vanity table, clicking on which you can choose the makeup you want:
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I made a large number of different makeup options, from casual to evening. Here we also use makeup from TwistedCat and Miiko (I wrote about them above), which you need to download for this mod to work.
There will be a corresponding animation for each type of makeup! I also added a new action 'Apply Perfume', which will give a confidence buff to your sim.
This is what applying makeup and perfume looks like:
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3. MAKEUP OBJECTS RETEXTURE
Various objects are used during the application of makeup:
I changed some of the objects a bit, making them smaller, and also repainted all the textures:
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4. NEW OBJECTS for APPLYING MAKEUP
As you know, makeup in the game can only be applied with the help of a vanity table, which takes up a lot of space, and costs a lot of money! But in real life, we only need one cosmetic bag and a mirror.
With my mod, you can apply makeup using the following objects:
IMPORTANT! Place any of these objects on the table (it doesn't matter how, as long as it is on the surface of the table) and place a chair. Now you can apply makeup anywhere, because you can take the cosmetic bag with you!
If you download the 2nd module, then with these objects you can also apply perfume and makeup separately!
Here's how you can now apply makeup by placing a small mirror on your desktop:
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✧ DOWNLOAD ✧
➀ Vanity Table Overhaul (!!!be sure to delete my past mod if you downloaded it) ➁ Apply Makeup Mod (!!!required Lot51 Core Library) ➂ Makeup Objects Retexture ➃ New Objects for Applying Makeup (!!!download only one file)
❗One of the following DLCs is required for this mod to work:
✧ «Vintage Glamour» stuff pack
✧ «Modern Luxe» kit
✧ «Secret sanctuary» kit
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I really hope you enjoy this mod and improve the routine of your beautiful characters!!! I'll be glad for any reaction you have 🥺🤍
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If you can't download from SFS: MediaFire
#sims 4#oduvnix#ts4#sims 4 mods#ts4 simblr#sims 4 overrides#sims 4 default replacement#sims 4 gameplay#sims 4 cc#ts4 vanilla#ts4 mods#sims4 makeup#ts4 makeup#twistedcat#the sims 4#sims 4 kits#sims 4 functional object#ts4 functional object#ts4 overrides#ts4 default replacement#the sims community
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YVE !! ♡ my angel, your feedback means more than all the stars in the sky ଘ꒰ ॣ´͈ ᵕ `͈ ॣ꒱ଓ i’m going to scream with you under the cut
starting with the synopsis alskdwlmzap i mean who doesn’t see sunghoon and #WantThat ?! i fear he wouldn’t leave a room with me in one piece
as an evil, weird, off putting girl myself i had to represent !! she was so easy to write bc i was half self-inserting during this story 😭 i love her idc ! she never did wrong !!
m*n are rotten, and i wholeheartedly agree that 100 random m*n should be sacrificed monthly. honestly, put them all in jail to start until deemed worthy of being free ! ~ the father / reverend is the true evil here. absolute terrible man (but necessary for the plot) i love how you dragged him every chance you got LMAO he deserves all the hate “it’s time for you to die” IJBOL, so real
it was hitting real close to home while writing ㅠㅠ and you’re so right - she wasn’t born resilient, she had to become resilient because of the environment she grew up in !! and omg your comments about her made me realize how sad and angsty this story is (i didn’t even think it was that depressing while writing but ohmygod it really is ajskakf)
NOT THE “it’s nice to be seen, noticed” being a theme in my works 😭 am i exposing myself ?!? (yes)
sidenote — I LOVE ALL THE LIL MEMES AND GIFS SO MUCH HAHA the debby ryan ones always get me
i live love laugh when one of the love interests is a lil scared. yes, fear me, i love you but am also out to get you (in many ways, this adds to the mystery hehe) likkkke sunghoon doesn’t know what to do with all that !! … or does he?
THANK YOU! i pride myself in my weird creativity and no it’s not weird, it just means you’re a Real One. be giddy and excited !!!
you’re freaky comments kslakdpalb #REAL
soooo much religious trauma in this story. i’m the biggest nerd when it comes to theology and religious media (i honestly don’t know why, i don’t love or hate religion and im not religious (anymore), but something about it i’m always itching to write). i think it’s perfect for wanting to write about a relationship dealing with unlearning shame and guilt etc idk ! you get it? yeah, you do
reader is 100000% projecting her feelings / trauma onto him. she doesn’t even realize that until later and how ironically she kind of was acting like her father in a way. and you’re on the money again ! she does like ruining sunghoon and having power over something but eventually realizes she likes the company much more after being alone most her life
omg ty ily for loving my ‘evil’ mc :( 🤍 she’s so complex and so very human. loved how you described her because that’s exactly how i wanted her to come across. yeah she’s a little mean but how can we blame her 😔
NO YOU ARE CORRECT !!! jake in HoP is also jake from attic angel. just them as college students (tbh i don’t remember all my details from attic angel, but i did want him to make a cameo here so yes this is my multiverse)
FATHERLESS BEHAVIOR ! i screamed. but sunghoon is sooooo cute. i had to bring the babygirl hoon agenda to light bc he’s so sweet and loser boy coded to me
YES THE TEDDY BEAR SCENE it’s actually my favorite part of the whole story 😭 because she’s finally opening up to him and being somewhat vulnerable. tender intimate moments >> anything else. I LOVE SLOW BURN, AND I MEANT IT !! before writing on this account angst and slow burn was always my go to :)) also the blood oath scene is one of my favs. it was supposed to be longer but was lazy lol
(i have to reply to the comment, sorry not sorry) but i had to gut you open to blow on the boo-boos </3 i needed that fluff to feel extra rewarding after the angst
IM SOOOO HAPPY you feel this was made for you because it was !! it really truly was. you’re more than likely a lot like me and this story was a love letter to all the people that the world made me feel small. we are seen and we can and will be loved just as tenderly as we wish regardless of how negative we feel about ourselves or what others think, etc 🤍 (i swear i have no cameras watching you!! unless.. JK)
NOT YOU CALLING ME OUT ABOUT THE ROOMS HAHA college boys are truly a mess, you got me there. i remember my guy friends dorms and it was horrid. sunghoon would never tho..
i could reply to everything you said (i totally did out loud to myself while giggling and kicking my feet with a fat grin) but i’ll end with THANK YOUUUUU SO MUCH FOR TAKING YOUR TIME TO READ MY STORY AND EVEN MAKE COMMENTS WITH ALL THE PICTURES AND WHAT NOT IT MEANS THE WORLD TO ME HOW YOU PUT EFFORT INTO YOUR RESPONSES. I LOVE YOU SO BAD AND ITS BC YOU I ENJOY WRITING AND SHARING MY WORK EVEN MORE <3 !!!!!!! may the most tender, kind, and warm love find you.
harvest of purity — sunghoon [ 박성훈 ]
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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
#﹙ 🧾 ﹚— feedback 𐙚‧₊˚♡#tinycatharsis#you ALWAYS get it !!!#i’m so happy you’re able and here to read my stories#i send you so much love
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꧁༒☬𝖂𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖗 𝕴𝖓𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖉𝖚𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓☬༒꧂
(finally updated after thousands of years)
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𝚂𝚊𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚜! 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎 𝙻𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚘𝚛 𝚅𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚊. 𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!
𝙾𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙸’𝚕𝚕 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚆𝙸𝙿𝚂, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚐 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚘𝚌𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜.
Main: @lunaeuphternal (ill still post writing stuff there)
So without further ado, let’s get on to what I write about:
𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠:
(𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: ⚠️𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫, 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐈 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠)
𝙏𝙤𝙥𝙞𝙘𝙨/𝙂𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨:
☆ Political Fantasy
☆ Found Family
☆ Bit of Romance
☆ Mental Health/Illness
☆ Psychological Horror
☆ Class Division
☆ Science Fiction
☆ Gore/Violence
☆ Supernatural
☆ Espionage
☆ Cozy/Fluff (every once in a while)
Major Inspirations:
Arcane, Samurai Jack, Primal, Pride and Prejudice, The Amazing Digital Circus, Primal, Wallace and Gromit, Afro-Samurai, The Little Prince, The Hunger Games, Get Out, Looney Tunes, Tangled, Mary and Max, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Revolutionary Girl Utena
𝕄𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕔 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥’𝕤 𝕗𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕞𝕪 𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕒𝕕𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕓𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕟:🎼
𝚃𝚘 𝙿𝚒𝚖𝚙 𝚊 𝙱𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚕𝚢 - 𝙺𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝙻𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚛
𝙳𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚕 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙾𝚌𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝙱𝚕𝚟𝚍 - 𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚊 𝙳𝚎𝚕 𝚁𝚎𝚢
𝚂𝙾𝚂 𝙳𝚎𝚕𝚞𝚡𝚎: 𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙰 - 𝚂𝚉𝙰
𝙷𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚝𝚘𝚗 - 𝙻𝚒𝚗 𝙼𝚊𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚕 𝙼𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚊
𝙴𝚙𝚒𝚌: 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 - 𝙹𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎 𝚁𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜
𝙲𝚝𝚛𝚕 (𝙳𝚎𝚕𝚞𝚡𝚎) - 𝚂𝚉𝙰
𝙰𝚗𝚢 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝙼𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚝𝚋𝚑
Tag Games:
Picrew OC Tag Game
Tag Game (Food Edition)
Winter Themed Tag Game
Musical Themed Tag Game
(Plan to host more games the coming months)
WIP(S): ✒️
𝐄𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬𝐞(𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐜 𝐈’𝐦 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐫𝐞��𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭)
𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨: 𝙄𝙣 𝙙𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙥𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩
𝐖𝐚𝐫 & 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭.
(𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚍𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚍𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚜)
Writer links:
Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victorialikestowrite
Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/Adriennelover294737
🄿🄴🅁🅂🄾🄽🄰🄻 🅂🄷🄸🅃/🄲🄻🄾🅂🄸🄽🄶:
𝙸’𝚟𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛’𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚜, 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚕𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕, 𝚜𝚘 𝙸 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎, 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚜. 𝙸’𝚖 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜, 𝚂𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚜, 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜.
𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜 𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙮 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙞𝙨𝙝 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙙)
@aquitheimmortalone, @aesthetic-writer18, @the-ellia-west, @illarian-rambling, @gioiaalbanoart, @mjparkerwriting, @goldfinchwrites
@seastarblue, @magic-crazy-as-this, @inky-anathemata, @moltenwrites, @sunflowerrosy, @furrywrit3r, @yourpenpaldee, @rumeysawrites,
@oliolioxenfreewrites, @differentnighttale, @kuebiko-writing, @worlds-tallest-fairy, @justaboymadeofhoneyandglass
@thecomfywriter, @sillycyan, @michellekarnold, @sarahswriting, @harmonic-melodii,
@the-golden-comet, @cringemoth, @theres-bees-in-my-head, @ambersky0319, @thepastelpop, @pastellbg,
@pastellbg, @justalunaticfangirl, @resmyx, @whosbex, @viridis-icithus
𝓢𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓷𝓸𝔀,
𝕷𝖀𝕹𝕬
#after millennia I’m finally updating my fucking writeblr introoooooo#thank the lord#writeblr#creative writing#writer memes#writers community#writeblr intro#it’s so good to be back#I can’t wait to make so many new friends and build stronger connections with#my current ones#I promise I’ll add more stuff#writer#ao3 writer#fantasy#phycho horror#writers on tumblr#I seriously need to update my Wattpad account 💀💀💀💀💀💀
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My, unsolicited and underqualified advice to your variously despairing followers:
First, Google "volunteering" + "your area." Sign up for something. Now. There is a widespread, implicit belief on here that "doing something" looks like doing some self-care, working on your mental health, getting informed, and then, once you're well-adjusted and fully knowledgable, selecting the perfect arena for leftist political engagement. This is backwards: signing up to do something to help your community will instantly make you feel less helpless, less anxious, and happier. I spent 3 hours making sandwiches at the soup kitchen (literally trivial in the grand scheme! but also tangibly helping people!) and it is the best I have felt since Trump entered office.
Second: find other people in your life (for me this is my partner, not a pre-existing leftist community) and ask them to keep you accountable to being politically involved in some specific way. We are going to my first ever DSA event this afternoon, and it is 100% because both of us are expecting the other person to keep up their part of the bargain.
Third: I am trying to get out of the overly-online headspace in which I think about politics purely in terms of ideological alignment (to what extent do we share the same opinions?) and instead focusing on concrete goals and looking for the people around me who are fighting for those things.
Final tidbit: Just before writing this, I saw that a Missouri judge just struck down laws requring abortion providers to receive special licenses, which in practice were used to prevent anyone being able to legally provide abortions. This is after people voted via ballot meaure to make abortion a constitutionally protected right in the state. Based on my friend's knowledge of similar successful efforts in other states, I'm going to guess that victory was the result of years of organizing by majority middle-aged liberal women. And that victory, in turn, means that thousands of people will be spared the cruetly of forced birth, which is a victory of a massive, massive scale.
Now, if you're still reading this—Google "volunteering" + "your area." Sign up for something!
This is good advice.
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Heyyyy @mirensiart, remember months ago when I asked if writing fics based on your pain sharing AU was allowed?
I know the merfolk transformation doesn’t hurt Legend in your comic, but Legend angst is my jam. And apparently Time angst. Parts of this have been sitting untouched since last year, and recently I finally got around to finishing it and polishing everything up (not that polished tho). Consider it a late birthday gift?
If you have an Ao3 account, you can read it here. If not, click Keep reading :)
The day was actually going quite well, which should’ve been the first clue.
Legend was wary, sure, but only of the water. They were in Wild’s Hyrule, walking alongside a lake to some town Legend had forgotten the name of. He made sure to stay far away from the water. He’d prefer if that secret didn’t come out at all, let alone when they still had that pain-sharing curse the stupid wizzrobe cast on them.
Even when they reached a half-ruined dock, and Wind convinced some of the others to join him in the water, Legend was only a little concerned. Not for Wind’s safety, he could swim just fine and Wild said this river was safe. He was mostly concerned that someone might shove him in as a joke.
He knew it was an unfound fear. He’s made it clear that he didn’t want to get in water. That opened him up for jokes about being unable to swim, but nobody went as far as to see if that was true. They respected every other boundary he set, why would they ignore this one?
The wariness and concern started to grow when they were attacked.
It was at least a dozen lizalfos, mostly Wild’s, and a few of Wild’s moblins. They would’ve gotten in a sneak attack, if Hyrule hadn’t noticed them from where he was showing off his magic boots. Everyone sprung into action immediately.
Time and Warriors leapt to their feet in unison, blades meeting those of the charging moblins. Wild, sitting on a rock on the far bank, jumped to his feet and summoned a bow from his Sheikah Slate. Hyrule, standing beside him on the water, ran back to the others and tugged Wind onto land. The Four Sword and the Ordon Blade swiped at lizalfos, their wielders bedraggled and wet, and the Master Sword followed suit as a lizalfos tried to shove Sky back into the water.
Legend had just enough time to notice all that before joining the battle, ducking under a whip-like tongue before swiping his ice rod at it, encasing it in glittering white ice. His blade then met a green lizalfos’ metal boomerang, and the two of them went toe to toe for a moment. Wild had told them about the strength scaling based on pelt colour his monsters had, but Legend couldn’t remember what green scales meant on a lizalfos. He just hoped its blood wasn’t black.
Unfortunately, when Legend managed to chop off its tongue, it bled black. He swiped at its side while it screeched in pain, then slashed at the slowly defrosting lizard monster behind it, managing to shatter its leg. Revealing red veins and muscles, hm.
Shortly after, a small, stinging pain made itself known below his knee. The cut was small and didn’t belong to him anyway, so he ignored it and kept fighting, practically dancing between two lizalfos trying to slash at him. He always hated it when the monsters had weapons.
These lizalfos were annoyingly fast, too, something made clear by the sudden throbbing pain of an impact against his shoulder. Legend himself was fine, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Four on his back with a lizalfos over him. Thankfully, a few of Wild’s arrows were enough to get him back up, and the pain didn’t make anyone stumble.
That pain didn’t, but unfortunately, the next phantom injury sent Legend’s way interrupted his footing. A sharp pain right on someone’s ankle, maybe from a lizalfos’ tongue. Legend’s ankle, despite being perfectly fine, gave out for a second, forcing him to drop to the ground to dodge a swipe. He’s back on his feet in an instant, thankfully, freezing two lizalfos in place and then shattering one of them.
A third swiped at him from behind, this one with black and red scales, and when Legend’s sword met its blade it pushed back with much more strength than he expected. He took a few steps back, swiping at the monster’s muzzle. His boots clicked against the edge of the wooden dock.
The lizalfos was back on him immediately, tri-boomerang glinting with as much malice as its eyes. They danced around each other for a moment, before an arrow hit it in the shoulder, revealing blood as black as coal.
With a hiss, it leapt back, and made the clicking-gargling noise in its throat that signalled an attack.
Legend had just enough time to raise his ice rod, only to realise how bad of an idea that was as the lizalfos’ tongue ripped it from his hold.
Okay, time to get serious. Legend activated a power bracelet as the monster darted back up to him, and met its blade with equal strength, then shoved it back and swiped. The lizalfos dodged the swipe then darted in close again, and Legend’s next attack took out a tooth.
Growling in rage, the monster put all its strength into its next few swings, all fast and dangerous enough that Legend had to repeatedly step back out of range.
Another arrow embedded itself in the lizalfos’ side, before Wild’s voice called out, “I’m out of normal arrows!” Legend knew, from the distinction, that the battlefield was too chaotic to risk any elemental arrows.
That was fine. Legend wasn’t that concerned, still. Anything with black blood made a difficult fight, but he had no handicapping pain or injuries.
The lizalfos jumped back again, lowering to all fours. Legend prepared himself for the oncoming rush attack, only to be blindsided by what actually happened.
It did launch itself at him, but not before dropping its weapon. As it tackled him it grabbed his wrist, forcing his sword to a relatively harmless angle. The force of the impact threw him back, and before he knew it he could no longer feel the dock beneath his feet.
The river slammed into him with a rush of cold and a burst of bubbles. The transformation was far less lenient.
—
Time wasn’t that concerned when Legend was thrown into the lake.
He knew Wild’s lizalfos were terrible to fight in their own element, but Legend could hold his own. One hit with his ice rod and that lizard would be toast. The fight was winding down, too, they’d be able to help in a minute.
Then he remembered Legend’s aversion to water.
And then the pain started.
It slammed into him with no warning, with so much force and intensity it rivalled Twilight’s wolf transformation. All at once, he felt the pain of every bone in his legs breaking, every muscle tearing, every inch of skin ripped and ligament shred. It rushed up his spine like a tidal wave, consuming his hips, enveloping his lungs, ripping open his throat. It spared no mercy for his face, burning his ears and seemingly taking a cheese grater to his cheeks, while his eyes felt as though they’d been scooped out with a rusty fork. Even his hands ached like they were being taken apart.
The agony consumed so much of his attention, so many of his senses, that his reaction was very delayed when a lizalfos landed on top of him.
Its jaws slammed shut around his shoulder, teeth scraping against his armour. Time blinked at it dazedly, dots swimming through his vision. He was lying down? He had collapsed.
The lizalfos scraped its claws against his chestplate, and Time remembered he could move, and, in fact, should. His gauntleted hand, burning with pain, tightened around the hilt of his sword, and he managed to slam it through the monster’s side. The thing screeched then went still, heavy body slowly sliding off him, jaws going lax.
The pain in his lungs and throat was throbbing, pulsing as if with the rise and fall of breath. Time’s own breath didn’t match the tempo, as his lungs were apparently convinced breathing at all would worsen it. The pain through his eyes and skull did not lessen nor worsen when he closed his eyes, and the agony in his fingers spared no reaction when he flexed them. The worst of the feeling was still centred around his legs, from tailbone to toes and from skin to marrow, the suffering so overwhelmingly strong it was hard to think past.
It was lessening now, though. Rapidly, even. A few more moments of catching his breath, and it had dulled enough for Time to drag himself up. An ache remained through his legs and throat, and a burning sensation of someone’s wound over his thigh, as well as the usual sting of small cuts and bruises that weren’t his own, and a few that were. Time’s eyes scanned the battlefield as he slowly stood, finding the others similarly incapacitated, with the exception of Twilight, who desperately fought against four lizalfos over an unconscious Wind and an unsteady Hyrule.
Warriors was still on his back, just barely managing to skewer an attacking lizalfos. Sky had the Master Sword jammed into the jaws of one on top of him, and Time felt the way its claws were scraping against Sky’s chainmail. Four was stumbling to his feet with his eyes on Twilight.
Time found his head turning away from the battle, feeling like he was forgetting something. Wild was across the river, slowly dragging himself further upshore. The water—
The water was churning, a trio of shapes flickering beneath it. The black of a lizalfos, a smaller red shape, and a long something that flashed orange, silver, blue, and black. A light blue cap floated serenely beside the decrepit dock.
That’s what Time was forgetting.
Dropping his sword to the ground, Time rushed to the water’s edge, fumbling with his bag. He drew out his bow and quiver and nocked an arrow, firing first away from the water, to a lizalfos fighting Twilight. Warriors and Four joined the fight soon after, and shooting became too risky for someone with Time’s archery skill. He instead shot the one that had Sky pinned. It got him enough of an opening to shove it back and jump to his feet, slamming the Master Sword through its spine.
Time turned back to the water, unsure if he had time to swap his armour for his Zora tunic. He noticed Legend’s ice rod, abandoned by the foot of the dock. The water continued to churn and shapes continued to writhe beneath it. Time aimed in the direction of the disturbance, holding still until he could get a clear shot.
Abruptly, he felt claws scrape against his side, raking over his ribcage, followed shortly by the stinging impact of a lizalfos tongue. He glanced at himself despite knowing the pain wasn’t his. With a look over his shoulder it became clear the first injury must belong to Legend. Sky had joined the lizalfos fight, which Twilight had stepped away from to search through his bag. Wind had woken up with Hyrule’s help.
Another few tense moments passed. Red began to subtly stain the water. Time felt a lizalfos jaw clamp over someone’s shoulder and tug, hard, and at the same time a large tail fin splashed through the water’s surface. Dark blue and turquoise, with black edges and flashes of orange; it disappeared back under with a splash just as Time adjusted his aim. His arrow soared through the air and then the water, straight towards the giant tail connected to the fin—
Pain slammed into Time and everyone else full force. A piercing, sharp pain, a deep puncture, in the back of someone’s calf.
The blood in the water thickened, swirling around the lizalfos, Legend, and whatever other river monster must be underneath.
Nobody said it out loud, perhaps in fear of the emotional pain it might cause, but they’re all thinking the same thing.
Did that arrow hit Legend?
The possibility was already sending a wave of pressure through Time’s chest, dread and apprehension clawing at his lungs, no doubt spreading to the others.
He stayed perfectly still, fighting to breathe, while the others sprang into action. Warriors and Sky and Four quickly finished off the last of the lizalfos, while Hyrule and Wind hurried to the water’s edge. Twilight came next, running across the dock while pulling something over his head, before he dived smoothly into the water.
Time’s hand twitched. He didn’t dare draw an arrow, but didn’t put his bow down either.
Green joined the flashes of colour beneath the water. The rest of the Chain gathered by the river’s edge. They watched as the shapes moved. The colourful fin splashed through the water again, but no one fired at it. Wild, on the other side of the water, summoned some clothes with his Slate and dived in. More pain joined the collection of injuries the Chain was feeling: the rake of claws across someone’s feet, a rough impact spraining someone’s rib, the stinging impact of, probably, the lizalfos’ tongue. Slowly, the strain on someone’s lungs caused by holding their breath became present.
At last, after what felt like years, the churning of the water ceased. Wild’s head broke the surface, a dark blue cap on the back of his head Time recognised from his own Zora armour. Wild panted desperately, eyes wide as he caught his breath. The feeling of breathlessness eased.
After another few moments, Twilight’s head popped up, wearing another Zora-made headpiece that covered his nose and mouth. He was staring into the water next to him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and worry.
“Wild? Twi?” Sky asked. “Where’s Legend?”
“Uh—” Wild joined Twilight in staring at the water, seeming distinctly lost. The blue-turquoise-orange-silver shape still sat close to the riverbed, unmoving beside the red one. Twilight said nothing, staring at the water expectantly.
Finally, the shapes shifted and another head poked up from the water’s surface, only peeking out enough for his eyes to be visible. This head had light blonde hair with a streak of pink. Clearly it was Legend, but…
Iridescent orange and green scales shimmered over his cheekbones. His purple irises were larger and his pupils were slit like a cat’s. His ears had been replaced by fins; tall and transparent, colour drifting between blue and turquoise.
“What the fuck,” Wind whispered. No one bothered reprimanding him.
Legend’s gaze landed on Time’s bow. His pupils narrowed, his brows pinched, and although his expression was half hidden beneath the water Time could make out his anxiety plain as day. He could feel it, too.
Time’s heart fell through his chest and settled somewhere at his boots.
Legend was afraid of him.
#MUAHAHAH THE ANGST GOBLIN IS LOOSE#linked universe fanfic#lu legend#lu time#fanfic angst#ao3 is registered users only#zelda fanfiction#fanfiction#my writing#dual post#oneshot
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![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/396a37407ad6d4afd9140c79120cc9e3/a3b53744f2daeb87-6f/s540x810/ddd6eecc31f7f75a0c3ac5bbabf42ac901dcf5e9.jpg)
♡Widows Holiday♡
Not part of the main series, just wanted to spread a little love (✿ ♡‿♡)
Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, inappropriate speech, poor writing, possible ooc,
Holiday special: Valentine's Day
❤️💜❤️
It's Valentine's Day in Gotham and you're disgusted.
It's not that you're a hater or anti love or anything. you are It's just annoying how much expectation has been heaped on you.
The Wayne's social media manager wants photos for the public accounts, demands of photographer quality photos of gifts on perfectly made beds, heart shaped bouquets in every background, photos of you making cookies with the kids. Enough is enough.
Somehow a holiday about eating overpriced chocolate and banging has turned you into a prop for netizen points.
“Can you at least try not to scowl this time?” You roll your eyes when you hear Tim's sarcastic little jab as he adjusts the camera, he got roped into this just like you did, but he's not the one having to pose.
“I'll consider it when I'm not wearing an itchy apron, who wears one to frost cookies anyway. The messy part is done.” Damian quickly nods beside you, the kid taking your word as permission to shuck his apron off and start freehanding his cookie decorating.
“Yeah well it's the only part of you that looks cutesy, looks of murderous contempt don't exactly scream ‘I'm happy for the holidays’ you know.” Duke snorts on the other side of you and tries to pull his piping bag out of Damian's reach, the kids clearly got a vision in mind since he looks about ready to climb Duke for the blue frosting.
“…he's not wrong.” Tim mutters under his breath, leaning over the counter to snatch up a finished cookie off your tray before you can smack him, you hit hard after all.
“Does this have to be a whole thing on every holiday? This is pretentious and kinda dumb. Just make a happy holidays tweet and post a picture of a heart and be done with it.”
“I agree with our parent, this behavior is more acceptable during Hanukkah and Halloween, not for this silly made holiday that has no tradition to it.” Damian is quick to agree while glaring at Duke and starting to mix his own blue frosting, clearly getting pissed off when Tim grabs at his half finished cookie.
“hey! I'm not done with that and it's not for you Drake.”
“I thought this was silly?” Tim smirks as he dodges around the counter, Duke snickering beside you as he starts eating a spoonful of frosting. It's no wonder Bruce is getting grays.
You shuck your apron off and sit down on a stool so you don't fly off the handle, teenagers you swear… “okay let's all take a break before Alfred poisons our food.”
You grab the back of Damian’s shirt just as he goes over the counter, boyish complaints quickly starting up around you as Damian reluctantly let's you pull him back down. He makes sure to keep his threats up as Tim starts loudly eating the cookie and exaggeratedly moaning over it, you wonder if you ever pissed Natalia off like this.
“…. Having fun?” a deep voice calls out from the kitchen doorway, Bruce leans against the frame with arms crossed over his chest on a perfectly casual pose as if he's not watching you lose your shit. You almost wanna throw something at that stupid smirk on his face.
You deadpan at him while holding onto Damian's shirt like a leash, Tim knocks the camera stand over and Duke is now just eating the plain cookies and the frosting separately like some kind of maniac.
“I think it's very fun.” Cass says beside you.
“WHAT THE FU-” multiple people flinch when they realize the young woman's there.
“okay well how about a steal you for a few minutes yeah?” Bruce gestures at you while trying not to laugh at your sour expression, he's not sure he wants to step any further into the kitchen lest he become one with the mob.
“Where are you going?” Damian glances between the two of you, he finally stops squirming in your hold and just crosses his arms over his chest.
Duke leans over and puts a hand up to his mouth like he only wants Damian to hear him. “They're probably gonna go bang, they'll be back in like two minutes.” he loudly ‘whispers’ in Damian's ear while Tim pauses what he's doing and stares, he loudly gags and puts the remainder of his cookie down. cass just starts piling cookies on a plate while everyone reacts.
“That's disgusting.” Damian shoves dukes face away as he grimaces, lip curling as he turns to look at you. “Can you please make them stop this foolishness?”
“Dude ew, get help you sicko!” Tim gags again while putting his hand over his mouth, you tense when you see the wicked smirk behind his hand, the smartass is about to do something worse isn't he- “you overestimate the senior citizens anyways, you think those bags of bones got two minutes in em-?”
Bruce just sighs loudly while you stand up from your stool, why couldn't all teenagers act more like Parker?
“Okay funny guys, clear out before I show you something hilarious.”
Walking over and slapping Bruce's ass seems to do the trick, Damian stomps out of the kitchen while loudly complaining about him immature everyone is while Tim and Duke make their escape with a few cookies in hand, cass just waves over her shoulder as she disappears around the corner. the camera lays forgotten on the cold floor while everyone abandons the kitchen.
“…. Was that necessary?” Bruce glances at you with pinched brows, you don't miss the reddened ears as he pointedly looks down at your hand, which just so happens to still be on his ass.
“I'm a master of my craft Brucie, I know just how to psychologically damage anyone.”
“I'll take your word for it…. Now do you wanna see what i got you or are you trying to make a different kind of mess in here-” he laughs as you roll your eyes and strut away from him.
“this is still Alfred's kitchen you know. Now what angle are you playing at this time? I'm not posing with any more little presents for the camera.”
he trails after you with a smug look on his face again as you escape the kitchen, steps quick as he catches up to you and grabs your elbow to steer your movements.
“i mean, i wouldn’t mind a little posing….”
you can only roll your eyes harder at his little joke, everyone’s a damn comedian today. “shut it, where are you dragging me?”
he nudges the library doors open with his foot as he glances at you. “to the museum obviously. come on it’s just down in the cave.” you catch jason snickering at you from behind his book as he glances over the back of the couch at you two, he quickly looks away when he spots you scowling at him.
“i don’t want it unless it’s a gun or something with similar projectile speed.” the old grandfather clock creaks as it swings open to reveal the steep and narrow staircase, you both have to duck your heads down to enter.
he clicks his tongue as he gives you a stern look over his shoulder, leading you down the single file stairs into the dank cave. “can you just look at it first before you start making demands?”
the glow of the batcomputer illuminates the cave in a bluish glow as you both step onto the main platform, your shoes clanking rather loudly as he leads you towards the training area, you give him a suspicious look when he gestures at a medium sized box on the edge of one of the training mats. he drops down on the mat and gives the box a pointed look. “open it, i promise it isn’t gonna bite you.”
you just scoff amusedly as you drag the box over and shake it, doesn’t sound alive. bruce chuckles at your antics and reaches up to try to pry it out of your grasp.
“can you do this normally? first you checked if the pancakes were poisoned and now this?”
“you gave me blackened little hockey pucks smothered in whipped cream, for all i knew you were hiding something else besides just being a terrible cook….” your voice trails off as you pull the top of the box off and see the spider staring up at you, it’s not an exact replica by any means, yet you can’t bring yourself to critique it as you lift the dark suit up out of the box. the red widow emblem sits on the back just between the shoulder blades, there’s padding in appropriate areas and the rest is quite breathable and stretchy. but the real kicker was the chestplate with the dark bat emblem that just barely stands out from the rest of the suit.
“….. You're such a sap, you know me so well.” You smile to yourself as you hold it up in the light and admire the craftsmanship, you glance back down in the box and see a utility belt with a matching pair of boots and gloves, it's so much more personal to you than any weapon would've been.
he leans against the wall with crossed arms as he studies you, a small grin in his face as he watches your reactions closely. “I'll take that as a positive response, glad you like your real present.”
“yeah i like it, just hope it fits.” He snorts at your sassy response as he straightens up and steps closer to paw through the box. “It'll fit.”
“that's a suspicious response, if if doesn't fit my Valentine's is completely ruined.” he clearly doesn't buy it based on the wide smirk firmly planted on his face.
“sure, sure. Now about that two minutes…”
You throw a glove at him while he laughs and turns away.
❤💜❤
| M.list |
A/n: sorry it's late! Been busy for a few days and I'm trying to catch up where I can, I hope y'all had a happy Valentine's Day if you celebrate and if not I hope it was just a stress free day 🙏😘💗😍
Taglist: @cxcilla @mercuryathens @dind1n @redsakura101 @ninihrtss @let-me-dance @ladykamos @one-piecelover @cuntiesweet @omnivirgo @shirp-collector-of-fixations @spidermanluvr444
#dc x y/n#dc x reader#batman x reader#batfamily x reader#batman fanfiction#bruce wayne x reader#batfam x reader#bruce wayne x gn!reader#bruce wayne x y/n#black widow reader
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Stalker Lady pt. 3
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (You)
Word Count: ~1.5k
Warning: Mean!Simon Riley, Voice (PORN) actor!Simon Riley, patron!reader, neighbor!AU, description of audio porn. NON-CON/DUB-CON, pussy spanking, PIV, creampie.
Summary: You meet Simon unexpectedly. Unfortunately, he thinks you are a stalker.
A/N: This fic is my rehab-going-back-into-writing fic. And it's the first time I'm writing for "Ghost" I've honestly never played COD. But here's my idea of the scary (not really lol) simon ghost riley :3
You haven’t spoke for twenty-three days, sixteen hours, and approximately twenty minutes so far.
You avoid looking in his direction or saying anything to him. Anything, really, even when he forces himself in your way – a dick move, he knows, and he’s probably using up all the quota of being a dick and then some when he was around you – bumps into you deliberately, and not a word, not a noise would come from you. You just … carry on with your life.
You have decided to treat him like someone invisible. Or air. Air is probably more similar to the reactions (more like no actions) he’s getting out of you.
“Have ye tried apologizing? Actual apologizin’?” Soap slaps his large palm over Simon’s shoulder when they are having a drink together, all of them in 141, slurring in alcohol as Simon rolls his eyes because of the pain that booms over his bones, “Coz yer being a massive dick. Dickest-dick, I’ll give yer ‘at.”
“I’ve tried.” Simon groans in half misery and half reluctance.
John Price, otherwise known as “Captain”, clears his throat in amusement, “Riley, chasing after her back and shouting out your apology doesn’t count. Apology, as in, say it in her face and she’d accept it. With flowers. It’s probably for the best.”
Simon Riley has known his team, his brother-like porn-producing family for a little over five years now. And every now and then something they say still gets under his skin because they are right. They are often right and never wrong in life and war.
Still, Simon kept that bit where his newfound love interest is his patron from the rest of his founded family. Something is best hidden, he supposes, not quite sure why he did so.
“Wha’ ‘bout your porn career, eh? Did lil’ missy find out?” Soap laughs loudly. It is clear that now seventy-five percent of his body runs on rum and tequila shots – whatever the brand they were just drinking – instead of water.
“Jesus Christ, Johnny boy.” Simon punches Soap on the shoulder, “Jus’ shut up ‘bout it.”
“Nooope. Not a chance.” Soap grins from ear to ear, “Yer in love, matey. Yer in luuuuv-”
“Yeah, and yer out of love, you doofus.” Simon growls like a bear woken up during hibernation, all pissed and agitated, “Your ex dumped your sorry arse -”
Price stops their childish mocking and punching with a glance before this could very well turn into a bar fight. He is well aware of what would happen when he puts two grown men with a pile of drinks together; he knows them like the back of his hand.
Price decides to change the topic for now: “On a happier note, our team’s Pornhub account has reached ten thousand subscribers, and our website patron number is heading steadily towards five thousand. I think the stats look promising.”
He might be wrong, but Simon seems gloomier on the changed topic. More sullen. And Simon’s mood doesn’t get better even when Price announces the next round is on him.
Twenty-three days, sixteen hours, and approximately fifty-five minutes.
That’s how long before the bloody silence between you finally crumbles into dust.
Thirty minutes after the get-together with his pals, Simon makes up his mind to take up the suggestions his friends kindly offered - an actual apology.
But his stupid brain hesitates. It’s almost the middle of the night. He is drunk. Hazy. They don’t have some flower shops around here because many people tend to grow the flowers in their front yards. And what would he even say to you? That he’s sorry? That sounds pathetic and weak.
“Sorry I think you were a stalker. Just my friend Johnny had this experience and I have to be cautious.”
“Sorry I’m mean towards you. I didn’t mean it. I want us to fuck … to be friends.”
“Sorry I kissed you. But then you slapped me so I’d call it even.”
No. No. And no.
How on earth are the apologies he comes up with filled with layers of phony and pretentiousness?
He walks up to your door, while knowing perfectly that his house is a few feet away.
Right. Apology.
“Sorry, I think you look like someone. My future girlfriend, I mean.”
The hand he lifts to knock freezes in mid-air.
Certainly not this bloody apology.
Maybe another day then? Another day when he’s more sober.
Simon pulls a few steps back from your porch. On another thought, he advances, and lifts his hand again to pound – he means, knock on your door.
He knocks, twice.
The streets shiver under the crispy autumn wind. It’s approaching midnight, driving Simon’s thought back to the comfort of his residence, with some warm tea and nice buttery biscuits.
Faint rustling of leaves rings everywhere. The cackling of someone’s fence someplace alerts him for a brief second, but that is what it is, iron bars clatter. There is not a living soul on the street in this godforsaken hour.
Right. Another day.
He makes up his mind to leave when the door opens. Your door opens. You drape a thick bathrobe over your shoulders, frowning, “Simon? What are you … What is it?”
The part of his mind that has slightly less alcohol invasion takes you in carefully. Your watery eyes, the lower lip you unconsciously chew on, and the leg bouncing border lining on impatient.
Simon sighs heavily, "Hey, listen … I'm sorry, okay? I was an idiot. I shouldn't have said ’ose things about you being a stalk’r. I’m a dick – That’s … not an excuse, but I didn't think … I'm very sorry …"
You let out an exhausted exhale. Honestly? It’s almost relieving to hear the apology coming out of his lips. But he couldn’t have found a worse time to deliver this speech. You thought his house was on fire or something.
A strange, but not unpleasant smell hits the tip of his nose. He sniffs. Then sniffs again. Simon narrows his eyes. He hasn’t deciphered what the smell is, to be exact, but it is certainly unusual, and his mouth waters simply on cue.
“Look, I appreciate we can work this misunderstanding out. But can we discuss this another time, please?” You rub your temple to ease the tension thumping in your brain. Your mind is just as tired as the rest of your body. Even though your body, your traitorous body gets turned on the minute you see this big hunk of a man at your door; frankly, the last thing you want to do right now is to deal with him.
Somehow, Simon’s eyes travel down. Below your thick white bathrobe, a small trail of creamy substance slowly makes its way down your left calf. Despite the dwindling of the clogs of his mind falling in place, he is able to put two and two together: your arousal is leaking down your thighs.
You can’t help but hug your bathrobe tighter under his scrutinizing gaze, “Well? If there’s nothing else, I’d -”
He interrupts you mid-sentence by swiping his fingers between your thighs, gathering some of the creamy arousal at the tip of his fingers.
“Christ.” He murmurs. “Leaking.”
You let out a shriek. Your instinct is to jump back into your house and slam the door right in his face, but the truth is, you raise your hand to smack him, and he captures your wrist in the air before it swoops down on his cheekbone, and brings it to his nose.
Sniff. Sniff.
Fucking bloodhound.
“You dirty little thing.” He muses, takes his massive body as an advantage, forces himself into your house, and pins you onto the wall, invading your personal space like he owns this place, “Playing with yourself for one second and coming to answer the door at the next? Tell me, do you use toys? Or your fingers alone could do the trick?”
You can smell alcohol in his breath, which makes you glare at him: “You’re drunk. Get out of my place before I scream for help.”
Simon nudges the door open with a kick of his boot. His eyes dart to the opened door before focusing on you, “By all means, scream.”
Your scream thrives for only two seconds, barely making its way out of your throat before his other hand circles your throat. A shallow hold. A forceless grip. Your mind somehow drifts to the toy upstairs. Stained with your juices. Lying cold on your towel.
These fingers are much bigger than your toy. Your mind helpfully supplies.
“I’m gonna take that up as an offer, sweet’art.” Simon runs the tip of his nose over your jawline, murmuring as if you were lovers instead of enemies over the past month, “Either you tell me to back off, or-” darkened desires swirl beneath his chocolate-brown eyes, “or you are goin’ to let me do every-fuckin’-thing I want to do to you. You’re not leaving your bed until I’m done with you and I’m gonn’ stuff you so good that ’ose pathetic audios will never be enough. All you gotta do is to say ‘Thank you, Simon’. ’at sound like a deal to you?”
Your brain has already gone mush at this point, the voice coming out of his hoarse throat seems to have pulled the bones out of your knees and below, rendering them weak, soft, unable to support your body.
“Say ‘Yes, Simon’.” His lips hover above yours, whispering like a man in love.
“Yes, Simon.”
Honestly, you have no idea what you have signed up for, but the fire itching in your core would do whatever he wanted to relieve you of this misery.
He sinks his fingers into your plush thighs, hoisting your thigh up to circle his waist on hearing the confirmation, lips crashing into yours, while carrying you like a bag of feathers to your bedroom.
Your toy swept to the floor with a throaty snigger. Your phone falls out of your pocket when you are put – more like pressed into your own bed.
Must have touched your skin or his, because the next thing you know, the goddamn Bluetooth speaker by the bed starts playing one of his audios.
He spares a glance, disabling the poor thing in seconds. And by disabling it, you actually mean slamming his fist on it.
“Jus’ a pathetic cock slut f’r me, hmm?” He smirks.
That cools your skin, dissolves the thirst you had.
You knit your brows into a tight knot, “Why’d you always do that?”
“Wot?” Stripping, he is soon down to his boxers.
“Be mean.”
He snorts. “Bollocks.”
“There’s a big difference between sounding mean and being mean.” You shove his shoulders out of your way, attempting to sit up, “I like you better when you are behind that screen.”
Simon does not waiver.
Warm skin blooms under your palm, soft muscles and hard plain. Some hard as rocks, some incredibly soft.
“Let me go, Simon.” You push his shoulder, but he doesn’t speak, nor does he react. Dark brown eyes bore into yours, like you spoke Klingon instead of English.
He flips the Bluetooth on again.
“Wha – Si -”
Ghost’s voice booms by your ear almost painfully and heart-strikingly.
Careful, sweetheart, sharp knife.
His hand brushes at the side of your breasts, down your abdomen, circling near your navel.
It is different from your own hands, your own arms, your own fingers.
Foreign. Alien. Wet.
Sweat from the heel of his hand.
Shivers buzzing your exposed skin.
You know everything, every word, every second by heart. The content of the audio. The dozens if not hundreds of times you’ve listened to it.
What scares you and excites you at the same time, is that he’s following every word of it.
The Mr. and Mrs. Ghost script. Two spies making hate more than love when they confront each other after trying to wring the life out of each other.
Trouble thinking? Answer me, sweetheart. Ghost laughs almost coldly.
“What are you doing, Simon – Simon!” Your nails bite into the back of his neck as he descends and licks a stripe between the valley of your breasts.
He gives you a wordless look. But you think you read his silent reply.
They just look so … perfect.
Simon pinches your nipple mercilessly, slapping on it simultaneously as the voice of a crisp slapping echoes in the speaker.
So perfect that I want to make it. Ghost whispers. Hurt.
You scream. Or you think you did. Your pussy clenches on its own.
Traitor.
A gleam flickers behind his eyes.
But that’s not a problem, though, is it? Ghost chuckles. Pain slut. Dripping. Leaking. Already.
Two fingers plunge inside your folds. Filthy squelch rings in your ears and your body. One more authentic than the other.
Oh no, oh fuck –
You widen your eyes, not out of horror, but out of your knowledge of what comes next.
A gentle rub on your long-ignored clit.
The fuck? Did you just slap me?
“Simon!” You cry out, “Simon don’t you dare-”
Two more crisp, swift slaps from the speaker.
Ghost curses.
Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea what you’ve landed. Ghost chuckles darkly after being slapped, three times. It’s only fair if I return the flavor.
A slap.
White hot pain and pleasure shoot through your core. Sprawling over your stomach. Paralyzing your spine. His palm comes in contact with your clit. Hard. Fast. Takes all the breath out of your lungs.
Your slick runs down your thighs, running over the dried-up trails, running into his palm.
A slap for a slap. Fair, no? No? You fuckin’ don’t think so?
“Simon!” You scream, “Fuck you, Si-”
He smears your cream around your poor abused clit, before striking down again.
Your hips buck up violently.
Come on, sweetheart. Just one more. Won’t hurt. Ghost announces, which sounds like your death sentence.
Much.
You think you just died. Squirt on your thigh. His thigh. Tears down the corner of your eyes. Your cheek. You have never cummed so hard so fast.
Sorry? Ghost pauses. Sensitive?
You whimper.
Huh? Didn’t quite hear you, sweetheart. Ghost mocks condescendingly.
“It’s sensitive.” You sob as Simon traces his fingers on your pussy lips.
Ghost huffs out a laugh.
Afraid you have to be louder, sweetheart. My ears are still half deaf from that bullet you shot at me half an hour ago. But I can see this pretty pussy begging me to fill ‘er up. That what you want, sweetheart? To be my personal little whore?
“Fuck me”? That’s part of the ‘slut’ job description, if you insist.
Simon’s lips curl into an amused smile.
You feel his smile on your lips as he kisses you deeply. Licks over the roof of your mouth. Nips your lower lip. Unlike Ghost. Unlike what’s in the audio. Unlike his sharp teeth and tongue.
The sound of the zipper being pulled down.
Uh-huh. This is me fucking you like I mean it.
One deep plunge.
Not so snarky now, are you?
Reaches your cervix.
He moans unabashedly. Grunts. Breathes.
You owe me so much than you can count, sweetheart. I’m tryna’ make up for our lost time.
Slapping. Skin on skin. Panting. Kissing.
Bottoms to the end. Draws out.
That. Ghost grunts. Was for the time you tried to poison my drink in Moscow.
Simon follows every instruction. Every pause. Every comma. Every time the breath becomes heavy in the speaker, he bullies your pussy just as hard.
That. For the time - when you bought out the corrupt police – Christ, stop squirming, sweetheart - and locked me up in a Guatemalan jail.
How. Pants.
Could. Breathes.
I. Fuckin’. Forget. A low groan.
That. Time. You. Nearly. Put. A. Bloody. Bullet. Through. My. Skull. Loud and rushed and wet slapping noise.
Reaches the depth you didn’t know of. Rearrange your organs that felt out of place more than anything. Hitting all the spots you weren’t aware of until now.
I’m being petty? Ghost retorts. Guess I am, then. Huffs. Oh, you want to cum? You can cum as many times, as you bloody please, sweet’art. His Manchester accent slips out in all the anger. Go on, make a mess on my cock. Ah fuckin’ ‘ell, missed this tight lil’ pussy.
Pause. A scream from your lips fills the void.
Stop? You can’t cum anymore? He bullies his cock into your clenching hole again. And again. And again.
Let me make one thing clear- Ghost purrs by your ear. I’ll stop when I cum, sweet’art. ‘Til then, not gonn’ stop shaggin’ you. Coz ‘at wot slut is for, bein’ my personal fuck doll an’ all …
Thick, long fingers find your clit again.
C’mon, sweet’art. Know you’ve got one more in you.
Your nails dig into his wrist. Having just cummed twice, the pressure he puts on your clit felt like scorching flames. Stung and overstimulated.
Jus’ one more. Ghost coos. One more. Jus’ one more.
He rubs with precision. Slow yet undeniable. Even though your legs kicking. Your nails leaving bruises on his skin. Your breath ragged, shallow, broken.
“Can’t … I can’t, Simon … ”
Gonn’ be a good girl f’r me and cum, won’t you?
“Si-”
Right ‘ere, sweet’art. Good fuckin’ girl. Empty yer pretty lil’ head for me.
‘s bett’r when all you could think ‘bout is my name.
His voice becomes strained, tensed. Almost rambling.
Fuckin’ hell, I’mma fill you with my seed. Gonna put a plug in you so it’ll take root. My personal cumdump. Take it, baby, take it. Fuck, fuck –
Stripes of cum coat your insides. Making your whimper and your eyes water in sensitivity.
He collapses on top of your trembling body, covering you up like a thick warm blanket. Soft, delicate kisses bloom over your forehead. Rough pads of his fingers run up and down the side of your arm. It is a harsh fall, after your pleasure skyrocketed, but you find yourself caught by the web he weaved. A dark web with a white skull mask knitted in the middle.
You lift your arms to hug his broad shoulders so that his heart might beat right next to you above the thin layer of skin and flesh. He has yet to pull out, and somehow … you are not in a hurry to remind him of it.
“Hope this is as good as an apology.” He – Simon – says.
A small fit of laughter bursts out of you, some giggles, then he joins as well, rumbling chuckles that vibrate on your chest. It is silly and comes out of nowhere, but this laugh turns out to be just the trick in resolving the tension you have had for days.
“I’ll give it an eight out of ten.” You bite your lower lip from smiling too hard.
“Eight?!” He pushes himself up, staring at you in disbelief, as if deeply offended, “That was at least nine for effort.”
“If you say so…”
Noticing your twitching cheek and the corner of your lips, he exhales out of relief, burying his head in the crook of your neck, grumbling, “You cheeky little … eight?!”
You giggle, “The sound effects of Ghost are a little over the top, don’t you think?”
He muffles your words with a deep, searing kiss, when you feel his cock throb in the confines of your walls. The sight of his sweating forehead and thin lips pushes your heart beat faster.
“Brought this on yourself, swee’art.” A lop-sided grin makes its way over his face, as he surges forward all of a sudden and adds pressure to your already-sensitive clit, forcing a moan out of your throat and his cum gushing out of your abused hole. “Let’s see if we can have a nine, should we try hard … enough.”
Taglist (also tagging the ones who may be interested): @vnknowcrow @splaterparty0-0 @prettygirleli @ksa01 @laciaheavenm
@mrs-marc-spector @msilwrites @kawaiisugarinjectionattack @eccentricallygothic @mothex
@aishidunno @gluttonybiscuits @bittyslxt @cersei-phoenix-thorn @girl-of-multi-fandoms
@reader-1290 @ohdrey89 @brittney-121
Part 1 Part 2
#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#cod#ghost x you#ghost x reader#ghost cod#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley smut
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The End of an Era - Philip Morris Has Left Ferrari
I was considering writing about the Daytona 500 and the state of superspeedway racing, but quite frankly, I didn't want to go on a super negative rant saying a thousand things that have already been said about NASCAR plate tracks.
Fortunately for me, something else happened.
The Decalspotters twitter account noticed that Philip Morris International is no longer listed on the bottom of the page sponsors on the Ferrari website. Using the wayback machine, I was able to confirm that the Philip Morris International logo was still there in November 2024, so they were removed specifically for the 2025 season.
Now, Philip Morris hasn't been on the cars in awhile. Their last attempt, on and off from late 2018 until 2022, was with Mission Winnow, a brand seemingly created for the sole purpose of subliminal advertising.
By 2023 they seemed to have abandoned this plan and the logo on the website changed from Mission Winnow to Philip Morris International, which is how it was all the way up until the end of the 2024 season.
Nobody has run with the story quite yet, but it appears that Philip Morris has finally left Ferrari.
You can still access the Philip Morris page on Ferrari.com if you search for it specifically, but the same thing applies to Santander, and we know they're gone. Ferrari has even signed UniCredit as a replacement bank sponsor.
This is huge, as Philip Morris has been in F1 in some form since 1972 and has been with Ferrari in some form since 1973 when they became a driver sponsor. 1973 to 2024 is perhaps the longest sports sponsorship ever, and even if you don't want to count the driver deals, they've been a team sponsor of Ferrari since 1984, which is still a forty year run.
So is this the end of tobacco sponsorship in F1?
Not really.
McLaren has a partnership with British American Tobacco (the same company that owned BAR and also acquired Rothmans International in 1999, which had sponsored Williams with its Rothmans and Winfield brands). BAT dodges restrictions in a number of ways, with the A Better Tomorrow subliminal advertising brands, as well as Vuse vapes and Velo nicotine pouches.
Vapes, all the health risks of cigarettes with none of the coolness.
I say that flippantly, smoking isn't cool: it stinks, and it kills you.
Tobacco liveries did, however, have a great aesthetic to them. I wish the likes of Marlboro, Player's, KOOL, Benson & Hedges, and all the rest would make like teddy bears or koala heart transplants or something because they made a lot of pretty race cars and their money funded a great deal of racing teams.
Though the problem there is that the very reason why tobacco got so big in motorsports is because they weren't allowed to sponsor anywhere else. Marlboro poured millions into Ferrari, Penske, and Ducati because those were the only places where they could still show their logos.
The most iconic racing sponsors only became iconic because their products were so deadly they couldn't advertise anywhere else.
In fact, a small part of the reason why NASCAR got so big is probably because tobacco liveries weren't that big in NASCAR. The series had a title sponsorship with Winston, and because of the Viceroy Rule - something I've discussed previously on this blog and itself a product of tobacco sponsorship - none of the other cigarette companies could touch NASCAR teams.
So instead of the best drivers being sponsored by Marlboro or Camel or West, they were sponsored by DuPont, Kellogg's, and Home Depot.
Brands that you could market to anyone, even kids.
Thus, the kids of the 90s and 2000s grew up with NASCAR diecasts and wearing M&Ms jackets instead of repping tobacco-laden F1 or CART merch.
There's a lot more to NASCAR's rise than that, but it likely has something to do with why, when the average American thinks about racing, all they know is NASCAR.
And when the entire field decides to wreck repeatedly so that the guy who starts the final lap in ninth manages to stumble into the win, that ubiquitousness of NASCAR makes all of racing look bad.
Positive though, stay positive...
How about a quick rundown on Marlboro in F1?
Well, the story begins in 1972, with Marlboro signing on to sponsor the BRM team. BRM was British, as the name British Racing Motors may suggest, but like their name also suggests, they made their own engines. BRM weren't a garagista team running the Cosworth DFV (Cozzeh!), instead, they were running their own 3.0L V12.
It was in one of these 3.0L V12 BRMs that Peter Gethin drove the car out of a giant Marlboro pack to unveil the car. The Marlboro era had begun.
They won their first race that year with Frenchman Jean-Pierre Beltoise winning in Monaco.
That was their only major success that year, as that win, paired with a 4th in Germany, and then 6th in both Austria and Germany was only good enough for 7th in the standings.
1973 was even worse, as despite running a stacked lineup of Beltoise, Clay Regazzoni, and Niki Lauda, they were still in seventh. In fact, their points total slipped from 14 to 12, and they didn't even have the saving grace of a win or a podium.
Thus, Marlboro went to McLaren for 1974, while Lauda and Regazzoni went to Ferrari, where they'd wear Marlboro patches as well.
The Marlboro McLaren partnership was obviously successful, with Emerson Fittipaldi winning the title in 1974, James Hunt in 1976, Niki Lauda in 1984, Alain Prost in 1985, 1986, and 1989, and Ayrton Senna in 1988, 1990, and 1991.
The success continued when Marlboro went to Ferrari, where Marlboro progressed from mere sponsor in 1984 to main sponsor by 1993, and finally becoming title sponsor from 1997, after the McLaren deal had ended.
Ferrari won the constructors' championship in 1999, followed by Michael Schumacher winning the drivers' championship in 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, and 2004. Kimi Raikkonen would add a title to the list in 2007, Ferrari's last championship to date.
The team was still officially Scuderia Ferrari Marlboro all the way up until the 2011 British Grand Prix. After that, Philip Morris' sponsorship became more subtle, first with the new-for-2011 Scuderia Ferrari logo that many accused of mimicking the Marlboro logo - and it didn't help that it took the engine cover placement that Marlboro's bar code filled until the 2010 Spanish Grand Prix - along with a similar rebrand from Ducati Corse in MotoGP.
That part is all pretty well-known, but what some people may not know if how widespread Marlboro sponsorship really was.
Back in 1973 and 1974, while Marlboro was sponsorship the BRM and McLaren teams, they also supported the original Frank Williams Racing Cars team, with the cars initially known as Iso-Marlboros.
Not too long after, Marlboro would sponsor the Alfa Romeo team from 1980 to 1983, during their McLaren years.
Then from 1988 to 1992, Marlboro would sponsor the BMS Scuderia Italia team, an Italian backmarker that is best known for becoming a Ferrari B-team in 1992 and 1993, the first of those years being with Marlboro, the latter year with Chesterfield as sponsor.
Merzario, Team Rebaque, Fittipaldi, Spirit, Rial, EuroBrun, Onyx, Arrows, Minardi, and Forti would all also carry minor Marlboro sponsorship at one point or another.
That's just the team deals, if I tried to list out all the drivers that Marlboro sponsored...we'd be here all day. Plenty of drivers would have Marlboro on their helmet or overalls with driving for a team with different sponsors.
One such case was Michele Alboreto, who was at Tyrrell in 1989 and had Marlboro paying his salary at the unsponsored team...until Ken Tyrrell secured Camel as a sponsor. Alboreto refused to break off his deal with Marlboro, so Tyrrell had to fire him and replace him with a young up-and-comer named Jean Alesi.
Michele Alboreto then lost his Marlboro sponsorship because he didn't have a ride anymore.
Two races later, Micheel Alboreto found a ride at Larrousse...which was also sponsored by Camel. Meaning Alboreto was wearing Camel stickers on his helmet and overalls anyway.
A very pointless episode, but one that kicked off the career of Jean Alesi.
Jean Alesi who would then race for the Marlboro-sponsored Ferrari from 1991 and 1995.
Tobacco money made everything go full circle.
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Day 8: emails
pairing: demon/angel!fem reader x tf141
word count: 1.2k
tags: not beta read
warnings: +18. mdni
a/n: she's baccckkkk!! It's been a WHILE since I last updated, but now I think I'm back on the boat again. Not totally sure, but I'm feeling much better and will be slowly writing again for this fic, and other fics for other fandoms on ao3 and other accounts on tumblr. thank you for your patience and enjoy <3
ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63142366/chapters/161705329
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/bd2ae4f6dd8e9043119f1bb10724e3db/d7b0a1c2b986e87e-26/s540x810/675a84a74d5303338fe6ac6554a1f8dc7f1d43da.jpg)
*WA = Wish Assignment
*Malak = Angel in Arabic
Angel purposely didn't allow Johnny to fuck her that evening. She wanted to get her hands on him, give him a taste and send him dazed and loopy back to his house and lieutenant. She wanted Johnny to have a taste and crave more, she wanted him trusting and a little pathetically wanting. And Angel managed to do just that when she let him get his thick fingers inside her pussy with one arm wrapped around her back, keeping her arched against him, tits pressing at his hairy tan chest. When Johnny almost pulled her over the edge, he decided he had to get a taste and flipped her around, shamelessly manhandling her on her stomach, pulling her hips up and smashing his face between her legs like he was starving, and maybe he was, Johnny does have a big appetite after all.
When she finally managed to pull Johnny's face away from her wet puffy lips by his Mohawk, she kissed him square on the mouth and sent him home. She didn't even let him change, sent him back home with his stuff in a plastic bag, still wearing that damn skirt in the middle of the street. Hopefully nobody saw him and that big tent between his legs.
Johnny didn't even get to knock before the door was swung open and Simon was there, drinking him in.
Johnny was flushed, smelled like sex and sweet feminine perfume, with glitter smeared across his neck and right cheekbone. Simon dragged him inside the house with a hand wrapped around the back of his neck and Johnny let him. He isn't sure how he ended up in his bed, on his stomach, but he felt exhausted and drunk with beer and pussy, so Johnny closed his eyes and let sleep pull him away from the waking world under the watchful eyes of his Lieutenant, Ghost.
"How was the slumber party?" Gaz asked with a raised brow, nursing a mug of coffee.
Johnny slowly walked down the stairs looking like he was experiencing a nasty hangover, but weirdly enough, his head didn't hurt, he didn't feel sick and really, all he was feeling was tired and content, but especially tired.
This time he changed and was wearing a loose pair of shorts and a hoodie, making his way straight to the coffee machine while the rest of the guys watched him.
"How are you?" Simon asked him, standing by the glass door in their kitchen, that lead to the garden, a mug in hand. He looked extra large that morning, as tall and wide as that door.
Johnny finally looked up, "I'm fine, just tired, Christ…"
He felt as if they fucked like crazy yesterday, or as if he was fucked, which was extremely strange, so Johnny grabbed his hot mug and tilted his head to the side, "It's weird how tired I feel even if we didnae fuck or anything," He gently blew over his coffee and took a small sip, "Next time, you're coming with, Lt," Johnny meant it as some sort of support, maybe if Simon joined them next time, he'll be able to come out of Angel's house feeling like this time, she didn't somehow suck the energy out of his body like a damn vampire.
Or maybe he shouldn't be thinking of a next time, maybe his body was warning him that she was a red flag.
"What makes you think there would be a next time?" Simon asked. He wasn't being mean, and Johnny knew it, Simon just tends to sound dry and mean without meaning to. "You're acquainted with this mouth, Simon, you tell me," Johnny said, smirking a little as Gaz watched the two in silence with wide curious eyes.
"I don't know, Johnny, maybe she's not like that," Ghost shrugged and placed his now empty mug in the sink.
"Nothing a little convincing won't solve," Johnny easily said, stretching his arms above his head and Gaz raised a brow, "Sounds predatory and manipulative,"
"You n' your fancy words, Garrick," Johnny rolled his eyes. If Angel liked him and invited him in her house, she'll like his mates as well, especially since he tends to be a little crazier than the rest. If he was enough of a good boy that she trusted him, the rest of them will be just fine.
"You in?" Simon turned to Gaz. Johnny and Ghost both stared at him in silence, and he sighed, "Yeah," He may as well be in whatever the hell this is, just to watch out for her, like a good Samaritan, or that's what he's telling himself.
"Good," Simon nodded, and that was when their front door opened and Price came back from his run, sweaty and pink in the cheeks.
WA #141202325 - Progress Report
from: Malak - 4294 [email protected]
to: Mr M [email protected]
date: Feb 17, 2025, 9:36 AM [London - Earth Central Time]
Hey Mr M!
I hope you're doing okay and have gone out or something, you need to relax a little.
Anyway, I'm doing okay, I have finally made sexual contact with one of the WA subjects, Johnny McTavish, I think I successfully left a mark and he'll reel in the rest of the humans to me in time.
Kuromi says hi and pls leave that shitty stuffy office for a breather.
Take care <3
Angel XOXO
RE: WA #141202325 - Progress Report
from: Mr M [email protected]
to: Malak - 4294 [email protected]
date: Feb 17, 2025, 9:38 AM [London - Earth Central Time]
Dear Angel,
Thank you for the update, keep up the good work.
Kind regards,
Mr M
PS. Mind your own damn business.
Email Etiquette
from: 666 [email protected]
to: Malak - 4294 [email protected]
date: Feb 17, 2025, 9:45 AM [London - Earth Central Time]
4294,
Please use correct email etiquette when communicating with other members of staff. This is to ensure that professionalism is held and to make sure everyone has a pleasant time at the Wish Agency.
Thank You,
666
RE: Email Etiquette
from: Malak - 4294 [email protected]
to: 666 [email protected]
cc: Mr M [email protected]
date: Feb 17, 2025, 9:50 AM [London - Earth Central Time]
666,
no <3
Angel
XOXO
RE: Email Etiquette
from: 666 [email protected]
to: Malak - 4294 [email protected]
cc: Mr M [email protected]
date: Feb 17, 2025, 10:02 AM [London - Earth Central Time]
Dear Angel 4294,
We sincerely apologise for the automatic email, it was accidentally sent to you. We apologise for any caused inconvenience.
Kind regards,
666
Angel scoffed at her laptop screen and closed it, this always happen every 10 years or so, trying to police her written communications etiquette because apparently they should have no personality and be absolutely robotic in realising human wishes. If you work with humans, you're bound to develop what is called, a personality.
Worst of all, Angel's division specialises in darker/more explicit wishes. Some humans may refer to them as sins, she murdered for her assignments, lied, committed extra marital sex, and so many other messy things, so it's especially annoying when they try to police her into acting professional when everybody knows you'll bend over if she asked, and that is without even using a lick of her powers.
Mr M must've dealt with them for her. That's good. At least he knows how to listen to her sometimes.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/bd2ae4f6dd8e9043119f1bb10724e3db/d7b0a1c2b986e87e-26/s540x810/675a84a74d5303338fe6ac6554a1f8dc7f1d43da.jpg)
tags <3
@loveyhoneydovey @cutiecusp @pinkwigonmytv @mandythemint @itsberrydreemurstuff @tapioca-marzipan @fruitymoonbeams-blog @poohkie90 @chaoticevilbakugo @anubis-reed @thefairybird @skytacvia @marytvirgin @cynicalmnm @maechanexe @t0jis-worm @1800imgay @4ndjelij4 @multitargaryen @lilpothoscuttings @mysticalpandabear @silviafantin15 @marvel-ness @bobastayhigh @originalsimp @ghostiebabyyy @gxldyjess @msdrpreist @whore4dilfs @alexwashere82 @clown-spoon @Ray-rook @urbimom @warenai @darlinglittledevil @jinxxangel13 @sae1kie @0alk0msan @dollymaneater @lilbiguy @mixplara @cipher-nine
#angel on duty#18+ mdni#cod mw2#call of duty#john price#captain john price#simon ghost riley#john price x reader#simon riley x reader#cod#ghost x reader#captain price#task force 141 smut#task force 141#task force x reader#task 141#tf 141#tf 141 x reader#tf 141 x you#tf 141 smut#cod 141#johnny soap mactavish#poly 141#kyle gaz garrick#gaz mw2#gaz call of duty#gaz x reader#gaz x you#gaz x y/n#soap x reader
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This website is dogshit at recognizing "TERF rhetoric" despite slinging that term at every transfem with a feminist consciousness, because it is deeply, deeply invested in reducing "TERF" to "misandrst" and refusing to entertain any critique of the male-supremacy society is founded on.
Like, here's a bitter pill for every idiotic non-transfem who simply refuses to learn what transmisogyny really is: You all spout "TERF rhetoric" a lot. A lot of you believe that you have a specific relationship of trauma and violence with patriarchy that trans women never will, which IS "TERF rhetoric". A lot of you think that trans women have identical experiences to cis men prior to bodily transition, which IS "TERF rhetoric". A lot of you believe that trans women do not have the right to speak authoritatively on misogyny over you, because we will always be "guests" in womanhood instead of authentically women with our own experiences of misogyny, which IS. TERF. RHETORIC.
You are all so intent on jumping at shadows, on equating feminism with ontological man-hate, on calling every analysis of patriarchy "gender essentialism" when a trans woman is making the observations or speaking on how she's oppressed.
But the second--the SECOND--it is time for you to put a trans woman in her place, suddenly she's a man! Suddenly, you recall that men are privileged in our patriarchal societies, that men are capable of violence, that men benefit from the exploitation of women, and you eagerly lay all those sins at trans women's feet. Being blunt?
THIS WEBSITE FUNDAMENTALLY HOLDS TRANS WOMEN AS MORE RESPONSIBLE FOR PATRIARCHAL VIOLENCE THAN THE ACTUAL CIS MEN WHO HURT AND PREY ON US ALL, WHO BENEFIT FROM OUR ABJECTION AND WHO DELIGHT IN SEEING QUEER PEOPLE EVISCERATE ANY SENSE OF FEMINIST CONSCIOUSNESS OR SOLIDARITY, ALL FOR THE SAKE OF DUNKING ON TRANNIES.
Are you idiots still, even NOW when YET ANOTHER "big transmasc" account has been revealed to have been harboring actual "TERF sentiment", not the slightest bit ashamed of the way you enable this? The way you refuse to root out the TERFs among you, in favor of accusing us of either siding with or BEING our own oppressors?
How much of the trans population on this site has spent the past few months scaremongering about my book and politics, instead of engaging with the writings I've put up for free online? How many of you invoke the specter of the 'transradfem' at women simply trying to talk about and conceptualize their oppression, while gleefully imbibing and regurgitating actual Gender-Conservative thought, spreading that poison throughout your oh-so-progressive communities?
You think "transradfems" are TERFs? MOTHERFUCKER YOU ARE THE ONES WHO LET THE TERFS SPEAK THROUGH YOUR MOUTHS.
Is it finally, finally time for this illiterate website to recognize the actual problem?
On my knees begging users on this website to realise that criticising someone for explicitly siding with the transmisogyny-first branch of the anti-trans movement is not "infighting" just because they happen to be somewhere in the trans umbrella
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-,' 4:32 pm || l.b ',-
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/2254f15d7779b2d6fbf7eb9d0da74a9d/ab3dcdae1688b5b2-50/s540x810/108fc6b5faa7d3db62e88cace3221a6b89acca72.jpg)
synopsis: in which you're trying to study with enzo
ela’s note: first piece on this account (YAYYY), this is so much shorter than what i usually write but trust me, i'll have more content eventually
warnings: short, fluff, stubborn and sleepy reader, established relationship although not mentioned
word count: 265
“no, sectumsempra is the spell that was made by the half-blooded price,” enzo rolled his eyes before pulling out his textbook.
“it’s densaugeo, lo, i remember this.” you scratched your head in a way that screamed that you were irritated.
“right here.” enzo’s finger laid on a few sentences under the heading labeled sectumsempra. “i’m sorry, love, but you’re so wrong.”
you took a second to read the words that he pointed to, over and over, making sure you weren't hallucinating.
you swore it was densaugeo.
“i hate your guts.” you flopped back into your chair, putting your head in your hands and jokingly screaming to emphasize your annoyance.
it was 4:32 pm on a random friday, and on monday, you two had a huge defense against the dark arts test.
“no you dont.” lorenzo sighed, putting the textbook away and looking over the material you two needed to know.
“i’m not even supposed to be here, i was meant to have my nap 15 minutes ago.” you frowned.
“well, we have to study,, and our weekend is occupied.” enzo said, softer than the previous sentences he exchanged with her.
“i know,, but i physically and mentally cannot do this when im running on 5 hours of sleep.” you sat up, resting your head on loenzo’s shoulder.
"fine," lorenzo sighed, grabbing his jacket and wrapping it around you. “i expect you to wake up in 15 minutes.”
“yeah, yeah. just wake me up, trust the studying will be dealt with.” you leaned into enzo more, allowing the sleep to finally take over before knocking out.
i do not permit my work to be copied, translated, or reposted on different sites
dni if you support pro-life, racism, homophobia, transphobia, antisemitism, sexism or anything along those lines!
reblogs and notes are always appreciated otherwise <3
dividers: @cafekitsune
#lorenzo berkshire x reader#enzo berkshire x reader#slytherin boys#lorenzo berkshire#enzo berkshire#lorenzo berkshire x you#enzo berkshire x you#slytherin boys x you#slytherin boys x reader
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Feel free to ignore this because you probably understand already how absolutely horrific this is. Buttttttt
“Less of a person and more of a horrific amalgamation of whatever the smol bean hitler tboys on tumblr are currently arguing about”
Mais, I could point out like this six levels of horrific transphobia and transmisogyny that this one statement has. 
But it’s always good to actually hear them say that they don’t view people who believe in transandrophobia, especially transfems, as people in the same way they view people that agree with them. This statement right there is the personification of this kind of rationality. This is why I also think that they consistently called you and others a “group of sock puppet accounts”, they can’t even comprehend a person believing in transandrophobia(especially when transfems do), so they can only view people who believe in transandrophobia as a “Less of a person and more of a horrific amalgamation”. And if this wasn’t so transphobic, misogynistic, like 7 levels of f up, it might actually be funny because it legitimately sounds almost indistinguishable from conservatives talking about communism. Less of actual people more of a horrific amalgamation of political positions given to them by the evil communist dictatorship.
Going on from that I don’t see how someone would write talking about a trans person, let alone a transfem, as “Less of a person” and more of a collection of horrendous positions, I mean, that’s just straight up dehumanizing, do you not realize how transphobic that is, how misogynistic it is? And then having the gall to say that you cannot come up with your own original opinion and your get them from evil men, I can’t tell you where I’ve heard that before. I just wow. How do you write that and think you are progressive, how does one just depose these two positions? 
Hmmmmmm I can’t say that I didn’t see all of this coming. I can’t say that when I finally gathered enough information to make a coherent position about this ideology, I knew this was going to end in straight out dehumanization. They don’t view as us people, they view us as political positions that need to be defeated and destroyed. We’re not people we’re more of a horrific amalgamation of positions, right? Thus anything that is said or done is justified. From extreme transphobia , to racism, to antisemitism, to insert the list of like horrific things people have done. And you know what I’ll say. It’s on both sides. And I will hit anybody and everybody who does that shit.
Now I will admit, sometimes it’s hard to decouple a personhood from their political position. But if you’re going so far as to say that a person(or a group of people) is their political position and thus use that as justification to commit violence against them, I think you need to be so incredibly wary about that. Because once you justify somebody down to their political positions, especially if it’s once you don’t agree with any type of violence you do to them is justified. Killing, raping, ethnic cleansing, this is where dehumanization the of the enemy lead you. For me even with like Nazis, I want to kill their ideology. I do not want to kill them, I want them to come over to the left, I want them to change their positions, I want them to grow as a person into the best version of themselves. And this leads into a whole different conversation that I don’t think we have time for.
I don’t know, I think if you’re getting to the point that you’re viewing your debate opponent as “less of a person” you need to take a step back, get off-line, and I don’t know go get a nice lunch or something, fuck I’ll pay for it! Because you’re already getting to the point where you’re dehumanizing your opponent, that should immediately be flashing red lights in your brain that something is wrong. When I, somebody with ASPD traits, start noticing that I’m dehumanizing others, especially within a debate, I pull myself back and use the coping tools that my therapist has provided and taught me. And I highly encourage if you find yourself in that kind of a loop to go take a break and go find resources.
Mindless aggression is praxis now, unfortunately.
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YOU and HIM - Upbringing Theory
DISCLAIMER:
YOU and HIM is an +18 visual novel. Therefore, minors, don't interact.
TRIGGER WARNINGS:
Religious trauma. (SA) Sexual abuse. Sexism. Helicopter parenting. Censorship. Domestic abuse. Suicide. Murder and violence.
I finally have some spare time to write this theory down. And by that I mean, I don’t really have the time, but I need some dopamine to start the tasks I actually need to be doing and what better way to do so than getting on this side quest that I’ve delayed for so long. Specially since chapter 3 is currently on the making.
The following post is a long theory regarding Adam’s childhood and upbringing.
Since YOU and HIM aims to be somewhat realistic, I will consider facts from the real world as valid evidence to support some of the ideas drawn here.
Please check the trigger warnings before continuing.
Great! Since I’m awful with introductions, let’s start from the beginning: what we know from the game dialogue directly.
When YOU first meet Adam, YOU mention both his parents in a teasing manner in an attempt to keep the killer talking, and he immediately gets defensive about his mom specifically.
YOU: A Christmas present for your dear ol’ mom and dad then?
Adam: Don’t talk about my mother.
That alone lets us know his mother is a sensitive topic for him. Some theorize Adam hate his mom and that’s the reason behind his visceral reaction to your comment and the terrifying nature of his nightmares. Even though that’s a possibility, I disagree.
His line sounds as a warning to me. “Watch your mouth, don't you dare disrespect my mother.” To back this interpretation, we have this image from the official Twitter account and this old tumblr post that narrates how Adam and his mother once took care of an injured crow.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/2bb08cbe9563324a3370179421300755/0788507cf3e211fd-b6/s540x810/0e9fbb6b9e282ed92f8d87dddd7d89fd2bfed7c2.jpg)
(Art belongs to @YOUandHIM_GAME on twitter)
So then, why does Adam remember his mom as this demonic ghost that haunts his nightmares? Well, because, as we’ll explore later, her mom was traumatized and perceived men’s sexual nature as something intrinsically damaging. She probably taught him this, directly or indirectly (with her actions and reactions), in hopes to guide and/or protect him, without realizing she was demonizing and shaming a natural side of his son. When Adam feels like he’s failing her memory and his promise, her mother appears in front of him, enraged and disappointed, a reflection of what he’s internalized about himself. But this doesn’t delete the fact he holds his mother dear to his heart. I doubt he would wear her pendant otherwise, even if it’s upside down.
On the other hand, he willingly shares some useful information about his father. YOU ask five questions, to which he replies shortly. Let’s examine them in order.
YOU: Does he snore like a boar?
Adam: No.
I would say this first reply is unimportant, but you never know.
YOU: Did he play catch with you as a kid?
Adam: No.
YOU: Does he make corny dad jokes?
Adam: No.
Adam’s father (who we’ll be referring to as Larry from now on) is clearly on the serious side. This lack of regard for fun and leisure may have conditioned Adam to mature early, ditch games and/or toys and focus primarily on studying and whatever chores were expected or him.
This could be subconscious (a very busy parent doesn’t care or give importance to play, so the child internalizes this and matures early in search of approval or attention) or indoctrinated directly (his father punished or was critical/controlling of his playtime).
YOU: Does he barbecue and watch football on Sundays?
Adam: Yes.
YOU: What does he do for a living?
Adam: he’s a preacher for my hometown church back in Tennessee.
Alright. Now we know his father was a Christian, but this alone isn’t enough to determine his belief-system, since there’s a broad variety of Christian denominations.
After some research, I believe Adam’s hometown church probably falls under the baptist denomination, based on:
The word “preacher”: this term is commonly used in protestant denominations.
Tennessee demographics: In 2014, the statistics for religious affiliation in Tennessee show the large majority of the population falls under Evangelical Protestantism. Baptism falls under this umbrella.
Lastly, according to wikipedia, Southern Baptist churches have historically had a significant and widespread presence in Tennessee. The Southern Baptist Convention (SBC) is one of the largest Protestant denominations in the United States, and it has numerous congregations across Tennessee.
This religious oriented lifestyle relates to his father’s reported activity specifically on Sundays. He probably gathered with other church members after preaching.
Now let’s take a look at what we know about Clarissa: Adam’s mom. Let’s start with the old picture Aunt Ruth keeps like a treasure and the memories and impressions it elicits.
Ruth’s POV: The one where she’s in front of her old church the day after her high school graduation. [...] Back in those days, everything was sorted into neat little boxes and anything that stood outside of it was a menace to society. And those ideals matched that of her friends perfectly. So much so, her mother used to tease the six of them about being a hive mind.
YOUr POV: He presents you with a picture of your aunt and four other women. [...] You take your time studying the photo, when something about the woman positioned at the far left of the group [...] captures your attention. While the rest of the women laugh openly, hers conveys a distinct shyness. Almost as if she doesn’t want the others to notice. [...] She’s model-pretty. Distinguishable within any crowd, much like the rest of her friends. [...] and notice how her arms aren’t linked with the others.
Even tho this isn’t directly stated, we can guess from the looks of the women in the picture they're all related to CAKE. I suspect, Adam’s mom, Ethan’s relative, aunt Ruth, King’s relative and Cain’s relative.
From this paragraph, we can presume that the five women in the picture shared strict religious beliefs, and were weary and distrusting of outside sources. They live in a small world with no room for doubt or discussion, which lead them to unhealthy black and white thinking, even if at the time they weren’t aware because they were able to deny and disown the parts of themselves that opposed their ideals.
We get a glimpse of Clarissa’s personality. Shy, too unsure to reach out and link her arms with the rest of her friends. Maybe on the submissive side, the type to never talk back, keep her voice down and avoid conflict.
Ruth’s POV: His cross earring glints in the light, capturing Ruth’s full attention. [...] She knows that earring. But she hasn’t seen it since the unfortunate news about Clarissa came out, and back then it wasn’t an earring. In fact, it was a pendant that belonged on a necklace. A gift she gave to Clarissa for her birthday so many odd years ago.
Ruth’s POV: [...] with the face of the woman she once cared for. With the face of her first love.
We now know Adam’s famous earring is actually a pendant Ruth gifted Clarissa, Adam’s mom, back in high school (since she wears it in her graduation picture).
We know that something unfortunate happened to Clarissa, and now she’s gone. It’s heavily implied she passed away. After that, Adam retrieved the pendant and turned it into an earring.
Adam’s dream sequence: Frantic black lettering bleeds through the paper as if the author was running out of time and scribbled down what they could. [...] Red drips onto the paper from above. [...]
Adam’s POV:
A memory flickers like a candle wick, one of murky red water and the drip of a bathroom sink and-
Remember what I told you when we first met? [...] Recalling a memory of pink tinted water spilling over the lip of a bathroom tub, the water sloshing against his torn sneakers as he stood there with mounting horror. Tears streamed down his sore face. [...]
We don’t know much, but from Adam’s flashbacks and dreams, I believe Clarissa committed suicide. The exact method she used is unclear (hanged in the kitchen/ bleed to death in the bathtub). Maybe she attempted against her life several times until, one day, she succeeded. What exactly she went through that lead to her bruises and a deteriorated mental health?
Firstly, I’m going to assume Larry and Clarissa met in church. Since it is said that Clarissa and her friends were religious as well and rejected those outside their religion, I think she must fall under the baptist denomination as well.
This implies Adam’s household was founded under two pillars:
Information control.
Since Clarissa and Larry rejected any input aside their religion and lifestyle, they would probably try to raise Adam away from outside influence. This includes supervised television, homeschool, etc.
This would explain why Adam has developed quiet interests over time (mainly reading) and doesn’t know many, if any, pop culture references or movies/tv shows (answered in the Official Old Tumblr account, deactivated in 2023).
His hobbies outside the home would also aim to trap Adam within the church social circle. That’s why he spent his time singing for the church chorus.
Not only was censorship promoted, but violence and persecution against "heretics" was as well. This may be partly why Adam grew up desensitized to violence.
Examples of hateful sermons in this video, also linked at the end in resources: https://youtu.be/W2I-59uDtIk.
Traditional values
I will specifically tackle the different and unequal treatment towards men and women.
Women must stay submissive to men, whether it’s their father, tutor or (and specially) their husband. As some ex-members of the church describe it: Women in church were constantly battered housewives, constantly afraid of everything. They have to ask permission for everything, even making a phone call.
Women are expected to take care of the house and the children, cradle their partners and comply to their every wish.
On the other hand, men make all the decisions and run every aspect of the house. They are in charge of finances and are encouraged to punish and correct any misbehavior. They aren’t supposed to have a sensitive side or show emotion, in hopes that compassion or emotion would cloud their judgment and prevent them from imposing their dominance.
We actually get a confirmation Adam was severely punished for crying, and it wasn’t an isolated episode:
Little Adam’s POV: He can’t get caught crying again. Not after last time. He can still remember the acrid scent of cigarette smoke and the suffocating darkness of the shed, his palms flat against the rotting floor as he waited with his head bowed. No, he’s learned his lesson too many times to count.
Both genders aren’t allowed to wear nail polish or piercings. Hair dye is also forbidden, specially since it’s a standard of feminism and the LGBTQ+ community, and those two diametrally oppose their beliefs and are seen as a threat to morality.
Power imbalance, desensitization and dogmatic thinking patterns are the perfect combination for domestic violence and cruelty.
In Clarissa’s case, she probably was often targeted due to her naturally shy and fragile nature. Softness is weakness to be taken advantage of. And retaliation is not an option.
By now, you can probably guess where this is going, but I suspect Clarissa was repeatedly abused (physically and sexually) by Larry. We’ve already seen Larry is capable and has beaten his child.
And Adam remembers his mother covered in scars and bruises, crying and begging for Adam not to turn out like his dad, and this memory surfaces the moment he’s about to masturbate.
Adam’s POV: Did his father think he’d give into his desires? Did he believe he’d grow up and become just like him?
Ruth: It’s your fault she’s gone! You’re the reason she endured everything she did. It was all for you, and yet you killed her! Your entire existence destroyed her! I told her she shouldn’t have gone through with her pregnancy, but she wouldn’t listen. What he did to her, you know that all started because of you, don’t you? But she never told you that because she wouldn’t want you to blame yourself, but you should’ve. And now? And now she’s gone because of you. You took her away. [...] You Goddamn piece of shit, you took her away, again!
According to old testament bible laws, if an unpure woman gets assaulted by a man, they shall both be punished. But… If the woman in question was a virgin, the abuser must then talk to her father and marry her to pay for the damages.
Outside the bible, abuse is excused, justified or hidden in other ways. When someone influential in the church abuses someone, the victim is met with: God uses that sexual abuse to make you grow closer to him. As if the pain and trauma was a gift to be cherished.
Prior to the abuse, women are always aware of the hungry gaze of men. They can't show any skin, for it would be their fault to cause a fellow man to stumble. Men’s desires are perceived as not their own, but an impulse women have to cater and are guilty of awakening.
At the same time, sex itself is taboo and condoned outside of marriage. Abortion is also condemned, and it’s considered a synonym of infanticide.
So women walk around scared and uninformed, surrounded by men who won’t take accountability for their lust and will force the women they find attractive to own up to their twisted behavior. Even going as far as threatening the victim to stay quiet if they don’t wish the abuser to spread how the woman came onto them instead.
Ruth points the start of things spiraling with Clarissa’s pregnancy. Several reasons could explain this.
It’s possible that Larry didn’t plan on settling down and Clarissa’s pregnancy was an unexpected inconvenience. Since he can’t be at fault for anything, Clarissa is to blame for having the baby, and, in his eyes, she should accept the violence since she’s the cause of his frustrations.
Abusers may start to show their true colors after a baby, because if they threaten the child’s safety, then the mother has no choice but to endure the abuse in order to protect their kid. Also, since they become weak and maybe even lose their jobs after giving birth, they are completely at the mercy of their husbands financially.
Moreover, homosexuality was seen as a sin. Ruth was confronted about her love for Clarissa head on, and I suspect Clarissa knew about her feelings. If not, why treasure a simple birthday gift even after years of separation and “betrayal” ? (since Ruth didn’t support Clarissa in the slightest after her pregnancy, wanting to essentially escape and rewrite everything that happened, beside things we don’t know about that are probably far worse than a hurtful comparison). I think Clarissa returned Ruth’s feelings and would’ve never willingly slept with someone else. Her shy and prude demeanor in the photo further supporting this idea she wouldn’t come onto anybody with lascivious intent.
So, in summary.
Clarissa and Ruth were in love.
Larry sexually assaulted Clarissa. There are many possibilities here. I think probably Clarissa was ashamed and manipulated. She kept quiet and “started dating” Larry. Maybe she told Ruth, or Ruth ended up discovering the true nature of her relationship with Larry after the pregnancy was announced and the violence started.
Clarissa gave birth to Adam.
When Adam was a child, Clarissa and Ruth got separated by Larry for some unknown reason. Her comments and actions probably caused a lot of problems in the marriage, hence why she got confronted directly by Larry on her crush and why she’s deadly afraid since then.
Clarissa raised Adam alone and, meaning to protect him from his dad while sustaining a sense of normalcy, as many housewives do.
Clarissa died when Adam was already grown up. Seemingly, she committed suicide, but if Adam is looking for answers to this day and has a mysterious promise to keep, maybe her departure is not that simple.
How did this affect Adam and how he navigated his childhood?
For starters, he hates the smells and flavors that remind him of his dad, like cigars and alcohol.
He also can't handle being genuinely spooked, and heavily prefers quiet past times.
He was probably told directly or indirectly how her mother’s suffering was his fault. How being born was a long life burden to her mom, and one he must atone for.
(In this context, his name is another layer of fucked up. Adam is the original sin, he alone condemned the world to an existence of suffering, all because he let his obligations aside in favor of his lover. And humanity spent the rest of eternity repenting, awaiting a forgiveness that only came in heaven, after a life of unwavering devotion to God).
He believes himself to be inherently bad. All his actions and choices aim to correct this perceived wrong that was never a wrong in the first place.
Adam has a clear distaste of his father and grows up in fear he’s bound to become "just like him". I think this is where his rebellious nature comes in, questioning the word of God and the sociocultural perspective his parents feed him. Specially when he’s a first witness of hypocrisy, lies and irreversible harm.
Going back to the beginning, Clarissa probably nurtured Adam and shared with him the few happy memories he can recall from childhood. He wanted to make her happy and make life easy for her.
Adam’s POV: He’s never cared much for extravagant things despite people always offering them left and right. He was taught to never want them, to never accept anything beyond his means, something he holds onto to this day.
Notice the phrasing. He doesn’t say “I never liked that kind of thing” he specified he was taught to not want them.
You can’t be taught “unwant” something. You can be conditioned to reject something, tho.
You can be taught to believe your wants and needs are immoral, and your objective is to suppress and act directly against them.
When punitive, shaming or guilt-tripping is applied to reframe the very nature of our innocent desires, that function as our inner drive and guide to our sense of self, we lose touch with who we are. Taking pride or shame in committing to the role, while suppressing any emotion, locked as unacceptable and disgusting.
Even if his mom loved him, she indoctrinated him to a certain extent and made him believe he can't trust his desires because they're intrinsically bad, even if she did it with good intentions. Adam is a bad seed and can only aim to "do the right thing" by sticking to her memory. That's why he sees her as this vengeful spirit, there's a duality within him.
This leads to a complete disconnect of the emotional self. You grow numb and uninterested, dedicating your focus to "performing at a high standard" and blowing off some steam in a controlled environment. How? By directing your inner rage towards the outside world. You see yourself in this filthy scum, and if you don't deserve to live, they should die for not being able to control themselves.
That's Adam's life. Guided by an Old Testament of rules too outdated for him to grow, but too engraved on his skin for him to set himself free. The only feelings available are "reward" and anger.
Despite going on tour after tour, Adam's world remains small; the same as when he was little.
That's when YOU come in.
It's not about the kiss itself. It's about the novelty. An unexpected (but pleasurable) occurrence that put his status quo upside down.
The lore alarms went crazy the moment YOU mention, you remember Clarissa, but can’t recall from where. Sure, it’s certainly possible that she reminded you of Adam, since they look alike, therefore explaining the sense of déjà vu. But let’s recall Ruth and Clarissa have been close friends since high school, at least. Maybe YOU met Clarissa when YOU were little. And not only her. Adam too. It’s been said multiple times in the official Twitter/X account that Adam managed to handle his sexual desires just fine until YOU came around, and not just because you kissed him. It’s like something about YOU specifically ignites something within Adam, and given the context, it’s very likely YOU and HIM met a long time ago and just don’t recognize one another, because you both changed a lot growing up. Ruth even says she only picked up on Adam’s identity due to his pendant. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have a clue who he was.
Regardless, his sexual attraction awakened a hidden side of himself. A vulnerable, sincere and needy fraction of his identity, which holds the key to solving his inner turmoil.
If he lets himself explore this part of him, it might be a strong enough catalyst to help him open up to other areas of his life.
I believe that's the deeper reason behind Adam's fixation on bondage specifically.
He wants to experience all these new pleasurable sensations, but he feels too guilty to do so. Being forced into it gives the conscious mind an excuse."You're restrained." There's someone else in control. It takes the blame off what you're feeling, so you may indulge in your secret desires.
If he sees nothing bad happens after the fact, he may allow himself to unwind in other ways and find himself again. The tender parts of him he abandoned a long time ago.
It would be naive to believe he can be completely redeemed after killing people. But I sincerely believe he's a sweetie at heart, and I hope he has the best outcome possible. But if the narrative demands otherwise (which is very likely, lmao)... welcome the angst and long live fanfiction, am I right?😭🔪💜
So, what do you think? AND WHAT’S THE MEANING OF Anthemis cotula !? 🌼 We’ll never now.
I can’t write a longer theory because all those extra juicy facts and snippets for the upcoming chapter are on the patreon. You can find the link on the twitter of the game. Please, support the creator if you're able.
Please let me know your thoughts in the comments. I wish all your hopes will manifest in real life soon. Good night and sweet dreams, everyone.🌙🪄
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Lovely commission by @you-and-him
RESOURCES:
Tennessee demographics: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Demographics_of_Tennessee
Evangelicalism: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Evangelicalism
Southern Baptist Church:
https://youtu.be/bPZTP9_0mbI
https://youtu.be/6gSjUpBxVEU
Trans person infiltrates hate church: https://youtu.be/W2I-59uDtIk
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Having thoughts.
Having "I really want to write something" thoughts about the whole Lazytown thing...
Having thoughts about how I already have written things down and stupid nicknames Glanni gives Ithro....
Thinking HARD rn
#glanni glaepur#glanni glæpur í latabæ#sportarobbie#robbie rotten#sportacus#mineblr#lazytown#i've spent too much time on Ao3#finally making an account on it to write this#i'm too weak to resist the temptation
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What are your headcanons about Marcille's mom if you have any? It's interesting that what drew Donato to her was cause she lived the history he studied, or that was said somewhere at least. She must've had an interesting life.
so this was going to be just a normal answer but then I realized I have a Lot of Things To Say. so here goes, a compilation of what we know for a fact from the canon, what I've extrapolated from the visual cues and details, and my theories based on all of that.
Things we know for a fact about Marcille's mother because they were explicitly stated in the manga and supplemental materials:
She was a court mage for a Tall-man kingdom at the southern part of the Northern Continent
Donato, a court historian, fell in love with her because she had lived through the history he was studying, and he courted her for 17 years (age 15 to 32) before getting married
She was a cheerful person who rarely showed extreme emotion and took things as they came
She always cooked a huge meal for Marcille on her birthdays
She remarried a gnome after Donato's death and a short distance away from Marcille's childhood home
Pipi, Marcille's pet bird, was actually older than Marcille and originally belonged to her mother (bird died at 62)
She was extremely heartbroken when Donato died and ultimately ended up instilling a deep fear of mortality in Marcille with her words
the only time she showed extreme emotion in front of her family was when Donato could no longer eat his favourite dish near the end of his life.
She scolded Marcille for being cruel to ants (implying she can have a stern side when needed)
Things that are explicitly shown but mostly through visual cues
She has a very distinctive style of dress always involving a ribbon choker (mirroring Marcille's habit of always wearing a matching choker with any of her outfits that don't cover her neck)
She was almost stereotypically good at housekeeping and traditionally "wifely" things (very frequently depicted wearing an apron or doing some domestic chore when not at work, seems to have been an avid cook).
She knits? (also, note the affectionate smile as she's looking at Donato and Marcille reading a book together in the full panel)
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She was as excited for Marcille's milestones as Donato was.
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She didn't tell Marcille much about elven food
(there are a couple things that this panel in particular implies:
She lived a good deal of her life (if not being born and raised) in a mainly elven country in the West, implied by her knowing enough of an elven region's cuisine to prefer Tall-man food over it
seems to have a pretty carefree and casual demeanour overall, if this is how she replied to Marcille asking her about it (sounds like she never gave her culinary preferences that much thought to begin with)
slightly related to number 2, it seems like she and Marcille had a fairly casual parent-child dynamic (especially in comparison to the Toudens' memory of their father)
(local elf tastes Italian food once and never goes back))
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However, she seems a lot more... serious in most of the other times we see her? Almost like the very stereotypical archetype of a graceful elf.
Subsequent conclusions about her personality:
Usually pretty carefree and cheerful at home, has been a loving and attentive parent throughout Marcille's childhood (while not being so doting that she didn't discipline Marcille).
Slightly more conjectural theories on her personality:
Had a much more graceful and professional personality at work, which would explain the more serious portraits we see of her.
Given that both she and Donato had positions at the royal court, it seems a little odd that she'd go out of her way to do all the housework herself, so maybe she just enjoyed doing it?
Now taping all the evidence together and toeing the line between analysis and fanfiction:
It's clear that she loved Donato very much and was utterly devastated by losing him. But there's one thing that really stuck out to me in what little we see of her:
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Doesn't she seem... angry? The way she's gritting her teeth, clutching the tablecloth, and how this is the first and only time we see her eyes opened that wide. In the following panel, you see her being quiet and dejected after her initial outburst. She's still crying very intensely, but her brows are furrowed, and she's not really responding to Donato's affection in her body language.
We're not told the details of how she felt about losing Donato other than that it upset her. But this, to me, implies that she was angry and resented that he was aging, that the end of his life was approaching. An "it's not fair" type of preemptive grief. And if this was the first and last time she cried like this in front of her family, she was either very good at coping in private... or very bad at letting herself feel unpleasant emotions until they become unavoidable and end up overwhelming her.
It's not too remarkable a detail on the surface. It's even reminiscent of what the audience has seen of Marcille. But... when it comes to the big picture, you'd think an elf who voluntarily chose to marry a tall-man and have a half-elf child would have been better prepared for this.
It kind of recontextualizes her cheerfulness to me.
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"I'm sure everything's gonna be okay!" (or some variation thereof, depending on what translation you have).
And this is stated to contrast her extreme grief when finally confronting Donato's failing body and eventual death. But I'm wondering if... maybe this optimism was why she was so upset. What if she went into all of it thinking "everything's gonna be okay"? What if she was a little young by elven standards, and just followed her heart thinking that her own resilience would get her through anything?
Of course, only to get completely overwhelmed when she actually loses Donato. She turns into a completely different person. And that's heartbreaking on its own-- but what the audience sees is the effect it had on Marcille. Can you imagine being her, watching your invincible and upbeat mother suddenly lose all the light in her eyes in one go?
I've already made a huge post about how I think Marcille models her "work persona" off her mother, but another thing that stuck with me as I was looking for more details in the manga was this:
copy pasting from the other post i made about it lmao it's like... the second she resigns herself to lifelong pain and terror, there's another portrait of her mother facing her like this. with their heads bowed, in mirrored body language of resignation and despair and sorrow. Except it's posed like Marcille is still looking at her mother but her mother is looking away.
It took me a second to realize, but I think that it's a visual metaphor for the fact that Marcille's mother was the only long-lived role model she had-- and she failed to model healthy grief for her daughter. I don't say this as an accusation or to disparage her as a character, but just as a matter of fact. In her, Marcille was seeing herself older and losing a short-lived spouse or loved one of her own, and all she saw was hopelessness.
But her mother didn't mean to instill hopelessness and terror in her. She wasn't really thinking of how it would truly affect Marcille at all (at least, that's how I'm interpreting her looking down and away from Marcille in the metaphor), she was just sad. And she, in her own way, was trying to protect her daughter and help her prepare for future losses.
What she meant was "loss is inevitable, and you have to learn how to be in pain but live on anyway." What Marcille heard was "loss is inevitable, and you will be scared and hurt for the rest of your life."
Again. Marcille's mother doesn't feature explicitly in the story the way her father does -- but in so many ways, her shadow, her silhouette, her reflection is always hanging over Marcille.
All that to say... headcanon-wise (everything from here on is 100% without evidence lmao), I'd like to think that she matured and realized that she failed Marcille. I imagine her being regretful about it, wanting a chance to fix it but never finding a way to insert herself back into Marcille's life when Marcille is so so so busy becoming the most accomplished mage possible. I imagine her being herself again, now, so many years after her loss and after remarrying -- but with her cheerfulness tempered with a lot more wisdom and the pain of having gone through loss like that. I think the second Marcille actually tells her what happened in the dungeon, she'd want to go running to her daughter again -- if Marcille tells her the full truth instead of just being embarrassed she let things get that far. (oh, the tragedy of her wanting to be more like her mother and an accomplished adult who doesn't need to be babied... being embarrassed to actually tell her mother how much she fucked up...)
There's also the tension of her having remarried -- I know that there's at least a little bit of resentment that Marcille harbours about that, because she's childish like that at heart even if she makes an effort not to externalize it. I think that her mother would be aware of that, potentially adding to her sense of guilt and apprehension at trying to reappear/intrude on Marcille's life. I honestly don't think Marcille has met her stepfather -- or even considers him a stepfather rather than "mama's new husband" and kind of a total stranger. I think she and her mother actively don't talk about it in their correspondence, like an elephant in the room.
but, ultimately, I think her mother is on her side no matter what. Ancient magic? Dark necromancy? Sure, she'll feel guilty and like she was partially responsible for setting Marcille down such a painful path, but she wouldn't care. that's her daughter!! she would've moved back west and been petitioning for her at the court, buying a house right next to the Canaries barracks and visiting her every day that she wasn't on a mission. And if her husband had opinions on Marcille becoming a "dark arts user," he either gets over it or it's divorce with him. Yes, she might have had her optimism completely humbled by losing Donato like that -- but she's still headstrong and self-assured and she doesn't care what people think of her. It's her way or the highway and she's always going to be in Marcille's corner.
(She also needs a name lol. I went with Juno, just to be cute about "Marcille"s closest real life equivalent being Marcella, which is the female version of Marcellus, which in turn is a diminutive of Marcus, which was derived from Mars. Absolutely in love with Marcille potentially being named after Ares/Mars the fucking god of war btw)
#asks#she could easily be interpreted as distant or neglectful after Donato's death too#with how little involvement she has in Marcille's life/the fact that Marcille doesn't even mention her when talking about her life prospect#and that's fair! I will argue to hell and back that she was a loving parent when Donato was alive#but there's nothing that suggests she remained a loving parent afterwards#I just think that like... parental relationships are so complicated in dungeon meshi#you cannot deny that the toudens' mother loved them dearly but that she failed them both miserably as a parent#and i think it'd be more compelling if Marcille's mother was a little like that too#not a totally and easily dismissable deadbeat#but someone who truly loves her daughter but was only human herself and couldn't be what Marcille needed at a crucial moment#and regrets it deeply#and that the distance between them is mutually self-imposed by complicated feelings of guilt and fear#and a little resentment from Marcille's side that she hasn't really properly processed#I don't know if I'll ever get around to writing it but i had this idea where Marcille does finally spill the beans to her mom and she just#immediately arrives in Melini#and its awkward for a bit but they do finally have a heart to heart and air it all out#and marcille starts freaking out that her marriage is rocky rn bc her new husband wants her to distance herself from marcille#on account of the crimes and all#marcille's like no you can't blow up your marriage for me and her mother just shuts that shit down#'you didn't choose to be born. i was the one who made that choice for you'#'i brought you into this world and i'll be damned if i don't take responsibility for that the entire way'#'you are entitled to *nothing less* than my unconditional love.'#and obviously that's not a sentiment that's exactly healthy as a universal statement about parenthood#but i think its what her mother would believe and what marcille needs to hear#and dungeon meshi does such a fantastic job at just... letting imperfect things just *be* without having to justify it immediately#it expects the audience to do their own critical thinking#and know that its not trying to make sweeping universal statements in every instance#marcilleposting#marcille donato#junoposting
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New Year’s resolution is to finish the Kara fanfic and write for fun
#kara#Going through this account makes me so sad#I’m finally going to respond to all inbox queries trust 😤#aru shah#the pandava quintet#writing#Someone bully me into writing the fic please#It’s 3:13 AM and I should probably be asleep 😔
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