#i just really want to make this work 😭

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you too," he whispers back.

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

AND THEN THE ENDING !!

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

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

harvest of purity — sunghoon [ 박성훈 ]

pairing ⦂ sunghoon ⨯ fem. reader

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

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

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

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

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

You were positive that it was something they wanted. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe all your father really was is the executioner. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s safe to have a little fun. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“None of that. It’s not what-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think you reminded me of a lamb.” 

“Pardon?” His brows furrow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What keeps you there?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hop on. Let’s go somewhere else.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Both?” his head tilts. 

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

“What do you mean? What did he do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sunghoon, do you trust me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I’ve never had-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay…” you swallow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[justevelynnnn]

Starved

Summary: Viltrumite!Mark is an eater

Warnings: MDNI🔞, Mentions of cunnilingus, reader is afab, mention of Stockholm syndrome, tiny bit of voyeurism

A/N: I’ve been meaning to put more invincible stuff out but i’m just busy i swear😭

Anyways, I’ve really been wanting to write Viltrumite mark because i literally need him like asap. I’m not the best at writing him tho especially cause this is my first time so sorry abt that. Also i was too lazy to proofread this guys 😭👎🏾💔 i’ll do it later maybe

(Also idk the artist, i tried looking but if anyone finds them let me know!)

As much as you hated him, you loved how he treated you in bed.

Especially while he ate you out.

The room itself, it was his, was huge and so was the bed. It was bigger than a king size on Earth. And it was oddly extremely comfortable and soft.

After this mark, who wasn’t actually your mark mind you, literally kidnapped you to make you his wife,—very, very long story btw— you had to become accustomed to living here. Viltrum was….intense, but also beautiful, structured and clean. And so was this guy.

Your mark on earth was awkward and kind. He hated killing. This one? This guy? He didn’t it like he was blinking. And when he laid eyes on you with that stare you couldn’t put an emotion on you knew it was over.

But enough of that.

This Mark was considered royalty here so he could just do.,..whatever!

He doesn’t care where, but if he wants to eat you out he will. It doesn’t help that Mark was your ex on earth so you just let him.

The first time was after some weird dinner thing in the dining hall a week after you arrived. You didn’t follow what they were doing well because, well, you were still traumatized from literally everything that happened. Plus, Mark’s hand was on your knee and inched up every other minute.

Everyone left and a maid started to clean up, but Mark couldn’t wait anymore it seemed. He proceeded to pick you up and lay you on the long table and pull your bottoms off.

“What-” You gasp. The maid looked up and made eye contact with Mark. They promptly left.

“I want to taste the sweetness between your legs.” Mark said in his usual nonchalant way. He stood between your now bare legs with a hand under each knee.

Shock wasn’t even the beginning to describe how you felt then. This guy has only kissed you like once. Now he’s gonna eat you out?

“Um, okay?” You sighed. What’s the use fighting him? “Are we just gonna….like, here? Now?”

Mark just nods once, expression unmoving.

You hate how he just lacks…personality. Sometimes he’s just a statue and it creeps you out how he moves so calculated.

He moves down so his head is between your thighs, his hands still pushing your legs apart so you couldn’t move even if you wanted to, and he immediately got to work. It was like he let himself go. You were concerned at first that Viltrumites just lick one long stripe each time like fucking robots but no. Nope.

Dare you say this Mark eat you out better than your own?

The way he used his tongue against you, flicking and dipping inside rhythmically had you on the verge of cumming minutes in. He groaned and moaned into you like he never tasted anything better. His nose brushed against your neglected clit every now and then which didn’t help.

You wondered why he avoided it but quickly learned he was saving it for the end. When you started twitch and trying to move away from him he held you firmly in place and started sucking on your clit, occasionally letting his tongue flick against it as well.

Then you came like never before. You saw stars. You swore you did. And the worst part was he didn’t even stop. He just kept going, slurping the juices that came out of you as you shook around him.

And then when you were done, gasping for air and still shaking a bit, he just pulled you up off the table and helped you put your skirt back on.

You couldn’t even speak. He just carried on and helped you to his room like nothing happened, his face still wet and all.

And after that night he’d just randomly eat you out. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited either when he started showing those subtle signs of needing you. Whether it was a hand on your knee or him just never leaving your side. Or even the times he’s just….staring into your soul (you did not like those times at all).

It made sense he ate you out like a god, he was one.

You could almost blame the creeping Stockholm syndrome on how he ate you.

“Your petals has the exact sweetness of a fruit from this planet i conquered once.”, Mark said one night between your legs. “A rare delicacy.”

You almost didn’t register it because you were lost in your own world of pleasure.

“Is…is that why, ughh~”, you moaned. You could hardly finish a thought because he just didn’t stop for nothing.

“Why what.” He said before returning to sucking on you.

“Is that why you like me so much?”

He paused like he was thinking about it. Then he shook his head no.

“There is more to why I “like” you.”

You wanted to say more but that was the end of that conversation because he went right back to work. Part of you believed it was stress relief. Another part now went the planet fruit excuse.

Everything else about him was composed. Regal almost.

Untouchable.

He was respected by many Viltrumites here.

But when he was between your legs like this? His heart was a mess. He made many noises you know no one else has heard from him. His eyes would get watery and filled with lust and need.

Not to mention he loved being drenched when he was done with you. One time his face was literally dripping because he got you to squirt on him. He’d always get up too, like it was nothing.

You still didn’t know how to feel about him. He was your kidnapper after all and not to mention he looked and sounded exactly like your ex. It was a complex situation. Even months later you felt conflicted.

But maybe, just maybe, you could get used to this as long as he stayed just as needy to eat you out.

[moon-fics]

hi hi hello apologies if u get a whole lotta notifs from me i’M OBSESESSASSEEDDD WITH YOUR WORK UGH SO SO GOOD got me giggling spending all-nighters readig your fics😭 saw that ur requests are open and what do u think of our sweet sweet bob reynolds and a flirty + really outgoing/extroverted reader? like life of the party bc dawg i am SOOO in love with shy boys as an extrovert makes my heart SOAR ugh love you!!!!!

PLEASE NOT THE ALL-NIGHTERS!!!! I never thought I'd have that honor!! I will write this with all my power!!

You don't know how Valentina managed to get everyone to agree to this. Truly, you cannot fathom what she had to pull to get the New Marvels to attend a gala. Yet, here you are in a gown talking to public officials and important people.

It's not that you mind it, because you're glad to be socializing with people outside the team. It's nice to meet people and not have them know about your shame room or your backstory. It's even better when there's free food involved as well.

You're talking to a group of people who you can't remember the names of, but you know one of them is a journalist. You do your best to instill confidence in them about the team and to keep their hopes up.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Bob wearing a suit with his hair greased back. He looks extremely uncomfortable, and you're so glad he's been working on himself. Otherwise, this place would be a mess. However, he still has his limits and you're sure he's reaching it.

You excuse yourself and approach him. He's standing alone because as far as anyone here knows, he's not officially apart of the team.

"You doing ok, Bob?" You ask while stepping in front of him. He gives a shy smile while nodding his head awkwardly.

"Yeah, I just don't enjoy crowds." He answers. There's still a smile on his face even as he pulls at the collar of his jacket.

"Ok, well, you look like a wet cat. So, let's just fix some things," You say. You don't let him protest before you run your hand through his hair. You shake it out until it's no longer streaked back. Instead, it's parted in the middle again, just as it should be. "There we go," You hum.

"D-does it look better?" He asks with uncertainty. His cheeks are a light tint of pink that only you'd notice. It's adorable to see him like this, and you wish you had a camera. "I don't want to get anyone in trouble for looking bad."

"No one is going to get in trouble for how you look. That would be insane, and I'd honestly stomp on anyone's toes if they mentioned it." You assure him. He still looks like he's trying to hide a grimace. You quickly realize it's the coat that's causing the issue. It's tight around his body, and you know he prefers baggy clothes. "I'll take your coat," You suggest.

"What? No, you'd just be holding it the entire night." He says. You give him no room to argue and are already pulling it off his shoulders. The white shirt underneath is enough to keep his appearance. "S-stop!" He insists while trying to pull the coat back on.

"Listen, if it bothers you that much, I'll just wear it!" You huff.

"Wear it? Won't that look weird?" He asks. He aids you in pulling off the coat and lets you take it. You wrap it around your shoulders, and the warm material feels nice on your skin. He stares at you for a few seconds with his lips slightly parted. His eyes roam over you as if taking in your outfit for the first time.

"Got something to say?" You laugh. He snaps his eyes back to your face and gives a half smile. He's adorable, and you cannot stand it.

"N-no, you just look really nice," He mumbles while rubbing his nose with his sleeve nervously. He glances away from you and looks around the crowd. "Do you mind staying with me? I don't like being alone at functions." His voice is soft. His hands fidget with his sleeves, and he squints his eyes.

"Yeah, I'll stay," You agree. You move to stand next to him and get a glimpse of what he sees. As much as you like talking to people, you wish there was more to do. It's fancy, and the music playing sounds like something you'd hear on an elevator. You'd much prefer some more upbeat songs or at least a ball pit. "You look good, too." You comment.

He looks at you, and there's a twinkle in his eyes. "Uh, thanks. I didn't really know how to dress. I had borrowed it from Bucky," He admits quickly. You're surprised by that because the suit should be bigger on him, not smaller. "It's really old." He clarifies when he sees your confused expression.

"Well, next time we'll just stay home." You suggest. "Besides, I'm a little jealous other people get to see you in a suit," You tease.

He clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. "Y-you are?" He wants confirmation that you aren't making fun of him.

"Oh yeah. I was practically drooling over you when you exited your room," You giggle. He catches on that you're flirting with him and tries his best to play along. Even while his heart is beating way faster than it should.

"Well, I'll, uh, have to take you as my date to one of these sometime," He tries to flirt back. He's certain he's not very good at it, but at least he's trying. "Unless that's not something you want to do. I could totally just wear a suit around the tower more often," He begins rambling.

You slide your hand into his and curl your fingers between his. "Or, you could just ask me out on a regular date," You suggest.

He nods and lets out a chuckle. "I could do that," He shrugs. There’s a moment of silence where you wait for him to ask. Instead, he keeps staring at you with a goofy smile. As if you just hung to stars.

“Are you going to or is this like a waiting situation?” You ask. His eyes widen and he covers her mouth with his free hand. He clearly thought that was him asking you out.

“No, no yeah! I just- I didn’t know if now was a good time or if that meant we were going to go on a date,” He scrambles over his words. “Would y-you like to go on a date… with me?” He asks.

“No, I think you took too long. You’re going to have to wait a week or two,” You tease. You can’t help the sly smile that spreads across your lips. He looks helpless at your statement and it’s almost too much to handle. “Yes, I’ll go out with you,” You confirm.

He lets out a sigh of relief and his body loses any tenseness. “I genuinely thought you were going to make me wait,” He laughs nervously. “I would have but I really wanted to do it sooner than later.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to wait that long either,” You nudge him playfully.

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Love Abbot with all my heart but i’m feining for more robby 😭❤️ i wanna request a hurt/comfort fic where reader lashes out at robby because she’s having a rough day or was dealing with a case that was kinda personal to her? Or maybe they have a really bad argument at work? Thank you 🥺✨

Black Scrubs, Red Lines | Pairing: Dr. Robby x Physician!Reader

The hospital lights never turn off. They just dim slightly, like the building itself is trying to fall asleep but keeps remembering someone might code at any moment.

You're still in your scrubs. Still covered in dried blood and sweat and the acidic sting of failure. The girl couldn’t have been older than sixteen. OD. Fentanyl, maybe cut with something worse. You got her pulse back once. Lost it again minutes later.

And now she’s just another line on a clipboard. Another mother screaming into the void.

You're not crying. Not really. You’ve done this long enough to stay functional. But you’re not okay either, and the worst part is that you could’ve handled it — maybe — if Robby hadn’t come in running his goddamn mouth like nothing had happened.

“She coded twice,” you’d snapped, standing over a tray of discarded syringes. “I know,” he said carefully, hands in his pockets. “But we’ve still got six more post-op in recovery and—” “Jesus, Robby. I’m not asking you to care, just act like it matters.” “Don’t do that.” “Do what?” “Weaponize it. I’m not the enemy here.”

You’d laughed bitterly. “Sure. Just the guy giving me a lecture while I’m still covered in a teenager’s blood.”

You hadn’t waited for a response. You walked out before you could say something worse — like how her face reminded you of your cousin. Like how the last OD you saw didn’t make it either. Like how you still dream about the ones you couldn’t save.

You’re on the floor now, in the locked staff break room. Back against the sink, legs pulled up to your chest. The sterile tile presses cold through your scrubs. Your fingers are twitchy. Like your body’s still in fight mode but there’s no one left to fight.

Then there’s a knock. Gentle. Twice. You don’t move.

“It’s me,” Robby says quietly from the other side.

Your throat tightens. You swipe at your face and stare at the floor. “Go away.”

Silence.

Then, his voice again: “I can. If you really want me to.”

You don’t answer. You don’t know the answer.

A soft click — the door opens slowly. He slips in, closes it behind him, and lowers himself to the floor across from you. Not too close. Just enough to remind you he’s there.

For a while, neither of you speak. You can hear someone’s monitor beeping faintly down the hall. A cart squeaking. The world continues turning, unaware of how sharp your insides feel.

You don’t look at him when you finally say: “She reminded me of someone.”

He nods slowly. His voice stays low. “I figured.”

You wrap your arms around your knees tighter.

“My cousin. Same age. Same look in her eyes when she came to me the first time. Told me she’d stop.” You breathe in hard. “She didn’t.”

You let the words hang. If they hurt, let them. It feels better than holding them in.

Robby leans back against the opposite cabinet. His shoulders are tense, but his face is open. Tired, but open.

“I didn’t mean to be cold,” he says after a moment. “I just… I compartmentalize. Sometimes too fast.”

You glance up. “Yeah. I noticed.”

There’s no bite in it now — just tiredness. He hears the shift and softens.

“I wasn’t trying to minimize what happened. I just didn’t know how to help without making it worse.”

You exhale through your nose. “You didn’t make it worse.”

He raises an eyebrow gently. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You shake your head. “I just… I was already cracked open. You were the first person I saw after she died.” A beat. “It wasn’t fair. I know that.”

He shifts closer, slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. You don’t stop him.

“Hey,” he says, voice dipping to something fragile. “You can break around me. You know that, right?”

Your breath catches. “I didn’t want to break at all.”

He offers a small smile. “You’re allowed to.”

You close your eyes for a second. Let the weight of it settle. It’s a rare thing — being seen. Not just professionally, not just as someone competent or capable. But like this. Raw. Human.

You feel his hand near yours. He doesn’t touch, just hovers. Waiting. This time, you close the distance. Your fingers graze his. He links them gently, warm and steady.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Me too.”

You sit like that for a while. Two tired doctors on a hospital floor, hearts frayed at the edges. Somewhere down the hall, someone laughs. Someone cries.

You just breathe.

And for the first time that day, your chest doesn’t ache from it.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

This is referring to the "Everything we know about Neige" post. I was just going to comment, but since it became quite big I decided to send here.

Seriously, the RSA boys throwing themselves in from of the NRC always gets to me, because they essentially sacrificed themselves to a unknown treat and I love how this shows the difference between the students on each school, and how RSA is always playing as a team instead of the each men for themselves style of NRC. And especially how that strength is the exact why RSA keeps winning against NRC in the intarscholastic spell drive tournament, and has done so for 99 consecutive years!

I love how around the beginning of the manga (also in the game, but I personally fell like the manga explanation was better) Crowley says how because the mirror's choice are always magicians with big potential, that also leads for a group of people who are somewhat arrogant and refuses to work together.

This is such a core part of the story, but I don't see a lot of talk around it, and personally, I think it's one of the biggest charms.

I do really enjoy how even by telling a story though the villans side, the writers were still able to showcase the very core Disney idea that the reason the heros win is because they are working together, opposite to the villains who ,for the most part, work alone and isolated. It also highlights the importance of dialog and conversation while ALSO showing how naive and self sacrifizing most of the heros are, with Neige and Chenya without think twice throwing themselves into the flowers to save the NRC boys.

I appreciate so much the dinamic of this two schools because by that we can see the strengths and weaknesses of BOTH sides.

Sorry if that was to long and sorry for any grammar mistakes or misspellings. Hope you have/had a nice day/night. Take care. ♡

[Referencing this post!]

It was definitely a really commendable moment for the RSA students, especially when Ruggie and Idia (in the same event) wanted to abandon their asses and save themselves 😭

I feel the common sentiment is to claim RSA’s wins against NRC are “undeserving” or impossible to believe when NRC has so many powerhouses, but it makes sense when you consider the philosophies of their students are so different. Neige and the dwarves performed a popular children’s song from the Shaftlands—a song which adults have nostalgia for and kids love, a song which encourages everyone to join in singing and dancing. Vil had a new song made, but the style won’t appeal to everyone and the lyrics are hard and brag about beating down a foe and winning. You won’t win the audience vote if your performance fails to emotionally connect with people.

RSA’s 99-year win streak in magift/spelldrive is no coincidence either. Their cooperation (which is emphasized in their school curriculum as well) allows them to pull victories, whereas NRC often falls apart due to in-fighting. Ace and Grim give an example at the beginning of Stage in Playful Land. Leona also states that their team last year started fighting before the game even started. It's a consistent pattern.

With the end-of-year tournament being a team composed of one member from each dorm (dorms which have strong rivalries and think they are better than the others), there’s bound to be even more issues that arise in a match. RSA wins not only because they have talented students that can work together well, but also because NRC quite literally tears itself apart from the inside out 💀

It's interesting when we think about how the Mirror of Darkness seems to select students that have great magic potential but are also very arrogant because of that same potential. And this also reflects in their morals as well; it's not uncommon to find NRC students willing to use underhanded methods to get their way (Jamil and Ruggie controlling NBC students to be meat shields, Leona in all of book 2, Jade suggesting they use booby traps to take down their Sledathon rivals, etc.), whereas none of the RSA students we've met so far appear to have morals that deviate from that of a typical nice yet naive "hero". NRC values self preservation, independence, and ambition, whereas RSA is far more self-sacrificing and caring for the entire group. It makes me wonder if RSA has a method of enrollment that minimizes the arrogance and underhandedness in its student population (or at least boasts humility or open-mindedness)? As far as we're aware, the students at RSA also have great magic potential... so what makes the students enrolled at NRC arrogant about it and the students at RSA not arrogant about it...?

I think what separates villains and heroes in Disney films is their dynamics with others. Villains often have henchmen or partners in crime, but the villains are definitely presented as the ones in charge while the others are subservient to them. Villains give commands and/or manipulate to get their way. There is a clear power dynamic, a leader and followers behind that leader’s ambitions. Heroes are willing to compromise, and you’ll seldom see heroes bossing around their friends or allies. If people help the hero, it’s typically of their own volition and not because they are ordered to. Sometimes they help because they are moved or inspired by the hero—but ultimately, their autonomy remains intact. The hero treats others as equals and not as a means to an end. Their kindness is a virtue that attracts others to them. It’s a “me against the world” vs an “us against the world” mentality.

[wingfleur]

holy shit i love both your grayson fics (both graysons). i like imagining either one jealous cuz theyd have such different reactions. lemme read the jason todd one too. i love your work ong

eee, hello, nonnie! thank u for the kind words! i really hope u enjoyed the jason fic— i got a brainworm, blacked out, and emerged w 1000 words of freak shit... whoops! and i’m about to do the same thing here! 😛

but as for the graysons... i don't think jealous!mark has ever really crossed my mind for real up until now. kinda shocking, honestly, bc i think about him a lot, but i think it's because i always imagine him in scenarios where he and reader are both young, dumb, and totally into each other. like, there's never much room for jealousy bc there's never much room for anybody else. but now that i'm thinking about it... mark would be so whiny and pouty when he's jealous, LMAO. like, if you're not together, but kinda got something going on and are intentionally trying to make him jealous? you'd literally be able to see his frustration bc he carries it in his shoulders, but it would take him a while to crack and say smth about it. oh, and william shoulders the brunt of his whining. like, if it gets to a certain point, he'll actually start hitting ur phone and beg u to stop ducking mark so yall can sort this out and he can go back to living a peaceful life. but in a jealous!mark x mean!reader scenario? like one where u don't really gaf about him fr, but that's exactly what makes his dick hard 😭? omg... all the other people you've gone on dates with and came to class with hickies from have not been in spite of mark at ALL bc u don't even register he exists half the time. it's literally just u living ur life, and he knows this!!!, but he still gets his panties in a twist over it </3 and i promise u that william is sick and tired of his bullshit in this au too, LOL. he's literally this 🤏🏽 close to telling mark to take his girl problem— singular— and his humiliation kink— bc that's what it is at this point— and get tf on!

as for dick, canonically, i don't think he's the jealous type. he's more of a "tell me if u want me fr, bc if not, lets break up so u don’t cheat on me and i’ll have to compartmentalize it, move on, and break down about it a year later" type of guy. no harm, no foul, but a bit of love lost. but ex-bf!dick? oh bitch, he's another story... and i don't even know if i would call him the jealous type or not bc if you and him are/were fucking around and you tried to push him out of the picture, he'd be nothing but annoying and invasive about it, LMFAO. his reaction is purely situational: the circumstances are what will tell me if he's actually jealous and lowkey-highkey super butthurt about it, or if he doesn't gaf fr and is solely doing this out of spite 😭. and ex-bf!dick doesn't really care about what you want fr either, bc what you need is him, and he knows you know that, yet all you do play... :/ worst part is he's ridiculously confident about it, too. like, he has absolutely no issue forcing himself back into ur circle and poking at ur boundaries bc he knows whoever you're seeing right now doesn't hold a candle to how good he can treat u; its only a matter of time before u drop ur guard. but its okay! what u like is the chase, and luckily, he does too!, but play time is over, sweetheart, so quit messing around and take off them drawls 🤷🏽‍♀️

# — navigation

[vigilantekisser]

dex vs. the emoji industrial complex

masterlist | ao3 mirror

summary: dex has zero social media literacy and doesn't know wtf you're talking about. (1.1k, gn reader, crack, fluff, office friendship, dirty joke, minions, dex tries to understand what memes are; honestly idk why this was so long i just want to have more of dex ig)

It’s just a stupid meme, so you don’t think much of it when you send it to Dex—a low quality, atrociously Photoshopped picture of a puppy with its brain getting poked with an injection, Ritalin pills and a 5G tower in the background: 

     theyre doing this to me at work tomorrow btw [Sent 9:06 AM]

Dex doesn’t reply, not even with his usual stilted “Thanks”.

You’re fine with that, totally; you already know Dex is, well, himself—man of few words and composure and too-sharp jawline… So. You assume he’s just ignoring you as usual, which makes you a little bit pleased knowing you’ve probably stupefied your poor coworker into bewilderment once again.

What you don’t know is that you’re exactly right. Twenty feet away, in a sterile cubicle surrounded by discarded tactical gear and stacks of paperwork, Dex is staring at his screen like it personally offended him.

Dex blinks once, finally, slow like a cat watching a ceiling fan.

“…The fuck.”

 The badly edited puppy has a syringe full of mercury pointed into its brain and someone’s holding an orange bottle of ADHD pills behind it. He rereads the sentence, just in case it holds a secret meaning. 

     theyre doing this to me at work tomorrow btw

He leans back in his chair like a man confronting the unknowable void.

“Is this funny?” he mutters. “Do I say something?”

He opens Google.

     “dog on ADHD medication??”

No luck. It sends him to some Instagram pages with dogs he doesn’t care about, and he closes the tab after seeing a bunch of drama on the PetMD forum. Symbolism perhaps? Puppy = you; mercury = brain damage; the cell tower = some kind of conspiracy… at work… the Bureau...? 

Oh fuck it. He gives up.

     Are you ok?      [Sent 10:40 AM]

Aha, so the man responds. You send back four emojis: 💻💀😭🙏

A few minutes later, your phone pings.

     I hope they don’t inject anything into your head.      [Sent 10:45 AM]

You snort, trying to stifle your snicker. You can hear this guy’s voice in your head. thank u king that’s so thoughtful, you send back.

By lunchtime Dex is three articles deep into “Millennial vs Gen Z Humor: A Brief History of Nihilistic Absurdism.” He doesn’t mean to care, really. You’ve probably forgotten about it entirely but he hasn’t. He’s finally gotten the point of the picture you sent, to his satisfaction, but why is the skull emoticon thing everywhere now? 

     skull emoji meaning      Result: “Used to express laughing so hard you’re dead.”

He shakes his head. That doesn’t make any fucking sense.

The next day, you wake up to multiple messages from Dex.

     Thank you for your dog Meme, it’s very funny.      Work is like that sometimes.      Haha      ☠️      [sent 5:10 AM]

You stare at the screen for a long time.

     ☠️

Actually, you think your hands are shaking now. You message back:

     wtf u know how to use emojis????????????

He replies immediately:

     Yes.      I think

Then:

     🔥

Why is there fire now. What does the fire mean. Is he okay. Your face’s gone hot and you screenshot it for maybe nothing in particular but, well, to look back at later on and laugh harder.

It’s Friday, which is a vacation enough in itself but unfortunately that still means you should be working and processing the latest field report Mockta dropped on your desk. But instead, you’re doing something far more dangerous. You’re messing with Dex again. You send him a photo of someone furiously petting a cat’s head.

     Me rubbing the workweek’s pussy so it finishes faster      [Sent 9:48 AM]

Dex is drinking his coffee—straight black, very sad—when he sees the notification. He reads your caption and almost spits into his sleeve.

What did you just send him.

He stares and reads it again.

“Me rubbing the workweek’s… Oh God…” He trails off, rubbing his brow in anguish. He lowers the phone slowly, looking around the bullpen, the hallway, the exit. Then he turns to his laptop and opens Google. God help him.

     pussy rubbing work week 

He hits Enter and immediately regrets it. A new tab opens. A very not-safe-for-work one accessed through the Bureau Wi-Fi. There’s moaning and a lot of exposed skin. One of the women is holding a calendar. He slams his laptop shut so hard the desk rattles, mind racing.

He didn’t read about this shit in any of the articles he read last Tuesday! Staring into the abyss of his screen, Dex messages back:

     ?

     omg dex it’s a joke      i hopeyou did NOT google that      are u okay

There’s a long pause, an eternity really. You sip your coffee, wipe at your eyes. Then, finally:

     Understood.      Thanks for the explanation     I did but i won’t Google anything ever again.      [Sent 10:21 AM]

The mental image of him in a mortified fugue state, recoiling from his screen, is almost too much—but you manage to swallow your laughter as Ray walks past your desk, shooting you a wary look.

The rest of the day is uneventful. You manage to make a small dent in the field reports. Dex doesn’t message you again and you assume you’ve broken him with the dirty joke, which—honestly—fair.

You don’t see him again until you're heading out, bag slung over your shoulder, keys jangling in your hand. You pass Dex’s desk, and he stands up so fast he almost collides with the corner of his desk. 

“Hey,” he says, voice weirdly formal. He wrings his hands. “Uh. Wait a second.”

You stop. “Yeah?”

He hesitates, squinting as he unlocks his phone, and silently holds it out to you. You blink down at the screen.

It’s a Minion. A fucking Minion. The image is so low-res you can count the pixels, jpeg artifacting all over. The Minion’s mid-stride, throwing up a peace sign. The text reads:

     BestfriEND      BoyfriEND      GirlfriEND      Food      Only Food has no END.

There’s a watermark in the corner that says something like “Susan's Recipe Shack,” straight from the Facebook feed of someone’s divorced aunt. It takes you a second to process what’s happening. And then you wheeze, laughing so violently your knees buckle a little. Two people from Cybercrimes glance up. You wave them away, tears in your eyes.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, clutching your chest. “Dex. Dex.”

He’s standing stiffly, eyes flicking nervously around the room, like he didn’t expect you to react. His phone wavers in his hand. “You don’t have to laugh that hard,” he mutters, starting to pull it back.

“No, no—don’t you dare delete that,” you grab his wrist, still breathless. “You made this? Where did you find it?”

He blinks. “Facebook.”

“Christ almighty, you’re going deeper.”

He swallows, ears red and flexing his hands. “You seem to like them.”

You giggle again and this time somebody mutters something about needing to go home. You don’t care. Dex is still standing there like he’s not sure if he should run away, but a smile’s starting to tug at his mouth too.

“Keep going,” you say, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “I want more tomorrow.”

“…Alright,” he nods. He’s serious but the blush’s absolutely radiating off his face. “I’ll look for more Minions.”

a/n: this is what i was talking about btw

[sweetverine]

hi! can i request a logan x reader angst, where him and reader are together but hes still like really close to jean, him and reader would argue alot and one day after a big arguement the next day logan cant find reader anywhere (make it heavy angst with a happy ending, a girl needs her daily dose of angst😔)

you, always | logan howlett.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, jealousy, pet names (baby & princess)

a/n : hi :3 i hope i've done justice to your request 😭 it was fun to write!!! as always english isn't my first language so if anything's wrong please let me know! also, i had trilogy!lo in mind. I really wanted to write something for trilogy Logan this week and this came up!!!

It wasn't the first time Logan had done this. Saying something and then not following through on it at all.

You didn't want to seem insecure around him, but… and at the time you first noticed it, You felt insecure about her. You couldn't help but feel threatened, leading you to have a conversation with him, who understood the situation—given his past affair with her— and assured you he has no feelings towards her. You didn't doubt his word at first, no, of course not. But now, he seemed to do it on purpose. Why did he seem to be getting closer and closer to her?

What's so funny about her? Why did he need to spend so much time with her? What made her so special? Is it her hair or her powers? Ororo used to listen to these questions too much these last week's. You really didn't understand.

Oh, Another thing that became frequent, bad mood on both sides and being annoyed by the sightless thing.

in bed when Logan decided to show up, it was late, and you were waiting for him. You looked up, meeting his regretful gaze, already knowing your next words before they came out of your mouth, he closed the bedroom door as he threw off his jacket, he was sweating and agitated.

“where were you?” Your question echoes around the room.

“I was training with Jean.” Logan answered, walking to the bed, towards you.

Your face changed, a serious expression taking over your features. It was impossible to hide it, after having discussed it so many times. Today you had seen them together all day, at lunch, laughing with each other, helping with the dishes, and now working out together? Today Logan only spent the morning with you, these situations made your heart ache.

you felt left out, Logan is spending way more time than he should with her.

“How did it go?” your voice, sharp, returning your gaze to the book.

He noticed your sudden seriousness and ran a hand over his face, wiping away the sweat and drying it on his jeans.

“Don't even start.” Logan looked at you, also with a serious face.

“I didn't say anything, Logan” you lift your gaze from your book, a slightly annoyed tone as you speak.

“You're already like this, can you tell me what's wrong? You've been like this lately.” at this, you looked at Logan with a complete frown.

“What did you say? What do you mean, what's wrong with me? I don't know. Could you tell Jean to just read my mind? I mean, these days you two seem like the best of friends.” you were too angry, watching as his face began to turn into one of annoyance.

Logan ran a hand down his face, frustrated, and sat at the edge of the bed.

“I don’t get why we keep going in circles every time you see her near me.”

His voice sounded tired—drained even—but not angry. Not yet.

“Because it’s not just ‘seeing her near you’, Logan. It’s watching you two laugh, whisper, share things—like the world disappears when she’s around.”

Your voice trembled at the end. Not with rage, but that kind of sadness that sinks heavy in your chest.

He looked at you, hurt. “I don’t look at her like I used to.”

“Then look at me!” The words burst out before you could stop them.

“Look at me the way you look at her. With ease. Like it’s natural.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” you said, bitterly. “When was the last time you talked to me like that? When was the last time you laughed with me like that? When was the last time you chose me without me having to remind you that I’m even here?”

“I’m here now.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed, wiping at your eyes, “after spending the entire day with her.” Your voice cracked.

“I don’t even know if you love me… or if you’re only with me because she never wanted you.”

The words hit him like a slap, you saw his shoulders tensed, and he stood up suddenly like you’d physically struck him.

“Don’t say that.” His voice was low, gravelly with restrained anger.

“Don’t say that because you have no idea how hard it is for me to be here… to try. I am trying. I’ve left so much behind, I’ve given everything I could to build something real with you, but it’s never enough, is it?”

“Do you want to know why?” Tears welled in your eyes, but you didn’t look away.

“Because I don’t want to compete with her, Logan. I shouldn’t have to compete for the man I love.”

Silence reigned in the room. He headed to the bathroom, slamming the door, you closed the book and you turned off the nightlight. you buried your face in your pillow, letting your tears spill in peace, The sadness was heavy in your chest, and you weren't able to fight it with anything but crying. just letting it go.

You continued like this until sleep took care of you, Dreams began to appear and the hours continued to pass, Logan slept next to you, without hugging you as he always did, No arms around your waist. No warmth pressed against your back. Just the cold space between two people who loved each other too much to stop fighting.

Even when the sun illuminated the bed, your great sadness persisted, embraced in your chest, not wanting to let you go yet. You had to clear your mind, you ignored Logan's snoring and changed your clothes into something more suitable, washed your face and escaped from the room without making much noise.

The forest air really refreshes your mind, and it always does in a wonderful way. Walking through the trees and stepping on the earth is truly healing. Your thoughts wandered to Logan and Jean, In the intimacy of your friendship, You wonder if she will always have his heart, did he really give his to you as you gave it to him? with trust? full of love?

Tears return to your swollen eyes, spilling out again. You felt ridiculous next to her; she was so... different from you. But she had Scott, right? Why would she want your Logan? She's happy with Scott, right? thoughts took over you.

You walked toward a specific rock, hugging your knees and resting your head on your forearms. Closing your eyes, you listened to the sounds of the trees, the leaves rustling against each other, the breeze blowing through your hair and clothes. Your mind in silence, truly resting from the situation, forgetting for a few minutes and breathing fresh air.

You are calmer now. You felt the sadness lifting off of you, slowly getting lost in the trees and the singing birds. you thought more lucidly.

And without realizing it, it got later and later, you walked slowly back to the mansion, enjoying the forest once again. You should go there more often, you thought to yourself as you opened the door, finding Logan, with a worried face, bouncing his knee over and over again.

“Where the fuck were you?” Logan took you by the shoulders and then touched your face, analyzing you and even wrinkling his nose, smelling your clothes.

“needed to clear my head.” you said, weirded out about this attitude.

“I was looking for you all morning, you didn't have your phone. I looked for you everywhere." His eyes searched yours, You could feel how relieved he was, you never thought you would see him so worried.

“sorry—I didn't mean to cause a scene.” You started, lowering your head.

“I'm sorry.” You could clearly hear those words coming out of his mouth. His gaze was still fixed on you.

“I acted like a dick yesterday, i know i’ve been messing this up. I know I’ve been careless. But I never meant to make you feel like you come second to anyone, especially not to Jean. I swear to you, there’s nothing there anymore. I just... I didn’t think. I didn’t realize how much it was hurting you.” You could see his vulnerability, how real he was with you, how his hands unconsciously squeezed your shoulders.

You were speechless, your hands touching his chest, throwing yourself into his arms, letting them surround you. Your heart beat right along with his. “I felt... too jealous. the thought that that... you were really with me because she... didn't want you, you know..”

Logan hugged you tightly but at your words, he frowned.

“Fuck baby, No. Never.” He whispered, Really confused, why would you think that? He would never use his girl.

“I wanted to feel truly chosen.” your hands clinging into him.

“There were never any other options, princess. It was always you.”

[honeydippedfiction]

Can I get 10 from the smutty prompts ("aren't you such a tease? I'm jerking off to that picture of you, and it's all your fault.") with Justin Herbert? Idk just something about him with this makes me ferallll

I hate how this came out lowkey, I’m definitely redoing this later on and changing it but until then I hope you enjoy this😭

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

#10. "aren't you such a tease? I'm jerking off to that picture of you, and it's all your fault."

Justin Herbert x black!femreader

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

Touring had always come with its own rhythm: soundchecks, flashing lights, screaming fans, adrenaline rushes that came and went like waves. But nothing prepared you for the quiet moments in between—those hours after the encore, when the hotel room felt too still and too far from everything you actually cared about. Especially from him.

You and Justin had been together in secret for two years now. It wasn’t always easy, but in the past month, things between you had reached a new high—something deeper, more intense, more tangible than before. Before tour pulled you away, Justin had been staying with you in your New York apartment, the one you called home no matter where your passport had last been stamped. The off-season had given you a rare stretch of uninterrupted time together. Lazy mornings, impromptu trips upstate, cozy evenings spent tangled in each other on the couch, watching movies you'd never finish. It had felt...real. Like life.

Whenever he had a home game, you flew in. Sometimes he met you halfway in the middle of your schedule. Those were whirlwind visits, full of fast kisses and whispered promises, but they had kept the bond alive. Strong. Unshakeable, you thought.

But the day before he was due back in L.A. to start his off-season workouts, the atmosphere had shifted. That afternoon light felt softer, heavier. The laughter came a little slower. The truth of the goodbye you both had been pretending wasn’t coming now pressed in on both of you like fog.

You were lying in bed, your head resting on his chest, his arm snug around your waist. His fingers traced idle circles against your back. You hadn’t spoken in a while—neither of you wanted to be the one to break the moment.

“Babe, it’s okay,” he finally murmured, kissing the top of your head. “We’ll see each other soon.”

You looked up, your eyes glassy but still fighting the tears. “It’s just... been a while since we’ve had to be apart like this. And now, after everything, it just sucks.” You let out a breathy, almost-laugh. “I’m gonna miss you.”

Justin gave you that soft smile—the one only you ever really got to see. He brushed a strand of hair from your face and tucked it gently behind your ear. “I know, baby. I’ll miss you too. But it’s not forever. We’ll FaceTime. Text. I’ll send you dumb memes in the middle of the night.”

You let your head fall against him again. “I just... I don’t want to lose this. What we have. It’s finally feeling like—like something I could actually build a life around.”

His hand moved to cradle your jaw, turning your face toward his. His voice was firm, quiet, and steady. “Nothing’s going to stop us. Okay? Not distance. Not the schedules. Not the press. I’m yours. Always.”

You smiled through the mist in your eyes and nodded. “Always,” you whispered.

And that night, you fell asleep with your cheek against his heart, lulled by the steady beat that always seemed to calm you, even when everything else felt uncertain.

The next morning came far too fast. You tried convincing him to sleep in, to let one of your team members take you to the airport. But he insisted. So he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other holding yours tightly over the center console. The goodbye was short, like you both knew lingering would only make it harder.

“Text me when you land,” he said, pulling you into one last hug.

“I will. You get some rest. And don’t forget to ice that shoulder.”

He grinned and kissed you again, lingering just a moment longer than usual. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” you whispered, and then you turned, slipping through the airport doors without looking back.

What you didn’t know then was that it would be the last time you'd see him in person for weeks. Schedules didn’t sync, plans kept falling through, and before you knew it, a month had passed.

Now, you were back in a hotel room—this time in Chicago. Another sold-out show. Another roaring crowd. And yet, as you lay in bed in your barely-lit suite, wrapped in one of the plush white robes they always gave you, it all felt strangely hollow.

The FaceTime call had helped. For thirty full minutes, you and Justin had been you and Justin again. Laughing about stupid things, ranting about how your mic had cut out mid-song, how he’d missed his workout alarm that morning. Normal things. Things that reminded you of home. And things that turned very not-normal by the end of the call.

He’d pulled off his shirt while talking, showing off the results of weeks of relentless training—broad shoulders, tight abs, the muscles that made your heart flutter every time. You, never one to be outdone, stood up and let the camera pan your body, your favorite lace set still clinging to your curves from the after-show wardrobe change.

“You’re killing me,” he had groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he leaned back on his bed, biting his lip.

“Good,” you whispered, then winked and hung up before either of you could take it further. It was dangerous territory, and neither of you needed to be caught in the middle of it.

Now, lying there with your heart still racing and the air still thick with desire, you debated what to do with the next hour and a half before soundcheck. You weren’t tired, and the energy from the stage still hummed beneath your skin.

Your gaze drifted to the full-length mirror by the closet. You were still in that lingerie—black lace with delicate details, the one that always made you feel like you. You walked over slowly, biting your lip as you examined yourself in the glass. The way it hugged your body. The way you knew he’d look at you if he were here.

You reached for your phone, heart pounding with equal parts nerves and anticipation. You angled it just right, letting the mirror do the work. The soft, ambient light from the lamp on the dresser gave your skin a warm, inviting glow.

Snap.

You checked the photo once, twice. Then opened your chat with him.

You: Thinking about you.

You attached the photo and hit send before you could talk yourself out of it.

Almost instantly, a wave of second-guessing hit. Had that been too much? Too bold? But a voice inside you reminded you why you’d done it. Justin was a star athlete, young, ambitious, and beautiful. He could have anyone. But he had you. And sometimes, you needed to remind him that you weren’t just the voice in his phone—you were flesh, blood, longing, and love.

You set the phone down and waited. Minutes passed. Then more. You glanced at the clock. He was probably just getting out of practice. Maybe still in the shower. He had meetings today, and the time difference always made everything harder.

Somewhere across the country, Justin had just finished his cool-down stretches and stepped into the locker room, towel slung around his neck, sweat still clinging to his skin. His phone buzzed. You. He grinned automatically.

He made it through the shower, changed, and headed for the car. It wasn’t until he was seated, engine humming quietly beneath him, that he finally opened your message.

His thumb hovered over the screen. He tapped.

And there it was.

Your photo. The lace. The look in your eyes. The message: Thinking about you.

His heart stuttered, and a sound escaped his lips—half laugh, half groan. He almost dropped the phone.

“Damn, baby...” he muttered under his breath, leaning back in his seat, his thumb already poised to type.

Justin picked his phone back up and stared at the photo again, unable to help himself. It was like his eyes couldn’t tear away. The lighting, the confidence in her gaze, the way the lace hugged her body—it was enough to make the air in his car feel suddenly hotter, thicker.

His breath caught for a moment. His gray Nike sweats were starting to fit a little too snugly now, and he shifted in his seat, exhaling sharply. Damn. She was beautiful—his girl. And she knew it too. Not in a vain way, but in that way that made his heart ache with pride and desire all at once. She was powerful, graceful, and so stunning it almost didn’t feel fair. And she was his. That fact alone still blew him away sometimes.

The screen blinked. A notification from her popped up.

Y/N is typing…

Then nothing.

He waited a beat.

Still nothing.

Then the message finally came through.

Y/N: Are you still there, baby?

He smiled at the screen, that soft, private kind of smile he only ever gave her. He could picture the way she was probably biting her lip right now, second-guessing the whole thing. It wasn’t like her to be nervous—not about this—but he understood. Vulnerability had a weight to it, even between two people as close as they were.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to respond right away. God, he wanted to tell her exactly what he was thinking, what he was feeling. But if he texted her now—if he let himself fall into the moment here and now in the middle of his car—he wouldn’t make it home. He’d be pulling over on the shoulder of the freeway trying to cool down. And the last thing he wanted was to have this conversation from the cramped front seat of his SUV.

So instead, he placed his phone gently in the passenger seat and muttered to himself, “Not yet.”

He turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot, the hum of the engine doing nothing to drown out the images in his mind. His thoughts were already racing—playing over every inch of that photo, the way her skin looked against the black lace, the way her eyes locked into the camera with that perfect, sultry gaze she knew would drive him wild.

And then he started thinking about more than just the photo.

He thought about how it would feel when she was finally back home. The sound of her suitcase wheels clicking across the hardwood floor, the way she always tossed her bag down and kicked off her shoes before jumping into his arms. He missed her scent, the softness of her skin against his, the way her laugh filled the apartment like music.

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

I’m gonna make it worth the wait, he promised himself. Every second she’s been gone—I’ll make it up to her tenfold.

The streets blurred past him as he drove, the city giving way to quieter roads as he neared home. His foot pressed a little harder on the gas. He wasn’t trying to speed, but he couldn’t get back fast enough. Every red light felt like a punishment. Every turn, a delay.

Finally, after what felt like forever, he pulled into the driveway of his place. The lights from the porch flickered on automatically as his car came to a stop. He threw it into park, grabbed his phone, and practically jogged to the front door.

Inside, the house was still, the kind of quiet that only made him miss her more. He kicked off his sneakers, tossed his keys into the bowl by the door, and made a beeline for the living room, phone already in hand.

He sat down on the edge of the couch, leaning forward as he opened her message again. The photo. That message. Her asking if he was still there. He could picture her now—still in that hotel room, sitting cross-legged on the bed in that impossibly sexy lingerie, checking her phone every few seconds, wondering if she’d crossed a line.

He needed her to know she hadn’t. Not even close.

His fingers finally moved, confident now, teasing and affectionate as ever.

Justin: Still here, baby. Just had to get home so I could really appreciate what you sent me.

He paused, then added:

Justin: You look so fucking good, I almost drove off the road. I don’t know how you expect me to focus on anything after that.

Then another message:

Justin: I’m gonna make you pay for teasing me like that when you get home. You’re mine, and I’m not letting you out of my sight for a full week.

He hit send, then leaned back on the couch, exhaling slowly, a satisfied grin pulling at the corners of his lips.

Back in Chicago, you were staring at your screen, your heart beating faster with every second that passed. You saw those bubbles pop up and disappear three times now, and you had no idea what to make of it. Was he typing? Not typing? Was he too tired from practice? Or maybe you had gone too far this time?

You opened your mouth, about to take a sip of water, when your phone vibrated in your hand. A notification from Justin flashed across the screen. Then another. Then another.

You swiped, and there it was—his response. Three of them, actually. The first one made your smile widen. He’d made it home safe. And then the second one… your eyes scanned the words, and you felt that familiar heat spread through your chest, down your spine, pooling in your core. Oh, he was into it. More than into it.

You glanced at the time. You still had an hour and fifteen minutes before you had to leave for soundcheck. And suddenly, you had an idea—one that made your pulse quicken and your skin flush even warmer. You sat up straighter on the bed, your mind already racing with possibilities. He wanted you to pay for teasing him, huh? Well, maybe you weren’t done teasing just yet.

With steady hands and a newfound confidence, you moved your phone to the side slightly, the perfect angle for what you were about to do. You hit record on the video, and your heart skipped a beat as you saw yourself appear on the screen—still in that black lace lingerie, the soft light of the room giving your skin a warm glow.

“Hey, baby,” you began, your voice a low, sultry murmur. “I see you got my message.”

You stood up slowly, turning to give him the full view, your hips swaying just a little as you moved. You bit your lip, holding the camera steady with one hand, and ran the other down your body, following the curves that you knew drove him crazy.

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t forgetting about me out here on tour,” you continued, your voice dripping with that playful challenge he loved. “And it looks like I succeeded.”

You let out a soft laugh, and with a flick of your wrist, you hit send. The video disappeared from your screen, sent into the ether on its way to him.

The anticipation was almost unbearable. You paced the hotel room, phone in hand, waiting for his response. Every second felt like an eternity. And then, finally, your phone buzzed with a notification. You swiped it open, your heart racing with a mix of nerves and excitement.

Justin’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he watched the video you’d just sent. He scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaling a string of expletives under his breath. She wasn’t just teasing him—she was absolutely killing him.

He stood up abruptly, phone still clutched in his hand, and started pacing the living room. His head was spinning, his heart pounding in his chest. He hadn’t been expecting this. Not that he was complaining, but fuck… she was pushing him to the edge in the best way possible.

“God damn it, baby…” he muttered, his voice low and gruff with need. “You really don’t play fair, do you?”

He stopped pacing and sat back down on the edge of the sofa, his free hand raking through his hair. His eyes never left the screen, replaying the video for the third time now. The way she moved, the sound of her voice, the way she bit her ip right before the screen cut to black—it was seared into his mind now. Burned there. Permanent.

He groaned, head falling back against the couch as he stared at the ceiling, trying to get his breathing under control. But it was useless. His body was already lit up like a fuse, and she was the match that struck it.

Justin ran a hand down his face, then over his jaw, still trying to think clearly—trying being the key word. But there wasn’t much clarity to be found when the woman you loved had just sent you a video like that. And the way she looked… God. She had this confidence, this magnetic pull that always left him on the brink. And now she’d practically declared war.

He picked up his phone again, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Then paused.

No. This needed more than a text.

Instead, he switched to video mode, flipped the camera toward himself, and hit record.

The screen showed his face first—slightly flushed, dark curls falling over his forehead, jaw tight. Then he leaned in a little, voice low and steady, laced with hunger.

"You think I forgot about you?" he said with a slow smirk, eyes burning with something primal. “Baby, I can’t think about anything else.”

He let the phone drop a little, catching the way his T-shirt clung to his chest, still damp from the shower, the hem riding up just enough to reveal the cut of his lower abs, a tease of the bulge in his sweats.

"You really think you can tease me like that and not get a reaction?" he continued, eyes locked on the camera. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

His voice dipped even lower, almost a growl. “But I promise you this—when you get home, you won’t be able to walk straight for a week. That’s a guarantee.”

He smirked again, a slow, wicked thing, and then ended the recording. He watched it once—just to make sure he wasn’t being too much—then shrugged to himself. Screw it. She started it.

He hit send.

Back in Chicago, you were still pacing your hotel room when your phone buzzed again. Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest as you snatched it off the bed, thumb swiping across the screen with a mix of anticipation and pure, electric tension.

Video from Justin.

Your breath hitched.

You pressed play, and there he was.

He looked good—sweaty curls, that dark, intense stare that never failed to make your knees weak, and a voice that sounded like it had been made just for you. Every word that fell from his lips made your stomach tighten, your legs feel a little less stable.

When the video ended, you had to sit down. Your skin was flushed, every nerve ending tingling like it had been brushed with static. He wasn’t playing anymore. He was serious. And that promise?

You replayed it again, eyes wide, biting your lip to keep in the quiet moan that threatened to spill out.

You looked at the time.

An hour before soundcheck now. Sixty minutes. It felt like a joke. How were you supposed to perform tonight when your body felt like it was about to combust?

You grabbed a pillow and flopped back onto the bed, half-laughing, half-dizzy from the adrenaline rushing through your system.

Y/N: If I miss this soundcheck, it’s your fault.

Y/N: Also… keep talking like that, and I might just book the next flight to L.A.

You sent the messages and tossed your phone onto the mattress, trying to focus—trying. But your body had other plans.

Across the country, Justin was now lying in bed, phone still clutched in his hand, and sent her a voice message.

“Aren’t you such a tease? I’m jerking off to that picture of yours, and it’s all your fault.”

You had been waiting for him to reply for about 20 minutes, and you figured he was either busy with his teammates or in the shower. You got a bit worried he might not like it. Maybe it was too much, too soon.

You were about to give up when you got a notification. It was a voice message from him. You hit play and felt your body grow hot. You could hear the rasp in his voice, and it made you wet.

You texted him back, wanting to tease him.

You: Prove it

You knew that was a risky thing to say to him, but you didn’t care. You wanted him to prove he was thinking about you, that he was stroking himself to the thought of you.

You waited for a minute and then got a video. You hit play.

He was stroking himself slowly, and your breath caught in your throat. You heard his breath hitch, and you wanted him in your mouth.

You were about to text him back when your phone rang. It was a FaceTime from him.

You answered and were immediately met with a shot of his cock.

“Baby…”

You smiled and tried to act innocent. “What is it, baby?”

“You know what you’re doing to me, don’t you? Look what you’ve done to me.”

You bit your lip and looked at the shot again. “I think I know what I did.”

“Do you want me to keep going?”

You looked at the clock and knew you had enough time to do this. You smirked. “Show me what you would do to me if I was there.”

He groaned and started to stroke himself faster. “God, I wish you were here.”

“Why?”

“Because I would be ripping those panties off and bending you over.”

You moaned and felt yourself get wet. “Justin…”

“I would be spanking your ass for teasing me. I’d make your pussy drip for me.”

“God… Justin.”

“Baby, are you touching yourself?”

You didn’t answer and just moaned.

You had your fingers in your panties, and they were soaked. You started to rub your clit and threw your head back.

“Fuck, I want you so bad.”

You opened your eyes and realized he had stopped stroking himself. He was just holding his hard cock in his hand and smiling at the phone.

“Justin, why did you stop?”

“I want to hear you beg for me, baby.”

“Justin…”

“Beg for me.”

You let out a whimper. “Please, Justin.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to stroke your cock until you cum for me.”

 He smirked and started stroking again. He made sure to get the perfect view for you.

You closed your eyes and bit your lip. He looked so good, and you wished you could be there to do it for him. “Justin, you’re so hot. I want your cock inside of me.”

He groaned. “Baby, don’t say that. Fuck, I’m close.”

“Take your panties off. Now.”

You bit your lip again and obeyed. You took them off and spread your legs for him. He groaned.

“You’re so wet for me, baby. I love it. I want you to fuck yourself for me. Be a good girl and do it.”

You obeyed him and moaned loudly as the sensation went through you. You started fucking yourself, feeling him watch you on FaceTime.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck yourself like I fuck you. God, I want to be there so bad.”

“Me too, baby.”

“I would have my cock inside of you right now if you were here. I’d be fucking you so deep, baby. Do you want that? Tell me.”

“I want it, Justin.”

“Say it.”

“I want your cock.”

“You want my big cock inside of your tight pussy?”

You moaned louder and felt yourself get closer. “Yes, Justin. God, yes. Please. I want your big cock.”

He let out a moan and continued. “Fuck, baby. Keep talking to me like that.”

“I want you to fuck me until I scream. I want you to use my pussy and cum inside me.”

“I would make you beg for it, baby. You know that.”

“Please, Justin. Please. I need it, daddy.”

“Fuck. Hearing you call me daddy is making me come.”

You heard his breath hitch and knew he was about to come. You wanted to come with him. “Come for me, Justin. Please.”

“Touch your clit, baby. Come with me.”

You did as you were told and moaned his name as you came. You heard him moan yours, and you wished you could kiss him right now.

“Justin…”

“Baby…”

The two of you were trying to catch your breath when you looked at the time. You had about 15 minutes until you had to be at sound check. You smiled, feeling satisfied.

“Hi.” You giggled.

He chuckled. “Hi.”

“You good?”

“I’m great now, baby. What about you?”

“Very great.”

He laughed. “That’s good.”

You smiled. “Good boy.”

He laughed. “Come home so we can do that in person.”

You felt yourself grow wet again at the thought of him inside of you. God, you wanted him. “Soon, I promise.”

“Okay, babe. I’ll call you tonight, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Love you.”

“I love you too.”

You hung up and cleaned yourself up. You felt great and couldn’t wait until you saw him again. You went to the sound check and got everything done for the night’s show. You couldn’t stop thinking about him, and you couldn’t wait to talk to him again.

You knew that this would make the relationship stronger, and you knew you would have a fun time being apart from each other.

You just couldn’t wait to be back in his arms.

[yesimwriting]

with these last few installments veering more firmly into romantic territory (laying in bed cuddling and kissing), what's your take on louis's perspective? does he not know or is he ok with that level of platonic intimacy between his bi husband and his friend? or is he more like "yes sure our complicated poly queerplatonic/romantic relationship 🥰". does he know about armand's feelings and would he be ok with them being together to any extent?

It's a little complicated, but I see Louis as being closer to the second option.

As far as awareness, Louis can tell that Armand feels something for bestie, but not for the reasons you might think. It's not so much what Armand does with bestie, as it is what he doesn't do to her. Armand's calculating, but he's not extremely tolerant. If he felt nothing towards bestie in any capacity, she wouldn't get away with doing half the things she says and does.

Also, I think Armand is just generally nicer when bestie's around so that he doesn't seem like a bad person/partner, which also has Louis raising an eyebrow.

Because of this, I don't think he's openly thinking 'yes our complex, multifaceted poly queer platonic/romantic relationship <3' as much as he is vaguely aware of the fact that he doesn't particularly mind that Armand seems to have some kind of crush on bestie.

However, Armand's a master manipulator and he only needs an inch to find a way to take a mile. Once he senses any kind of acceptance on Louis's end, he can start laying the ground work. I think that in the early stages, Armand would focus on using Louis's insecurities against him. There's a lot of casual conversation about the possibility of bestie being pulled towards a more traditional/human life if she were to find a human partner that she really loved so that Armand can set himself up as the 'preferred' option for bestie.

I think Louis's apprehensions towards the concept wouldn't be about worrying about traditional relationship structures or jealousy, but more about bestie's well being. Louis's perception of his relationship with Armand has been skewed, but I still think he'd be a little worried about his much more fragile and vulnerable, light of his life best friend being romantic/particularly close to Armand (which probably lowkey hurts Armand's feeling 😭).

I feel like they eventually have a private conversation about the situation in which they agree to let Armand pursue bestie. I think then there biggest problem would be communication. Bestie isn't going to just assume that Louis and his companion of 77 years decided to include her into their relationship, an they don't want to make things unfold unnaturally by directly telling her.

[latexb0n3z]

I’ve seen a lot of criticism aimed at Season 8 of 9-1-1, but honestly, this was one of the most emotionally impactful seasons for me—especially because of how it handled grief. People are picking apart Athena’s reaction to Bobby’s death, calling her cold or angry—but real grief isn’t always graceful. It can make you bitter, irrational, even angry at the person you lost. Bitter, even when you still have people who love you. That doesn’t mean you loved them any less. It means you’re human. Bobby was someone that meant a great deal to everyone. How could you POSSIBLY say Athena’s character isn’t gonna be likable without Bobby and she’s doing too much…. HER HUSBAND DIED. 🤦 SHIT AINT PEACHES AND CREAM. She literally lives everyday of her life with trauma from shit that would kill most people, she’s a badass character. Just when the mfs started living and planning retirement, dude just takes a bad call and DIES. Of course she’s gonna be fucking mad at him for dying 😭 cuz bitch why are you leaving me? Why now?

Others are saying the characters didn’t grieve “enough,” but that take misses the reality of loss. When someone you love dies, the world doesn’t pause for you. You still have to show up to work, feed your kids, pay your bills. Life doesn’t stop just because a huge part of yours did. It’s just the truth. You could be having the shittiest day in the world and people will still get in their cars and go to work, get shit done, and sleep to live another day when the sun comes up in the morning. Especially a POLICE OFFICER and firefighters, like cmon…

And as for the Buddie complaints (valid—I wanted it too,) from a neutral pov—really? These men are dealing with trauma, grief, and emotional survival in different ways 😭. Expecting them to dive into a romantic arc in the middle of all that feels tone-deaf. They’re trying to stay afloat. You think they’re just gonna pause to make a “bedroom ham sandwich” in the middle of this chaos?

This season might not give everyone the shit we so were hoping for—but it gave us something more honest, or at least realistic: complicated grief, and the resilience to keep going anyway no matter how it can change you after.

[christiangeistdorfer]

so considering he kinda appeared out of nowhere on my blog and i forced you all to adapt to him, i would like to give a proper introduction to my guy GÉRARD DUCAROUGE !

here's a little card you could have gotten back in the 70s !!!!!! with his name and wrong year of birth [they made him a year younger!] but look at him... the power... the AURA !!!! don't you want to learn more about him and see some pictures from my nearly 300 items folder ?? i'm sure you do !!

so gérard was the technical director for four formula one teams - ligier, alfa romeo, lotus, and larrousse. he also worked for matra and was team principal when they won the 24 hours of le mans in 1972 & 1973! he is credited for designing the Ligier JS11, the Ligier JS17, Alfa Romeo 182, and all the Team Lotus cars from the middle of 1983 to 1988 [94T-100T] ... except he didn't design them 😅😅 he just kinda oversaw the production of the car without lifting a pencil. STILL these cars just stunning !

just some of the cars he oversaw ! dare i say it, if the car was cunty gérard probably had something to do with it.

he also had a very close relationship with all the drivers and people he worked with. i did want to include his relationship with a few of the drivers but there are SO MANY i wanted to include and i can't keep it to just two words. maybe for another post 👀 anyway i made a picture post with all the drivers he knew but here's a little sprinkle!

besides that, he's just really hot. i wish i could say i love him because he was intelligent and always brought morale to a lacklustre team and very encouraging to others and basically ran an entire team like it was his own personal navy but no. that's not me. though i do love him for those other things! i have no idea why i find him so attractive but dear god. he just always served cunt every time he appeared.

there is a real aura about him !!! he seems so confident in everything he did ! he really went HARD for the open collared shirts and ruffled hair and he would wear a chain necklace and bracelet as well !! and the veins i know that's so weird to say but ughh they are so hot ! he could fucking ROCK the bigass cap and headphones too! and about the sunglasses - he just wore them all the time idk why i think he might have been a bit blind ?? i also love the angry owl look he sometimes gets lmao it looks like he hated being photographed and would death glare the camera if it was on him.

i actually asked sandro about this picture on instagram because that's a totally fucking normal thing to do 😭😭😭 and he said when he took this picture gérard was telling him to piss off <3 in which sandro promptly got tf out of there. i would too, girl, i'm getting nervous.

and he was a smoker idk i think that has something to do with it. not even kidding every single team he worked for had a cigarette sponsor i feel like gérard was in heaven 😅 anyway don't smoke kids !! it makes you too attractive !!

so there you go ! that is him ! i would have included more picture but apparently there's a 30 picture limit i never knew about 😅😅

i will leave this with one of my favourite quotes about gérard from long-time lotus designer martin ogilvie about how gérard made a difference when he joined lotus - ‘[colin] chapman demanded loyalty but ducarouge commanded loyalty. colin would say, ‘i think we ought to do this’ whereas gérard would say, ‘i know we should do this.’

[mintytealfox]

Norton lvl: Intimate

Alice....why are you asking questions that you already know the answer to orz You've only got three and this is what you choose orz Maybe she is just trying to freak him out a little with her 'I know you did it' I feel like we took 5 steps forward and then 500 steps back oh my gosh lol

----- but he EMOTED AGAAAIINNN:

His chat dialogue is pretty darn open and says a ton though 👀🙏 So maybe he wasn't too bent out of shape about this last 'mining accident' question pff

-----

The new Chat Dialogue: (He says a BOAT LOAD YALL!! LOCK INNN)

-Let's see, One, two...great, I've got four damn pennies left to my name. -How do I see the mine? It's just a grave we all dig for ourselves, 'cause we gotta survive. -You ever hear that old nursery rhyme? Two kids went to get water, one tripped and the other rolled down the hill... -Everyone's got a past they don't want anyone to know about. -If I came from your world, I'd want clean clothes too, sitting in a bright house listening to some teacher prattle on. But I ain't got nothing, so I work my ass off just to eat. -The hardest part of the job? Winter. The damn uniform's cumbersome and heavy, and the wind keeps blowing right through it. -People fear losing their wealth, but what really scares 'em is seeing a miner break free from fate. -My dream? Just to get the hell out of this miserable life. -That's enough. We've talked long enough, go find something else to do. (LOOOL) -Hmm, hey. (CUTE) -Lazy bastards just lie around drinking cat piss and eating coal dust. End up choking on it, or drunk and falling off the edge. (wait, you telling me he hates BEER?? and doesn't get DRUNK cause you ain't about to find him fumbling around and dying on accident?!) -Who the hell wants to live forever in this cold, damp, dark hole? -When I'm down in the mine, I always think every day as my last day. -I gotta climb, a little higher, just a little higher. -I can recognize a few words, but I can't stand all that whining nonsense. Folks who write stories don't know a damn thing. -Family? Don't remember much about 'em anymore. -A little sweetness can make a desperate man lose his damn mind. -Poverty, pain, lungs full of dust--yeah, that's my whole damn life. -Good weather? Hell, as long as the mine ain't caved in, that's the best weather you'll get. -If you can take the pain, pain's got no damn end. -Those rich pricks? Always making the poor suffer while they act like they're sprinkling love. -We climb in when the sun rises, crawl out when it's dark... Hell, even rats need a little sunlight. -One day, maybe I'll get myself a place with a roof, somewhere quiet, where I can sleep without worrying. (😭) -A miner's son's a miner, a poor man's son stays poor. Fate's like a damn curse that never lets up. -The bosses I've worked for? They all want to squeeze every last drop outta you, like a damn orange. -It ain't poverty that scares me, it's ending up like those old miners---dead in the mine, no roof over your head, and a squeaky old bed. -I don't expect much from the future, just getting through one day at a time is enough. -The sunset? It's like gunpowder going off in the mine. Boom! (too soon bruh LOL) -What do I like to eat? Bread, milk, tea....Uh, what the hell is foie gras? (HE LIKES TEEEEAAAAAA ;w; <3<3<3<3 and I wanted to know too lol its a "a French culinary delicacy consisting of the fattened liver of ducks or geese") -Tomorrow's another day. More work. More tiredness. More loneliness. Same old grind. ( ;A; ) -People always gotta pay for what they've done -My life? Can't say it's much different from a sewer rat's.

[luvs4matt]

clearing a few things up said by rory in this post.

first i am going to talk about this. when rose kicked them, it was because she noticed the mean behavior coming from the gc she was already in so she kicked everyone else that was also in that gc along with rory.

getting kicked from a gc is not that serious, it’s an oh well moment, but not for rory.

rose blocked her soon after because rory immediately went into her dms cussing her out which below is provided ss of their conversation. she was given the chance to speak to her and she did, just not in the way she should’ve. she did not have to take it to her blog.

next, this.

i was saying facts, not just being rude, that is not the person i am. i was stating that rylee has my same au word for word, 0 differences. i was also using that as my defense for rory sending much hate to my dilf!matt au.

coming to someones defense is actually defending and clearing their name on something when needed, not coming to a girls comments to start issues which becomes harassment, straight insults, and bringing up the girls other friend who had absolutely nothing to do with the situation that wasn’t even a situation before you got involved. (ss here of all reblogs made, all comments can be found under this blurb)

next.

so you and gen just so happen to be good friends and in the same gc while rose and gen had a very public friendship, but you had no mutual friends, nor did you know..? right..

“i was kicked before making the post” so you had 0 intentions of handling it privately! you planned to make a post and start more drama. again.

the jokes about fingering matts butt were not between an adult and a minor directly, and even if it was, that honestly isn’t bad, it is jokes people, not asking a child about their sex life.

you can be harmful to minors when harassing them and leading your friends to do it too! you started at 6pm and ended at 11pm, you ended after i tried to reach out to jules but i was blocked, i tried to reach out to rylee, i reached out to rory directly, i was going to reach out to jules through maria, but then genesis finally answered my message and that is what got you to stop.

i agree, i am not a baby, but my communication was not off. i was not disrespectful before i needed to be and that was shown in past ss which i believe i have now deleted if i remember correctly.

i will not dm you because i refuse to unblock you on any platforms, even if i do reach out, all you would do is try to argue, and quite frankly, i don’t have anything nice to say to you.

next.

this is the one thing rory didn’t lie about. she was not the one to say i was writing ddlg, it was genesis. the same genesis who was requesting a week before hand, and only a day before telling me how much they love and need dilf!matt. they said that because they wanted approval and wanted rylee to like them.

i do not believe i write ddlg because i have my storylines for many things but i do not get many asks actually asking about the au so i have not been able to explain it. or maybe i am just in denial because i get disgusted at some of the things involved in ddlg, idfk 😭.

none of her friends can come at me for ddlg content when the exact words, copy and pasted from rylee’ dilf!matt fic is “once i’m done with my work we can play, jus’ lemme finish first, okay baby?” and the context of this is reader riding him. that is some shit i would never write because that is literally something predators say to little girls.

next.

i never posted anything publicly about rylee until i started being harassed and rylee can tell you that herself. rory was the first to say anything publicly, and was also the one who made it drama, it was not any kind of drama before rory inserted herself.

i really don’t care if i name dropped first, i was trying to get my point across, and people would’ve figured it out anyways.

if coming at someone is politely asking someone why they removed my au credit then they get attitude with me, then i guess i came at her many times.

you did say hurtful things to me, if the things you did wouldn’t effect me at all then why would i go through everything i did after the fact? i will not get into all of these things because i don’t want it to seem like i am looking for sympathy.

i started the au before it became semi common on tumblr, i started it a year ago after searching for 6 MONTHS of anything close to my au on all platforms, no dilf!matt found, none of the same persona, so i made the au and assumed i made it. it came to my attention very recently that i did not fully create the au, but i do still believe i was the first to write him in that way, i was the first to start writing him multiple times instead of just once and making him an actual character, and popularized him on tumblr. it did become a “commonly used au” until recently, not a year ago when i started. i had every right asking for credit of an au that i was under the impression that i started because no one corrected me the whole year. after i was made aware of me not being the first, i reached out to everyone, besides rude bitches, about me no longer needing credit unless inspo was used.

to this anon, i did not respond earlier because i simply did not feel like it, and did not want to deal with anymore of your bs about me “dragging it and always posting about it”, but i will respond here since i bet you are reading this.

all of these posts have been made in the last week which was either only talking about the situation or mentioned it.

all of the apologies were half assed and didn’t mean anything. they either apologized that it was POSTED, copied and pasted apologies, used memes, or blamed others on tumblr.

my own personal notes.

everything with maria has been cleared up on all ends, but for her sake, please do not mention her in any posts or mention her in any of these drama posts. this is just a precaution so nothing of these sorts interfere with her mental health. if you have any questions, you can come to her yourself, but if you are not nice and don’t approach it correctly then you will be blocked and i will be fighting you 🩷 (i’m joking chat… but not really)

same thing goes for rose. please do not mention her in posts made, i don’t like seeing my friends mental health being ruined over tumblr so please do the same thing for rose as maria! if you have any questions regarding both of them, they are both open to answering if approached the correct way, if for some reason you do not have access to ask them said questions, then you can message me and i can ask for you.

tags — @cvnntagiouss @bernardsbendystraws @mattsmatcha @nickssidewitch @nickspennies @mattysangelgirl @y3sterdaysproblem @chrisspussygang @tripoutsweirdos

[hyperfixationcenter]

My full review on the Eltingville Club comics

After a long month of work I've decided to treat myself to read ALL of Eltingville Club, overall this was one of the funniest and saddest comics I've seen AND BEFORE I START!! If your new to the fandom or haven't found a place to read it: https://batcave.biz/27970-the-eltingville-club-2016.html have fun!!

Alright, this is a long one so if you love extensive overviews your in luck!

My favorite moments ੈ✩‧₊˚ Jerry being geeked out is really funny to me

THE WAY THEY LOCK IN 😭

Josh being a bisexual for a panel

I actually love jerry in a hoodie he looks so cutie

Good to know that Pete knows how to read

Me listing off my hyperfixiations to make me feel better

Idk why but Pete's reaction is so funny to me 😭

For some reason Joe looks way better in the comics, still a dick head tho

A moment of clarity for the boys

Common Josh L 😭

fuck'n 😮

Top 10 moments before disaster

THE ZONEEE

Josh being an absolute hater

The slow decline of man

Greedo318 gotta be my favorite character

Bill being a classic manipulative little shit

The one time Josh and Bill actually team up 😭

PREACH PETE!

You wont like me when I'm angry ahh Bill 😭

This Fan, This Monster ੈ✩‧₊˚

One of the most saddest chapters and the one that absolutely broke my heart as much as anyone who's read this comic.

Now we know what happened to Iron Jaw

It was kinda sad seeing Bill in shock that Joe isn't really that cool

I feel SO BAD for the geek girl

Its nice to see Pete stand up for the others

THE INFAMOUS FIGHT SCENE!!

PETEEEE MY KINGGG 😭😭😭

The most HEARTWRENCHING PANEL OF MY LIFE

My Overview ੈ✩‧₊˚

They just wanted to enjoy friends who liked the same things they did but power and greed can corrupt anyone and so manipulative minds that were raised from broken families learn that if your not at the top your nothing in this life. I understand that people have hyperfixiations and obsessions but what happens when someone loves something so much they lose what they have in their real life.

Many times mentioned in the comic people who were ex fans tell Bill to repent and stray away from his fandom that has corrupted him and twisted him into a man with no soul for anything else than a lust and hunger for things that aren't even real.

It does show a real harsh lesson of obsession and how far people will go to achieve such heights. The eltingville club was a very funny comic but the end made me think for a minute about how people like to go so far for things they can't achieve, in doing so destroying their own lives. I feel we could learn a lesson from this comic, weather it be about obsession, relationships, and oppressing sexuality to keep a quota. I loved this comic, and now to read the epilogue.

STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT POST!

ELTINGVILLE CLUB FAN OUT!!! 📕

[liesineyes]

A little late but I finally got around to re-watching episode three and thinking about it - honestly, so far, I would say this episode was really a strong one. If you kick out the nsfw scenes from the first two episodes, I would even say I liked this episode the most out of three.

- starting with Charlie getting experimented on, yeah, like I love this. I need to see more of experimenting and on Charlie, because Charlie whump is always welcomed.

- Lol, I really hope Chris is Chris, not Way because the sass? I loved the eye roll and the sighing before he stormed out. Though I agree with Pete here, Charlie needs to be there in the hospital if Babe got into an accident.

- Charlie peeling oranges and then giving those looks, I genuinely think there's a bit of foreshadowing here too because it already feels like there's something wrong with him and it is not just about miscommunication. He seems to be glitching to me at so many times.

- Willy, omg. Damn, Milk is doing such an amazing job? That was some really clingy scene which made me want to jump on the screen and punch the shit out of him. He is so clingy, but he is pretty so I will give him that. Also, did we just see him teleporting? I think his power is either speed or manipulating time. I am still thinking when he rounded that corner and went ahead, it did feel like a snap, like for a second, only he was moving but who knows. But that was smooth. I almost whistled.

- I genuinely liked the miscommunication between Alan and Jeff. It is heartbreaking to see Jeff thinking he would have been a burden, even though I understand Alan's anger too. If it is Jeff's first relationship, I don't think it means Alan doesn't have the right to be angry. Yeah, ignoring him for days was a bit too much of a stretch but honestly if you think Alan being powerless and not understanding how things work, it makes sense.

- Kenta smoking. Kenta brooding in Pete's house. Kenta standing in the shadows wearing a black tshirt. Oh, Kenta. I need to see him smoking more and more, though I hope he doesn't ruin his lungs.

- I like how Charlie confessed what he was feeling and Babe assured him. That was sweet and the hospital corridor hug - cute. Though I have to shake my head at these dummies. Babe being so overconfident in their relationship while Charlie doesn't think he is worth anything, yeah give me more trauma.

- I am not sure if Dean is actually a mole, but honestly it would be too predictable if he is, so yeah I am going with he is not for now. I never thought I would open up to this character, lol. He is cute, encouraging Jeff to communicate with Alan and giving him ideas.

- Babe getting shy of intimacy in public? Excuse me? Aren't they the one to call each other Mama-Papa anywhere and everywhere? (I like how we all think Babe is shameless but also he gets flustered when Charlie kisses him in public)

- Kim and Kenta in one scene having eye contact - I must be in heaven to experience such pleasures. But okay, Kim. We know you aren't going anywhere except saving Kenta's ass, and then pinning him down on that brown table, and oh also, getting back hugged by him while spying on Tony.

- Pete opening up to Chris while Chris eating the dinner Pete bought. Oh, nice. I like their pair though I think, genuinely, that Pete and Way had more chemistry (which shouldn't make sense but it does😭)

- I probably know Sonic being the mole makes the least sense but I keep thinking Sonic gave North the lucky charm but what if it is like a tracker or something to spy on them. I must be crazy.😭

- Oh, Charlie almost won the race but then lost his sense? I doubt he would lose it forever though, I think it is going to come back. (Did we have any confirmation of this? Please remind me if we had.)

Overall, what an episode. How am I supposed to wait for a whole damn week for the next one?