synopsis : At a retro 1970s summer camp, the arrival of a charming new counsellor Taehyung marks the start of a sinister summer. As campers begin to disappear, the staff insist nothing is wrong ; but you know the terrifying truth.
Genre/ Warning : 1970s slasher/horror erotica romance mini series, porn with plot, Age-gap, oral sex ( fem receiving ), overstimulation, big dihh Taehyung, size kink, lots of marking, unprotected sex ( yk better ), creampie, Dub-con, 18+ MDNI, dirty talk ( i tried ), penetrative sex, praise kink, authority figure Taehyung, objectification, toxic devotion, mentions of smoking and tobacco.
word count : 1.7k words ( pretty short )
divider cred , cross posted on instagram under the name "kkthsmutz" --- i'm always active on instagram
The summer of 1976 was already hotter than hell. The kind of heat that makes your clothes drenched in sweat and every breath feel like a curse, yet me and my friends decided it was a perfect time for a summer camp. Away from the usual, the constant academic pressure and the millions of pending assignments—A little swim by the lake, paint ball fights, pulling all nighters with hushed voices and leaving with myriads of memories to remember and recall. But no one expected the disappearances.
I didn't expect him either.
Kim Taehyung, the last minute counsellor assigned to my friend group. He was well known even before the summer camp officially began—Rumours spread like wildfire that he was a replacement for the counsellor who recently quit.
But every whisper about him subsided when he walked into the lodge, He carried himself with pure confidence, tall and quiet demeanor, with a hint of mischievousness in the shallow of his eyes. Chestnut brown hair cast upon his forehead, cigarette between his lips, rolled up sleeves emphasizing his forearm muscle quite well.
I knew I was in trouble.
The first few days of the camp were a piece of cake, out of a teenager coming of age movie, if we ignored the scorching heat and lack of water as supplies were across the wood—yet it was all bearable. But what I couldn't nudge off was him. The way he handled things so gently and calmly unlike the other burnt out tired counsellors, The way his eyes roamed over my body appreciatively whenever I wore denim shorts, How he would find any excuse to talk to me, how his eyes would be on me even when the lodge was full of mess—maybe I was delusional and imagining things. But all that fell apart after the first disappearance.
2:34 am--- My cabin
I was alone in my cabin, everyone else out searching for Samantha, the girl who went missing last night. It was all a bit of a mystery, some speculating she ran away as she spoke a lot about how frustrating life was for her, some speculating she was murdered. Rain started falling, soft at first, then in heavy sheets. Thunder cracked. The lights flickered, casting a dew over the raven black sky.
And then the tranquil knock on the door echoed before opening. I jumped, but it was just him—Taehyung, soaking wet, shirt clinging to his chest, jaw tight. “You shouldn’t be alone…definetly not tonight”. His voice raspy as if he had a cigarette before coming here. I swallowed, goosebumps trailing all over my body. “Why are you here?”. He shut the door behind him. Locked it. “I couldn’t sleep…not with everything happening out there”. I gulp, seeing him walking closer, his gaze already undressing me.
I’m so cooked. I backed up, step by step, until the edge of my messy bed caught me. I noticed how his eyes drifted to my lips. The storm raged louder. My body shivered, but not from the cold. There was something in the air, desire, need. He stepped closer. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me?”. I said nothing. My silence answered his question. “We shouldn’t do this,,” he growled, pressing his body against mine, his hard muscles amusing. “But right now… I don’t fucking care”.
His lips crashed onto mine, they felt eager—As if he was waiting for this moment all summer. His slender fingers grip my waist, lifting me onto the bed, my fingers simultaneously tug at his shirt, pulling it off of him in a hurry. His torso was stunning, not sculpted or muscular but built enough to make my breath hitch and my hands halt.
“Are you sure?” he whispered against my throat, teeth grazing your skin. My moan encourages him to continue. I could feel the wicked grin of his against my neck. My skin automatically heats up. Clothes vanished between flashes of lightning. He was gentle—his hands moving and exploring my body, painfully slowly. His eyes roam over my naked body admiring it, as if it was the most scrumptious thing he’d ever laid his eyes on.
His lips travelled down from my chest until halting near my abdomen before he looked up, giving me time to pull away if I didn't want this. My eager nod earned a chuckle from him as he dove in. His tongue grazed my folds, tasting my wetness. “Your’e dripping…fuck”. My hips buckle up, arching a bit as he starts eating me out leisurely. I couldn’t help but get wetter and wetter, he looked up from between my legs at my hazed face.
He nibbles gently on my clit sending shocks across my body, my thighs tighten around him, trapping him in. “loosen up angel…come on”. His messy mummer hits my ears, he must’ve realized I was going to come soon. My legs shake around him, watching him observe every expression and moan of mine. My legs shut with him in between as I come hard before falling back on the bed.
I feel the mattress beside me sink, before his protective arm pulls me back into his body, spooning me. Comfortable silence spreads the room, the storm outside gets gentler, dying down. My hands caress his hands on my stomach. “Do you think there's a killer out there?”.
I calmly ask him. Oh,” he murmured softly, his lips brushing my temple, “I know they are.” I froze, safety was unsure now. Shiver runs down my body, maybe it was from the fear that there's a killer out there…or maybe the way his hand grazes my body affectionately
8:07 pm—campire circle.
Everyone was on edge, even if they didn't show it and duct it with fake smiles. The unease was still present and thriving. Samantha was still missing. Now followed by another—Liam. He hadn't shown up ever since the past midnight search for Samantha in the woods. I had sat across taehyung on the log. His eyes are always on me, even in such situations he remained stoic in front of others.
He didn't fake laughs like the other counsellors assuring everyone that Samantha and Liam are probably bunking camp together as if anyone was buying into their pathetic excuse. My discomfort subsided as my eyes met his, his gaze sharp and piercing, his jaw tight, hands clenching and unclenching as if he was trying to keep his hand to himself after what happened between us. My thighs automatically tighten, pressing together as I felt my own body reaction. My eyes follow his movement as he gets up, passing by me but not after whispering— “tool shed. Now.”
8:17—tool shed
The air was musty with oil and old wood, the faint scent of metal and gasoline clinging to the walls. A single flickering bulb hung above. And there he was. Taehyung, sitting on a workbench, legs spread, cigarette between his fingers. Black tank top. White knuckles. Eyes that devoured my soul whole.“You came,” he said, voice rough.
I step closer to him “you called”. He stood slowly, towering over you. “Sorry I couldn't meet you in the morning, I was busy”. I hesitantly say “Like a body?”. I knew I couldn't trust anyone in such horror situations, I've watched scream plenty of times to know the lover's a suspect too. He smirked—boyish, mischievous.
“Would that scare you?”. I didn’t answer, his smirk was evident he was denying my accusation. Instead, he pushed me back against the wall with a chuckle at my silence, hands sliding up my thighs, beneath my shorts. “Because you didn’t look scared last night when you were screaming my name.”
He kissed me hard, almost angry. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as he lifted me onto a shelf cluttered with tools. The danger turned me on. The way his hand found its way up my shirt—palming my chest so eagerly,thumb teasing my nipple until my head fell back in pleasure. “Taehyung—”. I whimper. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day,” he muttered into my neck.
“The sounds you made. The way you shook against me”. He yanked my denim shorts down, fingers diving between my legs, groaning at the heat. “Already wet for me?” he teased, smirking widely. “You’re twisted.” I gasped, clutching onto his shoulders as his fingers worked me over—slow at first, then harder, until I was grinding against his hand like you’d lose my mind.
“I need—”. He cuts me off. “I know what you need,” he growled, pulling back, letting me unbuckle his belt and take what I want. I hastily threw his clothes around the shed, not caring where it landed. He was teasing, his grin wide as he saw me lean back waiting. “So eager, aren't you, love?”. My face flushes, he wasn't a want anymore, he was a need. I gasp feeling the girth of just his tip. Massive.
“Too big, sweetheart?”— "don't worry, it'll fit”. I cried out, as he penetrated me, I held onto him for life as the sting intensified. He didn’t hold back. Not this time. His pace was fast, yet gentle like he was resisting himself to not be rough. The tools clattered off the shelves. The bulb flickered softly, casting a shadow over his face. His cock was perfect, touching places I never explored myself, hitting spots which made my toes clench. I felt him twitch inside me, his veins rubbing against me. He kissed me again, messy and raw this time. “Come with me, baby. Let it go. Right here. While no one knows who to trust.”
And I did. I shattered around him, legs trembling, vision blurring. He came right after, groaning my name like a chant, burying himself deep inside me, lips bruising my collarbone. His grip around me tightens as he pulls back to see the flustered look on my face.
We dressed up again, my legs trembling as he helped me wear my shorts. “You still didn't answer my question with words”. Taehyung looked at me. No smirk. No charm. Just that unreadable darkness in his eyes. “Would it change anything?”. I didn’t know what scared me more :
the possibility he was…
Or how badly i was already intoxicated with him.
A/N : I hope you liked this ahh! This is my first tumblr post as i only post on Instragram, and I have a lot of aspects to improve---Don't forget to give your thoughts, It would be appreciated!
Was originally amazed at how Ponyboy could fit a whole book in his back pocket. Of course he could… it’s a pocket book.
These are your mass markets mass market, they were everywhere like the pharmacy, grocery stores, liquor stores- practically inescapable! Small versions of either major books or easy readers for dirt cheap. Your pocket book and transistor radios were basically the ‘phones’ / pocket sized entertainment (pay phones and like regular phones were… also phones.)
They’re actually being phased out this year apparently! Which sucks, I have a ton and they always have the better covers…
I talked two years ago about just how much people carried around in their pockets and I think Ponyboy alone: Book, comb, bouncy ball, billfold, maybe pomade and he should have carried a blade! :0
warnings - angst, grief, mentions of major character death, sort of internalized homophobia, implied intimacy
story summary - after michaela leaves, francesca finds her open wounds from her husband's death navigating to her soul. loneliness overcomes her until michaela sends her a letter stating her return to scotland. however that visit back changes and destroys everything in order as other things than wounds begin to open.
chapter summary - michaela returns to the kilmartin estate and francesca forms into a nervous mess. just as she calms down, michaela begins to turn away again. a confrontation occurs and on michaela's first day back, they already distance from each other. that is until michaela joins francesca's room to apologize.
word count - 2.03k
Chapter II
The carriage had stopped in front of the Stirling house. Francesca waited by the front gate, wearing one of her best dresses. It was a silver-blue with floral accents on a tailored jacket with the same color. She wore white, lacy gloves that ended where the jacket sleeves began. Her shoes also matched the color. They had a short heel, half an inch, with a pure silver floral embellishment on the toe box. The ribbon was thin and neatly tied into a bow. Her neck was joined with a pearl necklace tied in with lace. Her hair tie styled the same way. Her earrings were pearl as well.
Michaela stepped out of the carriage. She was wearing her usual type of dress; nothing fancy but easy on the eyes. It was a very dark green, close to a black. The accents covered the neckline of the dress, and those were pure black. Also pure black were her gloves. Tall and velvet. They went all the way up to the middle of her bicep. On top of her right glove, she had a dark emerald green bracelet. Her necklace matched this color, they were a part of the same collection. Her heels were also black and had a more pointy edge than Francesca's. She wore darker seamless tights under her dress to exaggerate the boldness of the colors.
Francesca had never seen Michaela look so attractive before.
It was awkward at first, the silent strut that Michaela had done as she walked towards Francesca. The lack of eye contact caused by Francesca not wanting to keep her eyes on Michaela. She didn't understand why she kept feeling her heart beat a little faster. It beat a little too fast. Then Michaela broke the silence as she usually did:
"I suppose you read my letter." Francesca suddenly felt as though Michaela's voice was louder than before. (It wasn't). She also felt as though her classy British accent had gotten stronger. (That also didn't get any stronger).
"I did." Francesca managed to utter out with great effort. Her eyes finally steadied onto Michaela and everything began to quiet down.
"I thought of just showing up, honestly." She paused, getting some air, "But I didn't. I know how much it bothered you when I just came up last time."
"How thoughtful of you, Michaela." Francesca felt a little bit of annoyance at the mention of the past. Why should Michaela reminisce of something before such a cruel act of going against her own word? She brushed it off though, not wanting to spoil the moment. "Shall we go inside? It is an icy morning and I have been waiting out here for a little while."
"I was waiting for you to say that," she smiled to herself, "I have just stepped out of the carriage and I am feeling the cold bite at me."
Francesca and Michaela walked towards the front of the estate. Francesca opened the door and stepped aside for Michaela to walk in. When she did, she followed right behind and shut the door, locking it immediately after she did so.
"It is just the same as last time . . ." Michaela said under her breath, looking around the house. Francesca felt something build in her chest, she couldn't put a finger on what it was.
"Hm," Francesca responded, rather dryly. Her mind was so full of what she would say before Michaela's arrival, now she found that it was blank. In the corner of her eye, Michaela had turned towards her. The smile that was once plastered over her face became flat.
"Are you alright, Francesca?" Michaela asked, leaning against a table. Her hand grasped at the edge of it, coating in dust as she did. As she felt the dust stick itself to her hand, she pulled it away and looked at it. She knew something was off. Francesca had to have everything dusted and polished daily.
"Of course. You've arrived." Francesca responded, keeping her eyes away from Michaela as much as possible again. "Shall we catch up in the parlor?"
"That sounds lovely." They began to make their way out of the foyer and towards the parlor, silent. When they had reached it, they stepped inside and settled themselves onto the sofa. Michaela's eyes never left Francesca, and Francesca's eyes never met Michaela.
In interest, Michaela's head had tilted, waiting for Francesca to say something. It seemed like that would take forever.
"Are you sure you are okay?" Michaela said, a small hint of disappointment colored her voice. She hoped that Francesca would at least try to start a conversation.
"I've never been more sure than I am now." Francesca finally gave in and turned her eyes towards Michaela. Her eyes scanned over her face and just then she noticed that she was doing what she feared most; she was spoiling the mood. "I mean it, my friend is here again." She felt the knot in her chest untie the moment she said that. As Michaela smiled at her in response, she felt a new one form in her stomach.
Sensing a small relief in Francesca's demeanor, Michaela had relaxed on the sofa. ". . . And I am here with my friend" she responded, her eyes moving from Francesca's ginger hair down to her hands. Her fingers were tangling with each other and tapping at her dress when they'd let go of one another.
Michaela had begun to move her hand towards Francesca's, but it felt as though a chain had held her back. Her hand was hovering over Francesca's, not daring to move. Almost as if Francesca noticed this, her hand moved closer to Michaela's. They could feel the warmth of each other's skin. Yet, just as Francesca reached out more, Michaela hesitantly pulled back. Francesca's eyes followed her as she stood up.
She smoothed out her skirt and fixed her gloves. "Shall we request for some dinner? I am quite hungry and it is getting late. Or perhaps we-"
"No, Michaela." Francesca muttered quietly, making sure it was still loud enough for Michaela to hear. "Why can't you ever stay in one spot?"
Michaela stayed silent and guilty.
"You said you'd stay-"
"Francesca, please . . ."
"No! No, Michaela! You said you would stay. You didn't." Francesca cried, "You can't even stay now!"
"No, I can't. I'm sorry. It's just . . . I don't know. Something about you just makes me lose my boldness. I've held it in since that night John introduced us; the stain that you have left on my mind. My heart even. You contradict my wrongs and make them rights."
"What are you even talking about, Michaela?"
"I think you know." Michaela answered, "I also think that we should take a moment to ourselves. It's my first day back and we have already quarreled."
Francesca hesitated for a moment and then finally gave in. "I think that would be a good idea." She stood up and walked in front of Michaela. "You remember where the guest room is, I hope."
"Yes, I do."
"If you need any food there's some in the kitchen. Just take it back to your room if you want to, just pick up the mess." Francesca said, making her way out of the parlor and upstairs.
"Thank you, Francesca. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
. . .
Despite being in her room and reading a book for a good few hours, Francesca still didn't grow tired. As long as the thought of distressing Michaela popped up in her mind, she wouldn't get rid of her energy. She wondered what Michaela was doing. Was she reading as well? Was she too thinking about the argument? Did she also regret it?
Francesca shut her book and stood up to put it back on her shelf. After it was put back in it's spot, she stood in front of the door and stared at it. She thought about it for a few moments and then she went to go open it.
As she did, she saw Michaela standing there with a fist up to knock on the door. Michaela stared at her for a few seconds, thinking of what to say.
"I-" they both started. The overlap had broken the awkward tension between them and had left small, tired smiles plastered on their faces.
"You first," Francesca said.
"Okay, well . . . I wanted to say I'm sorry. I guess I just wanted to be this weird version of myself that you would want to be around. I thought it would cancel out how I left, honestly. I realized it kind of doesn't. I left you after John died and I shouldn't have; you needed a friend by you and I couldn't even do that." she paused, "It's like something is always holding me back around you. You're such a fluid person and for some reason I still contradict myself. I grew so sensitive towards you. That's what I had talked about in my letter. My feelings were so affected by you."
Francesca gazed at Michaela in awe, she finally began to understand what Michaela meant. It made her understand her sudden temper and close-mindedness. "Do you want to join me?" Francesca asked, stepping away from the doorway. Michaela nodded quickly and stepped in. Before shutting the door, Francesca looked down the halls, just in case someone had randomly entered her house. No one was there.
She put her back to the door and stared at Michaela. Michaela had stared back, their eyes never leaving eachother.
"You had something to say?" Michaela said, continuing the conversation.
"It's basically what you said."
"Basically. . ."
"Well, I guess I just pushed myself down for so long because of John. I loved him, I still do; despite his departure. Yet, as we spent more time together I felt as though I had betrayed him. I was . . ." Francesca paused, looking for ways to say her next words carefully, "I was beginning to fall for another. I was beginning to fall for you."
Another silence broke out between the conversation. Michaela began to smile to herself, tears almost instinctively coming to her eyes. They never fell, they just coated her eyes in one glossy layer. Francesca kept her back against the door, watching Michaela carefully. She watched as she kept the tears from dripping down her cheeks and as she strutted towards her.
"Almost immediately."
"You began to fall for me?" Michaela asked in a hushed whisper, bringing herself closer to Francesca.
An urge came across both of them. Francesca was surprisingly the first to act on it. She took her back off of the door and quickly moved towards Michaela. She wrapped her hands in her hair and kissed her.
Without a sense of hesitation, Michaela had kissed back, grappling onto Francesca's waist. It was now Michaela's back against the door as Francesca had kissed her hard, hungry and tired of waiting. Michaela pushed herself closer to Francesca hungry for so much more; Francesca's lips were soft and delicious. It didn't help her case when Francesca urged her tongue into Michaela's mouth. She didn't think it could get any better.
Francesca led them away from the door and towards the bed, laying Michaela on top of it gently. She crawled over her, kissing her with a more sloppy and hungry nature. Michaela knew things would escalate as Francesca sat her up and tugged at her dress zipper . . .
Potentially hot take: I think it's super unrealistic to portray canon era anderperry as happy and out and open and being explicitly queer in public spaces.
I know that dps isn't REALLY a time period work, as much as something set in like- the Victorian era or something, but I do think that the late 1950's time period DEFINITLY would have had an effect on some things. One of these things, I feel like, would be the way that queer people interact with the world. I hate to say it but anderperry would NOT be able to like- come out to the whole world immediatly. They would have to be SUPER careful with who they told, it's absolutely possible that they wouldn't have felt safe enough to tell the other poets at all, sad as that is.
And the thing is, is like- that's IF they got together in the first place. They both would have severe internalised homophobia and absolutely would have tried to bury those feelings deep down as far as they could.
As sad as it is, and as much as I want them to be happy together, and open and queer, I don't think that's the reality that they were living in.
The period between the mid-19th century to the early 20th century, when sailing vessels reached their peak of size and complexity (e.g. clipper, windjammer and steal mast barques ), is sometimes referred to as the "Golden Age of Sail".
