reminder for the shawols: jonghyun loves boobs. he likes them big, and he loves them small. he loves them perky and he loves them saggy. he loves them with and without bras too. he loves seeing them jiggle, and those that stay in place. he loves them muscular, and them man boobs too. it doesn’t matter if they’re real, fake or removed, he just wants to brag about his double Ds!
As protests start ramping up and violence escalates please remember:
DO NOT PUT MILK IN YOUR EYES FOR PEPPER SPRAY OR TEAR GAS.
It can and will cause infection due to bacteria. Flush with water, distilled if possible, and never EVER wear contact lenses to protests where there may be police retaliation.
Genre: Smut, Angsty (It’s kinda hurt but also comfort???)
Word Count: 4000+ words
Content Warning(s): Past Child Molestation (There’s a flashback part, but it’s not very detailed), Dealing with Trauma, Sex, Dark Religious Themes, Religious Trauma
Author’s Notes: Yes, I know I said I don’t allow any sort of rape in any of my stories, but a friend suggested me to do this sort of thing and made me realise that I’ve gone through something similar where I wanted to do something again. So pretty much, this is what the story is going. It is a bit of a weird one, but I hope I was able to convey Key’s emotions well. Also, Key is in his 20s and the Pastor is about in his 40s.
I still think about what happened, the way he touched me, the way he went about it, and even the way my parents reacted when I finally told them.
While I did feel some sort of guilt, I also had this strange feeling inside of me that would admit that I liked it. Maybe I was in denial, or maybe I was being serious. I didn’t know how to feel, or how I could go about my life without pinpointing exactly the feeling I was getting.
Nonetheless, I knew I wanted to do it again.
—
It was something I thought about for years on end, and I hadn’t been able to tell anyone. I was just ashamed, or maybe people would assume that I was lying for clout.
I knew that it was something that truly happened to me, I even had the very clothes that I wore on that day. I remembered what I ate for breakfast, what my mother was planning on making me for dinner, and even down to a couple of minutes before the incident.
I never went to therapy for my pain, nor I ever went back to church. My parents were disappointed, grounding me every time I missed one day for a week until I went. It was at that very moment that my faith was crippled.
I tend to cry when I think of my emotions, but this time was different. A part of me wanted to move on, even though I didn’t know how to. That was when I was on the phone with my parents, explaining about the pain that I’d been going through. They suggested me to go back, but I wasn’t sure.
My parents hated the fact that I was an atheist. The amount of screaming matches I had to go through, just because they wanted to force the bible on me. Every single time I tell them to stop, they get louder and louder. I had no power over them, and I would feel trapped within myself.
However, this was the first time I agreed with them. I was in my 20s, surely he would change. I shook my head, before cutting off to process exactly what I was about to do.
I planned my trip to my hometown, packing up clothes I would know they would approve. I knew I had to look as manly as possible, especially when I go to church. I took in a crisped grey suit and pants, with a bow on them.
A couple of days later, I finally made that trip and was at the front door of my parents’ house. They seemed so happy to see me upon opening and letting me in, but the facade broke away, and their strictness was back.
“Kibum, if you’re staying here, you will need to go to church with us every Sunday.” I sighed, face-palming while contemplating why I thought it would be a good idea to come back home. I knew I’d only be here for a week, but just the memories coming back made it ten times worse.
I saw my childhood room, thinking about all the times I cried alone in my bed that day. I just wish I could speak to my past self and comfort him. Everything here was filled with horrible thoughts, and not even the TV was safe. The amount of Christian content that I had to watch was concerning. I used to be made fun of at school for not watching shows that all the kids were watching simply because it wasn’t allowed.
I saw a picture of my younger self, in a suit ready to go to church. Right next to it, there was another picture of me, but I was being baptised. It was the happiest day of my life. I thought that I was going to love Jesus forever and be a Christian for the rest of my life. Sadly, that wouldn’t be the case.
I woke up to my parents knocking on my door to get ready to go to church. I was very nervous, yet I put on a brave face as I took a shower to clear my mind. Maybe, this was going to be fine, right?
When I got ready to go into the car, I saw my father waiting outside while my mother walked slowly down the stairs. We didn’t live that far from our local church, but my parents always insisted on walking together like a family. I never understood that, even now as an adult.
I was finally at the place where I feared, the hall. Everyone was walking in, chatting to one and another while I sat alone. Seeing how “lonely” I looked according to my mother, as she was chatting to one of my childhood friends, she introduced me to him, causing me to awkwardly wave my hand as the both of them stared in my direction.
I’ve been an adult for some time now, and even listening to the pastor speaking felt like a bore. But then, he stared at me — and we locked eyes for a whole second before turning back to the crowd, and the service suddenly got somewhat interesting. He seemed happier now that I was here, which felt sweet on its own but weird. How did he know who I was even though I was 10 when I last saw him?
My mind was puzzling in my head, and before I could even process what just happened, the church was over. I didn’t even realise the time until my mother tapped me on the shoulder for food.
I sat down at a table alone, not wanting to sit next to my parents. I had a plate full of rice, bulgogi and kimchi, and ate slowly but steadily. As I was just forgetting about what just happened, I saw Pastor Y/N walking towards me. My eyes widened, and I was still in shock by the time he reached me.
“Is this seat free?” He asked. I shook my head and he sat by me. He still had the same scent 10 years later. He hasn’t even changed a thing at all! As a matter of fact, he looked even better!
“Kibum… you’ve grown so much! I’m so glad you decided to come by today!” He seemed polite in nature, and didn’t seem to have any malicious intentions. I mean, it was normal for him to go up to people and speak to them.
But then, the incident started playing in my head. I stood as still as a rock, looking down so he couldn’t see me. I wanted to ask but was nervous. What if he wasn’t the same guy anymore? Surely he could do me one last time…
“Hey, Kibum… can I invite you to dinner tomorrow?” I quickly agreed, nothing trying to take time to think about what I was getting myself into.
Tomorrow felt like a breeze, I didn’t even remember what I did when I was going home. I did remember my mother pulling me into a corner away from my father just to ask me if Pastor Y/N did anything to me. I kept quiet, shaking my head as I looked back at Mother to see if my answer was verified.
“I saw him chatting to you today. He told me he misses you after all these years, and wants to see you in Church more. He could help you build your relationship with God again.” I tried not to roll my eyes for the 8th time, but I wanted to keep the lies going… unless I wasn’t.
I was invited to come for dinner at Pastor Y/N’s. I knew it was something I didn’t want to share with my parents, as I knew that it would come with something more than just two consenting adults meeting in a house.
That very night, I made sure to buy some condoms and lube to bring with me in case anything escalated. I planned out an outfit that seemed masculine enough so he wouldn’t raise an eyebrow at me — even though I was sure that he knew for a fact that I was not a heterosexual man.
I fell asleep, seeing the man that I always dreamed of being close to — but was unsure how to feel about it. As an adult, I felt like a kid again. He held my hand like he was crossing the road, reminding me to look both ways before walking. I saw the road form around me, seeing each sparkle and star create the world around us, seeing familiar people appearing one by one.
It was then that I was brought into the Church, people were singing while praying at the same time. There were too many people, so Pastor Y/N took me backstage where the changing rooms were. At that point, my heart started pounding. This was the moment that it happened, his hand landed on my thighs so he could stroke them. His hands were rough and scratchy, they were also huge enough to cover the whole diameter of my legs from my thighs to my ankles.
My dress pants were pulled down, revealing bright blue underwear with thunderbolts on them. I’d thought he would stop right there, but he continued on and removed the very thing that was hiding my genital area. Everything was a blur after that, having my head facing the wall and feeling the action happening from my rear end.
I woke up almost feeling like I wanted to cry, so I lay there at 5 am while waiting for me to fall back to sleep. I then felt something hard underneath my pants, which meant that I had a wet dream as well.
This was how it was for over a decade. I get flashback dreams, I wake up crying, I get hard, I masturbate, I fall back to sleep. It never failed me. It remained the same ever since. I wasn’t sure if it was because of how I process things, but everyone that I told was quick to say how unnatural it was for me to act the way I did.
I woke up with my pants still down, unable to recall what happened last night. I got into the shower, thinking about everything I wanted to say to that man. My stomach was growling like I was hungry, but deep down inside I was a nervous wreck.
I had to awkwardly eat breakfast with my parents since my mother filled out the whole table with all sorts of fruits, a tray for the tea set and some other drinks, and bread with some sandwich toppings on another tray. All the trays that were displayed made it seem like there was way more stuff than expected. I rarely ate — only trying to take as little as possible so I could excuse myself into my room to get ready.
I sat in my room, waiting for his name to pop up on my phone. He gave me the green light, prompting me to get dressed and walk out of the house. It was noon and my parents were a bit concerned as to why I was leaving at this time. I thought of a quick lie of me walking around my childhood city as an excuse and they accepted it — surprisingly.
I ran off, walking towards a train station that would lead me to his place. He called me a couple of times to ask me if I was coming, but I was underground and had to wait until I arrived to reply to him. He picked me up at the train station, pulling me into a warm embrace which felt imitated.
“Kibum… how have you been doing? Was the journey alright?” He said in his soft voice, possibly softer than he was at the church the day before. He held my hand as we walked out of the station, walking towards what seemed to be his neighbourhood. He lived in a nice little penthouse that seemed small, but it had all the view he could have.
We entered from the entrance, before going onto the lift to the very top. He unlocked his door, opening it to showcase a very warm atmosphere that I could get at any pub or restaurant. Everywhere seemed neat but messy at the same time, while also looking expensive looking. It was a sight I didn’t want to miss, especially with the fact that every single glance was something worth noting, like the gramophone sitting at the corner of the room.
“Make yourself at home, Kibum.” He patted the couch, indicating him asking me to sit down. I eventually did, while he was searching around the room for something catching up to our conversation. “So Kibum… tell me what you have been doing ever since you left Church.”
“Well…” I started. “I moved out and so I couldn’t afford to come all the way here.” I went with the conversation, knowing that he was going to say something very cliche.
“Kibum…” He stopped what he was doing to sit next to me, with his hands on mine while they were on my lap. “Listen to me… Jesus will always love you, regardless of that.”
I didn’t know if I wanted to continue with that talk, yet it was my fault for agreeing to go to a literal pastor’s house. Sure I didn’t want to go through a whole lecture on how God is good and great for the millionth time, but a part of me just wants to see what would happen… between us.
“I always felt like I had to go every Sunday… but the moment I couldn’t… I feel fake.” I lied, even giving him the puppy eyes that I mastered since I was a kid.
“Kibum, don’t say that…” I felt his hand on my back, the adrenaline of the conversation was causing me to go on and keep the lie going. “I always knew your love for Jesus is real, even since you were a boy.”
He was starting to get close to me, having his other hand stroking my crotch area. I was horrified, but I was also excited that I was going to get with Pastor Y/N again after all these years of craving for his touch.
“Kibum…” He was checking me off through my clothes, and I could see a small spark in his eyes. He saw something that he was looking for, and that was me. My young body that he wanted to use again. “…Please… may I pray for you?”
Suddenly, my mind went blank, unsure how to feel or to respond. Was he going to use me again, or was this bait created by my imagination which was so desperate that I generated my suffering by my thoughts?
After all the thoughts that ran through my mind, I agreed, holding both of my hands while we faced each other. His eyes closed, and so did mine. This used to be my everything as a child, being able to picture God clearly with his white-washed face and his gown. Nowadays, I see nothing. It was impossible to convince myself to see otherwise.
“Father in heaven, I thank you for being brother Kibum back into the Church.“ He started praying, in which he started becoming more preachy as every sentence occurred.
I felt his every nudge, every poke, and all the attempts he made to touch me in any way or form. He even managed to place his hand on my thighs while it was spread apart, causing me to be unable to close it.
He was getting deep into his prayer, and I was feeling slightly uncomfortable, but excited at the same time. This was what I was waiting for, or at least that was what I thought I needed. I wasn’t sure how to feel. Did I accomplish anything? Did I make things worse? Oh god… did I make anything worse?
But then… he slipped his hand under my pants, and all those thoughts left my mind.
It was just pure… silence. I was horny, I needed this, and I wanted this. It was exactly what I was looking for at this very moment… someone using me for their benefit. That was my guilty pleasure.
“Wow… your penis barely has changed!” Pastor Y/N went close to me, and I gulped as loudly as I felt like a cartoon character. I could feel that lust in his eyes, doing something that he shouldn’t have.
Then… his lips touched mine. There was no noise, just the sound of smooches and hums in between. He laid me down on the couch, kissing me more like I was a drug. He wasn’t afraid to use his tongue, which made him look attractive to me.
He pulled out, looking directly at me. “I know you’re a homosexual, Kibum.” That threw me off guard, but I owned my identity, so I claimed it as it was. He told me that we could pray again later, but he wanted to feel my gorgeous boy body.
Boy body…? What does he mean by that? Why would he exclaim that my body was one of a boy? Could it be that he still sees me as the kid he used? Either way, my vision of myself was still that young me, but with more clarity and less confusion. With my big age, I would’ve learned how to say stop. Nonetheless, it has been locked away in a treasure chest, and thrown out the window.
I didn’t feel a single guilt throughout all of it. He kept stripping off my clothes, showing my bare body to him, feeling our skin against each other’s. I knew it was Pastor Y/N, but a part of me was starting to gain some sort of attraction to him.
It was like… he wasn’t a Pastor to me… he was a childhood crush.
“Mmm yes… You’ve always been such a good boy…” He caressed my cheeks, while I felt his finger rubbing the lip of my anus.
“I’ll go and get the lube… I’ll be right back.” He kisses me on the forehead, before walking away to his room. I looked down to see my clothes on the floor, including my boxers that I had worn when it happened to me. I kept it after all this time since no matter how many times I tried to wash them, it still smelt like him…
Wait… why did I decide that this was a good idea? I mean, I knew I needed to get over it eventually, but was I doing too much?
It was a line that I didn’t know existed — at least for me anyway. I didn’t see a problem having sex with Pastor Y/N. In fact, it was my dream to have sex with him as an adult now that I know what he has done to me. Unfortunately for me, the fear and guilt came back to bite me in the ass, and now I was unsure of what would be the right choice for me. I felt like a mom nagging to myself and hating it because I had to wash the dishes.
Well, I already went this far so it would be far too late for me to give it up and go home. The least I could do would be to suck his cock and call it a day.
“Kibum, do you want to come to the bedroom?” He called me, to which I immediately complied regardless of any prior thoughts. I walked over to his room, where I saw a very neat room with a comfortable-looking bed and antique-looking pieces of furniture with fake plants around them.
“Come and sit here! I won’t hurt you!” My body began to vibrate, but was unsure whether it was a bad thing or not. But either way, I crawled over to him, with my butt facing him. I could tell it aroused him since he would open my butt cheeks so he would lick me there. Or… at least he would’ve due to my butt plug was in the way.
“I see you’re prepared for me, Kibum! Should I remove that for you?” I nodded my head quickly, and he did what he needed to do. He slowly pulled out my plug, in which I felt everything from the stretching to the rubbing on my prostate. When it was out, I could feel cold air going inside. That stopped when he put his warm fingers inside of me.
It… did feel good, and the way he was very gentle with me this time made me convinced that he might be in love with me. From the way he would lick me, to the type of treatment he was giving me. I knew that it wasn’t something that I wanted to take away from myself.
It was time for him to go inside me, and I opted to go into a missionary position so I could see him the whole time. My legs had to go all the way up to my shoulders, but it was still enjoyable. The moment he went inside, my moans started. He still felt very big inside, just like how it was before. The way he grabbed my legs when he wanted to go faster was something that was unexplainable.
“Mmm… you’re so amazing, Kibum. You’re so tight… you’ve always been tight… that amazing boy hole…” I didn’t take notice of what he said, but the way he gave me praise overpowered any outright creepy comment he might’ve said during the session.
His grunts were something I’d hear in a hentai. If anyone heard him for the first time, they would’ve assumed that he was a toxic top, when he was really a nice person who looked out for his bottoms. Meanwhile, I sounded like I was meowing. My voice may go from low to high, slow to fast, and quiet to loud very quickly. I could also be overstimulated, so curling into a ball would be something I’d do. A typical bottom.
The way he thrusts inside was something I could explain in detail. I could feel it every time he went deep, so much that we grunted at the same time. But when he goes faster, that would be when we go out of sync and I get crazier.
“Ahhh yes… your moans are so cute, Kibum…” I just love it when he says his name. It would always gives me goosebumps whenever he reminds me of my presence and how much it drives him insane.
I want this feeling to last forever, and I want it to be with him. He seemed so into me, that I forget about everything that happened before that very moment. It felt like this was a hookup date and that I met him on a gay dating app. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he has been on there for at least once. And even if he had sex with other boys like me, somehow he realised that I was the boy he needed.
He needed me more than anything. And I wanted him too.
“Yes…yes… I’m about to cum…” I begged him to place his manhood in my mouth, and he did just that. His white juices went all over my face while some went into my mouth.
He laid me down onto the bed, making me relax beside him. He was still cuddling me while he went soft. He kissed me on the cheek, before falling asleep. I glanced around the room like a lost child, and my sense of my mind slowly started coming back. A part of me couldn’t believe I agreed to have sex with Pastor Y/N, while at the same time, I was glad I did.
I don’t know… but I’d say that it was this strange feeling that always gets to me whenever I look back at this very moment.
For 9 years, Kim Jonghyun has been providing his breast milk for us to consume for our cereals, coffees, you name it.
To commemorate his tits, us Shawols shall drink a litre of milk and use the hashtag #milkforjonghyun to show our appreciation and thankfulness for Jonghyun. Either you can drink it with your favourite flavours, in a milkshake, in your daily coffee — or even just straight up from the carton!
18th of December 2022 @ 12:00am (KST) — 19th of December 2022 @ 12:00am (KST) (Check out here to find when it starts where you live!)
Check out the tag #milkforjonghyun within the account @taeminscoconuthead for any updates.
this is my first petition, and i’m pretty hopeful that people may see it and reply- (i’m sorry if i’m not too literate — english is not my strong suit)
This needs to stop getting normalised - it has almost been 6 years now.
(cw // content mentions dec 18th, mentions of suicide and cyber bullying)
“If you are a token shawol that is harassing Shawols or justifying the harassment that shawols would get simply for talking about Jonghyun, kindly throw away your shawol card.
In fact, I would take your card, burn it into ashes, throw it into water so it could create mud, send them to prison inmates for them to eat and to digest, take their shit and send them to the farms so they could reject the offer to use shit to make compost and throw that shit away because nobody needs it at all.
I don't care if you had been a Shawol, or even a Blinger (Jonghyun stan) for 1, 5, 10 years or even since their debut. don't care if you ever made a Tumblr page where you fangirled over Jonghyun's body at age 15. I do not care if you had been to Jonghyun's concert and you were the one who caught his shirt. I don't care if you got the chance to talk to him personally and he hugged you.
The fact that you had the audacity to harass other Shawols or justify people calling Jonghyun a d3adman is a fucking disappoint not only to Shawols, but the people who you're claiming to "protect." You being able to move on from his death doesn't make you any better than anyone else, or gives you the rights to be the grieving police for all those who are affected. In fact, it makes you look selfish and a narcissist.
The world doesn't revolve around you, everyone is trying to live after this possibly traumatic event for some of them and they kept being retraumatised because of the people who harass them, and especially to those who they thought was one of their own, which turned out to be a disgusting, disgraceful of a human being, a token shawol.
And all this for what? Attention? Greed? Or probably because you NEVER liked SHINee in the first place.
SHINee would be disgusted seeing people like you — especially Jonghyun. With the way you won't keep him out of your mouth, I'm pretty sure that the very person that you claim to be "protecting" would think that you're a pathetic human being that just wants to hurt others for their own satisfaction, and maybe to please other people that we have no business connecting with.
Don't ever use the word Shawol in your life. EVER.”
If you are a token shawol that is harassing Shawols or justifying the harassment that shawols would get simply for talking about Jonghyun, kindly throw away your shawol card. In fact, I would take your card, burn it into ashes, throw it into water so it could create mud, send them to prison inmates for them to eat and to digest, take their shit and send them to the farms so they could reject the offer to use shit to make compost and throw that shit away because nobody needs it at all.
I don’t care if you had been a Shawol, or even a Blinger (Jonghyun stan) for 1, 5, 10 years or even since their debut. I don’t care if you ever made a Tumblr page where you fangirled over Jonghyun’s body at age 15. I do not care if you had been to Jonghyun’s concert and you were the one who caught his shirt. I don’t care if you got the chance to talk to him personally and he hugged you.
The fact that you had the audacity to harass other Shawols or justify people calling Jonghyun a d3adman is a fucking disappoint not only to Shawols, but the people who you’re claiming to “protect.” You being able to move on from his death doesn’t make you any better than anyone else, or gives you the rights to be the grieving police for all those who are affected. In fact, it makes you look selfish and a narcissist. The world doesn’t revolve around you, everyone is trying to live after this possibly traumatic event for some of them and they kept being retraumatised because of the people who harass them, and especially to those who they thought was one of their own, which turned out to be a disgusting, disgraceful of a human being, a token shawol. And all this for what? Attention? Greed? Or probably because you NEVER liked SHINee in the first place.
SHINee would be disgusted seeing people like you — especially Jonghyun. With the way you won’t keep him out of your mouth, I’m pretty sure that the very person that you claim to be “protecting” would think that you’re a pathetic human being that just wants to hurt others for their own satisfaction, and maybe to please other people that we have no business connecting with.
Don’t ever use the word Shawol in your life. EVER.
@nihaojj aka james or jack, has passed away not too long ago. he was just a guy who had a passion for music and making people laugh. he was also a big fan of kpop, in which his top 5 favourite groups are shinee, monsta x, nct, astro and stray kids.
it just breaks my heart that someone this young would commit suicide. he was only 18 years old. anyone reading this, please go to your best friend and hug them. be there when they need it before it's too late. you don't know how much this means a lot to them. please take care of yourselves.
rest in peace james. he has always made me laugh and think brightly about things. he'll always be remembered as the comedian guy and will be missed dearly.
