your lovely, sweet dad is turning 45 today. you’ve dolled yourself up—literally spent 40 minutes in the mirror upstairs in your room shrinking your nose with contour and highlighting your cheekbones.

you end up downstairs for longer than planned. just as you’re about to head up to bed, jake turns up on your doorstep with a crate of beers in his hand for your dad. you want an early night, you lie, but then jake’s eyebrow quirks upwards, like he doesn’t believe you.

“early night? you’re not 5 anymore, c’mon!” he kicks his shoes off, greeting your mum with a kiss on the cheek and slides the beers onto the kitchen island.

jake is your dad’s best friend and has always teased you like this, more so when you were younger, but you’re older now so he can be braver with his jokes.

he looks the same as the last time you saw him, except hotter and slightly older.

and you, you definitely—

“wow. you’ve gotten so much taller.” he grins. he’s exaggerating and being ridiculous. it hasn’t been THAT long since the last time you saw him. a year maybe.

you smile awkwardly and shrug, cracking open one of the beers and pouring it for yourself. jake notices how you don’t look at your dad for permission anymore, you seem to help yourself.

“and she drinks now too!” jake teases, glancing at your dad. “what the fuck…” his laugh becomes kind of breathless, and he looks up at you. “you’re making me feel old, y/n.”

your dad, being the soft fool that he is, thinks nothing of it. he laughs at jake—of course he does. he LOVES jake. that’s why you’d seen so much of him in your childhood, that’s why he’s your godfather, closer than a family-friend, almost like an uncle. uncle jake.

“how old are you now, remind me?” jake takes a beer for himself and sits at the island opposite your dad, pouring his drink into a glass.

you sit down beside your dad and look into your lap to avoid jake’s eyes. you’re not usually shy like this but jake’s coming off strong tonight. he’s always been a strong character but there’s something different about him, something bolder.

“22.” you nod and your father squeezes your shoulder fondly.

you like this. it’s nice to spend some quality time with your dad on his birthday and not have to feel like you’re outstaying your welcome, because you’re older now and you don’t have a bedtime anymore.

“wow…22…” jake smiles into his pint, “well. fucking hell. when i was your age i certainly wasn’t spending the weekends with my boring, old dad—“ he pauses and winks at you, “you’re very well behaved.”

well behaved? he probably hadn’t intended for it to come out like that, or maybe you were reading too much into it, but it made your stomach flip. maybe you just liked it.

your dad is three sheets to the wind already at this point, by the way (and why shouldn’t he be, it’s his birthday!), so he doesn’t notice when jake’s foot juts out beneath the table to nudge yours.

“how’s school?” he asks, looking at you. he taps his finger impatiently against the pint glass in his hand.

“university.” you correct him.

“right. university.” he gives you an odd look. it’s as if he’s checking that you’re really as old as you say you are.

“mm. it’s good.” you shrug. you flash him a smile. a really fucking cute smile, like you’re too shy to go into detail because you’re not used to having proper conversations with him like this.

“good? what. just good?” he nudges you again beneath the table with his foot. “boy trouble?”

alert. ALERT.

you heart begins to race. you know you need to steer the conversation in a different direction because you’re sat next to your fucking DAD, but you end up playing right into it. you’re like putty in jake’s hands.

“i guess you could say that. yeah.” you shrug and look away, breaking the eye contact with him so he stares at your tits instead and oh—

oh my god. have they always been this big?

your hear him swallow audibly hard.

the night carries on just like this. in between all of the ineffable tension, you’re throwing back shots of sour apple vodka to prove your worth to jake. he watches you like he’s impressed, like he’s never seen anything like it before, except he has…when he was your age. it’s honestly cute, the way you’re fawning over him and think you’re being clever.

jake’s been over for little more than two hours and your vision is already double. you’re not drunk—just happy. okay, fine, maybe slightly tipsy.

“i need a piss.” jake snorts, excusing himself from the table. your dad makes him wait and pats your shoulder to get your attention.

“y/n. be a darling. can you go and get the guest room ready for jake? he’ll probably end up crashing tonight.”

you feel your ears turn bright red. “yep. sure.”

you hope that jake will carry on ahead of you and go to the toilet, but he doesn’t. instead, he waits for you to get up from the table first.

you can feel your heart in your throat.

it’s so awkward because you know that, despite everything, there’s one irrefutable truth hanging in the air between you: you watch each other SO bad—but it’s so fucking wrong.

jake stops in front of you in the hallway and you stand there, swaying slightly behind him.

“how drunk are you?” he asks, tone a little more serious now. this isn’t the jake you’re familiar with. he smells the same, but he sounds kind of strict.

“mmmm—“ you giggle. “not drunk. tipsy. just a little tipsy.”

“so if i tell you not to tell anyone about what i’m about to do, you’ll keep it quiet?” jake breathes.

what. the. fuck?

shit.

shitshitshit.

you realise there isn’t really any way of turning back now. he’s shown you his hand.

you realise that it feels safer like this for jake. worst case scenario, if he gets caught perverting his best friend’s daughter, he can lie and say that you were drunk and threw yourself on him, but—

“i won’t tell anyone.” you whisper.

that’s all jake needs really. he nods and turns around, tugging you immediately into the guest room.

you look so…ridiculous. but it’s cute. your makeup is all smoky and your tits look so full. you’re wearing a small dress that leaves little to the imagination. “when did you stop being a tom-boy?” he chuckles, placing his hand on the small of your back and bringing you slowly into him.

your belly is now pressed softly against his—his feels a lot firmer than yours beneath his shirt. you didn’t even realise that jake worked out, to be honest. you’d mistaken him for the type to sit around gaming all day, because he didn’t have a family of his own.

“this is seriously—not—“ you start but he hushes you, pressing a finger against your lips.

you have a choice to make now. you can struggle out of his grip, make a scene, and blame it all on him. or, you can let him stick his finger in your mouth, you can suck it, drive him crazy, and risk that your dad might walk in and find out that you’re a SLUT for his best friend.

you whine to yourself—not out of frustration but out of need—and lean down, wrapping your lips around jake’s finger.

he shakes his head at you, pleasantly surprised, and huffs a laugh out of his nostrils. you feel him growing harder against the inside of your thigh.

he’s seriously, painfully hard. the hardest he’s ever been actually. he isn’t interested in women his age at all.

you’re scared shitless. scared of getting caught, and scared of what you were about to do. you’ve thought about this for a while, not that you’ll admit to it. people have fantasies but would sooner die than bring them to life.

jake pushes his finger in and out of your mouth in a suggestive manner. you smile at him with your eyes and suck on it, dribbling all over his hand. it’s obscene—like you’re pretending it’s his cock or something—and he just watches you with dilated pupils.

now, this is something he hasn’t seen before.

“oh my fucking god. you’re literally filthy. hah.” he laughs, backing you into the wall. “can i be rough with you?” he purrs into your ear, running his hands up the expanse of your chest, squeezing your tits through the sheer fabric of your dress.

you’re not really sure what he just said but you nod anyway, pulling him in by the collar of his sweater. you both reek of alcohol and can smell it on each other’s breath but it’s fine.

“jake—jake. wait.” you giggle, pressing a quick, wet kiss to his bottom lip. “i haven’t shaved or anything i—wasn’t expecting—“

jake considers headbutting the wall.

you’re driving him fucking crazy. of course you haven’t shaved. because you weren’t expecting this. you weren’t expecting him. and it turns him on even more.

“i don’t care.” he replies, gripping your tits furiously tight, rutting against the inside of your thigh like a dog.

“literally do not care. you can shave for me next time, i don’t care. i just want to see your pussy.” he grunts, pecking you back, lifting up the hem of your dress slightly.

he groans.

he could probably get off just like this—watching you squeeze your thighs together in your panties, looking up at him with those big, thoughtless eyes.

“show it to me.” he asks.

your limbs feel like they’re moving in slow motion. you feel more and more drunk as each moment passes as the alcohol is absorbed into your blood stream. you reach in between your legs and hook a finger into your underwear, pulling it to the side for jake.

he’s going to fucking die.

it looks so neat and so fucking tight. surely you’re a virgin. your slit is glistening too—like you’ve expecting him.

he wants nothing more than for you to sit on his face and ride it but there is simply no time. you’d be so cute like that, holding onto bunches of his hair and humping his face with your soppy cunt, but he’s only got 2 minutes before things start to look suspicious.

“wanna feel me?” he whispers through the dark, taking a hold of your wrist and placing your palm on top of his bulge. your hand looks tiny on top of the tent in his trousers, so tiny that it makes his dick twitch. “i hope it fits. i don’t have time to prep you.”

you whine. you don’t care. you just want him inside you.

he pecks your lips again and again. a few times over. sloppy, needy and rushed. he doesn’t have time to kiss you properly or take your breath away, he just needs to ram his cock inside you and let you feel him before he dies—

he scrambles to unzip his trousers and pulls his dick out, rubbing it in between your slit a few times to lubricate himself.

he tries to be gentle, he really does. he tries to put it in slowly but the way you wince and dig your nails into his arms makes him want to be mean. he throws his head back and tries desperately not to bury it all in at once, but you’re so wet that it makes it almost impossible.

he’s got one hand clamped over your mouth and the other around your throat, to ensure you are as silent as possible because god forbid your father walks in at a time like this.

jake groans as he reaches your cervix and begins to pull out. he’s satisfied that you can take him and immediately slams his cock back inside you. you yelp into his hand and gaze up at him, eyes watering with tears.

god. he’s sick. he’s going to hell.

he thinks you look adorable when you cry like that, as he splits you open on his cock.

and you—you love it. it’s strange. you feel sick. what you’re doing is disgusting but that’s what makes you so horny. it’s hot because it shouldn’t be, in the same way that jake is hotter because he’s off-limits. because he’s your dad’s best friend and your godfather.

jake cums easily. yeah, it doesn’t take him long.

he watches you, waits until you’re blue in the face before removing his hand from your mouth, and kisses you languidly as he cums inside you as a means to keep you quiet. he isn’t interested in consequences right now, he doesn’t care, all he cares about is feeling good with you.

he leans down, thumbing your clit in fast circles.

Christmas Eve 1880.

Christmas comes around so quickly every year. You used to have to wait for it.

You feel like you haven’t aged at all, and yet, every Christmas as you grow older, the snow falls as a harsh reminder that you haven’t been 8 in years. And the snow just doesn’t set the same anymore.

There’s an ache in your chest where there used to be innocence. There used to be light but it has been snuffed out with age and replaced with a deep, incurable sadness.

Your parents have been struggling to find a cure for your melancholy, so they commission a local toymaker to build you something beautiful.

.

︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵ ‧ ˚ ₊

꒰ coming soon…. ♡ ꒱

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

it had started with an advert online. then, an application. that is how he found you.

someone was advertising for a caretaker. nothing more. ‘kind of like a housemaid’, you had explained to your friends.

you came to sunghoon like an angel in a prophetic dream, haloed in light and soft around the edges.

the first time you met him was when you arrived at the house for your interview. he seemed peculiar to you, even back then, as he offered to take your coat and led you up the staircase to his father’s office.

he was the colour of sickness, lean and inhumanly tall. you hadn’t spent enough time looking at him then to notice that his eyes were completely hollow. his skin was immortal and textureless, unspoiled by age lines and uv rays from the sun, not a single pore or hair follicle in sight, even along the curve of his sturdy jaw where there should have been stubble.

he looked sickly, like some sort of apparition, eyebrows thick and black, canted and scowling softly.

it wasn’t until you brushed past him on the staircase, that he noticed it- that thick, pheromonal scent, like a perfume that clung to your neck and skimpy clothes. you smelled like a virgin, sweet and distinctly 20. he turned rigid on the stairs and looked at you with a hardened expression, but you were too busy looking at the paintings on the wall to notice.

his eyes bore into the back of your skull. he felt suddenly dizzy and held onto the banister to steady himself. the staircase slanted as his vision grew weak. he didn’t have a pulse, but if he did it would have been racing. he grew sick with the realisation that it had worked, you had trusted him enough to believe his advert, the house seemed real to you and you were there, stood before him in the flesh, trapped in perpetuity.

you don’t know what attracted you to the job in the first place. the free rent maybe? the house itself was not very welcoming at all. you assumed that is why they were advertising for a caretaker- someone to breathe a bit of life into the place. everything was dark. the furniture was outdated, most of it mahogany and covered in dust.

you spent the majority of the interview discussing meaningless things. you laughed with sunghoon’s father, the frequency rung in sunghoon’s ears and would become impossible for him to forget.

he watched you and committed you to memory: the nervous dip in your brow, the tremble in your laugh as you shook the hand of a hallucination, the cadence of your heart hammering in your ribcage when it asked you to move in. 

“well, y/n, we look forward to you starting,” sunghoon’s father had smiled. he was a senile, but gentle, older man with a twinkle in his eyes. he was withered and strangely interesting. he could talk about anything and you would find yourself enchanted.

you glanced over at sunghoon who stood in the corner of the room watching you uneasily. he smiled too, with his mouth, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“it’s been a while since my son has had any company.” his father rasped.

sunghoon cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably, before leading you back out to your car.

you never saw sunghoon’s father again.

you should have never returned. but you did.

you moved into the house a week after that.

you managed alone, without the help of anyone, to pack up your belongings and place them into boxes in the boot of your car. sunghoon offered to help you carry your things up to your room when you arrived and you breathlessly accepted his offer.

“see that room over there?” he asked, setting the last box down on the landing. he pointed at the door opposite your bedroom. “that’s mine.”

you hummed in response.

“i would avoid cleaning in there if i were you.” he smiled with faux softness, running a hand through his hair.

“don’t use too much polish on the furniture, you’ll ruin the finish. and you only ever have to worry about cooking for yourself- don’t bother cooking meals for the two- three of us.” he corrected himself. his eyes fell on you immediately, he waited for you to realise what he’d just said, but you never did.

you took a step closer and looked up at him, holding your hands reverently in front of you. “anything else, sir?”

oh. sir.

sunghoon’s smile twitched.

“yes, one more thing,” his smile dropped and he reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “stay away from me.”

the confused, slightly upset look on your face, struck sunghoon’s dead heart into metre. he caressed your jaw gently with his thumb, before turning on his heel and disappearing.

you learned very quickly after that that sunghoon preferred his own company. he kept to himself. you had explored almost every room in the house within your first week of living there, but not his bedroom. 

you only ever saw him in passing and when you did, he rarely acknowledged you.

it was necessary. the less he grew fond of you, the easier it would be to destroy you.

he needed you worked up, curious and infatuated beyond your will, so that you would forget yourself, so that if anyone ever came looking for you, if anyone ever asked questions you had done it to yourself.

it eventually worked. he watched as you began to erase yourself slowly from the inside until you were left with nothing but your dreams of him and a map of the house in your mind’s eye.

you gave up everything.

he refused to greet you when you crossed him every morning on the stairs, but as soon as night fell you felt the draft of him behind you, the ghost of his talons hooked into the sides of you, pulling you apart slowly.

you never felt truly alone in the house, even when he wasn’t around you could feel sunghoon in the walls- watching you. he was under your skin, hiding in the hollow eyes of every portrait.

you swore the house was driving you crazy. you had convinced yourself it might’ve been vitamin d deficiency that was causing you to lose your mind because the house lacked in sufficient natural light. it’s floors would groan at you like they were alive, talk to you, as you tip-toed through the house in the early hours of the morning.

it was a peculiar house and yet you questioned nothing. you had no desire to understand, no desire to be found. you began to understand an innate truth about yourself, a dark truth: that darkness had become more attractive to you than the idea of freedom outside. you’d never been in love before, but you imagined it to feel something like this- crazy and lonely.

your senses soon acclimatized to the conditions of the house and you learned to recognise sunghoon by his smell and the sound of his footsteps. you found yourself following the scent of him through the halls at night, never managing to catch up.

you searched for him in the reaches of your dreams and you would find him sometimes, stood in the shadows of your bedroom. he would crawl on top of you and rip your pyjamas open. your buttons would scatter across the floor and he’d hush you and tell you “it’s okay to be afraid”. it was a sadistic and gradual kind of operant conditioning- you would eventually learn to expect hell when you felt him press his finger to your lips. he’d fuck you after that, so hard, so slow and so deep that you’d wake up cumming, shaking and crying and longing for death. the dream would eventually be snuffed out by your alarm and you’d sit up in bed against the headboard- dazed and twitching.

you longed for him viscerally, like a lover from a past-life. it was a feeling explained only by the french philosophy of “l’appel du vide”. you were morbidly fascinated with sunghoon and your curiosity would only be sated by knowing him, truly knowing him, and letting him have you.

you didn’t understand this in consciousness yet, but you understood this in your soul and the liminal spaces across your subconscious. you understood this in your bones, and it wasn’t to be questioned.

݁ᛪ༙

you were bored one evening. curious. it was a sunday evening in january and you hadn’t seen sunghoon since thursday.

you paced up and down the hallway, judging the distance between your room and his for at least 30 minutes before knocking, atlhough sunghoon had noticed you were outside long before that. the floorboards creaked beneath your bare feet as you pressed your ear against the door.

the scent of you crept beneath the door, your blood smelled so intoxicating that his hands developed a tremor, and he looked up from where he was sat at his desk.

“hoon”, you called softly, dragging your nails gently down the skeleton of the door.

he groaned. 

you heard his chair scrape against the floor as he stood up and walked over to where he heard your voice. you felt his suffocating presence radiating through the door.

“what is it?” he asked, running his finger along a groove in the doorframe.

silence.

“i…” the words you’d been rehearsing ran dry in your mouth.

your frail hand lingered on the doorhandle.

the door clicked open softly and you gasped. you were confronted with your devil again for the first time since you’d met him.

“you have a death wish.” he remarked and your spine turned stiff.

then, he grabbed you by the wrists and pulled you inside, slamming you into his bedroom wall with enough force to knock the breath out of you. you gasped loudly as the back of your head bounced off of the wall behind you.

you tried to scream but sunghoon smothered your mouth shut with his hand. he looked at you- pained- like he wanted back the pieces you’d cut from him, free hand twitching at his side. 

he looked…desperate. 

you looked back up at sunghoon through your lashes and, for the first time, saw someone looking back at you. you were so used to seeing nothing behind his eyes, that it made you feel sick when you saw a monster staring back at you. his expression wasn’t one that you recognised. it was ugly. carnal. he stared back at you with what looked like rage, a desire so strong that you had nearly mistaken it for hate. 

his nostrils flared. 

he leaned down, grazing the shell of your ear with his teeth. his breath should have been warm but it felt cold. like ice.

your heart sunk into your stomach. 

you glanced sideways at his adam’s apple as he leaned in closer. he smirked and let out a single breath of laughter as he watched realisation flit across your eyes, the horror of realising that he had you exactly where he wanted you- trapped- shrinking between him and the wall. 

“i know. i know what you are.” you whispered.

he examined the details of your eyes- pupils blown and dilated with fear, irises glassy and scared. this is exactly how he wanted you. 

this- this is what he’d been waiting for. you were terrified, he could smell the fear on you along with the notes of a woody perfume. one of the expensive ones he’d had anonymously delivered to the house on your birthday. your pulse was gushing; he could hear it. he could hear your heart thumping hard and steady, unspent breaths swelling in your chest. 

sunghoons’s eyes rolled back into his head and he traced the path of your carotid with his nose, all the way down to your collarbone. your skin was so soft, you had done well to preserve it with age. 

his free hand flew up to your hair and yanked your head to the side to make room for his mouth. he groaned at the scent of you and pressed his open mouth to your skin. 

when he kissed your neck, his lips felt so cold that they burned- scalded you in a way that you weren’t used to. you’d been kissed by men before but never like this and it had always felt warm. you sighed and squeezed your eyes shut.  

he kissed your neck slowly, languidly, and sucked a dark bruise onto your skin that had turned black by the time he’d stopped making out with it. 

you were moaning into sunghoon’s hand, so he pressed it harder against your mouth, forcing you to swallow the noises back down into your stomach. you felt your knees buckle, but he pressed his hips forward into yours so hard that you wouldn’t- couldn’t- fall. you felt dizzy. you’d never needed someone more. your knuckles turned white as you held onto him by the collar of his shirt.

“you don’t understand…” he murmured into your collarbone, almost inaudibly, “fuck.” 

he scowled up at you from beneath his thick eyebrows. you opened your eyes and looked down at him as he hid his nose in your jugular notch. 

“fuck,” he spat, “you don’t understand what you do to me.”

he finally removed his hand from your mouth, entitling you to air, wiping your saliva off on his shirt briefly before straightening up. then, he gripped your jaw tight and pulled your chin up, forcing you to look at him, digging his fingers and thumb into your soft cheeks.

“y/n. you’ve got to understand that, unless you tell me to stop right fucking now, i’m gonna tear you apart,” he breathed. he felt crazy and the beat of his cold, dead heart hammered in his ears, deafening him to the voice of reason. 

the game of cat and mouse he’d been playing with you was about to come to an abrupt end.

light creeped in from the hallway outside, through the door that was ajar beside you.

“hoon,” you whispered, searching his eyes for something- mercy or pity perhaps.

sunghoon lowered his gaze to your bottom lip and the way it wobbled nervously beneath his thumb. with a creased brow and a tight jaw, he ran his thumb along it slowly, tugging it down to reveal your pearly teeth. he imagined what they’d feel like nipping at the skin on his chest.

he rolled his eyes and muttered, “this is your last chance.” 

your head was spinning, and in that moment, you couldn’t make out which of your instincts felt stronger: the instinct to surrender, or the instinct to run. 

instinct. it was a tightrope that you walked above the path from desire to consequence. the gnawing sensation that you couldn’t ignore. a feeling but stronger, a preacher whose voice you followed blindly, bewitched and undeterred by logic. 

you swallowed hard. you moved to hold onto sunghoon’s forearm, but he shook his head and took both of your wrists in his hands, pinning them at your sides. his grip on you was painfully tight.

“no, y/n.” 

“wh- what do you mean ‘no’, sunghoon?” you smiled, confused. 

and he felt sick. he felt sick for enjoying it: the way his cruelty perplexed you, the way you looked up at him and searched his eyes for humanity, the way your forlorn hands trembled either side of you, the way he wanted to scare you to death. 

“i mean no,” he reiterated cooly. 

the corner of your smile twitched. 

“you are not to hold me like that. you don’t understand”, he began, “no softness. i don’t want to be gentle with you. i want to do things to you. things that’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.” 

he was staring straight into you now. he really saw you.

“like what?” your voice cracked. 

he ran a slender, pale finger down the side of your face, down your neck and the rest of your body until he reached your waist. you shivered as he dug his finger into the hem of your skirt and tugged you against his chest. you hadn’t realised before how much taller he was compared to you, until your forehead was a hair’s width apart from his neck as he towered over you, his cold breath tickling your scalp.

“i want to fuck you,” he purred, “hard.”

“until you break.” he spoke into your hair, breathing in the smell of your shampoo, his grip unrelenting. it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“i want to wreck you, y/n, in a way that’d be considered…” he considered his words carefully and sighed, leaning back to get another look at you from beneath his dark bangs, “…inhumane.” 

you caught a glimpse of his fangs as he smiled. he wasn’t really smiling at you, his eyes were empty and blank. they twinkled cruelly down at you, but only because they were reflecting the light from the hallway, not because there was anything light inside him.

“then wreck me,” you replied simply, shrugging. you tried to wrench your wrists free from his grip but it was no use. 

his nostrils flared. must’ve been a habit of his, something he did when he was aroused. he studied the way you struggled in his grip- it turned him on. 

he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek and stepped in closer, locking you against the wall, that’s when you felt it. he was hard- he was hard as fuck. his hips brushed against yours and he clicked his tongue, watching you now with a dangerous look in his eyes. predatory, even. 

“let me go.” you whined, trying to tug your arms into your chest out of his grip, but sunghoon squeezed your wrists tighter in retaliation. 

“sunghoon. let me go.” you could hear your pulse rushing in your ears. you felt like you were going to faint. or die. 

“do you really mean that?” he asked, tilting his head to one side wickedly. as though he were amused.

silence.

“that’s what i thought.” he grunted. 

he was rocking into you slowly, barely refraining, his hard-on grazing your clothed clit. you squeezed your thighs together and he hissed, watching the tent in his slacks grow against you. he reached down and split your thighs open, positioning himself conveniently between them and you- you already looked fucked. you whined and tipped your head back against the wall with a thud harder than you were anticipating. sunghoon chuckled to himself and shook his head, before reaching under your skirt.

you flinched as he ran his cold hand along the inside of your thigh. his touch was tentative and patient, almost sceptical and- god- you felt so soft. 

you felt him press his palm against your warm cunt. to begin with, all he did was apply a light pressure. you whined and tipped your head forwards, your forehead resting against sunghoon’s chest. 

“god…fuck. please.” you breathed shakily. 

“please what?” he asked into your hair. you reached out for him and ran your palms up his chest, scrunching his shirt up in your fists, pleading. 

“please. just please.” you cooed, bucking your hips into his palm. 

he shook his head and stifled a short laugh. 

“ask me properly, doll.” he mumbled against your scalp and kissed the top of your head, soft enough that you hadn’t noticed. 

you tugged at his shirt. it’s not that you couldn’t use your words- you were afraid to use them- afraid of the truth. the truth being that, despite everything and the rational decision being to run, you wanted him, you needed him. inhumanely.

“that feel good, doll?” he whispered, palming you slowly through your panties. you were damp with need. he cupped your heat, the heel of his hand rubbing your clit in harsh circles, his fingers poking your hole through the fabric of your underwear, caressing the wet patch that had formed. you whined into his chest, pleading for friction.

you felt his cock strain against the inside of your leg and you sobbed quietly, comprehending the idea of trying to fit all of him inside you. he felt thick and huge, you doubted you’d be able to take all of him. sunghoon wondered too but he didn’t care, he’d make it fit, he’d make you wet enough.

“i’m going to need you to use your words, angel.” he muttered, pausing to pat the inside of your thigh, signalling for you to part your legs. you gasped and glanced down at his hand. you hadn’t realised it, but you had absently-mindedly clamped your thighs shut around his wrist and it had become difficult for him to move.

you whined and shook your head slowly, avoiding his eyes.

“hm? you’re not going to use your words? are you too embarrassed?” he tutted.

yes, you were embarrassed. embarrassed to admit where you wanted him; the way you wanted him to touch you; the things you wanted him to do to you; the names you wanted him to call you. you were embarrassed, and he knew it all too well because none of your fantasies belonged to you anymore. sunghoon had deciphered you too easily.

“embarrassed about wanting me to touch you?” he pried, ghosting his fingers over your pussy again.

you managed the tiniest nod and he laughed.

“i’ve been thinking about you too, you know. fuck.” he cursed. “i’ve been obsessed with the idea of fucking you from behind, until you forget to how to breathe. except, when i command you to, you remember exactly how. you suck in a big, deep breath for me, and fight the urge to pass out on my dick. i’d train you to expect it, every time you feel my hand wrap around your throat from the back.”

“you’re sic-“ you began and he hushed you by placing his finger over your lips before you could finish your sentence.

his voice dropped suddenly to a grave tone. “you’ve dreamt of this moment. remember?” 

you could remember waking up from dreams about sunghoon in a cold sweat, but it had never occurred to you that he might’ve been the one planting them in your subconscious. it made sense now that you recognised him- like an apparition from a past life. your throat ran dry. had any of your intentions ever truly been yours?

it was clear, he had always intended to have you like this.

“that was you…you meant for me to have those dreams.” you whispered. you recalled dreams, most of them violent. he had meant for them to frighten you. they had felt so real, that you likened them to memories. memories of flailing around on his dick as he forced you into submission, memories of arresting in his arms, of dying. however, there was one dream unlike the others. that night you had dreamt of a tender love, no blood. you wondered whether that dream had been meant for you at all?

 he nodded and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, examining you.

“turn around.” he commanded.

you hesitated and he had just about lost his patience. he grabbed your shoulders and spun you around so that you were flush against the wall. unsure of what to do with your hands, you pressed them flat against the wall, staring at the space between them. sunghoon couldn’t see your face anymore and would have to rely solely on the cadence of your pulse to gauge your pleasure. right now, it was elevated, suggesting to him that you might have been scared. or aroused.

he cupped your waist with his cold hands, before pulling your skirt down. it pooled around your ankles, and he cleared his throat so that you would step out of it obediently. and you did, earning the praise of his kiss to the side of your head. you could have easily mistaken it for love.

the room was silent, save for the sound of sunghoon shifting behind you. that was, until he broke it with a loud crack as his hand came down against your ass and stung it with a smack.

you yelped and arched into the wall instinctively to escape him.

all of it- it was warranted. you had been driving him crazy for weeks, fascinating him with your short skirts and your sweet laugh. you were the picture of innocence begging to be defiled.

“fuck.” he groaned, watching your ass recoil. the concept of elasticity was one that he enjoyed outside of physics. your body was so soft and bouncy there was almost no risk of breaking you, he could toy with you to no end, and you would return to your original state. this, amongst other things, is what made you the perfect muse.

he chuckled darkly and hit you again, firm on the ass cheek, “that’s for forgetting to use your words. you’re gonna have to get used to using them for me, okay?”

your noises drove him crazy. helpless and weak. like prey tangled up in his barbed wire.

“and you’ll have to tell me if things get too much,” he whispered, lowering onto his knees behind you.

he hooked a finger into your panty line and peeled your thong out of your ass, pulling it down with him. he could smell your arousal already, but it was even stronger now, sweet like pear drops. he reached up and bunched your shirt up out of the way so that he could get a good view of your ass in the room’s sparse light.

“cold…” you grizzled, looking down at him over your shoulder,

sunghoon pouted in mock sympathy, and cooed, grabbing a handful of your ass. he rubbed his thumb in slow circles over the bruise he’d given you and sighed, blowing his bangs out of his eyes.

“what did you expect hm, baby?” he clicked his tongue and parted your ass cheeks, dragging a slender finger through the middle of your slit from behind. you shuddered. it felt so…foreign. so cold.

your pussy looked so neat and pretty from behind, he thought. better than he’d imagined- and he’d imagined it in just about every aspect and dimension, in every scenario- some of them had even been gentle.

he brought his finger to his mouth and licked it, savouring the taste of you.

“you’re a virgin. i can tell.” he remarked and looked up at you, holding your gaze unwaveringly. “you taste sweet.” he grunted and leaned in, pressing his nose to the back of your thigh, inhaling deeply.

his mouth was so close to your pussy, you were convinced he’d be able to feel you throbbing.

and you hated it. you hated the way he lingered there, the way he made you feel exposed and seen. vulnerable. he made you wait, with bated breath, and breathed against your pussy, holding you up by the back of your thighs, a grip that was sure to leave purple thumbprints behind in it’s wake.

“words.” he snapped. “you need to tell me what you want.”

you bit your finger and searched his eyes but the look he gave you was pitiless and apathetic.

“what is it?” he mumbled, “you want my mouth? is that it?”

silence.

“want me to lick you down here? no? my fingers?”

silence.

smack.

“tell me.” he growled, digging his nails into your thighs, hard enough to bruise them but not enough to draw any blood.

your eyes welled with tears.

“ah fuck—yes! your mouth…your mouth please, anything…” you choked, swaying your hips impatiently.

he said nothing. just stared.

then, he exhaled through his nostrils and pressed his open mouth to your mound from behind. your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you thought your legs might give way. your pussy was completely engulfed. you couldn’t make up your mind whether it felt hot. or cold. but you knew it felt good- too good- and wet.

your stomach churned with butterflies.

gravelly sounds from sunghoon’s chest vibrated through him and against your cunt. he groaned, swirling his tongue around and collecting your wetness on it, before swallowing it and retreating.

he pulled your slit apart from behind with his thumb, examining you, almost clinically- the way you fluttered and clenched around nothing in anticipation, the way you pulsated like you had a second heart.

he didn’t waste any time before leaning back in- with just his tongue this time. he licked a hot stripe along your slit. he held you in place, ensuring that you couldn’t squirm, couldn’t escape and lapped at your cunt, incessant in his efforts.

“pleasepleaseplease—please!”

you realised then that he’d made you face the wall on purpose, because he was concerned with matters of control. he wouldn’t- couldn’t- allow you to bury your hands in his hair and guide him. your pleasure would be on his terms.

he kissed your pussy from behind, hot, open-mouthed kisses, and you couldn’t get enough. you fought against the grip he had on you, desperate for more, grinding your cunt back on his face but it was no use. he edged you in intervals and would move back, leaving you hanging and needy for more.

“you’re making a mess on my face.” he purred in between sloppy kisses. he placed them on top of your pussy and down the backs of your thighs.

your sounds became strangled and needy as he edged you closer to the brink of an orgasm.

he was good at it- too good. good at riling you up, good at working you up.

“h-hoon…please…please. can’t…” you whined.

“can’t what?” he asked, although he knew what you meant. “hm, doll? can’t take it? that’s fine.” he chuckled and let go of your thighs, pulling his face out of your cunt, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand.

he watched you breathlessly, grinning, baring his teeth. he watched you- the pain etched into your delicate features, the way your eyes frowned and glistened down at him. you shook your head at him urgently, turning around to face him with your body but, as you reached out for a handful of his hair to claw him back to you, he captured your wrist swiftly and stood up.

“don’t be a brat.” he snapped, slapping your pussy with his hand and gripping it tight. you yelped and your thighs clamped shut around his forearm instinctively.

“wow. you’re so fucking wet.” he grinned evilly, stroking his long fingers up through the mess you’d made. he held his hand up in front of your face, stretching out a line of your wetness between his fingers.

it was humiliating to be confronted with your arousal like that. so blatantly. sticky and translucent. your cheeks burned with shame but there was nowhere left for you to hide, sunghoon had ensured it.

he felt like a freak for loving the way you looked up at him with your doll-black eyes- embarrassed. humiliated. he would cherish these innocent still frames of you in is memory forever, even as you aged and learned to forget him.

you glanced down at his parted lips and sniffled.

“wanna kiss you...” you pouted.

he shook his head and hushed you again. it was the only time that night he recalled how to be soft. your eyes fluttered closed as his minty breath tickled your face and kissed you in all the places his mouth couldn’t bear to. “you know i can’t do that, angel.” he mumbled against your temple.

because it was kinder to hurt you like this, than to hurt you with the promise of forever.

it made your chest ache but some masochistic part of you preferred it this way, and him being unattainable made it easier for you to get off.

“now, are you going to be good for me?” he asked, brushing your tears away with his thumb. you nodded gently.

“good girl.” he praised, stroking your clit with his fingers. “put your hands on my shoulders.” he demanded and you obeyed, holding onto him.

he grunted as he hoisted you up into his arms and wrapped your frail legs around his waist, carrying you over to the desk. he threw everything that was on the desk onto the floor with one sweep of his arm and planted you in the middle.

the desk was dark oak and sat beneath the window. the night outside was blue. the moonlight caught on sunghoon’s cheekbones, hollowing out the rest of his face. he looked like the grim reaper, and you would have let him lead you to your death.

you sat there, neat like a doll, with your hands in your lap, eyes watching him expectantly.

carefully, he unbuckled his belt and pulled it out of his slacks, before reaching down and binding your wrists together, so tight that you winced.

he didn’t bother to ask whether it was okay. he understood that you enjoyed it from the way you bit your lip and squeezed your thighs together.

you were driving him fucking crazy. he shook his head, knuckles turning white as he grabbed both of your knees and parted your legs.

he then held his forefingers up to your lips. something about the way you confusedly glanced down at them turned him on. he clenched his jaw and cleared his throat, instructing you sternly, “open your mouth for me, baby.”

his skin was translucent and you could make out all of the veins in his hand as he brought it closer and stuck his fingers in your mouth. he caressed your chin gently with the other hand as you suckled on his fingers, coating them in spit. you drooled messily, just the way he liked it.

sunghoon’s expression hardened as he stuck his fingers in deeper, down your throat, making your eyes water. he pulled his fingers out of your mouth before you could choke and reached down to spread your folds. after checking you were wet enough, he sunk his middle finger slowly into your tight cunt.

you were tight. seriously tight. virgin tight. you must have been dying, not even using your own fingers to get off. he had watched you at night, orgasming in your sleep without any stimulation. the thought of you waiting for him so patiently made his dick twitch.

he groaned as you clenched around him and watched your jaw turn slack as he began to move his finger slowly inside and out, loosening you up.

“say something, pretty girl.” he breathed into the space between your mouth and his.

he watched you with crazed eyes as your body arched instinctively into his. he towered above you like a god. you tried to tug your wrists apart, not because you wanted to be set free, but because the idea of feeling like prey was thrilling to you. it stirred something dormant inside sunghoon. he bared his teeth and hissed at you, frightening you into stillness.

“s-sunghoon...hoon…please…” you whined, throwing your head back. you were a hot mess, flushed in the face and the neck.

“you want another one?” he grinned, adding another finger. you nodded quickly.

“yesyesyes! yes! please.” you sobbed, grinding onto his fingers, rolling your hips around, fucking yourself on them pathetically.

he fucked your cunt with his fingers, his middle finger and his ring finger. he set a brutal pace, curling them up into your cervix, purring at each of your soft moans and cries. his pace winded you- you could hardly breathe, hardly get a word in edge ways.

you looked up at him, biting your lip to stifle your cries. you watched him through your bangs, balling your hands into fists. your ass began to ache against the hard desk but sunghoon didn’t care. instead, he glanced down at your pussy beneath him and spat onto it, using his free hand to rub your clit.

this feeling- it was new altogether, and the way he looked at you…you couldn’t describe it. you couldn’t describe the way he touched you, but you would know the feeling, even in death.

“that’s it, pretty. you gonna cum for me? all over my hand?” he breathed, half amazed that you hadn’t passed out yet.

your wrists began to chafe against the leather of his belt. they looked sore. you had been holding onto your orgasm, too shy to cum, until sunghoon leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your jaw.

you shrieked and leaned into sunghoon’s shoulder, biting down on it hard as you came.

“fuck—y/n.” he growled loudly, pumping his fingers into with unrelenting force.

you screamed around a mouthful of his linen shirt as your orgasm came crashing over you. it rippled through you in waves, and you convulsed below him, chasing an everlasting feeling.

“fuck! fuckfuckfuck—hoon—!” you cried.

“good girl.” he grunted as his bicep began to strain.

he slowed down and watched you, mesmerised, as you soaked his fingers. no one had ever made you feel like that before and sunghoon knew it because you looked at him like he’d just promised you the world.

it cut him- the fucked-out gaze in your eyes, the way they twinkled up at him and saw him as a person capable of keeping promises.

he felt sick.

he cradled you and allowed you to ride out the final waves of your orgasm on his fingers before pulling them out slowly and wiping them off on his trousers. 

“hoon…” you sighed shakily. he clenched his jaw and unbound your wrists, letting his belt fall onto the floor. he took your wrists in his hands and brought them to his lips, kissing over the belt marks.

you were hiccupping and sniffling softly, lips and eyelids swollen from crying. his cock was so hard that he felt dizzy and he hated himself for it- hated himself for enjoying the way the light refracted in your tears when you cried. you looked so pretty. so torn.

you couldn’t fully understand why you were crying. because it felt so good, maybe. or because despite him telling you you should fear your life, he felt strangely safe.

“you wanna ride my dick, pretty baby?” he mumbled into the silence and you nodded, but not hard enough.

sunghoon’s expression darkened and he let go of your wrists.

“was that a yes?” he whispered against your neck as he leaned in and gripped your thighs, a reminder that he didn’t want to be gentle with you, and that if he had been gentle it was because he had been sparing you.

“mhm…y-yes…” you nodded again. your heart fluttered. you watched his fangs glint against your neck in the corner of your eye.

“tell me how you want it,” he croaked, caressing a lock of your hair, twirling it around his finger. he was unbuttoning his slacks with his free hand now, stepping out of them and kicking them to the side.

“mmm…” you hesitated.

something predatory flashed across his eyes and in one swift motion, he picked you up and bent you over the desk in front of him.

“words.” he commanded, combing his fingers through your hair, before gathering it all in his hand and yanking your head back- hard. you yelped loudly but refused to speak, even as he pulled your head back so far that you were staring up at the ceiling. he was painfully hard in his boxers, rocking against your ass impatiently.

you blushed, gulping audibly up at the ceiling, “i want feel you inside me. please.”

sunghoon thought you were finished and went to tug his boxers down but then- then you said something unthinkable. something that made his inside twist.

“hoon…can you-“ you paused, and he loosened his grip on your hair, allowing you to look back at him over the slope of your shoulder, “can you bite me?”

“you don’t mean that.” he interjected immediately, cutting you off. his expression was unreadable. he looked like he’d seen a ghost.

a single beat passed and suddenly he was holding onto your waist, trying to steady himself. he felt dizzy. you had spoken directly to the voice inside him that persuaded him to hurt you, to bleed you dry.

“stupid girl.” he whispered.

he groaned gutturally and leaned in, sniffing up your carotid.

he shook himself out of it and tugged his boxers down, shoving you by the back of the head into the desk. you pressed your cheek against the cold surface and whimpered as you felt him line himself up against your pussy.

“don’t.” he grunted. “ever.” he emphasised, pushing your head harder into the desk. “ask me to do that again.”

then, he spat into his palm and stroked himself before leaning down into your ear again.

“your pussy looks so cute.” he laughed airily, nudging the tip of his cock into you. you whined quietly, bringing your hand up to your mouth but sunghoon was quick to notice. he pulled it away and held it behind your back. he wanted to hear everything- the whimpers, the sniffles, the screams shredding your throat.

he eased himself into you slowly and groaned, tipping his head back. he knew you were going to be tight- but not this tight.

“fuck.” he rasped under his breath, watching himself disappear inside you. you were so wet that it barely hurt, in fact he fit inside you perfectly. you were made to take him.

you felt as light as anything, weightless even, as he filled you up, stuffing you full of his cock. you swore you felt your soul leave your body and saw it floating above yourself, his huge hands were about the only thing left grounding you, anchoring you to reality. he felt up your sides and dug his thumbs into your waist as he pulled out and began to slide back in.

sunghoon was quick to set a brutal pace. he was merciless, barely allowing you time to adjust. it hurt– but you liked it and your body made it known to him. you were filthy-wet.

“you’re so cute like this,” he grunted, digging his nails into your skin, “you look so fucking tiny.”

he fucked you from behind, so hard that your entire body slid up and down against the desk. it creaked and knocked against the wall loudly- repeatedly. the room was thick with his grunts and the smell of sex.

“hoon…ah! hoon—please…” you pleaded.

he shook his head. he was struggling to maintain breathing through his nostrils. his mouth fell open and he groaned loudly, throwing his head back. his balls slapped loudly against your ass. it was wet. hot. filthy. you squelched around him- obscenely. he couldn’t get enough of you. you struggled beneath him and wrenched your arm free from his grip, holding onto the sides of the desk on your tip-toes.

“that feel good? hm, baby?” he asked breathlessly, smacking your mottled ass on top of the bruise he’d already left. he smiled at your blanched knuckles, combing his fingers through your ragged hair as you sobbed beneath him.

you nodded quickly, but you were unable to speak.

“god. fuck. come here.” he hissed and flipped you over. he sat himself up on the desk and pulled you into his lap so that he could see your face. you looked wrecked.

you climbed on top of him and sank back down onto his cock. you could feel more of him at this angle. he slid one hand beneath your armpit and the held your waist with the other. he held you bruisingly tight and kept you perfectly upright as he fucked up into your warm cunt, groaning with each of his thrusts.

“fuckfuckfuck! fuck—hoon!” you sobbed.

his hips snapped angrily up into you and he searched your face for signs of pain, not because he was worried, but because he liked it.

as you began to grow tired and idle in your movements, he pulled you up and down on his cock, doing most of the work for you. you felt delirious, drooling around the sides of your mouth as he fucked you senseless. not a single, coherent thought left in the space between your ears.

he knew that he should have gone easy on you because you were unable to form a coherent sentence, but the urge he had to ruin you was greater. he split you open on top of him, growling loudly as you bounced on his cock, over and over, watching your tummy swell.

“yeah? you like that?” he purred, punctuating each of his words with a thrust.

your head lolled to one side and he shook you in his lap, forcing you to sit up straight and watch him as he rocked you up and down on top of his cock.

sunghoon’s hands nearly fit completely around your waist- they were huge. he gripped you tight, rolling your hips backwards and forwards on his length, nostrils wide as he watched you take him.

your eyes looked shattered and mascara began to smudge beneath your water line.

he took your hands and held them in place behind your back, using his hips and his thighs to lift you up, before allowing you to sink back down on him.

“bounce on it.” he groaned, leaning back and watching you with hooded eyes.

you managed a miserable nod and obeyed, bouncing up and down in his lap carefully. too carefully. “harder, doll.” he groaned. you squeezed his hand in response and began to bounce harder, your ass smacking against his thighs.

“please, hoon,” you cried softly, but it did little to mellow him, “please…”

your thighs began to burn and you ached all over for release.

“please, what? want me to stop, huh? i told you i had no intention of being soft with you, baby. oh-“ he huffed out a laugh and smacked you firm on the ass, grabbing a handful of your flesh in his hand and bringing you in closer to his chest. he stilled you on his cock and cooed at you sarcastically, brushing your bangs gently out of your face. “you just look so pretty when you cry, i’m sorry.” he lied. he wasn’t sorry.

he growled and regained his pace before you could start babbling again, nails sinking deep into your flesh. you could barely think, let alone speak. the only word that your body recalled, from the placement of your tongue to the frequency of the vibrations as it ripped through your chest, was him. his name. singular.

“sunghoon, please…please—ah!” you cried and he slapped your ass raw again, leaning in to bury his face in your neck, to get a whiff of the fear on you as you squirmed around in his lap desperately.

he felt so big, so fat, inside of you that it would have hurt had you not been so horny, so wet. had you not needed him so badly.

“let’s see how you bleed for me.” he sighed.

he kissed your neck again and reached in between your body and his, drawing circles on your clit, distracting from his fangs. he grinned against your neck as you shook in his lap, and, once your guard had been lowered enough, sunk his teeth into your artery to draw blood.

you froze.

for a moment your breath hitched and caught in your chest but then- then you screamed like a banshee, and began flailing round in his arms. 

you hit his chest in panic, over and over.

“sunghoon—sunghoon, what the fuc—“

he had sized you up like a predator and waited until you were at your most vulnerable before going in for the kill. 

your screams died gradually as you grew weak and anaemic in his lap. it’s effect was similar to asphyxiation. you would lose so much blood that your body would enter a state of premature hypovolemic shock. not enough to kill you- the intention wasn’t to kill you- but enough to make you dizzy and cum so much harder.

he sucked you dry.

you gargled his name with spit and choked on it. you were cold and terrified. the edges of your vision turned black as he drained you of all your colour.

“hoon—sunghoon, please—“

he ignored your plea. blood trickled down your neck and stained the collar of your shirt- it was a sight for his sore eyes, the way you were barely able to support the weight of your own head as it sagged on your shoulder.

he stopped before you grew faint and threw his head back, gazing into you with blood smeared all over his chin. he pressed two fingers against the puncture marks in your neck and held them there, letting it coagulate as he continued to fuck you, slower now, edging you closer to your orgasm, almost tenderly.

“mmmmf…fuck. cum for me, pretty baby.” he breathed, licking the last of you off his lips, his breaths growing ragged now.

“be good and get yourself off for me.” he whispered and you just about managed, despite how much your body ached and flagged, threatening to crack like china between the pressure of his hands on your waist.

you cried loudly and clenched hard around his dick as you came for the second time that night, all over his cock this time, rubbing your clit with three fingers. he smirked as you came undone in his lap, pussy fluttering around him. he glanced down and watched your stomach bulge as he came too, rolling his hips up into your heat, stuffing you with every last drop of his cum.

his mouth fell open and he moaned as you rode out the aftershock waves of your orgasm on his cock before slumping lifelessly against his chest. 

sunghoon was panting and you were only-just conscious.

“good girl.” he exhaled.

you felt like glass.

he was silent as he lifted you slowly off of his lap and carried you over to where the door stood ajar. he nudged it open fully with his foot and walked you down the hall, out of his room, into the bathroom, where he sat you on top of the counter.

he watched you twitch silently whilst he wetted a cloth and used it to soak up the blood on your neck.

the way the scene began to unfold was all too familiar to you- you’d done it a thousand times before, every night. the aftermath, the ache that grew in your stomach like a tumor, the reeling sensation in your head as you began to wonder what was wrong with you.

you woke up.

the dream vanished.