𝒞𝓎𝓃𝓉𝒽𝒾𝒶⋆

You stop kissing him for a moment, press your chin against his as you look up into his eyes, his breath fanning over you and yours over him, as you run your hands along his sides, excited to get to what’s underneath.

“And what’s this, Sam?” you ask, mesmerized by his dark eyes that seem to be a different color depending on how the light hits them. That’s one of the first things you noticed about him, days ago, when this whole prolonged salt-and-burn, hunters-united thing started. They just look dark at the beginning, then green, then brown, sometimes even blue. Now that you finally - finally - have the chance to see them up close, you’re still not sure.

Sam’s hands wander down your body as he keeps eye contact, squeezes your ass.

“Hook up with strange women I’ve only known for a few days,” he says, some of that slight cockiness coming out of him making you bite your lips.

“We can wait if you want to,” you say, tone teasing. “I don’t want you to abandon your–” 

Sam shuts you up with a rough kiss, one you moan at. You drag at him, to get him further into the room. His hands go to your shoulders and you briefly let go of him so your jacket can drop off you, then bring your hands back to his neck, his nice, slender, strong neck before pulling back again.

“So,” you say, surveying his face, “what do you like?” 

Sam studies you as well, seems to think, which is nice to see. Lots of guys you’ve been with have been mortified at talking about the deed before doing it, which is a good litmus test to weed out anyone you probably won’t have a great time with. But then Sam leans forward, kisses your cheek, then your jaw.

“I’m good with anything,” he mumbles against you, and while you don’t doubt your own skills, you know that’s not true. It might give you reason to pause, but Sam is just too delicious of a catch to give up on him.

“Do you like it sweet?” you say, moving and kissing his cheek in turn. “Or rough?” You move to his other cheek, nipping at it which makes Sam flinch, then grin. You take his big hands where they’re roaming your body, interlace your fingers with his.

“Do you like to be the boss?” you say, then move his hands away from you and behind his body, hugging him, which isn’t that easy with his absolute tree trunk of a torso, and makes you both giggle. “Or do you want me to take the lead?”

It’s minor, but you see the slight twitch in Sam’s gorgeous face and you squeeze his hands behind his back.

“Do we have a winner?” you ask, voice curious and low. Could you be so lucky and have run into this absolute specimen of a man, and then on top of that he likes for you to be in charge? Sam swallows.

“Is that…” he starts, “would that be something you’re into?” Instead of answering, you move your lips back to his mouth, kiss him deeply, arousal pounding away between your legs at the softness of his voice and eyes. Sam’s breathing becomes heavier at the kiss as he searches your lips out, chases them when you pull back.

“I’ve got those silver cuffs I usually use on werewolves,” you whisper against him and a stuttering breath leaves him, before the corners of his mouth twitch. He moves your hands back to your front, laying there for a second before he pushes them up with his, up to your breasts, covering them with his humongous paws and squeezing, dragging another moan from you.

“I can easily get out of those, you know,” he says and you giggle, making Sam grin before you shake your head.

“I don’t think you’re gonna want to, baby,” you answer and something in Sam’s face changes, something you’re not sure is good or bad at first, but then he dives in, kisses you hard, almost desperately. Your hands go back into that delicious mop of hair, pulling a little at the roots, which elicits something like a mixture of a groan and growl in Sam that goes straight to your pussy. He’s pawing at you, squeezing your skin and flesh all over before finally pulling back again.

“But,” he says, voice a little shaky, “but can I, can I eat you out first?” You huff, which comes out as one long, drawn out exhale, because, yeah, the boyishly handsome, tall, bulky man who has made you drip from wetness since the first moment your eyes met over an upturned grave four days ago can eat you out if he wants to, sure.

“Get your clothes off,” you pant at him, and like a good boy Sam listens, his hands shooting to his own jacket, tearing it off his shoulders as he begins undressing himself.

Meanwhile, you step back, walk over to the round table in the room where your bag is sitting after you tossed it there when the hunt was done, and all you wanted was to grab a shower before meeting up with the other hunters in a nearby bar to cheers to a job well done. You thought about Sam, there, under the hot spray of water, your hands running along your slippery skin. Hoping that exactly what is happening now would happen later.

You rummage through the bag as you hear Sam continue his undressing behind you, fabric ruffling and as much as you would prefer to watch, you really wanna find those cuffs. You do, along with the key and then you turn around, your breath catching in your throat for a moment.

Sam is just pulling off the white v-neck he’s been wearing under his shirt - a striped number that would look butt ugly on anyone else, but on Sam somehow highlights his strong, gorgeous features even more. The pulling off of the t-shirt reveals his torso, which is, to be totally honest, ridiculous. You could kind of guess at his build (and have been for the past few days), but you didn’t know it would be quite so delicious. 

Immediately you want to dip your tongue into every single divot you can reach - especially those intense v-lines leading down to his crotch. You make a mental note to spend some time on them once you have him trussed up.

“Take off the rest,” you say, making sure he knows it’s an order and not a suggestion, and the corners of his mouth twitch at it. You walk over to the bed, put the cuffs and key on the side table, briefly raising the key so Sam can see where it is. He nods. Then you begin undressing yourself.

Sam’s just unbuckling his belt but slows considerably in the process as you begin pulling up your shirt. It’s the black one that has a little row of buttons at the top, the one that makes your tits look absolutely phenomenal, and the effect hasn’t been lost on Sam as you noticed at the bar. He’s been subtle in his staring, but you caught him, once or twice. He always looked away. Maybe he really doesn’t do this a lot.

You drop the shirt on the ground, then go for your own pants, but not before raising one eyebrow and nodding at where Sam’s hands are resting on his belt.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” you say. There’s no point in raising your voice - it’s low and clear. You’ve known for a long time that being in charge doesn’t lie in being aggressive, at least not the way you like it. You want the other person to be willing to submit. Oh, and Sam is willing.

He starts undoing his belt, which just on its own is gonna be an image you’ll keep in your backpocket for a rainy day. You pull down your own jeans, wiggle your ass to get out of them and it makes Sam grin. Goddamn it, he’s cute. How does he oscillate between that and scorching hot so seamlessly?

You kick your shoes off at the same time as Sam does, and by the time you reach him again, you’re both only in your underwear. You sling your arms around his neck, kiss him again while his hands land on your side and squeeze your flesh there. You feel the tension of it but no pain - he must be holding back.

You separate your lips from him, look into his eyes and Sam looks back. Without looking away, you bring your hands up to his chest, lay them flat on the warm and soft skin there, then slowly begin running them down, making sure to touch as much of him as possible on the way. Sam keeps watching you, only briefly blinking, twitching, when you reach the waistline of his briefs. 

You halt, watch him, his lips slightly moving, the anticipation making it feel like there’s electricity in the air between you two. When you push your hands in his lips part slightly, and then you find him, needing to close your eyes.

“I’m gonna be honest with you,” you say when you open them again, gently running your fingers along soft skin, hardness budding underneath, “I’ve been thinking about this since I first saw you shoulder that shovel.” Sam gives a broken grin, his Adam’s apple bobbing and just because it’s right there, you move forward, press your mouth against his neck. Sam’s hands wander to the back of your head in response, holding you close. 

Eventually, Sam’s hands got your shoulders, tugging at the straps of your bra. You let go of him, drag your hands out of his underwear to bring them to your back, undo the clasp and Sam drags it off you, drops it immediately to bring his hands to your breasts. He cups them, gently, runs the pads of his thumbs over your nipples. You sigh.

He leans his head down, kisses the top of your shoulder and you begin gently pushing him backwards, towards the bed. Sam hums against your skin and it makes you smile.

The backs of his legs meet the bed and his hands leave you, disappointingly, but it’s so he can drag your panties down. He needs to lean way, way down so you push down on his shoulders, getting him to sit at the edge of the bed.

Your panties fall to the ground and Sam's eyes wander down your body. It could be your imagination, and you're not sure how much you can trust your senses anymore, but you're pretty sure his breathing picks up when they land on your pussy. He licks his lips, like a man dying from thirst seeing a glass of cool water. This boy is a miracle, you think.

You step close to him, your nakedness feeling so right, as he looks up at you from where he’s been looking. His hands go to your waist, pulling you in and then you’re standing over him, very aware of his hardening cock somewhere below your pussy, still hidden in his underwear. But Sam doesn’t even pay attention to that, instead stroking and exploring you with his calloused but gentle hands.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says and you can’t help the smile that breaks out over your face. Goddamn this man. He is hitting all the right buttons. You’ve never hooked up with anyone as earnest and sweet. He just seems to be so completely free of pretense. It could be scary. But it’s not.

You bring your hands to his face, cup it, take a second to just look at him, then nod slowly.

“Show me what you got, Sam,” you say and you just have time to see the glimmer in his eyes before Sam grabs you, presses you against him and then flips both of you around. You’re too aroused for your hunter instincts to kick in, so your back is meeting the bed with Sam over you before you know what is happening. Instead, you moan, grab his face, kiss him hard. His hands are running along your sides, almost frantic, before focusing on a single spot, like he’s trying to control himself.

His lips go to your neck, his broad chest and back heaving with his heavy breathing, and then he continues moving down, and you remember his previous request. Can I eat you out first? It nearly makes you gush, especially when Sam’s lips land on your collarbone, tongue running over the rise of it before he moves further down. Look at that, you think. A man of his word. 

He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, the pressure intense, then lets go and licks over it, making you press your chest up against him. He moves to the other one, mouths at it, and you press your thighs together, roll your hips, not wanting him to stop but looking for some kind of release. 

Sam must notice, lets your nipple drop out of his mouth, then looks down your body. He turns, looks back up at your face. You must look like you’re about ready to blow, even though he’s barely done anything. He grins, the goddamn cockiest grin you’ve ever seen and one of his hands goes to your knee, travels down to the inside of your thigh and then, meanly, horribly, stops there.

“Keep your legs open,” he says, and you chuckle, both at him and how hard it is to open them up, escape the little bit of friction you were getting.

“Fucking tease,” you mutter and Sam’s grin widens. “I’m gonna get you back for that.” Sam presses his lips against the spot between your breasts, then looks up at you again.

“I’m coutin’ on it,” he says and you need to bite your lip while you file that to-do away for later. Tease him. Yeah, you can do that. You’ll do more than that. He doesn’t know what you have in store for him.

With a self-satisfied smile, you push yourself deeper into the mattress, and Sam begins kissing you again, a sensual, slow trail down your front. One kiss he lands next to your belly button and it makes you giggle. You feel his lips smile against you. Goddamn.

He shuffles around, gets into position before moving lower. You have no idea how he can be comfortably arranging his long body on the bed in this way, and then he lowers his head, his breath fanning over your pussy and you don't care anymore.

He kisses you high on your thigh, slow, lingering, where he presses his entire face against you, like he can't bear not to be as close as possible. Another one, closer to the inside, and then another one, closer yet.

You would love for him to just dive right in, but the way his slow approach makes you feel like you'll drown the poor guy down there isn't bad either. You're panting and almost shaky when his lips finally graze your own lower ones.

A small gasp leaves you as Sam explores you, kissing you there, then the tip of his tongue presses against you, softly first, then harder. Your legs are as wide open as they can be and when Sam gently sucks that little bud of nerves into his mouth, it's a good thing he slung his arms around your thighs when he made himself comfortable, because you might break his nose otherwise with how hard you press yourself up against him.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan, hands shooting to his hair. It's pure instinct, to press him closer against you, look for any part of him - the strong chin, the broad nose, anything - to find more stimulation. You stop a second later. Or you would, if Sam didn't give the most exquisite low moan when you press him down.

You let up, just barely giving Sam room to talk. He uses the chance to say only one thing.

“Do it again,” he gasps, breathless. Good Lord up in heaven. Of course you'll do it again.

You press him down again, and while he presses his tongue flat against your clit, a deep, lustful groan travels up his throat, making you feel like you're vibrating right along with him. He moves his face, creating stimulation, and you can't - or almost can't - help the ways your lower body moves along to find more - more friction, more tongue, more lips, more Sam.

So you keep going. With Amazonian strength you push your head up, look down your body and curse yourself for not doing so earlier. His eyes are closed, eyelids fluttering like he's in fucking heaven. The image spurns you on so much that you begin rolling your hips more, now essentially face fucking Sam. He doesn't seem to mind.

“Oh God, so fucking good, Sam,” you pant, carding your fingers into his hair, pulling near the roots. “You're gonna make me come so fucking hard.”

Sam can't answer, for obvious reasons, but he groans again, long and loud and deep. It's all building inside of you, all coming to its inevitable conclusion, and when you see Sam's strong back heaving in lust and exhalation, reacting like this to making you come on his face, it's the last straw.

A crescendo of yes yes yes fuck yes Sam leaves you as you come, riding his face from below, hands gripping his hair so tightly you'd be surprised if they didn't come away with tufts of it. You throw your head back, moaning so loudly it almost counts as a scream, all reason and self control lost as waves and waves of delicious pleasure carrying Sam's signature wash over you.

You drop down, both from your high as well as your body against the mattress below you. You’re breathing hard, shaky and shuddery. Distantly you feel Sam has returned to kissing your thighs, but blindly you reach for his arms, try to pull him up towards you.

He understands, pushes himself up and crawls over you. He lands a few fleeting kisses on his way up, and then he’s over you, and you chuckle at seeing him. His hair is messy, which is mostly your fault, your wetness making his chin and mouth glisten. You bring a hand up, wipe it over his face and then pull him in, kiss him deeply.

Sam lays himself over you, held up by his elbows, and his weight on you is perfect. You wrap your legs around him on instinct, bring him close to you and grind yourself up against him. You’re still sensitive, but it’s worth it for the feeling of his bulge pressing against you.

In response, Sam stops kissing, pressing his forehead against your temple while he presses himself against you, moans.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he pants and you could return the compliment, but instead you bring your hand up, grabbing his jaw and making him look at you.

“Lie down on your back, right now,” you say and something comes over Sam’s face, something so vulnerable and excited and intense. You haven’t seen this expression on him yet.

He kisses you again, then pushes himself up as you unsling your legs from around him, rolls off you and lands on his back. You push yourself up and when he’s positioned himself and is looking at you, you crawl over to him, crossing the distance. It’s not a long way but you see the way it makes Sam’s breath catch in his throat.

You kneel, take a second to look at him. He’s long, you think, just everything about him, his legs, his torso and the bulge in his briefs isn’t promising anything different either. You stay like that, let your eyes roam over him until you see him shift. Then you look for another moment. Make sure he knows who’s calling the shots here.

When you see him starting to squirm you move, your own self control starting to wear thin. Without ceremony or giving Sam time to prepare, you raise your leg and swing it over him, straddling him around the waist. You’re very aware of your pussy pressing against the soft skin wrapped over the hard muscle of his abdomen. You lean forward, reach for the cuffs then settle back down.

Sam looks up at you as if you’re some kind of deity. His lips are slightly parted, beautiful, pinkish lips, roughened from kissing and licking at you. He’s breathing hard, his body raising and falling, changing the intensity of contact between your most intimate parts and his stomach. You wonder if some of your wetness has transferred to his skin. It must have.

You’re just about to ask him whether he wants his hands only tied together or cuffed to the bed, when Sam raises his arms, muscles there rippling, brings his hands up to the headboard. The thing’s perfect for tying a big, strong man to it and you lean forward. One of his wrists goes into one cuff, and you’re about to wrap the other one around the metal bar of the headboard when Sam speaks up.

“Both,” he says and you look down at him. His eyes are large and pleading and for a second, it almost throws you off. It’s not sexual, the need in his face, not exactly. It’s different. It’s all encompassing.

“Are you sure?” you ask. You’re all about exploring, but you don’t want Sam to put himself into a position where he might freak himself out. But he nods, slowly, looking into your eyes. He swallows.

“I trust you,” he says, voice calm. 

It shoots straight to your heart. He trusts you. He just had his face buried in your pussy and you’re about to ride him, but somehow that is the most intimate thing he could have said.

“Okay, Sam,” you say, no flirtiness in your tone, just clearness. You want him to understand that you get it. That you grasp the kind of vulnerability he is allowing himself.

The click of the second cuff sounds incredibly loud in the room. Sam pulls against them, just a little, just to test. Then he sighs. He sound fucking relieved.

You look down at him as you settle again and when he looks away from the cuffs and at you, you lean in to kiss him. It’s a gentle kiss, soft and caring, nothing like the frenzy energy you both had earlier. You’ll return to that and you plan to bring Sam even further, a plan now clearly forming in your head. But for now, this kiss is a pact. I’ll take care of you, it says.

While you’re still interlocked, you move a little. Just a tad, just a slight back and forth motion. It makes you press your still sensitive pussy against Sam and you make an involuntary sound in the back of your throat. Without another word, you sit up, hands resting on Sam’s sculpted chest as you begin rubbing yourself against him with purpose.

Sam looks down, watches, then looks up at your face again, his breath coming faster. He likes this, you realize, and you could scream from joy. That you are so on the same wavelength. You’re almost not touching him, not getting him off in any way, but with how his breath stutters you’d think he’s tickling the back of your throat. Later, maybe. If he’s good.

“Maybe I won’t fuck you after all,” you say, and there’s just a second of panic in Sam’s eyes, before your gazes meat again and he understands. Understands that you’re doing this for his benefit. He presses his lips together, exhaling through his nose.

“Maybe I’ll just do this,” you say, completing another delicious drag along him that does absolutely nothing for him but still makes his eyelids flutter. “Maybe I’ll just use your body and keep making myself come over and over.”

“Yes,” Sam breathes, closing his eyes. He’s squirming, just a little, shifting, but you’re not allowing him any satisfaction. 

“Would you like that, Sam?” you ask, and you’re not sure he can hear you from how absolutely blissed out he looks. “Me riding you but you never getting off. Your big cock just hard and painful and so full, but never feeling me?” 

Sam’s throat contracts, that damn Adam’s apple bobbing like crazy. He’s so beautiful. You move your hands a little, skin rubbing on skin, then gently run your fingernails over his shapely pecs. Sam groans again. Officially your new favorite sound.

“Would be a shame,” you say and Sam blinks his eyes open, watches you with rapt attention for whatever decadent punishment you have next for him. “Shame to not feel you that way.”

Without another word, you lean forward again, but this time you don’t kiss Sam, despite the way he tilts up his face towards you being immensely tempting. Instead you press your lips against his collarbone, sucking against the skin there, hard, until you know it must hurt a little and then stop. The next one goes high on his chest, with the same pressure.

To go further, you must climb lower on him, but you sure don’t mind when you move, ass bumping into the hardness in his briefs. You smile to yourself, but don’t let that steer you from your path.

You go lower, lips grazing one of his nipple before you gently nip at it, making Sam’s breathing stutter. You chuckle to yourself, then move your face to look up at him. He’s raised his head to watch you and you make eye contact with him before pushing out your tongue and running it over it once, making Sam’s mouth drop open. Then you keep going lower.

You reach his stomach, his abs, kiss them all over, run your fingertips over them gently. He really is quite the catch. You didn’t know men like this existed outside of the covers of glossy magazines. 

Just above his naval, you get a sudden urge, open your mouth and graze your teeth against him. The skin is too taut to manage to actually bite him, but it makes Sam’s cock, still in its fabric prison just underneath your chest, twitch so hard you feel it. It makes you nearly dizzy.

Then those damn v-lines. Just as you promised yourself, you run your tongue through that valley, the taste of salty skin and Sam-ness unmistakeable. God, you would just love to eat him up, you think, as the tip of your tongue tickles along the intense outline.

Sam is nearly vibrating at this point. He’s doing a good job at staying in place, but the way he’s sucking in breath, the way his muscles all over tense and then relax. It’s like watching dark clouds move quickly along the sky. He’s a natural spectacle, this guy.

You look up at him, stop touching him, when your face is above his crotch. Wait for him to catch himself enough so that he looks at you. You make sure you make eye contact before you continue.

“You’re being really good, Sam,” you say, “so let me reward you.” 

With that, you press your mouth against his clothed cock. The reaction is instantaneous, Sam pressing his head back into the pillow under him, moaning so loudly and deeply the neighboring rooms can probably hear you. Yeah, you did that. That’s your work.

You do it again and the reaction is just as intense. With deep satisfaction you see Sam wrap his hands around the metal bars of the headboard, squeezing them so hard his knuckles go white. With those damn arm muscles bulking under his skin, he could probably make true on his earlier words and break himself out of the cuffs. You’re not sure that he actually could, but you’re very satisfied that he doesn’t even try.

You bring your hand up, tired of waiting, and pull the waistband of his briefs down. His cock springs free, comes to rest against his stomach. Velvety and meaty, just like the rest of him. Like you thought earlier: specimen.

You pull the waistline a little further, let it slip under his balls, which look soft and pillowy, leave it there. You look up again, open your mouth, push out your tongue and run it once along the length of him.

A long sound leaves Sam, something like an aaah fuuu but he seems incapable of finishing the thought. You sure don’t mind. Not with how perfect he feels under your tongue. There’s one vein that you’re especially infatuated with, and you flick your tongue over it, gaining more incoherent rambling from Sam. 

Next, you push your opened mouth against his balls, suckle gently. When you look back up at Sam’s face, you see a slight sheen of sweat collecting on his deeply rippled forehead. Oh, he hasn’t seen anything yet.

“Please–” Sam stutters and you keep watching him, try to see if he’s gonna be able to vocalize what he wants. He swallows, then simply repeats himself: “P-please.”

“What, Sam?” you ask, ceasing your touching on him. “What do you want?” Sam opens his eyes, swallows again, looks at you, trying to gather himself.

“Can you…” he stutters, “with-with your mouth?” You smile a small, devilish smile.

“Inside, you mean?” you ask and Sam quickly nods. You could make him say it, not do it until he gets all the words out, but the truth is, you’re basically salivating. So this is as much for his benefit as for yours.

With gentle fingers, you take his cock in your hand, bringing it up. Lick your lips, for show as much as for smoothness. You lick a stripe along the underside and when you reach his head, wrap your lips around him.

The sound Sam makes this time is different. It sounds like he’s getting into a hot bath. It’s relief. Satisfaction.

You’d never admit to it in court, but your eyes fall shut on their own accord at the taste of him, the heft, and you moan around him. Slowly you begin bobbing your head up and down as Sam perfectly fills your mouth, like he was made for exactly this.

If Sam was responsive before, he now becomes unfettered. He keeps moaning, deep, rich sounds, voice cracking while he mutters confused words and half-phrases. Yes and fuck fuck and oh G-god and more please more. He’s a full on mess at this point, pulsing and twitching between your lips.

You pop off him, continue stroking him while you catch your breath, using the chance to look at him. He looks beautiful, undone. You feel a not insignificant rush of pride at how quickly you unraveled him.

Just then, Sam’s eyebrows go up, his hips slightly bucking as his gaze falls on you. You slowly shake your head.

“Don’t come,” you say, voice low. Sam’s breath hiccups and then he nods.

“I won’t,” he says, seemingly getting himself under control, at least somewhat. “I promise I won’t.” 

“Tell me when you get too close so I can stop,” you say and Sam nods again.

“Yes,” is all he manages because the next second you are taking him into your mouth again. Sam grunts, back to that deep, full bodied moaning while you begin taking him deeper. It’s only a minute before he speaks up again.

“O-okay, okay,” he says and you raise your head, let him drop out of your mouth. “I-I think I need a break.” 

Part of you is disappointed. You were really enjoying what you were doing. But another part of you lights up with the idea that hits you.

So you make your way back up his body, stopping at some of the previous sights, nuzzling them again. When you come up to Sam’s face, he has a soft, dreamy smile on his lips. You kiss him, deeply, then catch his lower lip between your teeth, pull a little. It makes his grin break through everything else that’s going on.

“Ready for me to keep going?” you ask, voice low. “Or are we gonna have a problem?” The corners of Sam’s mouth twitch. He seems to be a little bit back to himself and you can’t deny that the slight cockiness in his expression makes you all the more excited to drive it out of him again.

He raises his head, tries to reach your lips with his but you pull your head back, gaining a frustrated grunt from him before you finally give in, let him kiss you. You pull back just a little, stay close to him.

“You wanna fuck me, Sam?” you ask, even though it’s very clear that if anyone will be doing any fucking, it’ll be you. Details, details.

“Yes,” Sam replies, voice low, his lips ghosting over yours in an attempt to kiss you again. “Wanna feel you.”

You push yourself up again, to a sitting position, pressing your pussy against Sam’s cock in the process. You run it along him, slowly. Sam closes his eyes again, rolling his neck, before he looks up at you again.

“Feel how wet you make me?” you ask and Sam nods. 

“That feels so good,” he answers, “but I want to be inside you.” You raise your eyebrows.

“Making demands, are we?” you ask and Sam grins, boyish, wide, unguarded. He gives you what in his current state passes for a challenging look.

“Like you haven’t been imagining what my cock would feel like deep inside you?” he asks and your mouth drops open, but it turns into an excited grin, only mirrored on Sam’s face. You shake your head, press yourself against him, which makes Sam go back to groaning.

“Cheeky boy,” you say, pressing your face against the side of his, making sure he hears you. “Sounds like I’m gonna need to teach you a lesson.” You pull back again.

“Please,” Sam says, turning serious. “Please, I… I need to learn.”

It nearly knocks the air from you. His words, the way he looks at you. Maybe it’s just your horniness making you nearly obtuse, but is there something more here? This doesn’t feel like any hook-up you’ve ever had. This feels different. More concrete. More fulfilling than… well, pretty much everything else ever.

All you know is that you need Sam inside of you. That you need to know what his face looks like when he is, what he feels like. Because if your bodies fit together half as well as your brains seem to, this might be the night of your life.

“Okay, Sam,” you say. “Let me take care of you.”

His expression goes soft then, something deep and vulnerable in his eyes. He gives a final, slow nod.

You press yourself up on your knees, reach between your legs, finding Sam’s warm thickness. You lead his head to your pussy, all while he keeps looking into your eyes, barely blinking, and you can see moisture collecting over the intense palette of colors in his irises, but still he doesn’t look away. Then you lower yourself, letting him slowly slide into you.

There’s the stretch, your mouth dropping open at it, but you are wide open and ready for him. The thick head slips into you and you rock your hips gently to keep working yourself down on him. Sam takes a stuttering breath at the sensation as he stares down at where the two of you are meeting.

“Fuck,” he grunts, “fuck, your pussy feels perfect, that’s so–” He stops there, drops his head back again and you couldn’t agree more. But now that you don’t need to hold his cock anymore since he’s far enough inside of you, you use your hand to reach up, grab Sam’s jaw, turn it to you.

“Look at me,” you gasp, and you feel him nod in your hold when he does. You have a hard time keeping your own eyes open, but then you’re not the one who’s being taught a lesson.

With a deep sigh, you sink all the way down, taking all of him into you. You are so filled, like you’ve been closed off to the outside world. Just filled with Sam Sam Sam. 

He is, just as you’re thinking that, tugging at the cuffs again. You focus on him, watch him panting there below you.

“Fuck, I wanna touch you so bad,” he groans. It’s tempting, to have those big, strong hands exploring you, squeezing your flesh the way you could squeeze him inside you. Have his fingers find your clit. But that’s not what the two of you are doing.

You roll your hips, making Sam moan and you suck your lip between your teeth as you feel him move inside you, kissing your walls like you kissed his mouth.

“But you are touching me,” you say as you keep moving. “Can’t you feel it, Sam? Right there, do you feel that?”

Sam’s gaze drops back to your pussy, watching as you let part of him slip out of you only to gather him up again immediately.

“I feel it,” he says, voice cracked. “Feel… feel how warm you are. Fuck, you’re so soft.” You nod along to his words.

“And you’re–” you start, then interrupt yourself when Sam bumps into a special part of you. “Oh, right there, Sam, fuck, that’s so good.”

It’s not like Sam has any control over how he’s fucking you, but you don’t care. Especially not when he groans at your words.

“Keep going,” he begs. “Please, please, say it again.” You roll your hips harder.

“You’re going so deep, Sam,” you moan and he shudders at that. “So nice and deep and good, you know exactly what my pussy needs, don’t you?”

You keep going and a moment later, Sam presses his head back, eyes squeezing shut, lip pulling up.

“Fuck, I’m gonna–” he says, and you can feel it, the pulsing, his orgasm announcing itself. So you stop riding him.

For a moment you think you waited too long. Sam sort of trembles and for a moment you wonder if he did come, but it’s brief, and then he’s blinking his eyes open. You shake your head slowly.

“Did I say you were allowed to come?” you ask.

It takes a second for anything to register on Sam’s face. His lips move, like he’s trying to say something. His chest is still rising and falling and you just watch him, this beautiful, perfect man you’ve bagged. You’d think his brains were leaking out his ears with how dumbfounded he seems. Then he understands.

“I-” he says, then clears his throat. “No, you didn’t.”

“Exactly,” you say. You let your hands slip off Sam’s chest, bring them to your breasts, gently massaging, keep watching him, the hungry, no, starving look in his eyes, before you let one hand slowly wander down your front.

“So you better don’t,” you say and then your fingertips are grazing your clit.

You see Sam swallow, as if he’s steeling himself, and then he nods, almost imperceptible.

Gently, you begin petting yourself. Sam’s making you so nice and full, the pressure within you making even the soft touch feel like a hundred volt snapping though you. You keep going, a little harder, a little faster, the feeling of it so good, running from the roots of your hair to your toes.

“Yes, Sam,” you sigh. “Just like that. Just like– oh yes, oh God, fuck, baby. That’s it.” Your eyes have fallen shut but you open them again, look down at Sam. He looks concentrated, focused. You might have stopped moving, but you’re sure he can feel what your own touching is doing to you.

You continue, your other hand twisting your nipple while slowly the pleasure in you builds and builds, becoming thicker, more graspable. Your hand leaves your breast, goes behind you, resting on Sam’s leg as you lean back.

With the change in angle, Sam presses against you so perfectly that an involuntary whimper leaves you. Without meaning to, you roll your hips, Sam groaning loudly again. But you’re close. So close, it’s almost within your reach.

So you keep going, fingers quickly rubbing you as you grind down against Sam. You moan loudly, then again, as your orgasm comes barreling towards you, hits you like a brick to the head. Sam’s thickness intensifies the feeling and you can feel yourself twitching and shaking while soft, warm pleasure envelops your body.

You moan as the long release washes over you, still grinding to prolong it, so it’s lucky you hear Sam at all when he speaks.

“Shit, I’m gonna, wait, wait, wait–” he pants and you barely register it. You lean forward, plant your hands on his chest and press yourself up, letting him slip all the way out of you. That’s how you remain, pleasure still coursing through you, slight shivers making you smile softly. 

At last, you blink your eyes open, look down at Sam. His face is pressed against the side of his arm, eyes screwed shut while he’s inhaling and exhaling through his nose. You look down, quickly, at his cock lying there below you. There’s your own wetness but it doesn’t look like he came.

Still panting, you lower yourself, lay your chest on his.

“Good boy,” you press out between heavy breaths. Sam makes a sound in his throat before he turns his face, eyes slowly opening. He looks completely destroyed. He’s trembling like a leaf in the wind, you notice next.

You lean forward, kiss him, but he’s barely able to return it. The intense climb without reaching the peak must be taking it out of him. For just a moment, so close post-orgasm, you want to relieve him from the tension, let him come. But something about his face gives you pause. Something in his kiss.

“Do you want to keep going?” you ask and he nods, immediately, clear on what he wants. Well, you’re not gonna talk him out of it. You push yourself up a little, both your upper and lower body, reach between you again, press Sam back into you.

He slips in so easily this time and the stimulation is just on the other side of uncomfortable. But then you move and it’s perfect, immediately intense and deep.

“Oh yes,” you sigh while Sam goddamn whimpers. The sounds coming from him are so perfect that you keep going, almost uncaring if you’re gonna carry him too far. You just need to keep hearing those noises.

You run your hands over Sam’s chest as you keep riding him and when you see his eyebrows drawing together, you slow again, nearly come to a full stop. The breath Sam takes is so deep and desperate that it shakes your body along with his. You wait for a few seconds, allow his stimulation to die down, then begin again. Sam actually grits his teeth, broad chest rising and falling so hard you’d think he just ran a marathon.

“Fuck, I can’t– I don’t– oh, please,” he starts moaning, but then you stop again, having learned what the tell tale signs of Sam about to come are: brows pulled together, upper lip pulled up, shoulders tensing. 

“Fuck!” he curses, and it comes from deep inside him. You clench down, squeeze him inside you, this delicious man-giant you’ve brought to his knees.

“You’re all mine,” you whisper, squeeze him again, making him groan. “That nice big cock inside me belongs to me now. Isn’t that right, Sam? You’re all mine?” He looks so torn up so you begin rolling your hips again, slowly, slowly.

That's when Sam’s self control snaps. If he had his hands to himself, he’d probably spin you around, pound you into the mattress until you forget your own name, until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. But he doesn’t, so he does the only thing he can.

He widens his legs, angles them up far enough to push you forward. You catch yourself with your hands on the mattress below, a surprised yelp leaving you. Sam plants his legs wide and starts thrusting up, hard and fast, fucking into you, shaking your entire body.

The stimulation is sudden and intense, and makes you moan loudly immediately. His thrusts are uncontrolled and you are caught by the way his legs are spread, keeping yours wide apart and you in place. Your eyes nearly roll up as you steady your body to meet his thrusts, and when you finally focus on him again, you look down. 

Sam is still gritting his teeth, the look on his face desperate. He’s looking at you, maybe to see if you are alright with what he is doing, and your expression must give him a clear indicator.

“F-fuck, Sam,” you moan between thrusts, the loud slapping noise of skin on skin filling the room as Sam fucks you good and deep, and then you close your eyes, another orgasm crashing into you. You whine loudly and Sam braces his legs, keeps himself pressed deep into you, and apart from the occasional muscle twitch, contains his movement as you come around his dick, moaning loudly and wantonly.

You slump forward, cheek landing on his shoulder as you keep grinding yourself against him, making Sam hiss. You press yourself against him, looking for closeness and since he can’t hold you, hug you, he presses his chin down against the top of your head. You stay like that while you try to catch your breath.

“What the fuck was that?” you ask and a broken chuckle leaves Sam.

“Just wanted you to come again,” he answers. You scoff, bring your hand up and stroke his chest.

“I could have done that,” you say, making your voice slightly petulant and you hear the smile in his voice when he speaks.

“Yeah, but I…” he starts, stops briefly. “I wanted it to be me doing it, you know?”

With all the strength you have, you push yourself up, look at Sam’s face. He looks so serious. You bring your hand to his face, pet his cheek and he briefly closes his eyes at that, making your heart flutter.

“Sam,” you say and he opens his eyes again, blinks at you. You look deep into his eyes, the rings of blue and spatters of what almost looks like gold. “Are you gonna let me take care of you now? Really this time?”

Sam presses his lips together, then nods. With that, you are moving again, rocking back and forth slowly.

You run your fingers across Sam’s skin again, look over his face, trying to take in every detail. The light stubble. He must have shaved this morning, not before going to the bar. Three moles - one next to his nose, and you can’t help but lean forward and press a gentle kiss against it. 

When you pull back, Sam’s eyebrows are pulled together, his eyes glistening, so you push yourself harder down against him, then stop. In response, he lets out a long breath.

You wait a few seconds, then begin moving again. Sam’s eyes fall shut again and you kiss his jaw, then his neck. He is moving in and out of you now as if you were made for each other, so you pick up your speed.

When you look at Sam’s face again, there’s a tear at the corner of his eye. When he opens it, it dislodges, rolls down first his cheek and then off the side of his face from the angle he’s holding himself.

You see the small panic in his face immediately at you having seen. The worry that you’re somehow gonna be put off. You’re not entirely sure what brought it on, whether it’s the orgasm you keep just out of his reach or something else.

You lean forward. The tear is gone from your reach, has landed somewhere in the pillow below him, but you press your lips against the wet trail of it, pick the wetness up with your tongue. Sam’s breathing stutters, so much so that you almost get worried, but instead of looking at him, you kiss his cheek again. Only then you pull back.

The way he looks at you is difficult to interpret. A mix of unsure and something else, something like deep, helpless lust. You push yourself up higher and begin riding Sam again. 

You go faster this time, rolling your hips, letting him slip out of you then pushing him back in, your movement smooth and quick, filled to the brim over and over. Sam keeps watching you while you do, picking up your speed even further.

“You feel so amazing, Sam,” you breathe, and it’s the truth, but you’re not just talking about what’s happening between your legs, but in your chest as well. “You feel so beautiful.”

Sam whimpers, his lips trembling, but you don’t let up. He feels as comfortable and right inside of you as anyone ever has. You go faster yet again.

“I want you to come inside me,” you moan. “God, I want you, Sam.”

Sam makes a noise you can’t quite read, then his nostrils flare.

“Please,” he says again, his voice thick. “Please, just please.”

You don’t know what he’s begging for exactly, but there’s only one thing you can still give him. You ride him harder, faster, Sam clenching his jaw at what at this point must be overstimulation. You can see he’s approaching that edge again and then it’s like something inside him breaks, a sob leaves him, and another one, another tear dislodges.

He probably expects you to stop again, but you don’t. Instead you whine through your own intense feelings as you keep riding him. 

His own orgasm surprises him, because Sam widens his eyes and then presses them shut, sounds unlike anything you’ve ever heard leaving him, his noises traveling through you. He’s gasping for air, muscles twitching and he presses his hips up, searching more of you out just as you feel him spill inside of you.

Sam’s chest is heaving and you watch him, run your hands over him to try and help him find his way back to himself. But it doesn’t stop, it’s not dying down and just as you begin wondering if something is seriously wrong, his eyes fly open, focusing on you.

“Get me out of this,” he says, wrists rattling in the cuffs. 

You do it immediately, hand going to the table, grabbing the small key. You open the first one and Sam slips his hand out, the skin red where he pulled against it, and you just have time to curse at yourself for not putting in any padding as you unlock the second one, and then Sam suddenly has his arms around you and is moving you. 

You think for a second he’s trying to get you off of him, but instead he turns the both of you, your back landing on the mattress, Sam still over you, never having slipped out of you.

In the next second, he's kissing you. Harder and needier and lovelier than you’ve ever been kissed before. His palms are fluttering all over you, like butterflies unsure where to land, he can’t pick a part of you to hold first. You taste the salt of his tears on his lips and bring your legs up, wrap them around him.

Sam pulls his face back, looks into your eyes and then, to your utter shock, begins fucking you again. He just came, but you can still feel him hard inside you, and on top of that, his hand shoots into the small space between your bodies and he finds your clit, begins rubbing it quickly.

Your head drops back at the sudden and exquisite pleasure, and Sam presses his face against your neck. His kisses against your skin aren’t gentle, he’s sucking the skin so hard it’s painful, but it’s perfect. You manage to moan his name and feel his lips move when he speaks against you.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he pants. “What the fuck did you just do?” You card your hands into his hair again, drag his face away from your neck so you can bring your head back up again. You want to look into his face when you come.

It doesn’t take long. In what feels like seconds, hot pleasure is building inside you again and you just have time to say his name again before Sam fucks you into a deep and violent orgasm.

He’s not far behind you. You don’t know how he’s able to do it again, but you know that he presses his mouth against yours while you both moan for and because of each other, as you explode as two but become one.

When you come back from the bathroom, wearing your sleep shirt, Sam’s head shoots up. To your disappointment, you see that he has put on his briefs and t-shirt. You stop a few feet from him, hands going behind your back.

“Are you leaving?” you ask. Sam shifts where he’s sitting at the end of the bed, elbows on knees, arms crossed in front of his body like he’s trying to protect himself.

“I didn’t know if maybe you wanted to be alone,” he says, avoiding your gaze again. He’s been doing that since he pushed himself out of you. You have no idea what happened, but if you had to guess, you probably saw something he didn’t want you to see. Maybe the tears, maybe the desperation with which he fucked you. You’re not sure. Whatever it is, you didn’t mind it. 

You step closer to him, careful not to breach his personal space but wanting to make it clear that you want to be close to him. You press one sock-clad foot forwards, into Sam’s periphery.

“What do you want, Sam?” you ask, voice gentle. He continues staring down at the floor, where your foot is.

“It’s just that one person typically leaves,” he mumbles. You can’t help the smile that comes into your voice.

“I thought you didn’t do this kind of thing a lot,” you reply. This time, Sam looks up. His face looks open, like he’s just torn his heart out of his chest and asked you what you think of it.

“I don’t,” he says, voice cracking a little. 

“Well, this is just what I personally think,” you say, slowly kneeling. Sam blinks in surprise but then you are there before him. This way you can fully see him and he you. “But this wasn’t exactly my usual kind of hook-up.”

Sam swallows, maybe unsure what you mean.

“It was,” you continue, deciding to simply take the plunge, “much, much more than that.” Sam’s features soften.

“For me too,” he says, voice low. You nod.

“Good that we’re on the same page,” you continue and you think you see the slightest twitch of a smile on his lips. You move your hand up, cup his face. He doesn’t flinch away, instead presses his face against your palm, closes his eyes, as if the touch is both pain and balm at the same time.

“Come to bed with me, Sam;” you whisper. “Stay.” Sam nods against your hand.

You stand, your hand going away from Sam’s face and instead going to his hand, holding it. When you tug on it, he follows you, stands as well.  You walk him to the side of the bed, let him climb in first. He elects to lie on his back, one hand resting on his chest as he looks up at the ceiling. You lie on your side, watch him. It seems like he’s waiting for something but doesn’t have it in him to ask.

“I always sleep much better,” you say and Sam turns his head to you, listening intently, “when I get some cuddles after I’ve been fucked stupid.” Sam blinks again in that absolutely adorable way he does, then a wide smile breaks out over his face. You tilt down your face, look up at him playfully. “Think you could stand to have me stick to you like a barnacle sticks to a rock for a little bit?”

Wild joy and warmth spreads through your chest when Sam actually chuckles. He rolls on his side too and you scoot closer to him. His arm goes around you, pulling you in and against his chest, so all you have to worry about is getting your arms around him too. You don’t manage to wrap him all the way up, but you’re nicely intertwined by the time both of you are done shuffling around.

You can hear Sam’s heartbeat where you are pressed against his chest. Good, strong. You close your eyes, sure you’ll drift off any second.

“I feel like I should explain what happened back there,” Sam says and you open your eyes, look up, seeing mostly heroic chin and jaw before he looks down at you, dark eyes worried.

“There’s nothing to explain,” you reply. “Just looks like maybe we tapped into something intense?” Sam nods slowly, sniffs.

“Yeah,” he says, looking into the room again.

“Is there something you want to explain to me?” you ask and Sam looks at you again. He opens his mouth, then closes it. He seems to be thinking for a moment.

“I felt really safe with you,” he answers finally, voice low like he’s afraid someone will hear him. “I don’t… that’s not always the case.”

Your heart breaks for him, but you try not to let it show. Instead you bring your hand up, brush a strand of hair out of his face.

“I’m glad you felt safe,” you say. “I did too. And I also felt really, really good.” Sam gives you a soft, lopsided smile.

“Good,” he says. He looks at you for a moment, then his arms tighten around you again and you press your face against his chest. 

Sleep comes quickly.

You’re woken by the horrible sound of a phone ringing. You sigh, wonder for exactly a second at the mop of soft hair pressed against you before you realize it’s Sam. He moves, disentangles himself from you which you only comment on with a complaining groan, sits up.

The good news is that the ringing stops. It must be Sam answering because he grunts something into the phone, and then says: “Yeah, I’m up, I’m up.” 

You turn, look at him. He’s sitting at the side of the bed, one hand laid over his eyes, rubbing, in what you can only guess is an attempt to get the sleep out of them.

“Yeah,” he says again, “yeah, no, I got it. Yeah, I’m… I’m in her room.” With that, he turns around, looks at you. He smiles when he sees you’re awake and you smile back at him, trying not to worry what your hair looks like. Sam turns back around and then, and your heart drops a little at that, stands up, begins rushing through the room, collecting his clothes.

“No, I–” he says, then presses his lips together. “Shut up, Dean.” Despite the disappointment that Sam is clearly getting ready to leave, you can’t help but giggle a little at what you guess is Sam’s brother teasing him.

Sam closes the phone with a snap, turns to you, his jeans in one hand.

“Hey,” he says as you sit up, arms going around your knees.

“Hey yourself,” you reply. Sam grins, then looks apologetic.

“That was my brother, he… we got a case, he’s outside, apparently,” he explains and you nod.

“No rest for the wicked,” you say and Sam nods, chuckles a little. He steps into his jeans, pulls them up. Shoving his phone into one of the pockets before going for his socks and shoes, needing to hop a little to get into them. You watch him with a smile on your face.

Sam is pulling his shirt over his shoulders, shrugging it on and then buttoning it, almost seeming shy, when he speaks again.

“I had a great time,” he says, looking up at you through his bangs, like he doesn’t absolutely deserve to be locked up for looking at you that way when he’s about to head out the door. “A really great time.” You purse your lips.

“So did I,” you say and then Sam reaches for his jacket, shrugs that on as well, before his hands awkwardly go to his side.

“I guess I’ll see you around,” he says and you nod, let your eyes graze over him again. He turns, walks towards the door and opens it just a bit before he stops, turns around again.

“Hey,” he says, and you think he’s trying to act casual, “do you think I could, you know, get your number? Just in case…” He shrugs and your heart beats a little faster at his awkwardness. 

Without answering, you get up, still only wearing your sleep shirt that barely goes over your ass, as well as your socks. You look at Sam’s face as you walk towards him, keep your gaze there and his smile slowly disappears as you come closer, his expression becoming more intense. You reach one hand into your bag on the table, then drag out the sharpie you keep stored next to your notebook.

With that, you cross the rest of the distance to Sam, stand close to him. You can just see past Sam out the door, his brother’s car idling right outside, but you don’t really care if Dean sees you.

You take Sam’s hand, uncap the sharpie with your teeth and quickly write your number on the back of his hand. He watches you and then you close the pen, look up at him, into those gorgeous eyes.

“Don’t lose it,” you say. “I’m expecting you to call.” Sam’s eyes go over your face and then without saying another word he wraps his arms around you, pulls you in and kisses you deeply. You return the kiss, one arm going up to get a final feel of Sam’s thick hair between your fingers. 

At last, he lets go of you, his face staying close while he looks deep into your eyes, then grins awkwardly.

“I gotta go,” he says and you nod. He tears himself away, just so, his hands seeming almost reluctant to leave you and it makes you smile. He clears his throat, hands running over his sides, before he nods, then chuckles. You can’t help but grin along.

“Alright,” he says, throwing one more look at your face, then turns, moves out of the door. You take a step forward, lean against the doorframe, look after him.

You watch as Sam walks over to the car, gets in, needing to almost fold himself in half to fit, big boy that he is. He shifts in place for a second after closing the door. Dean is looking past him right at you, so you raise one hand in greeting. Dean raises his eyebrows, then turns to Sam, says something. Sam just rolls his eyes, but then, just as Dean starts the engine, Sam turns back to you. Watches you, your eyes meeting over the distance, and then, way too soon, the car is moving away.

You keep standing there until it’s off the parking lot, waiting for a moment for a break in the cars passing and when it does, you finally turn and walk back inside, let the door shut behind you. You grab your phone off the ground where it fell out of your jeans when you discarded them last night, let yourself drop down on the bed.

There’s a message from an old lead, telling you about a potential case two states from here. A friend checking in. Then the phone buzzes and you open the new message from an unknown number.

Took me everything not to walk back in with you standing there like that. Let me know when you’re available. I don’t mind the ride :) S.

You actually laugh before rolling on your side, getting comfortable. You read the message a few more times, eyes going over every single letter, especially the S. at the end. You notice you’re grinning like a fool.

the shrill sound of bells ringing signaled the end of the final round! on one side a boy slumped, hunched over, eyes unfocused, without any strength left, on the other niki, as everyone called him; a thin trickle of blood ran from his brow down to his chin where it dripped and stained the rubberized floor, but the adrenaline simply kept him from caring.

the central referee approached, pulling him by the shoulder and raising his arm, victorious. he smiled tiredly, showing off his mouthguard covered in diamond patterns and looking around.

the arena went wild.

nishimura was the sensation of the moment, pointed out by several articles as the 'future of mma', he was only 20 years old, but had a great thirst for victory. banners were raised in celebration and you, the boy’s agent, stood outside clapping and shouting encouragement. with that result he could finally earn better sponsors, and climb quite a bit in the rankings. the team gradually gathered, some hugging, others greeting each other as they exchanged congratulations...

that is... until the announcer drew everyone’s attention again.

"wait, what’s this? it looks like the jury panel are signaling to the referee! they’re checking the footage from the second round!", the celebration was interrupted.

quickly the feeling of excitement was replaced by one that made the heart race just as much; anxiety. you hurried over as well, alongside your boy who stepped down from the octagon with his eyes widening, not understanding. "what’s going on? i won, didn’t i?", he asked hoarsely and breathless after removing the mouthguard. his sweaty, heated body slowly beginning to feel the thermal shock from the venue’s air conditioning.

the arena fell into complete silence as the commentators explained the situation and the replay was shown on the big screens.

the two of you came closer to the panel where they analyzed the monitors. on each screen, different timings of the replay showed riki being pressed against the fence. to avoid being taken down, his fingers, by instinct, curled into the gaps of the wire mesh, pulling it to regain balance. it was a half-second movement and enough for the judges to change the score.

"ladies and gentlemen, we have an unbelievable turn of events! confirmed! violation for holding the fence in the second round. the judges are deducting one point from fighter nishimura. with that, the final score that would have been 29-28 in favor of the japanese fighter now becomes 28-28. we have a majority draw!"

the suspense in the arena, however, was not broken by any of the spectators - who were still trying to understand how something like that could nullify such an overwhelming victory - but instead by the opposing coach, who let out a mocking laugh, intentionally commenting out loud that the prodigy was just another cheater.

and he got exactly what he expected. it was the perfect trigger. within seconds riki had him by the collar, gripping him - to the point his knuckles turned white - eyes locked, nostrils flared, asking over and over if the man would repeat that to his face and saying they could settle his discomfort in a more direct way. the grip was so tight that the tape wrapped around his fingers snapped and the other man’s shirt collar stretched loose.

the scene played before your eyes like slow motion.

when you first met the boy, it was during one of the sponsor visits to the gym where he trained. the group had asked the boys to organize among themselves to fight and show their best. the matches would all be balanced and everyone knew each other, without exception. there was only one problem, none of the others wanted to fight him.

at first, he was just another quiet dude, head down, lip bruised in a familiar way, but as the eliminations went on, riki grew more and more intimidating, more aggressive and out of control. it was in the final bout when he wouldn’t stop hitting even as his teammate tapped the floor in surrender that your superior decided to call him to sign an exclusive contract. he was young, very strong, a bit unbalanced, but your boss believed that with some guidance from a personal agent he could achieve great results; in other words, he was willing to turn riki into his fighting dog and profit enormously from him.

members of both teams moved to pull them from each other, the man raising his hands as if surrendering, reinforcing the blond’s image of being unstable. the head coach grabbed riki by the shoulders, dragging him away toward the locker rooms, and you threw a towel so they could cover his face while passing through the press and the crowd gathering at the exits.

the previous silence now gone, shouts, questions, the sound of camera flashes, commentators once again discussing the fight and technical mistakes that had already proven fatal in other mma moments. you refrained from answering any reporters, leaving the arena with the rest of the team.

"that was quite a reaction from little niki, don’t you think?", one commentator remarked, triggering laughter from the other two. "i think he needs to learn a thing or two about temperament before trying to climb the rankings."

***

as soon as you finally entered the room, the first thing you saw was nishimura throwing his gloves away, hard and far, then moving to kick the coffee table - and the decorations on top of it - and punching the nearest drywall. the blond’s voice came out like an angry growl as he cursed in his native language.

the coach wore an expression of someone not surprised by the reaction and who would do nothing to stop it, the cutman didn’t even dare suggest cleaning the open cut on the boy’s eyebrow, everyone grabbing their gear and leaving the ticking time bomb to you. "see you at the meeting" the last one said on his way out, and you gave a faint smile, arms crossed, waiting for riki to sit on the couch before approaching him.

the boy dropped onto the narrow black leather sofa and held his head with both hands, elbows resting on his knees, staring down.

"have you calmed down a bit? you know i’m not coming near you while you’re like this, right?" your voice was low, calm, restrained.

there was no answer, but he didn’t move anymore either, just tapping his bare foot repeatedly against the floor, anxious, impatient.

you picked up the hoodie he had brought in his bag and carried it over to him, sitting beside him and extending the change of clothes. "get changed, i’ll tell the driver to wait for us at the back entrance" you said. riki snatched the item from your hands, clicking his tongue as he stood up to put them on.

the exchange of messages on your phone was brief, everyone was always on standby on competition days. and it was obvious you would play dumb about all the adjacent messages the sponsor had already sent you, at least for now. truthfully, you weren’t in a much better position than the fighter, it was your first real job, and you were still in your early twenties; it wasn’t as if you inspired much respect from the man who paid a large portion of your salary.

riki finished dressing and put on sunglasses, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and walking out behind you.

if you were good at playing dumb with the agency’s demands, he was good at pretending the media didn’t exist. he didn’t stop to answer invasive questions or even the reasonable ones, didn’t smile, and didn’t step aside, which resulted in several shoulders being bumped. the young man slid into the back seat of the car and slammed the door shut while you once again declined interviews and blocked one of the cameras pressed against the window trying to film and photograph through the tinted glass, before walking around and getting in on the other side.

"where to?"

"let’s head back to the apartment. you’re off after that, aj."

"thank you, ma'am."

the ride inside the vehicle was suffocating. the low volume of the radio did nothing to ease the tension. riki stared out the window, but his aura radiated a state of nerves that made your skin prickle; it was almost as if his anger wasn’t limited to the mistake he had made or the opponent’s provocation, but to everyone who had witnessed it… everyone who had been there during his humiliation, especially you.

***

the door opened after you entered the code into the digital lock. nishimura walked in, still head down, without saying a word since the arena. he tossed his backpack somewhere in the living room and went straight to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. you sighed and headed to the kitchen, getting some water for yourself and leaning against the counter before returning one of the many calls you had received.

"yes, yes, he’s aware of the rules. he has been training, yes" you replied unenthusiastically. "i understand the frustration, sir, i understand about the sponsorships as well, but it was a technical mistake and-, i’ll handle it".

your exact role as niki’s agent was to manage his career, the bureaucratic and unbearable part, the marketing, what he posted on instagram or what he absolutely could not post. however, from the very first day, you had both been placed to share an apartment, and so your extra function became that of a full-time babysitter.

you grocery shopped together, bought clothes, you were the one who received his deliveries, you were the one the boy talked to about trivial things and the more complicated feelings, it was you he called to watch a movie or try a new recipe, to watch him play some game he liked, or simply sit in the same space doing nothing. in short, the closest person he had since the contract.

you knew about his explosive temper, knew about the heavy armor he hid behind when things didn’t go his way, knew about the distance from his family… you also knew he was always in a good mood when he had natto for breakfast, that he loved playing basketball on the court of the apartments complex, and that he preferred handheld consoles over computer games.

riki was young, even younger than you. carrying the weight of thousands of people’s expectations on his shoulders. he needed to perform well, he needed to qualify, climb the rankings, win… he needed to be “the niki” people admired. there was no room to be anything else.

you answered a few more emails and put your phone on silent, not intending to respond to anything else. you finished your water and turned around, leaning back against the marble counter as you opened the delivery app. if you ordered his favorite food, maybe you could sit down and talk for a bit.

you ordered from the restaurant you were already used to. rice balls, ramen, some grilled meat, and a taiyaki for dessert.

you left your phone there and went to the bathroom, grabbing a first aid kit from the cabinet before heading to his room. you knocked once, calling softly, and on the second try you noticed the door wasn’t locked. when you stepped inside, riki was finishing putting on a pair of jeans, the fresh scent mixing with his woody cologne, his broad back still dotted with droplets of water running down, making it clear he had just come out of the shower.

"are you going out? i just ordered food" leaning against the doorframe, watching him.

"not in the mood" he answered dryly, sitting on the edge of the bed to put on his sneakers.

"you should at least take care of your cut first," you said simply, receiving a faint side smile as a response; meaning: he wouldn’t. "i see" you concluded. "well, don’t do anything you’ll regret later" you added before stepping away from the doorway.

that was new.

he usually stayed quiet for a while after one of his outbursts, but he always preferred staying home, specifically in his room. you thought maybe he just needed some air, or a change of scenery. so you didn’t insist. truthfully, you didn’t have the energy to either, since the situation was awful for everyone.

you walked to the living room and dropped onto the couch, burying your face into the cushions. you always felt like screaming whenever things slipped out of control, but you never did, always wanting to set an example for him. you always chose to put on headphones or take an extra long hot shower, but never to physically release your feelings, even though you were fully aware it would probably be far more effective.

"have fun-" you were cut off by the loud sound of the front door slamming shut as he rushed out. "okay…"

***

neon lights sliced through the room in shades of blue and violet, but to riki, everything looked monochrome. the loud music pounded against his temples, as if the dj himself were there hammering at his skull, competing with the relentless echo of those infernal bells from the octagon and the commentators’ laughter that wouldn’t leave his head. the drink in his hand had already gone warm, the melted ice watering down the liquor he barely felt like swallowing whenever he brought it to his lips.

in front of him stood a pretty girl whose name he had already forgotten three times. her lips moved animatedly. it was something irrelevant, maybe about a party or someone they both knew, but to him it sounded as interesting as an ant crossing the asphalt.

riki was there, but his mind was elsewhere.

he was back in the arena, replaying moments from the fight and searching for some way he could have avoided the penalty. he was in the locker room, under his team’s eyes once again forced to endure his loss of control. and finally, he was at the apartment. more specifically, on the expression you made. that tired look, the low voice trying to be his safe harbor even when he acted like an animal. the way you held the first aid kit, ready to care for a cut he couldn’t even feel, but that you seemed determined to heal with all the patience in the world.

he felt a familiar tightness in his chest. the boy hated not being in control. hated the contract that bound him, hated having started at the top without being ready for the fall, and hated, above all, that the only person he truly wanted to scream at, cry with, or simply exist beside in silence was the same person who had to be his professional "babysitter".

it was maddening. how could they expect him to keep his hands off you when you were the one who picked up his pieces every single time? it infuriated him that that damn phone was always between you, reminding him that you were paid to be there. he wanted you there because you wanted to be, not because some old man could fire you if you weren’t.

"hey, are you even listening to me?"

the girl’s hand touching his arm felt like an unwanted electric shock. he blinked, dragged back into the suffocating reality of the bar. he looked at her fingers against his skin and felt an immediate recoil; it wasn’t the touch he wanted. it didn’t carry the soft perfume you wore, nor was it firm and subtle like yours.

he forced an awkward smile, the kind he used for cameras when he wanted to be left alone.

"i need to go" he muttered, his voice rough from disuse.

the girl parted her lips, confused about what reason he could possibly have. he leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek, an automatic gesture from someone whose body was already turned toward the exit. he stepped away from the table, ignoring the protest forming at the tip of her tongue, and pushed through the crowd.

***

the ride back was a thin line between unease and regret. as soon as riki stepped out of the bar, the icy dawn breeze hit his face like a bucket of cold water, but what truly chilled him was the phone screen: zero notifications.

usually, when he stayed out past two in the morning, there was always a message from you. a sarcastic "did you get lost on the way?" or a picture of the tv paused on a movie you both liked, a silent invitation for him to return. the absence made the knot already tight in his throat feel like it had turned into a sailor’s knot.

as if conditioned by that emptiness, he climbed onto his bike and started the engine. the machine’s growl echoed through the street, and as he accelerated, the streetlights blurred into dotted streaks along the horizon. the building’s automatic gate seemed to take forever to rise, every inch of metal dragging upward while the boy’s leg bounced anxiously against the pedal.

he entered the apartment abruptly, the beep of the digital lock cutting through the air. the living room lights were low, casting long, cozy shadows. spotify was still connected, playing a soft instrumental that filled the silence, and on the table, a few beer cans showed that you had tried, in your own way, to cope with the night’s frustration.

nishimura stopped. a small smile appeared when he saw you there, curled up among the couch cushions. you were dozing, one hand beside your head, the other resting on your stomach, now exposed where your shirt had ridden up slightly in your sleep. so serene and unguarded, so different from the composed posture you always carried, the one he knew was exhausting.

he approached slowly, kneeling on the rug to be at your level. the scent of your perfume mixed with the familiar air completely disarmed him. with rough, calloused fingers, he reached out and brushed your cheek in an almost imperceptible caress.

"i’m sorry" he whispered. his deep voice came out unsteady, heavy with everything he hadn’t managed to say before.

the warmth of his touch and the sound of his voice stirred you awake. your eyes opened slowly, focusing on the japanese boy watching you with an intensity you rarely saw.

"i thought i’d have to put your face on a ‘missing’ poster" you murmured, your voice thick with sleep, a gentle tease to break the tension.

that drew a genuine smile from him, the first of the night to reach his eyes, but the movement pulled at the skin of his brow. he hissed softly through his teeth, bringing his fingers to the cut he had ignored the entire time. the sting finally caught up with him.

you sat up. gently, you held his face, guiding riki’s head down until it rested in your lap. he didn’t resist; on the contrary, he let his full weight sink, eyes closing as he felt your small, soft hands steadying him. "let’s take care of this, hm?" you said quietly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

there it was, the tenderness riki had never learned how to receive, yet desperately craved. the softness of your skin against his, the comfort of someone who shared none of his blood. closer, and impossibly out of reach. he simply nodded, his chest falling with a long, deeply held sigh.

***

the taller one sat on the closed toilet lid while you remained standing between his legs. the kit with bandages, alcohol, cotton, and healing ointment lay open on the bathroom sink. with one hand, you held his chin, keeping it lifted. dark, sharp eyes watched you the entire time, warm, steady breaths brushing against the back of your hand or your wrist whenever you pressed the alcohol-soaked cotton to the wound that was beginning to form a thin scab.

"you’re probably the most stubborn person i know, you know that?" you teased, but he simply nodded, his focus completely fixed on you. "good… because if that cut gets infected, you’ll have to take out your piercing…"

riki would listen to you talk for hours, even if it was just to complain about him and his reckless actions. he watched your lips, your eyes, your lashes fluttering softly, your neck, your collarbones, your smooth skin that mocked him and the desires hidden behind every swallow of his throat. he wasn’t much of a talker on his own, but when he was with you, it felt like a sport, and he would watch every season where you were the main objective.

"noona…" he called.

"shh… this is going to sting a little, i’m going to spray the antiseptic…"

"yn…" he insisted, lifting his hands to your wrists, holding them so you would look back at him.

"yes, i’m listening…" you looked down and found a different expression on his face. it wasn’t anger, nor that neutral mask he wore when he didn’t want to be bothered, nor even the guilty look of a scolded puppy. he looked feverish, eyes shining with something uncertain that made your heart skip a beat. you were about to ask if he was feeling alright, but your words vanished when riki buried his face against your chest.

"niki…"

"no… not like that…" he muttered, shifting slightly.

"riki…" you ran your fingers through his soft hair in a half-caress, noticing as he lifted his face just enough to stare up at you. "what are you-"

"don’t ask questions you already know the answer to" his large hands slid higher, fingers intertwining with yours.

"we’ve already talked about this…"

"have we?" he challenged, and you pressed your lips together.

"it’s in the contract"

"i don’t care…" he said, leaning into you again, inhaling deeply, absorbing your scent before turning his face, rubbing softly as if seeking comfort. "i need you"

"i’m here…"

"you don’t understand…" his voice vibrated against you, the familiar growl surfacing as his nerves tightened. "i’m at my limit"

he pulled back once more, looking at you.

"i understand how things work now. i understand the road is long, that i’m still a rookie, that i’m not as good as the journals say…" his grip tightened around your fingers, not to hurt. "but this contract… i can’t do it anymore. honestly, i don’t give a damn about it. and i’m so tired of denying… denying that i need you. not as a caretaker who organizes my schedule, but as a woman… my woman"

your cheeks burned, the air suddenly too thin in your lungs. but he didn’t stop. his gaze dropped, intense, almost obsessive.

"you think i don’t notice? the way you bite the end of that pen while frowning at my planner? the way you straighten your posture and hold your elbows when you’re nervous?" he shook his head, as if the confession itself exhausted him. "i tried… i tried going out with other girls, tried feeling anything that wasn’t the same indifference i feel with paparazzi… but it doesn’t work. none of them are you". he let out a soft breath of a laugh. "i know i’m terrible with feelings, i can’t even explain them properly, but this…" he guided your joined hands to his chest, where his heart pounded like a caged beast. "this is clear to me"

the heat radiating from him felt overwhelming. your fingers burned, the bathroom air thickened, your vision blurred. you tried to pull away, clumsy, attempting to free yourself.

but riki’s reflexes were too quick.

before you could reach the doorknob, he rose, strong arms circling your waist from behind, pulling you flush against his broad, heated chest. the contact was immediate, his jeans against your hips, his lips near your ear.

"running away? pretending your heart isn’t racing just like mine?" he pressed a slow, damp kiss beneath your ear, making you shiver. "tell me… do you really feel nothing? you really don’t want me at all?"

to seal the fate of that night, riki turned you gently yet firmly toward the large bathroom mirror. the reflection revealed the stark contrast. You, flushed, breathless, held against his solid frame. his hands slid upward, palms exploring the lines of your body, one circling your neck, the other lifting your chin.

"look at us…" he commanded, his face close to yours. "tell me i’m the only one who’s lost control… tell me you don’t want me too…"

***

the confined space made everything feel claustrophobic. your mind swirled with emotions, yet none of them involved denying that you wanted him too. how many times had you caught yourself watching his sharp profile, his jawline, his perfect lips, his sweat-slicked torso, muscles tightening at the gym or during training. it was impossible not to notice. and like a switch flipping, you turned toward him, hands framing his face as you pulled him down into a kiss.

the boy was surprised for exactly one second before responding with enthusiasm. the kiss was a collision. the way your mouths clung together, lips crushing, your slender fingers sliding up to the back of his neck. riki sniffed softly, almost in relief, bending further over you, craving more contact. one of his hands braced against the mirror, the other slid down to your thigh, gripping firmly as he pulled you closer.

he lifted you, setting you onto the cold marble counter, drawing a heavy gasp from you. the walls seemed to close in around you both, the tension far too thick to stay contained there. riki held you with ridiculous ease, stumbling through the doorway with you toward the living room, never breaking the kiss for even a second.

he dropped you onto the couch possessively and, in one fluid, impatient motion, crossed his arms to pull his shirt off, tossing it somewhere without care.

you parted your lips, breath uneven, eyes roaming over his sculpted torso, the tattoo trailing along his ribs. your senses blurred, and you couldn’t help it, the tip of your tongue slipped out, wetting your lower lip as you devoured him with your gaze.

riki smirked before kneeling again, hands gripping your hips as he pulled you to the edge of the couch. he didn’t need to ask for help; your fingers were already at your jeans, undoing them so he could slide the fabric down and off you.

"damn…" his eyes swept over your thighs, quick, hungry, hands roaming shamelessly. he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, turning his head to bite and suck, leaving a reddening mark.

"you are going to eat me out?" your voice came out slow, breathless.

"eat you out?" he looked up at you, tongue tracing a heated path along your inner thigh. "i’m going to devour you…"

your body arched in impulse... the shame was there, yes, but it was what turned you on the most. the shame, the fact that this would fuck up any professional relationship you had. but, when his hot tongue touched your covered pussy a spark ran through your body, making a whimper escape you and your worries evaporate. nishimura shook his head, laughing softly and repeating the act, only soaking the already messy fabric further; bordering on transparency.

thick fingers hooked into the waistband of your undies and he didn't take it off, he just pulled until the fabric tore, revealing your sex flushed and glistening with lubrication.

riki lowered his mouth, opening wide enough to take you all in. his tongue spread out, licking deep from bottom to top. his eyes closed so he could concentrate, his nose also burying itself, brushing against your clit every time his head went back and forth to lick you. he didn't need to breathe that much.

you watched as he dived in there, his puffy lips sucking your folds, before he took his thumb to your bundle of nerves to finger you there, horizontal and circular motions, alternating. you threw your head back when he penetrated you with the damp muscle, taking it in and out making your hips lift in small jolts from the force he put into it.

"hnng i-... riki!", you tried to warn the younger one.

"mhmm?", his voice muffled as he squeezed your pussy between his index finger and thumb, like a sandwich, and turned his face to engulf all the sensitive flesh munching. he didn't make it easy, furrowing his brow when your thighs tried to close and holding you spread open for him.

the blonde enclosed your clit again, sucking greedily, fingering your entrance which pulsed non-stop now, indicating you were on the edge. he held the nub between his lips and used his tongue to lick fast, looking up at you again just so he wouldn't miss the exact moment your eyes rolled back.

your fingers tangled in his hair pulling him down as you came, grinding against his mouth through the whole orgasm. he let out a needy groan feeling your fluids wet his chin and yet he didn't stop, continuing to lick with will even as your legs shook, completely inebriated.

"give me one more, please, please...", he asked coaxingly, not giving you time to think of protests before pressing his mouth to your pussy again, this time taking a finger to the entrance and shoving it to the base... he curved it inside and heard you practically meow, loving how you sounded for him. "can do it for me?". it didn't take long for him to find the spongy part that made you see stars when he pressed it. he added another digit leaving you full just with them, making a curved back-and-forth motion that hit all the spots you needed most.

at this point your restless hands squeezed your own breasts over your shirt and bra. lower lip was swollen and reddened from so much biting. the tickle in your lower belly indicating you could handle even less.

the boy licked slowly this time, savoring every groan, every time your hips lifted without your permission, every time your sweet spot pulsed for him. he was completely ecstatic with your taste, with your texture.

"fu.. i can't-!!"

you came once more, squirting a little, making him watch mesmerized, as if he had discovered oil right there in the living room. you whimpered while your abdomen contracted and you closed your legs. riki denied it and grabbed your knees this time, using all the size and strength difference between you in his favor.

he blew against your sex and the cold wind hitting the hot, damp flesh made you suffer a groan before pulling a pillow to hide your face behind.

"ah- hontouni kawaii", he spoke softly, so absorbed in the scene that the phrase came out in his native language, rising and kneeling on the sofa, before taking the pillow from you and holding your wrists together with one hand, lifting them above your head while capturing your mouth again, kissing you and letting you taste yourself.

his mouth then went down to your neck, nipping at your soft neck skin, giving little bites. "you're so delicious", he whispered, making you shiver. he held your face, sliding his thumb across your mouth, feeling your trembling and wet lips.

the younger one's gaze was so piercing, he moved his hand to squeeze your chest pointing through the fabric, testing the weight and softness before finally letting go of your wrists. with agile movements, he helped you get rid of the rest of your clothes.

when you were already naked, he also took off his pants, staying only in gray boxers that left almost nothing to the imagination. you saw his perfect outline, big and thick, leaving the fabric darker where he leaked pre-cum.

"come here" riki sat on the sofa and pulled you onto his lap. the size difference was glaring. his hands circled your waist and almost met at your back without effort, making you feel tiny and completely at his mercy to handle.

"are you holding back?" you questioned, feeling his skin comfort yours as you leaned over his strong body.

"maybe... a little" he admitted with a smirk, that dangerous glint still in his eyes.

"why?" curiosity bordering on innocence.

he looked away for a second trying to keep his composure, fingers tracing your narrow shoulders with a delicacy that contrasted with the bruises he usually caused in the ring. you were so soft, so small, so perfect...

"because i don't want to hurt you..." he replied, his voice heavy with that low vibration that made you melt.

"but i want that" you cut off his thought.

riki stopped his hand movement, lifting an eyebrow slightly, his index finger tracing a downward path until reaching your perky nipple, circling the areola around it. "you do, huh? what exactly do you want?" he brought his face close, leaving your noses brushing, his breath mixing with yours.

"i want you to use me... to relieve all the tension you've been feeling...", you whispered back, grinding lightly against the stiff member positioned right toward your mons pubis, maintaining eye contact. and you meant it.

"you're asking me to fuck you hard then?", he put it in more direct words, almost disbelieving what he had heard from you. squeezing the nipple he was playing with, pinching and pulling, eliciting a groaned 'yes' from you. "you're going to let me fuck you right, noona?", he continued, close, involved, just feeling your lips crawling over each other as you nodded positively.

the energy of the environment changed gradually, as if the air were charging with a silent electricity. riki's pupil dilated and narrowed, adjusting focus as he interlaced his fingers in the hair at your nape before pulling hard. "get on all fours then".

***

riki kept you arched on the sofa, hips raised perfectly for him while your hands pulled your butt cheeks apart as he had asked. he brushed your entrance with the tip, teasing. the sound was obscene, the wet slap of skin on skin every time he hit the length of that thick dick against your slit, already dripping with desire, was a trigger for your brain to tingle.

"how naughty, getting so soaked for your own dongsaenggie..."

before you could process the outrage, he delivered a stinging slap to your butt, the sound echoing in the room. and he took advantage of the exact moment you let out a whimper of surprise and pain to thrust in all at once, sinking to the base.

his teeth clenched, letting out a low curse about how tight you were. the boy blew air out forcefully through his mouth and groaned low before moving, holding your hips firmly to fuck your pussy with precision.

he dragged one hand to your head, forcing your face against the sofa upholstery. the pressure made your cheeks squeeze and your mouth form a beautiful pout, while he started to ram faster and faster. your body rocked violently with every thrust and your moans only grew in volume, filling the apartment.

he sank his fingertips into your hips, leaving marks, before pulling you flush against him. he used his own thighs as support for you and slid his flat hand to your lower belly, feeling the bulge he caused himself as he stretched you out from the inside.

"can you feel me here?" he nibbled on your ear, his voice breaking with pleasure. "so deep in this tight cunny..." he pressed harder against your belly, feeling you writhe before him, completely surrendered, babbling things and trying to hold onto his forearms.

the sofa creaked under the weight of both of you and that rhythmic, wet squelch mixed into the sensual melody you created together. riki seemed in a trance, eyes focused only on your body's reaction to his every move. and as soon as he felt the inner walls of your canal spasm, squeezing him with an almost desperate force, that "strangulation" that indicated you were at your limit, in a moment, he pulled out.

the sudden emptiness made your body give way, falling against the cushions, trembling arms barely able to support you. the japanese boy remained kneeling behind you for a few seconds, catching his breath. he tilted his head to the side, hair sticking to his forehead from sweat, watching with a dark fascination the way your intimacy pulsed, contracting in search of the fulfillment he had just taken away.

he slid his perfectly trimmed nails along the inside of your thighs, a caress that sent shivers to your soul, before delivering a sharp slap right on your sex.

"oh she’s begging..." he whispered, his voice thick with a cruel satisfaction.

as he pulled his hand away, a string of lubrication connected his fingers to your entrance, glistening under the low light of the room. you let out a muffled whimper, face hidden, but he gave you no rest. riki pulled you by the waist, handling your body as if you were a doll.

now, your back was pressed against the fighter's broad, warm chest. he distributed wet kisses along your sweaty nape, savoring the salt of your skin as if it were addictive. with firm hands under your knees, he guided you, aligning your bodies again. guiding you to help him with it too.

you felt his tip press against the entrance and, as he lowered you, you were slowly impaled, feeling every inch being reclaimed again. your back arched, head hanging back on his shoulder while the moans became constant, almost a song. "shit- taking me so good" riki gasped, erratic breath hitting your neck.

the blonde started making you bounce, up and down; every squeeze, every sound, every thrust loaded with lust. with every harder descent, his cock hitted your cervix, producing a muffled, wet little noise that seemed to shut down the boy's last neurons.

he tightened his grip under your legs and began to lift his own hips to meet you halfway, accelerating the pace frantically.

"..kuso!" he cursed in a thin voice, failing as he felt he was about to lose total control at the way you squeezed him inside. "you're driving me crazy! fuuuck… i'm gonna cum-"

his hawk-like eyes went down to where the bodies met just so he could see your pussy lips fully stretched around his girth, making him bite the tip of his tongue before wrinkling his nose. he used one arm to hold both of your legs, taking his newly free hand to finger your clit which was exposed by the bulging.

in a few seconds you were squirting once more, much more than the first time that night, squeezing him as if you wanted to break him, but all it did was make him cum, releasing loads and loads of cum inside you while he held you against his lap, groaning low and husky.

***

your bodies relaxed together, with you feeling every muscle of his abs against your back contracting with a breath that was slowly steadying... the warm cum escaping only after he went soft inside you, dripping and forming a puddle between your legs. the smell in the room was strong, a thin, nearly imperceptible layer of steam thanks to the closed windows was created.

lifted a hand that was resting on your thigh to bring it to his face, giving him a slow caress which nishimura accepted, leaning his heavy head into it, still daze in his own state.

“i’m going to tear that piece of shit contract up” he finally said, as if telling a secret, without moving a single muscle to pull out of you or move away.

“I’d make you glue it back together, piece by piece...” you replied with a tired smile.

“you know no championship belt guarantees me this...” he murmured, burying his face in the curve of your neck.

you thought about the words spoken, laughing to yourself with the only response that came to mind at the moment. “then this will be your consolation prize every time”, whispered, and felt his smirk widen against your skin.

*

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Yunho pushed off the wall, stepping into the room with slow, deliberate confidence.

“I mean really fuck him, baby,” he added, voice low and teasing. “I want to watch you ruin him with that strap you bought for me.”

That strap, bought during a drunken night filled with jokes and kink quizzes. You’d never used it, not once. It had been a fantasy, half joke, half dare from Wooyoung. But Yunho wasn’t joking now.

You swallowed hard, pulse picking up. “Yunho… are you sure?”

He nodded once. “I want it. I want to see him under you. Want to hear him beg. Want to see your fingers in his mouth while he takes it.” He paused. “He’ll let you. He wants it, too.”

As if summoned, Mingi stepped into the doorway like he’d been waiting outside. His eyes met yours, nervous, but not unsure. His tongue darted across his lips, and god, he looked so pretty when he was nervous.

“So,” Yunho murmured, turning to sit on the edge of the bed, his knees spread wide, “which one of you is gonna undress first?”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Mingi was already flushed before you even touched him.

Stripped down to just his boxers, his broad chest rising and falling with every breath, pupils dilated. You stood in front of him, running your fingers through his hair before gripping it tight, forcing his head back just enough to see Yunho watching from the bed.

“On your knees.”

He dropped instantly. Eager. Beautiful. Filthy.

Yunho groaned quietly behind you, palming himself through his sweats. You could feel his gaze on you like a second touch, watching as you spread Mingi open with lube slicked fingers, coaxing soft moans from him.

“He’s already so fucking needy,” you whispered, tilting your head back enough for Yunho to hear. “He’s been waiting for this, hasn’t he?”

Mingi let out a breathy “yes,” his voice shaking. “Please… I can take it.”

“You better,” you purred. “Because I’m not stopping until Yunho tells me to.”

When you pushed inside, Mingi choked on a moan, half pain, half pleasure, his fingers clawing into the sheets as you filled him, slow and steady.

“Fuck…. oh my god”

Yunho stood now, circling the bed like a predator, dragging two fingers across Mingi’s jaw, then gripping it tight.

“Look at you,” he murmured, watching Mingi’s eyes flutter. “You’re taking her so well. You like having your ass used, huh?”

Mingi nodded weakly, breath stuttering as you pulled back and slammed forward again, harder this time. “I love it…. fuck…. I love it.”

Yunho’s gaze snapped to you, pure hunger. “Go harder.”

And you did.

You fucked Mingi like you owned him, like he was yours to break apart. Every slap of skin echoed through the room, Mingi’s moans climbing higher, filth spilling from your mouth as you leaned forward to bite down on his shoulder, fingers curling around his throat just tight enough to make him whine.

Yunho stood at the edge of the bed, hand wrapped around his dick now, slow strokes timed to your thrusts.

“She’s gonna make you come like this,” he said roughly to Mingi. “Stuffed full and dripping. What would people think if they saw you like this?”

“I don’t care,” Mingi gasped. “I just want her… please… harder…. don’t stop”

You didn’t.

He came with a strangled cry, untouched, as you rutted into him like you were never going to stop. He was shaking, begging, gasping against the sheets, but you weren’t done.

Mingi’s body was twitching beneath you, already wrecked from the first orgasm you’d dragged out of him, but you weren’t finished. You were still grinding deep, still thrusting slow and hard, relishing the way his thighs trembled, the way he whined your name like a prayer and a curse all in one.

You barely noticed Yunho strip.

But the second you felt his chest press to your back and his hand snake between your legs, you sucked in a sharp breath.

“Didn’t say I was just gonna watch, did I?” Yunho rasped into your ear, his dick already sliding through your wetness. “She’s not done with you, Mingi. Not even close.”

Mingi moaned beneath you, his voice all fucked out and slurred. “I can take it. I’ll take anything she gives me.”

“You better,” Yunho said darkly, lining himself up behind you. “Because now I’m gonna take her.”

You were already dripping, already clenching when he pushed into you with one brutal, perfect thrust. You cried out, your body arching forward from the force of it, making the strap drive even deeper into Mingi.

Mingi screamed. You gasped. Yunho groaned.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, trying to keep your rhythm, but Yunho wasn’t letting you have control anymore. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging deep, and he pounded into you with a pace that stole your balance. Each thrust shoved you forward into Mingi, harder than before, the strap plunging into him with every motion you couldn’t stop.

“F… fuck…. oh god” Mingi’s voice broke, mouth open, body shaking. “You’re… both… oh fuck… please!”

You were barely hanging on. Yunho was a machine behind you, relentless, breath hot on your neck, the slap of his hips echoing off the walls. His grip never loosened. He used your body like you were his to fuck, and you were, and the fact that you were still buried inside his best friend only made it more obscene.

“She’s fucking you,” Yunho growled to Mingi. “But I’m fucking her. You feel how deep she is right now? That’s me putting her there.”

Mingi’s legs kicked, helpless.

“Can’t move,” he sobbed. “She’s… fuck…. too deep”

“You’re gonna take it,” Yunho snapped. “You’re gonna take everything she gives you while I fuck it into her.”

Your legs were shaking, arms barely holding you up. Yunho shifted, angling himself deeper, hitting your g spot with every snap of his hips. The pleasure was dizzying, your mouth falling open.

“You’re so full, baby,” he groaned, one hand wrapping around your throat. “Strap in him, dick in you, look at you, fucking made for us.”

You couldn’t even speak. Mingi was babbling into the sheets, you were moaning, crying out with every thrust, and Yunho was rutting into you like he was punishing you for making him wait.

“You close?” he growled.

You nodded frantically, body pulsing around him.

“Then come. Come with me buried in this pussy and him stuffed full of your strap. Come, baby, now.”

And you did.

It tore through you like lightning, and your scream echoed through the room as you collapsed forward, body spasming. Mingi came again underneath you with a broken moan, and Yunho didn’t stop, he fucked you through it, through the shaking, the overstimulation, his own orgasm crashing into you seconds later as he buried himself deep and came with a growl in your ear.

All three of you were trembling by the time it ended. A sticky, panting mess of limbs and sweat and afterglow.

You stayed lying on top of Mingi, both of you whimpering as Yunho slowly pulled out, chuckling breathlessly.

“Well,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “That was better than I imagined.”

Mingi wheezed. “I think I saw god.” He was still breathless, collapsed on the bed beneath you, face flushed and twitching with aftershocks. His lips were parted like he wanted to speak, but no words came.

You were barely upright, your body covered in sweat, trembling from release, but Yunho’s hands on your hips held you steady. His chest pressed to your back. His voice a low growl at your ear.

“Now me,” he said.

You blinked. Turned your head slightly, lips brushing his cheek.

“You sure?”

He exhaled, jaw tight. “I want to feel it too. I want to know what he just felt. I want you inside me.”

That alone almost made you almost come again.

Yunho had never given over control. He never bottomed. Not for you. Not for anyone. He loved control. Loved watching you fall apart. But now, his voice was shaking and low and his body practically buzzed with need.

You pulled out of Mingi gently, both of you gasping. Mingi rolled to the side, eyes barely open but watching, dazed and fascinated. Watching Yunho.

“Come on, then,” you murmured, voice darker now. “On your knees.”

Yunho obeyed.

His muscles rippled as he shifted into position, arms bracing him on the bed, legs parted, ass bare and perfect. He didn’t look back at you, but his breathing was already shallow. Waiting.

You slicked your fingers again, sliding them down the curve of his ass, watching him twitch when you brushed his hole.

“Good boy,” you whispered, and he shuddered.

Mingi let out a shaky breath behind you, still watching everything. “Holy shit…”

You stretched him slow, careful, but firm. You wanted this to be intense. You wanted him to feel what it meant to give himself over to you. Every time your finger slid deeper, Yunho groaned, low, guttural, his thighs tensing.

“You can take more,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his spine.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “Give it to me.”

So you did.

The strap slid in with a slick, slow push, and Yunho grunted, fists tightening in the sheets, hips rocking back to meet you like he needed to be filled to breathe.

“Fuuuck…. baby….”

“That’s it,” you whispered, nails digging into his hips. “You look so fucking hot like this. All mine now, huh?”

“All yours,” he growled, forehead pressed to the bed. “Fuck me. Hard. Don’t hold back.”

You didn’t.

You started slow, dragging the strap out and slamming it back in, each thrust harder than the last until Yunho was gasping, panting, moaning. Mingi had propped himself up against the headboard, still wrecked but wide eyed, stroking himself slowly as he watched you fuck his best friend into submission.

“Look at you,” you snarled, slamming in again. “Fucking whimpering for me. You like this, Yunho? Like me using you?”

“Yes,” he cried out, back arching. “More… harder… don’t stop”

You leaned forward, pressing your chest to his back, your mouth to his ear.

“You’re taking me so well. Being so good for me. Look at Mingi. He’s watching you fall apart. You feel powerless, don’t you?”

Yunho let out a strangled moan, trembling.

You reached down, stroking his dick in time with your thrusts, and it was all over from there.

He came with a growl, loud and raw, hips jerking wildly as he collapsed forward, body wracked with aftershocks. You kept moving through it, dragging every last sound from him until he was shaking, begging, cursing into the mattress.

When you finally pulled out, he rolled onto his back, chest heaving, face flushed and damp with sweat.

You hovered over him, legs shaking, but your eyes burned into his.

Yunho lay flat on his back beside you, his chest still heaving, eyes glazed and lips parted. Mingi had propped himself back on his elbows at the edge of the bed, gaze locked on the slick curve of the strap, your thighs, your breathless smirk.

They were fucked out. Drenched in sweat. But their eyes still followed you like you were the sun itself.

You licked your lips, stretched lazily, and let your fingers trail down your own stomach. Then you smirked.

“My turn,” you said.

Two words. That’s all it took.

Yunho blinked, slowly sitting up with a dazed grin, still flushed and unsteady on his knees. Mingi was already crawling toward you like the obedient, aching mess he was, pupils blown wide.

You sat back on the pillows, legs spread slightly, the harness still in place, glistening. You didn’t move. Didn’t have to.

“What do you want, baby?” Yunho asked, voice hoarse, eager.

“I want to watch you,” you replied. “Both of you. Right here. Right now. Show me how good you can be, for me.”

Their eyes darkened at the same time.

Mingi moved first, of course he did, leaning over to kiss your thigh, then trailing kisses up to your navel, his hands spreading your legs wider. Yunho knelt between your thighs too, eyes never leaving your face as his lips followed the other side, hot breath teasing your skin.

You let your head fall back, watching them both through hooded eyes as they worshipped you together.

Kisses. Tongues. Fingers tracing patterns over your skin.

“God, you’re perfect,” Mingi whispered, nuzzling into your hip.

“She deserves everything,” Yunho added, kissing your inner thigh.

They didn’t rush.

Mingi’s tongue dipped lower, Yunho followed his lead, and then it was both of them—sharing, switching, tasting, teasing, moaning between your legs like they were getting off just from the taste of you. Mingi’s fingers digging into your thighs while Yunho pressed kisses to your clit after they removed the strap, murmuring your name like a mantra.

You tangled your fingers in their hair, tugging tight when it got too good, when the pressure hit just right.

Mingi’s tongue was buried deep inside you now, Yunho’s lips sealed around your clit, and you were right on the edge, ready to fall apart all over their pretty faces. Until you grabbed a fistful of each man’s hair and pulled.

“Stop.”

They both froze.

Yunho looked up at you, breathless and confused, lips glossy. “Did we… did we do something wrong?”

Mingi blinked, still hovering between your thighs. “Do you not want…”

You gave them both a crooked smile, licking your lips, voice like honey and sin.

“That’s not what I meant when I said it was my turn.”

Mingi sat back slowly. “Then… what did you mean?”

You stood, body still flushed and glowing with sweat and circled them like a wolf stalking prey. You leaned in close behind Yunho, whispering low against his neck.

“I want to watch you…” Then your eyes flicked to Mingi, and your voice turned to a purr. “Both of you. Together.”

Silence.

Yunho turned his head, just slightly. “You mean…”

Mingi’s breath caught. “You want me to fuck him?”

You gave a single nod, slow and deliberate. “Or him to fuck you. I don’t care who’s on top. I just want to watch both of you fall apart in front of me.”

The air shifted.

Yunho’s gaze dropped to Mingi, something unspoken passing between them, surprise, hesitation, maybe even curiosity… but not denial.

“You’ve thought about it,” you said quietly, getting back on the bed, backing toward the headboard, reclining like a queen before her performance. “Don’t lie to me. You’ve both thought about it.”

Yunho swallowed. Mingi’s lips parted.

And then Yunho gave a breathless laugh, soft, disbelieving, and turned to Mingi. “She’s right.”

Mingi blinked. “She usually is.”

You smirked. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Yunho kissed Mingi first. Hesitant at first, almost shy, but it didn’t stay that way. Mingi grabbed Yunho by the neck and pulled him closer, mouths crashing together in a mess of teeth and tongue and groaning breath.

They forgot you were even there for a second, and that was exactly what you wanted.

You moved your hand down, slowly circling your clit as they kissed harder, deeper, bodies sliding together.

“Get on your back,” Yunho finally growled to Mingi.

Mingi obeyed without a word, dick already hard and leaking, lips swollen from kissing. Yunho crawled between his legs, pausing to look back at you, his eyes darker than you’d ever seen.

“You still watching?”

You smiled like the wicked little demon you were. “Every second.”

Yunho leaned down, licking a long stripe up Mingi’s dick before taking it in his mouth.

Mingi shouted, loud and raw and broken.

“Fuck, Yunho… what the fuck”

Yunho sucked him deep, hands pressing into Mingi’s thighs to keep him still, humming low in his throat while Mingi writhed beneath him. Your fingers were rubbing at your clit faster, your free hand gripping the sheets, breath catching with every obscene, wet sound that filled the room.

You watched Yunho devour his best friend, watched Mingi fall apart in real time, grabbing Yunho’s hair, hips twitching.

“Switch,” you commanded suddenly, breathless. “I want Mingi on top. I want him to fuck you.”

They froze.

Yunho lifted his head, lips still glossy. “You serious?”

You raised a brow. “I’ve never been more serious.”

Yunho turned to Mingi, exhaling hard. “You okay with that?”

Mingi nodded, something electric in his eyes. “Only if she keeps watching.”

You leaned back with a grin. “I’ll do more than that. I’ll tell you what to do next.”

Yunho’s lips were still slick from sucking Mingi’s dick, his jaw tight with anticipation as you leaned back, breathless and glowing from everything you’d just done to them both.

Mingi’s eyes snapped to the movement of your fingers rubbing at your clit. “You’re not joining?”

You smirked. “I am. Just… like this.”

Your fingers slid through your folds, slow and teasing, circling your clit as you sank back against the headboard, watching them like a goddamn goddess in the clouds. “I want to watch you fuck each other. I want to see what I do to you both.”

Yunho let out a breath that was more of a groan. Mingi glanced down at him, then back to you, something in his chest rising like he was ready to worship you through Yunho’s body.

And he was.

“On your back,” Mingi said, voice lower now, more commanding. “You heard her.”

Yunho’s eyes flicked to yours, wide and blown. “You sure?”

You gave a soft, dangerous smile as your fingers moved faster over your clit. “Be a good boy, Yunho. Let him make you feel as good as you made me.”

Yunho nodded once. Then slowly laid back, chest rising with each shaky breath, arms spread slightly above his head like he was giving himself up.

Mingi crawled over him, leaning down to kiss him again, deeper this time. There was no hesitation now. Just hunger.

You bit your lip, watching them devour each other’s mouths as your fingers dipped lower, teasing your entrance. You were soaked, aching, and every sound, every groan and gasp from their lips made you wetter.

“Use him, Mingi,” you whispered through a moan. “Fuck him like you mean it.”

Mingi reached over for the lube, his hands shaking just slightly as he prepped Yunho, slow fingers, soft kisses, muttered praises you barely heard over the pounding in your ears.

Then he was lined up. Holding Yunho’s legs open. Looking over at you.

“Keep touching yourself,” Mingi said, his voice thick with desire. “Don’t stop.”

You moaned as he pushed in slow, careful, watching Yunho’s eyes roll back and his jaw drop open in a silent cry.

“Fuck… he’s so tight”

Yunho’s back arched. “Holy shit don’t stop… don’t fucking stop”

You were a mess already, fingers stroking furiously as you watched Mingi thrust into him, each snap of his hips rougher, deeper. Yunho took it, moaning loudly, nails dragging down Mingi’s back, head thrown back on the pillows.

They were all sound and sweat and raw movement, your boys, your masterpiece, and you were falling apart to the symphony of their moans.

“Look at her,” Yunho gasped, barely able to get the words out. “She’s fucking herself to this… fuck, I’m gonna come”

“Don’t,” Mingi growled, teeth against Yunho’s throat. “Not yet.”

You were breathless. Wrecked. “Come for me. Both of you. At the same time. I want to see it.”

Mingi’s hand reached down to stroke Yunho’s dick in time with his thrusts, and the moment you said the words, your voice trembling through your orgasm, they both broke.

Yunho came with a shout, body convulsing, and Mingi followed with a grunt, hips jerking deep, burying himself to the hilt as he collapsed onto Yunho’s chest.

You lay there panting, your hand still twitching between your thighs, your thighs soaked, lips parted in awe as they lay tangled together in the aftermath.

Then Mingi looked up at you.

“So,” he breathed, voice rough, “do we get a scorecard?”

Yunho chuckled, barely coherent. “I think we just passed with honors.”

You grinned lazily. “Don’t get cocky. There’s always extra credit.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Yunho walked into the practice room first.

He looked… fine. Too fine. Like a man trying very hard not to limp, not to wince, not to glow. His sweats were low on his hips, hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows, and his hair was still damp from his morning shower.

Mingi followed two minutes later.

He looked…..

Let’s just say walking wasn’t his strong suit this morning. He wore a hoodie, but it was zipped halfway down, like he’d overheated just from making it to the elevator. There were faint bruises on his collarbone that weren’t there yesterday. And he hadn’t stopped smiling.

San spotted it first.

He was mid stretch, arms overhead, when he glanced between the two of them. His arms slowly dropped.

“Huh…”

Wooyoung followed his gaze. Then narrowed his eyes. “Nah. No way. They didn’t.”

Seonghwa, tying his shoelaces, didn’t even look up. “Oh, they absolutely did.”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “Did what?”

Jongho, ever the innocent, blinked. “What are you guys talking about?”

“They fucked,” Seonghwa said, cheerfully, standing upright. “Or, more likely, got fucked. Both of them.” He didn’t really need to specify who they got fucked by.

Yunho coughed.

Mingi turned red. “What the hell, Seonghwa?!”

Yunho looked like he wanted to melt through the floor. “It’s not… I mean….”

“Don’t even try,” Wooyoung cut in, stepping closer. “Y’all are literally vibrating. You think we don’t notice the eye contact? The weird spacing? The accidental brush of shoulders every five seconds?”

Mingi groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Can we not do this at dance practice?”

“Oh we’re definitely doing this at dance practice,” San said, grinning like a shark. “Because now I’m wondering, did you just hook up? Or was it a whole…thing?”

Yeosang, who hadn’t said a word until now, finally piped up with surgical precision. “She was there, wasn’t she.”

Silence.

Yunho looked away. Mingi bit his lip.

San’s jaw dropped. Wooyoung howled.

“Oh my GOD, it was a threesome! You guys had a threesome with Y/N?!”

Yunho groaned. Mingi muttered, “I’m never gonna hear the end of this, am I.”

“No,” Seonghwa said immediately. “Absolutely not. I demand full details over dinner.”

Hongjoong pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we please stretch first before we emotionally interrogate the group sex energy in the room?”

“Oh don’t act like you’re above it,” Wooyoung teased. “You’re literally smirking.”

“I’m always smirking.”

Jongho just looked around, wide eyed. “Wait. Wait. They both slept with her? Together? That’s a thing now?!”

Yunho finally stood up straight and rubbed the back of his neck. “Look… it wasn’t planned.”

Mingi snorted. “Yeah, says the one who told her to fuck me.”

Now the room exploded.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

You had laughed then. Pretended it didn’t affect you. Pretended your thighs didn’t clench the second those lenses narrowed towards you, the illusion of expression far too real for your sanity. But now? Now he was wearing it in public. Onstage. Fully masked. That hoodie half zipped and slouched off one shoulder, revealing silver chains and a flash of skin. He wasn’t even doing much, just standing, head slightly tilted, watching fans standing next to Wooyoung with that easy confidence, but you could already feel the burn creeping up your neck.

Your mouth went dry. You replayed the video. Then again. Each time, it got worse. The lenses on the mask shifted subtly, narrowing just a bit as he moved. Reacting. Tracking. Like it was really part of him. Like he was really Spiderman. You exhaled shakily, tossing your phone to the side. No. No, you were not going to get worked up over a mask. Not again. You were fine. You were totally cool.

Then you grabbed your phone back up. A new video. This time, he crouched. Classic Spiderman pose. One knee bent, one arm extended in a mock web sling. And even through the grainy camera footage and LED haze, you could see it, the muscle in his chest flexing beneath his shirt, the chain bouncing slightly against his collarbone. The way his mask tilted up toward someone off camera, lenses narrowing like a predator that knew it had the upper hand.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered.

You were so screwed.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The apartment door clicked open just past 11:00 pm, followed by the low buzz of chatter and the telltale thump of Yunho’s heavy sneakers hitting the entry mat. You were barefoot in the kitchen, didn’t look up right away, just listened. You could hear Yeosang laugh first, light and familiar, and then Yunho’s deeper voice murmuring something back as the two of them shuffled inside, both sounding tired but wired from the day.

You turned just in time to see him. Yunho stepped through the hallway, hoodie unzipped, silver chains catching the overhead light, still wearing the same outfit from the fansign. But it was the way he casually reached into his pocket, pulling it out, that made you freeze. The mask. That same Spiderman mask with the expressive eyes. He was holding it by the jaw, fingers lazily toying with the edge of the fabric like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t the exact thing that had kept you squirming on the couch all afternoon.

He didn’t even see you yet. He was grinning at Yeosang, who was kicking off his sneakers behind him. “Man,” Yeosang huffed, grabbing a water from the fridge without looking, though he brushed past you with a smile. “You’ve been teasing atiny with that damn suit since before Christmas.”

Yunho laughed from the living room, low, smug. “I still haven’t even posted the full photoset.”

“Because you like watching them suffer,” Yeosang tossed over his shoulder as Yunho twirled the mask on one finger. “You’re not wrong.”

You stared. Heat bloomed low in your stomach. You should look away. You should say something. But you couldn’t, not with the way he looked holding that mask. Not with his hair a little messy, lips still curved in a half smirk, chains still resting against his collarbone.

You must’ve made a noise because suddenly Yunho’s head turned as he walked into the kitchen, and those warm, deep brown eyes locked onto yours. And the smirk? It deepened. “Oh,” he said softly. “Hey, baby.” Your fingers tightened on the glass in your hand as the mask was still dangling from his fingers.

Yeosang stretched with a yawn, rubbing at the back of his neck as he padded toward the hallway. “I’m gonna shower before bed,” he mumbled, already halfway checked out. “Try not to break the kitchen counter while I’m gone.” Yunho huffed a laugh, tossing the mask onto the counter beside him with a soft thud of synthetic fabric and tech mesh. “No promises.”

You didn’t move, barely even breathed. The moment Yeosang disappeared down the hallway and the bathroom door clicked shut, Yunho was already stepping toward you. No fanfare. No teasing grin. Just quiet purpose. He didn’t say anything when he reached you. Instead, he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

The warmth of him hit instantly, broad chest pressed to your back, his hoodie soft against your tank top, the light jingle of his necklace brushing your collarbone as he inhaled deeply. Like he was grounding himself. Like he missed you. You felt his breath before you heard his voice as you placed your glass down on the counter.

“Been getting home and you’re always asleep,” he murmured against your skin. “Didn’t realize how much that was starting to fuck with me.” Your hand slid down to rest over his arm, fingers curling. “You should’ve woke me up,” You whispered. “You looked too peaceful,” he replied, then pressed his lips to the slope of your neck, not a kiss, more like a pause. A moment of worship.

The tension you’d been holding all day, the ache from seeing him in that damn mask, started to melt under his touch. But then he shifted, just slightly, and you glanced down. The mask was still there. Sitting on the counter. And Yunho’s hand reached for it again, fingers brushing the fabric like he knew. Knew exactly what had been driving you crazy. He didn’t lift his head when he asked, soft and low, “Do you like it?”

You stepped forward, casually slipping from Yunho’s arms like nothing had happened. Like your heart wasn’t hammering in your chest from the way his voice dropped, or how his fingers ghosted the edge of that mask like it was a secret he was about to expose. You rounded the counter, pretending to check something in the fridge you didn’t need. Cool air spilled out. You didn’t care. Your voice came out smooth, too smooth. “Like what?”

Yunho didn’t even blink as you turned back around, he was still watching you, chin tilted slightly down, eyes heavy lidded, lips curled in the faintest smirk. That unreadable Yunho expression that always meant trouble. His hand was still resting on the mask. “Like what,” he repeated slowly, gaze raking over you, “she says.”

You shrugged. A little too nonchalant. “You’ve done a lot of things worth liking. You’ll have to be more specific.”

He chuckled under his breath, the sound rougher than it should’ve been. “Uh huh.” And then he straightened up, leaned casually on the counter with one arm as the other lifted the mask again. Not rushed. Just slow. Deliberate. He held it between two fingers, letting it dangle. Like bait. “You looked at me like you were ready to climb me,” he said, voice low and fond, “when I tried this on last week.”

Your throat went dry.

“I saw you,” he added, cocking his head. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you biting your lip and pretending you weren’t two seconds from combusting.”

You opened your mouth to retort but nothing came out. Nothing except a weak little breath that gave you away entirely. And Yunho knew he had you. He dropped the mask on the counter between you, stepping close again, close enough to cage you in without touching you. “You want me to wear it again?” he asked, tone feather light but eyes locked on yours. “Right now?”

You didn’t answer him. Not with words. Not right away. Instead, you pushed past him, brushing against his chest deliberately, a quiet defiance in the way your shoulder bumped his. Your footsteps padded across the apartment floor, calm, unhurried, but with purpose, like you hadn’t just been wrecked by the question he asked. Like your heart wasn’t jackhammering in your chest.

Yunho turned, watching you go, and just before you reached the hallway, you glanced over your shoulder and said it. “Just the mask.” Then you disappeared down the hall.

For a second, everything was still. Silent. Then Yunho huffed a low laugh, shaking his head as he reached for the mask. “Fuck, I love her.” He said it like a confession. Like a promise. Like a man already halfway undone. The mask was back in his grip before he followed you. His footsteps didn’t rush, but they were steady, controlled, deliberate. Each one heavier than the last, like the weight of anticipation was settling in his spine.

You didn’t wait in bed. No, you stood just inside his bedroom, back facing the door, arms crossed, hip cocked like you had every intention of making him work for it. And when you heard the floorboards creak, you turned just as he reached the threshold. Just as he pulled the mask down.

And god help you, the second those lenses shifted, tightening slightly, zeroing in on you like a target locked, you swore your knees almost buckled. Yunho didn’t speak. Not with his mouth, anyway. He didn’t have to. The slow way he stepped inside, the way the door shut behind him with a soft click, the way he tilted his head and dragged his gaze down your body through chrome tinted eyes, it said enough.

You don’t move when he steps closer. You let him close the distance one measured step at a time, until the room feels smaller, thicker, like the air itself is holding its breath. The lenses track you the whole way, narrowing just a touch as he stops a foot in front of you. Not touching. Not yet.

You lift your chin. For a split second, you think he might say something. Tease you. Ruin you with that low voice through the mask. Instead, you’re the one who breaks the silence. “Strip.” It’s calm. Even. Almost lazy. And that’s when he laughs. It’s quiet, muffled by the mask, but unmistakable. A warm, low chuckle that curls through the room and straight into your stomach. He tilts his head, slow and amused, like he’s looking at you through a very different lens now. “Oh,” he says, voice distorted just enough to make it dangerous. “So we’re not pretending anymore.”

You don’t back down. You don’t blink. His hands come up, not to touch you, but to hook into the hem of his hoodie. He doesn’t pull it off right away. He pauses, thumbs pressing into the fabric, shoulders rolling back slightly like he’s stretching on purpose. Like he’s enjoying the show on your face. “You spend all day trying not to think about it, didn’t you,” he continues lightly, teasing, “and now you wanna tell me what to do?”

The hoodie slides up along with the white tank top he has on, slowly, deliberately, baring his stomach inch by inch before he finally pulls it over his head and lets it drop to the floor. The chain settles back against his chest with a soft clink. The mask still on as he takes another step forward. “Cute,” he murmurs. “You trying to be in charge.”

You swallow, heat pooling low, but you don’t move. Don’t give him the satisfaction. “Keep going,” you say. That makes him pause. Just for a beat. And you can tell, feel, the shift. The way the teasing eases into something heavier. More intent. His shoulders square, hands sliding to the waistband of his pants as he studies you like he’s deciding how long he’ll let this last. “Careful,” he warns softly. “If you keep this up, I might forget I’m supposed to let you think you’re winning.”

He didn’t wait for another command. The mask stayed on, lenses still fixed on you like he could see straight through every layer of calm you were pretending to wear. But his hands moved to the waistband of his pants, slow and easy, like this wasn’t affecting him at all. Like the room wasn’t practically vibrating with the tension now.

He pushed them down. Gray sweats slid over those strong thighs, hips shifting slightly as he stepped out of them and there they were. His boxers. You didn’t even blink. Bright red with the Spiderman logo splashed across the thigh, webbing detail stitched along the waistband like it was made to match the mask. Which, knowing him, it probably was. You stared at them. Then lifted your eyes back to his face, or at least, the mask.

He stood there like he knew exactly what he was doing. Because he did. You arched a brow. “Really?” He tilted his head again, lenses shifting to give the impression of a smirk. “Don’t act surprised,” he said, voice smooth through the mask. “You’ve folded at least three pairs of these this week.” You had. You definitely had. But none of those moments involved him wearing the matching damn mask, looking like a full blown fantasy that walked straight out of your web slinging, shame filled imagination.

You tried to keep your expression neutral, tried not to give him the satisfaction, but it was already there, the way your breath caught, the way your fingers curled slightly at your sides. Yunho saw it. Of course he did. And he took one slow step forward. “You gonna keep making the rules,” he asked, “or are you gonna let me break them?”

You didn’t answer him. You just dropped to your knees. No hesitation, just the soft sound of your knees hitting the floor and the slow drag of your hands up his thighs. Yunho didn’t move. Not at first. He stood there, looming over you, arms relaxed at his sides, chest rising and falling slow and steady. But those lenses? They shifted. Slightly narrowed, locked on you like a predator watching prey. Responsive. Alive. Your reflection warped in them as you looked up. And god, it was too much. The way the mask stared back, unreadable, inhuman, but unmistakably him. Yunho. The man you’d been aching over all day. The man who wore your obsession like armor now, his whole body humming with restraint.

Your fingers hooked the waistband of his ridiculous boxers, tugging them down slowly, teasing yourself just as much as him. You didn’t even bother pretending you were calm anymore. Not when he stepped out of them and the lenses tilted, just barely, tracking the path of your hands as they grazed up his thighs again.

Yunho was already hard. And when you looked up, mouth inches from him, the mask stared back like it was about to command you to worship. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. Your own breath betrayed you again, a shaky exhale as your hand wrapped around the base of him, thumb sliding across the tip like a promise. And above you? Those eyes. Those damn eyes. Alive, watching, hungry.

You let your tongue flick out, just once, swiping across the tip of him with slow, deliberate heat. The taste of him already on your tongue, the weight of him in your hand. You could feel how hard he was, how much he was holding back. And still, you looked up. Tilted your head, lashes batting just a little for effect as you gave him your most dangerous smile. “Do you want to fuck my mouth, Spidey?”

The room went silent. Yunho didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. The mask stared down at you, lenses flicking wider for half a second like he hadn’t expected that, like his entire brain had just blue screened. “Did you just fucking call me Spidey?” he asked, voice cracking around a stunned laugh. Rough and low and already wrecked. The shift was immediate.

He twitched in your grip, hips tilting forward slightly like his body was answering before his mouth could. You saw it, felt it, and you knew you’d hit the target dead center. “Oh my god,” he groaned, hand flying up to his mask like he needed a second to recalibrate. “You…. fuck… you’re such a menace.” But he didn’t tell you to stop. Didn’t tell you to behave.

No, he stepped closer instead, the tip of him brushing your lips now, and those masked eyes narrowed down at you with something dark, something dangerous, something that screamed, You asked for this.

“Open your mouth, baby,” he growled, hips already tense. “Let’s see how much web you can handle.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh. Because of course he said that. God, he was such a nerd. But damn if it didn’t make your thighs clench. Still smiling, you leaned in and finally wrapped your lips around him, slow and smooth, letting the weight of him press against your tongue as you eased him into your mouth. The sound Yunho made through the mask, that sound, was pure ruin.

His hands found your head almost instantly, fingers sliding through your hair with more care than control, letting you set the pace. Letting you move the way you wanted. At first. You started slow. Long drags of your mouth down his length, your tongue curling around him, tasting, teasing. You pulled back with a wet pop just to swirl your tongue at the tip again, watching his thighs tense under your hands. He was already trembling, breathing hard through the mask.

And those eyes, god, those moving eyes were locked on you like a fucking surveillance drone, every flicker of movement tracking your mouth, your hands, the way your lips stretched around him. “Fucking hell,” Yunho groaned, low and breathless, hands tightening just slightly. “You look…. fuck, you look so good like this.”

You took him deeper. Not all at once, but enough to make his hips jerk, his breath stutter, his grip flex against your scalp as he tried not to thrust. You didn’t stop. You picked up speed, slow to steady, steady to hungry. Letting your mouth do all the work, letting him feel every inch of you around him, warm and wet and relentless. And still, he let you lead. Still, he held back. But not for long. Because the second your eyes flicked up and you moaned around him?

Those lenses narrowed. And Yunho’s control shattered as your lips brushed the base, throat tightening around him, a soft choke followed by a moan that vibrated straight through his core.

That did it.

His fingers clenched hard in your hair, one hand slipping to cradle the back of your head, the other bracing against the wall beside you. “Fuck,” he hissed, voice gritty and warped through the mask. “That’s it.” His hips thrust forward, a sharp, sudden movement that shoved him deeper into your mouth, making your eyes flutter as your hands gripped his thighs for balance. He paused for half a second, just enough to make sure you could take it, to feel you adjust, and then he started moving.

Rough. Relentless. Controlled only by the tension in his jaw and the ragged moans pouring out of him. “Shit… look at you,” he groaned, voice wrecked and low, “taking it like that…. fuck, baby… you love this, don’t you?” The mask lenses narrowed, tracking the tears welling in your eyes, the drool sliding down your chin, the flushed heat burning across your cheeks. He could see the mess he was making of you, the way your throat flexed around him, gagging just enough to make him growl.

“You’re so good for me,” he gasped. “So good.” He didn’t let up. Not until your hands were clawing at his thighs, not until your moans turned breathless, your body shuddering as he used your mouth like he’d waited his whole life for this moment. Like the mask gave him permission to finally let go. And god, was he letting go.

He was close. You felt it. Every thrust of his hips grew sharper, his breath ragged through the mask, hips jerking like he was right on the edge. But just when you thought he’d let go, when you were bracing for it, he yanked you up.

Your mouth slipped off him with a gasp, eyes wide, lips swollen and wet as he hauled you to your feet like you weighed nothing. His chest rose and fell in hard, unsteady waves, the lenses on the mask narrowed tight in on you. Then, slowly, he reached up and pushed the mask back just enough to free his mouth.

Only his mouth. The rest stayed on. “Take those fucking clothes off,” he growled, voice raw and low and furious with need.

You barely moved before he was already helping you, yanking your tank up, hands skimming over bare skin, tugging at your shorts and underwear with such urgency it made your breath hitch. You stumbled back onto the bed naked, flushed and still catching up when Yunho dropped to his knees again.

He didn’t wait. He didn’t tease. He spread your thighs with one strong hand, the other bracing beside your hip as he lowered his mouth to you, and the moment his tongue made contact, your whole body jolted like he’d hit a live wire. The mask still on. Those eyes locked.

Even as he licked a slow stripe up your center, even as he groaned into you because it had had been days, the lenses didn’t look away. They watched you. Every shiver. Every twitch. Every breathless moan that spilled out when he finally thrust his tongue deep inside you.

Your hands flew to his hair by instinct, but instead of gripping soft strands, your fingers scrambled for purchase on the smooth edges of his mask. One palm cradled his temple, the other curling at the side of his head, clutching like you could anchor yourself there.

And he loved it. You could feel it in the way he groaned into you again, deeper this time, tongue fucking into you with a rhythm that made your legs shake, your hips roll, your head fall back onto the mattress. “Yunho…”

He stopped. Pulled back. The sudden loss of his mouth made your whole body jerk, a broken sound catching in your throat. You barely had time to look down before he lifted his head, lips shiny with your arousal, the bottom edge of his mask now resting just above that smug, ruined mouth.

And those eyes, still narrowed. Still locked on you as you blinked down at him, chest heaving. “Yunho?”

“No.”

His voice was low. Firm. He didn’t raise it, didn’t need to. But that one word made your breath catch. He crawled up, slow and fluid, all muscle and tension as he kissed his way up your body, over your thighs, your stomach, the center of your chest, until his face hovered just above yours, his weight settling between your legs.

“I don’t want to hear my name right now,” he whispered against your jaw, breath hot. “Say it.”

You swallowed hard, eyes wide, lips parting on instinct. “Spidey.”

God, you barely got it out before he groaned, deep and low, and slammed his tongue back between your legs like he was starved. He licked you open like he couldn’t help himself, devouring you, dragging wet, messy sounds out of you that echoed off the walls. You were already shaking when he pulled back again, just enough to grab you by the hips and drag you up the bed. Then he kissed up your body, to your throat. The mask pressed against your skin with every pass.

And finally, his forehead rested against yours. One hand planted beside your head. The other? Thrust. Two fingers buried deep inside you in one smooth, curling motion that made your back arch off the mattress. You gasped, sharp, ragged, and his mouth brushed yours like a threat.

“You like being fucked by Spidey that much, baby?” he whispered, thrusting his fingers again, slower this time.

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Because just as you tried to speak, to answer, to beg, Yunho pushed a third finger into you and your whole body jerked. “Ah… fuck!”

The stretch made your thighs tremble, your head fall back, a choked sob tearing from your throat as his fingers filled you completely now, thick and deep and relentless. He didn’t let up. Not even a little. He drove them into you, curling up, hitting that spot over and over until you were practically convulsing, fingers scrabbling at the sheets like you could dig your way out from under the pleasure.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked, that damn mask still pressed to your forehead as he watched every twitch of your face. “Can’t even answer me now.”

The wet slosh of your slick echoed with every thrust of his hand, obscene, raw, like your body didn’t know how to contain it anymore. You were soaking him. His palm. The sheets beneath you. It was everywhere.

And still, he kept going. Kept pumping into you, faster, harder, the squelch of it rising with every stroke until you were right there, hips bucking, mouth open in a silent scream, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes….

He pulled out. Just like that. Your whole body snapped, the loss hitting you like a slap. “No!” The cry ripped from you before you could stop it, voice high and broken, legs still shaking as your walls clenched around nothing now, empty and throbbing.

Yunho’s hand hovered above you, fingers slick and glistening with your arousal. He brought them to his mouth slowly, deliberately, and licked them clean one by one, never looking away. Those eyes on the mask narrowed. Still watching. Still smiling. “You know I love you like this,” he murmured, dragging the fingers from his mouth. “Right on the edge. Ruined. So needy you can’t even think.”

You barely had time to catch your breath. To snap at him. Your legs were still trembling, your core aching and clenching around nothing, slick dripping down your thighs, when you felt it. The heavy, warm press of him, his dick right against your clit.

Not inside. Just there. Dragging slow and firm, the tip gliding through your folds, up and down, parting you with maddening precision. Your body jolted, hips lifting instinctively to chase more, but he didn’t give it to you.

He just watched. Those mechanical eyes on the mask narrowed slightly, tracking every twitch of your face, every whimper you let out, every helpless roll of your hips against him. “God,” he breathed, voice strained through clenched teeth and a ruined smirk, “you’re so wet for me.”

He rutted against you again, the underside of him sliding over your clit, smearing your arousal across both of you, pressure building again like your body couldn’t catch a break. “You were gonna come,” he murmured. “You were right there… weren’t you, baby?”

He nudged your clit with the head of his dick again, just a little harder this time. You cried out, legs falling open wider, hands scrambling for anything to hold onto, him, the sheets, the damn mask, but you were already gone. Your hips bucked, chasing friction, needing him to sink into you….

But he didn’t. He just kept grinding. Up and down. Over and over. Hot and slick and so close.

You sobbed his name, half choked, already overwhelmed, and that made him still. He pressed flush to your entrance, just barely nudging against it, but didn’t push in. And then, in the most unholy, sin drenched voice you’ve ever heard, “Try that again.”

You tried. God, you tried to hold onto some sliver of control, to stay in it, to meet him with the same teasing fire, but your body betrayed you long before your mouth did. Your hips wouldn’t stop moving, chasing the drag of him over your clit, slick and throbbing and right there, but never enough.

He knew it. Those masked eyes? Watching every second of your unraveling. Each little twitch of your thighs, every tremble in your stomach, the tear sliding helplessly down your cheek. And still, he didn’t give in. He just kept grinding, slow and hard, dragging the head of his dick right over your clit until your legs kicked and your mouth opened in a sob….

“Please.”

Yunho stilled. You were panting now, flushed and ruined, lips parted in surrender. Your voice broke on the next word. Soft. Shaking. Desperate. “Please, Spidey… fuck me.”

For a moment, all you could hear was his breath, ragged through the half lifted mask, chest rising and falling fast. “Oh, fuck me,” he groaned, dropping his head. “Say it again.”

You grabbed his shoulders, back arching beneath him, mind fogged and gone. “Spidey,” you gasped, “please… please, just fuck me, I need you inside me.”

That was it. He snapped. No more teasing. No more edging. With one brutal thrust, he buried himself inside you, the stretch perfect, thick and deep and so much all at once. Your cry echoed off the walls, hands flying to his back, clutching at sweat slicked skin and that chain as he pressed you down into the mattress, you gripped it.

His hips rolled into yours, slow and deep at first, like he wanted you to feel every single inch of what you’d begged for. And above you? That mask. Those eyes. Still locked on yours. Still watching. Still completely in control. “That’s it,” he growled, voice like gravel and sin, “you wanted Spidey?” He thrust harder, your moan cut off by the impact. “You got him.”

He moved slow and deep at first. Dragging his hips back, then forward, each thrust deeper and unhurried, intentional, like he wanted to make you feel every pulse of him inside you. The mask didn’t flinch. Those eyes watched everything, your parted lips, the flush spreading down your chest, the dazed way you moaned his name before you caught yourself.

And god, the way he looked above you, your hand gripping the chain against his skin, abs flexing, and that mask still locked on like you were the center of his universe. You should’ve let it stay like that. But you didn’t. You moved your hands to grip his shoulders, jaw clenched, chest heaving as you tilted your head and smirked.

“I thought Spidey was gonna fuck me.”

Silence. Then, a low, wrecked laugh against your cheek, one that vibrated right through your bones. “Oh. You wanna talk shit now?” You barely had time to gasp before his hands slammed into the mattress beside your head, and pounded into you. Hard. Fast. Unrelenting.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growled, his voice cracking, hips snapping into yours with enough force to rattle the bed. “This what you were begging for?” You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Could barely think with how fast he was fucking you now, body jolting with every brutal thrust. The mask on, those sharp eyes never leaving you. You saw your own wrecked reflection in them, flushed and open, mouth slack as he wrecked you.

“You like being stuffed full like this?” he grunted, pace never faltering. “You like getting fucked by your friendly neighborhood….”

“Fuck!” You screamed, head thrown back, hands clawing at his back now, eyes rolling because Jesus Christ he was everywhere, inside you, above you, around you.

“Yeah,” he groaned, slamming into you even harder. “That’s what I thought.” Yunho’s thrusts were sharp, brutal, and unrelenting, but then he slowed just enough to adjust his grip, wrapping one strong arm around your waist and sitting up, bringing you with him in one fluid motion. You gasped as your body shifted, thighs straddling his lap, chest pressed flush to his as he stayed buried deep inside you.

Those moving lenses tracked every breath you took as your hands slid up his neck, trembling fingers framing his jaw. Your forehead dropped against his, the coolness of the mask kissing your skin where his heat radiated through it. You kissed him. Right where the mask ended. Right on his mouth. Soft and full of ache, like you needed him closer, deeper, everywhere.

He groaned into your kiss, hand fisting at your hip, and then he started thrusting up into you again. Hard. Deep. The new angle hit different, perfect, his dick dragging against your walls just right with every stroke, the sounds between your bodies wet and filthy and so loud in the otherwise silent room.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, clinging, grounding, as he fucked up into you over and over again. “I’m close,” you gasped against his lips, voice cracking.

“I know,” he gritted, forehead pressed tight to yours, his voice wrecked and low. “Me too. You feel so…. fuck, baby…” His hands were everywhere, gripping your waist, sliding down your ass, holding you in place while he snapped his hips up, chasing both your highs with wild precision. You felt his breath stuttering against your mouth, his body tensing under yours.

The mask never came off. The eyes never stopped watching. And neither of you wanted to stop as every thrust drove you higher, each one rougher, deeper, messier than the last. Yunho’s grip was bruising on your waist, his mouth panting against yours, breath hot and ragged as your hips rolled together in chaotic sync.

You were so close. Too close. “Yunho…” you gasped, broken and breathless, but this time? He didn’t stop you. Didn’t scold you. Didn’t even try to pull the name from your mouth. Because he was gone, too.

The mask pressed to your forehead. His hands dug into your hips. His dick slammed into you so deep you could feel it in your stomach. The sound of skin on skin, the wet slap of your bodies meeting, the absolute filth of it, was unbearable.

Your body snapped. You came hard, head falling back as your scream tore through the room, loud, raw, desperate. “Yunho!” Your thighs shook violently, cunt clenching tight around him, and then, your orgasm slammed into you so hard, so full body, you barely registered the gush of wet heat flooding his lap as you squirted, drenching both of you in wave after wave of release.

“Oh fuck…” Yunho groaned, deep and choked, hips jerking helplessly as your walls pulsed around him. “Fuck, baby…”

He wasn’t far behind. The second he felt you fall apart like that, so wet, so tight, so wrecked, he was gone. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself inside you, dick twitching as he came hard, ropes of heat spilling deep into you. He held you there, arms tight around your back, face buried in your neck, breath ragged and broken as he emptied into you completely.

Both of you trembling. Both of you soaking. Still clinging like the world might fall apart if you let go. And above it all? That mask. Still on. Still watching. But right now, Yunho was just a man. A man who loved you falling apart for him.

You both collapsed. Your body went limp against his, still trembling, overstimulated and soaked, your face buried in his neck as you tried to remember how breathing worked. Yunho cradled you in his lap, arms wrapped tight around your waist, chest heaving as he finally leaned back against the headboard, completely spent, still inside you, both of you sticky, messy, and totally undone.

For a second, it was silent. Then, with a long exhale, Yunho reached up and finally peeled the mask off. He looked wrecked. Hair plastered to his forehead, face flushed, lips swollen from your kisses, pupils still blown wide. He dropped the mask onto the mattress beside you like it had weight, like it had power, and then let his head thud back against the wall behind him.

You were breathless, straddling his lap, your arms slack around his shoulders, eyes barely open. He tilted his head lazily toward you, lips brushing your temple. “You good?”

You nodded, still too far gone to form words, and he just smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

Knock knock knock.

You both froze.

Yunho blinked. “No fucking way.”

From the other side of the door, Yeosang’s voice rang out, clear, calm, smug. “I ordered some pizza from that place down the street that’s open 24 hours.”

Another beat of silence. You buried your face in Yunho’s neck again, horrified.

“It’s hot,” Yeosang continued casually. “If you want some.”

Then, with a pause perfectly timed for maximum damage, “Spidey.”

Yunho groaned into your shoulder like he was about to die. You didn’t even have the energy to scream. You just whispered, mortified, “I’m never showing my face again.”

Yunho, still breathless, barely managed a laugh.

“I’m never gonna hear the end of it.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

scar ily baby happy birthday

[masterlist]

Taehyung told himself he was just surprised. He’d heard, obviously. Everyone had. You and your boyfriend were done. A clean break, no details, just enough information to make it real. Still, seeing you there, dancing like nothing had cracked open in your life… it did something ugly to his thoughts. Something eager.

He was watching you for too long. He knew he did, knew it was wrong in about six different ways— same friend group, bad timing, worse intentions. You’ve never given him the time of day. Not really. Polite smiles, quick hellos, conversations that died before they even warmed up— it was never meant to work. He’d flirted before, light, joking, half-serious… and you’d always slid right past it, like you didn’t even notice or care.

Which was almost worse than rejection.

But Taehyung kept finding you anyway. In every room, every corner. His eyes tracked you without permission. You laughed with someone else and he wondered who got to hear that laugh up close now. You swayed to the music and he thought about how your ex must’ve had it easy, must’ve taken things for granted. He hated that thought, hated how personal it felt.

He hated how you wouldn’t look at his way. Hated how he knew that night it would be the same as always, you wouldn’t care about him and his poor attempts of flirting.

That’s why Taehyung hated how all night you didn’t look at him, not even once.

Same old story.

By the time the night blurred at the edges— too loud, too warm, too many bodies pressed together— he was convincing himself of two things: that whatever he was thinking was a terrible idea, and that he was already in too deep to stop thinking about it.

Ten minutes too many he found you again.

When he found you again, you were dancing with a man he didn’t recognize. Tall, broad shoulders, hands moving just a little too close to your ass. The music was loud enough to rattled the windows, bass heavy, filthy, and you moved like you knew exactly what you were doing. Not trying to impress, not trying at all.

That was what made it unbearable for him.

You rolled your shoulders, laugh when the guy leaned in to say something stupid in your ear. Your body followed the beat effortlessly, like it belonged there, like it had been waiting all night to be seen. Taehyung felt something hot and sharp crawl up his spine, watching the man’s hands, watching where they didn’t touch. He wondered if you’d let him do better, wondered if you’d notice the difference.

He knew he could be better, so much better.

Stronger grip, slower movements, he wouldn’t rush it like that idiot was clearly trying to. He wouldn’t crowd you, wouldn’t beg for attention with cheap lines and beer-breath confidence. He’d make you look at him. Make you lose control and make you choose. He would make you want it, crave it, he would build it for you, make you beg for it.

The thought turned dark fast. He imagined your back against the wall instead of the dancefloor. Imagined the way your smile would change if it was meant just for him, smaller, sharper, dangerous. He hated how badly he wanted it. Hated that he had wanted it for a long time, even when you barely spared him a glance.

Especially then.

Taehyung teared his eyes away before getting worse, retreating to the kitchen with the rest of the group, forcing himself into conversation he didn’t want to hear. Forced to get you out of his mind and socialize. He hated it. But he had to.

And some minutes later he thought he was doing better. Someone gave him a drink, a girl he vaguely recognized. She was cute, loud, she was leaning too close. She laughed at something he didn’t say. She touched his arm. He wasn’t feeling it, and he hated it.

His attention kept snapping back to the living room, to the way you move, the way that man kept trying to keep up with you and failing. Taehyung told himself it shouldn’t matter, he told himself you were freshly broken up, off-limits, bad timing wrapped in a bad idea, bad decision. If you hadn’t chose him before you were definitely not going to choose him now. He had been trying to convinced himself for years about it, after you had been introduced to the group, after you choose to date one of his closest friends, after you choose another man that wasn’t him.

And lately he had been trying, he had been doing better. Trying not to flirt with you, trying to stay away from you, barely seeing you, specially when you were with your boyfriend. The last four months he had decided to just get over it. There was a thousand more girls around he could sleep with, he didn’t need to obsess over someone who didn’t want him and who was dating one of his friends.

But, of course, you had broken up.

And he found you in this party.

And he was losing his mind.

You appeared in the kitchen, like you felt him thinking about you. You slipped into the room with a grin that looked like trouble, eyes bright, a little flushed, hair messy from dancing. You scanned the room once, then lifted your voice just enough to cut through the noise.

“Who wants to take shots with me?”

There was a pause, a collective hesitation.

Taehyung had his answer before he could even think about it. “I do.”

It came out solid, certain.

But it didn’t surprise him. Because he had never doubt for a second of doing anything related to you.

You looked at him then. And something flickered in your expression. Surprise, maybe… or interest. Or maybe you were just drunk enough to make reckless decisions.

“Okay,” you said, like you’ve already decided. “Let’s go.”

The girl at his side opened her mouth, clearly expecting an invitation. She didn’t get one.

Taehyung didn’t even look back as he followed you through the crowd, shoulder to shoulder, close enough that he could smell your perfume and could feel the heat of your body. Warm, sweet, dangerous.

The improvised counter— which some friends had paid for the cheap bartender to have any drink they wanted— next to the stairs was sticky and loud and packed, but somehow it felt like the two of you carved out your own space.

You leaned over the counter. “Four shots of tequila.”

“Two,” Taehyung corrected, low and calm.

You glanced at him. “Scared?”

He smirked. “Don’t get crazy. We have all night.”

That earned him a laugh, short and sharp. You liked that kind of exchange, he could tell.

The bartender slid the glasses over. You grabbed yours immediately, clinking it against his.

“To having all night,” you said.

Taehyung held your gaze. “To take our time.”

You took the shot without breaking eye contact. It burned but you didn’t flinch.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, then glanced at him sideways. “So, how’ve you been?.”

“Good,” he answered. Not really interested in making small talk. “I heard about your breakup.”

“Um,” You hummed, already looking past it. “Everyone did.”

“That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say?” you replied lightly. “It ended. Now I’m here dancing.”

There was something deliberate in the way you dismissed it, like you refused to give it weight. Taehyung respected that, and he wanted to push anyway. But he didn’t, not yet. He asked for more tequila.

“Now you’re taking shots.”

You tiltled your head, studying him now. “Who was that girl you were with?”

He blinked. “What girl?”

“The one desperately touching your arm like it might save her life.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “No idea.”

“Liar. And rude for not inviting her to take shots with us.” You shook your head. “She looked mad.”

“Honestly,” he said, voice dropping, “I wasn’t paying attention.” For the first time, your eyes lingered on him a second longer than necessary. Taehyung tried not to look so impressed. “And the guy you were dancing with?” he asked casually. “Your date? He seemed… eager.”

You smiled, slow and unimpressed. “He was fine.” You didn’t confirm if he was your date which he knew it was on purpose to leave him guessing.

“Fine,” Taehyung repeated. Then, provokingly said: “Not good?”

You leaned closer, elbows on the counter, invading his space on purpose now. “Why? You’re going to tell Jungkook?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Should I?”

Your lips twitched. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“If I end up fucking him tonight.”

The air between you tightened. The music faded into background noise. Taehyung didn’t like the way you would do anything to get Jungkook’s attention, your ex boyfriend. He leaned in just enough that only you could hear him.

“Why don’t you find someone who can do a better job?”

“You don’t know—”

“He looked pathetic.”

Your eyes narrowed. Your lips moved to his ear, you were playing something he hadn’t see in you before. Not with him. “And who could a better job?.”

Taehyung was aware you knew what he would answer. You were daring him, provoking him. And he was never one to back down.

“I know I could.”

Your smile sharpened, in a mean, interested way. “Big words,” you said. “From someone I’ve barely noticed.”

“That is your mistake,” he replied.

You laughed again, but this time it was quieter. A little out of it.

You grabbed the second shots and slid it toward him. “Careful,” you murmured. “I’m drinking too much and you’re starting to look like your best friend who dumped me.”

He picked up the glass, ignoring your mean words. “You asked for shots.”

You clinked glasses again. When you purred down, neither of you looked away.

The shots kept coming.

You ordered them like it was muscle memory, like the night wasn’t already tilting slightly off its axis. Taehyung didn’t stop you. If anything, he encouraged it, slid the glasses closer, nudged your elbow with his, leaned in so his voice landed warm against your ear.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured after two more shots, smiling like it was a compliment.

“You say that like it’s new information,” you replied, already lifting the glass.

The tequila burned less this time. Or maybe you were just numb to it. You laughed when it hit, head tipping back slightly, throat exposed for half a second too long.

Taehyung’s eyes track the movement without shame. And he thought how his hand would look around it, how he would squeeze it enough to make you let out a sweet noise for him. His eyes narrowed, he licked his lips, watching your lower lip get wet with alcohol. He wanted to licked you clean, taste your mouth. He could just leaned in and kiss you, devour you. It could be so simple if he just…

“You always look like this when you drink?” he asked.

“Like what?”

“Like someone I want to ruin.”

You snorted, not really feeling it. “You’re embarrassing.”

“I’m honest,” he corrected.

His hand brushed your lower back, not lingering, not innocent either. Just enough to make a point. He wanted you, badly. You didn’t move away, and that alone felt like permission.

Then you tilted your head, eyes sharp despite the alcohol. “You remember I just broke up with one of your best friends, right?”

There it was.

The line in the sand.

Taehyung didn’t even pretend to think about it. He smiled, slow and unapologetic.

“When has that ever stopped me?”

The words settled between you two, heavy and wrong and charged.

He knew exactly what he was in that moment. A bad friend, a worse idea. The kind of man people warn you about after the fact. He should feel guilt clawing at his chest, loyalty screaming louder than want. Instead, all he felt was hunger. It was stupid how badly he wanted you. Embarrassing, really. Like a craving that had been denied for so long it had turned feral. He wanted you quietly, patiently, from a distance, he had watched you choose someone else, watched his friend fumbled you like he didn’t know what he had.

If he were smarter, he’d have known.

Taehyung knew, he knew the moment Jungkook left you out of his claws for a second any man would try to have his hands on you— including him. And the worst thing was, Taehyung knew something so sad. He knew his best friend was probably in bed now, thinking about you, about how to get you back, about how bad he got it for screwing things with you. Taehyung didn’t need to heart it, didn’t need to know. If he did maybe a tiny drop of guilt could have formed in his stomach. But he preferred to play blind. If his friend never told him he missed you, how he screwed up… then Taehyung couldn’t feel guilty about wanting to have you.

And he knew he could do better. He knew Jungkook could brag about you, about how good he was at everything. In sports, in music, in dancing… in touching you. In making you feel good. Taehyung hated that thought, he didn’t like it at all. Because if he knew one thing about you, is that he could make you feel better than anyone. He knew he’d worship you in all the ways his friend never thought of.

The thought made something dark and possessive curled in his stomach.

And you just laughed, not nervous, not impressed. Just amused.

“You’re evil, Taehyung.” You said, shaking your head. “Truly.”

And the way you said his name. God, the world was just being so unfair to him.

“Maybe,” he replied softly, “but you haven’t left yet.”

You didn’t argue.

More shots came. The party grew louder, messier, bodies packed tight, sweat and bass and spilled alcohol everywhere. Taehyung felt untouchable, dangerous, like the world had narrowed down to the curve of your mouth and the way you kept leaning into him without realizing it.

Eventually, you sighed and push off the bar. “I need the bathroom.”

“I’ll wait.”

He watched you walk away. Every step. The sway of your hips, the confidence in your body, the way heads turned as you passed. His thoughts spiralled fast and ugly. He imagined you alone in the mirror, fixing your lipstick, steadying yourself. He imagined himself going behind you and pushing that little skirt you were wearing to your waist, his fingers touching you in your sweetest places, the places you liked. He imagined the way your lips would part and the noises you would make…

His train of dirty thoughts stopped.

The man who you were dancing early passed by his side, walking to the bathroom you entered. Taehyung watched him hesitate for half a second before opening the door and close it behind him.

Something snapped in him, something deep and violent.

And he was moving before logic caught up.

The bathroom door swung open and the scene was almost painfully normal. You were at the sink, leaning forward slightly, fixing your hair. The man stood too close, saying something in your ear you clearly didn’t care about. But he had his hands on your waist, and Taehyung didn’t like that at all.

Who the fuck did he think he was to touch you like that?

Taehyung grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him back out into the hall without ceremony. “Get out.”

“What the—”

“Bye.”

The door slammed shut in his face, Taehyung locked the door before turning to you.

You whirled around. “What the hell are you doing?”

Your voice echoed off the tiles, sharp and incredulous. You didn’t look scared or furious, but slightly annoyed at him for the scene. Your eyes narrowed, you were drunk. And so was he.

Taehyung breathed hard, chest rising and falling. “You really wanna fuck that?”

Your eyes flashed. “And if I did? That’s not your problem.”

The words hit him like a slap. He stepped closer. “You can do better.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I already have,” he shrugged. “Or do you want me to bring him back inside so he can give you a lame fuck?.”

You scoffed, pushing past him slightly, chin lifted in challenge. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you asked. “Can you stop pretending you’re something of mine?.”

“Can you stop pretending you don’t want this to happen?.” he snapped, gesturing between you two. “We both know you’re now just full of shit.”

You laughed in his face, sharp. “You don’t know anything about me if you think I wanna fuck you.”

“Please, you didn’t leave my side all night. You had been waiting for me to make a move.”

Taehyung knew he was playing a dangerous game. But he liked his odd. He liked to play with you. And he knew one thing: It had been the first time you had entertained him after all his attempts of trying to get you.

So he had to be right. He wanted to be right.

Your jaw tightened. “If I wanted to fuck you, I would have done it a long time ago.” You got closer to him. Your nose almost inches from touching his face. You looked up to him. You were so close he could feel your breath. “Why do you think I went for Jungkook and not you?.”

Your words landed, heavy and deliberate, and for a second the only sound in the bathroom was the muffled music bleeding through the walls, the buzz of voices outside, the drip of a leaky faucet.

Taehyung didn’t move, didn’t back away. He looked down at you like he was trying to memorize your face.

“Because you like playing safe,” he said finally, voice low and deep, almost calm. Too calm. “Easy choice. Someone you didn’t have to think about too much.”

You scoffed, but you didn’t pull back. “And you think you’re what? Complicated?”

“I think,” he started, leaning in just enough that your lips almost brush when he spoke, “you didn’t want to want me. Because we both know, once I’m done with you, you won’t stop thinking about it.”

That did it.

Something shifted in your expression, annoyance giving way to something sharper, more dangerous. You tilted your head, smirk slow and cruel.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you murmured. “You’re not special. You just have a deep voice and recently got jacked.”

Taehyung huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. His hand came up, bracing against the sink beside you, boxing you in without touching you. The proximity was intentional, claimed.

“Funny,” he said. “For someone who doesn’t want me, you’re not trying very hard to leave.”

You glanced down, then back up at him through your lashes. “Maybe I just like watching you make a pathetic man of yourself.”

He hummed. “Or maybe, maybe you like when I look at you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’ve been waiting all night to get you alone.”

Taehyung can see the way your eyes quickly moved to his mouth against your will. And he knew you hated that he noticed it.

“You’re obsessed,” you muttered, trying to get some control.

“Yeah,” he said easily. “With you.”

The word hung there, unashamed and unapologetic.

You swallowed, jaw tightening again. “You’re a terrible friend.”

“I know,” Taehyung replied, eyes never leaving yours. “And I still want you.”

You tried to step back but your lower back hit the sink. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt without permission, like your body betrayed you before your mouth could keep up. And you tried to blame it on the way you destabilized yourself when you tried to step back. You realized too late Taehyung was already enjoying the motion.

His gaze dropped to your hand and then back to your eyes.

“There,” he murmured. “That.”

You tried to pull your hand back. He didn’t let you, not grabbing, just stepping closer so there was nowhere for it to go. Your legs were squeezing together. His jeans rasping your bare legs. His torso brushing your chest, heat radiating, tension coiled tight between you.

“Say it again,” he said softly.

“Say what?”

“That you don’t want me.”

You opened your mouth.

And this time nothing came out.

Taehyung exhaled, slow and controlled, like he was reached the edge of his restraint. His hand lifted, grabbing your chin in his fingers without delicacy and tilting your face up.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

You did.

And when he kissed you, it was brutal.

It wasn’t soft or careful. Taehyung’s mouth crashed into yours like he was done pretending he had any restraint, like every thought he had swallowed all night finally snapped. It was messy, hungry, teeth knocking just slightly before it settled into something deeper and slow. His mouth tasting every place of yours, trying to memorize every single part of your mouth.

His hands were everywhere over your body at first, brushing them over your face and waist before one gripped your jaw, thumb pressing just enough to make you gasp into his mouth, the sound swallowed instantly. The other slid down your waist, firm, claiming and possessive, fingers digging in like he was afraid you’ll disappear if he let go. He crowded you back against the sink, body heat pinning you there, not gentle about it.

You made a sound, low, surprised, mad. Like you had woken up from the enchanted of the kiss. You bit his lower lip, trying to push him away. Taehyung groaned against your lips like it was exactly what he wanted.

“Fuck,” he muttered, barely pulling back, forehead resting against yours. His breath was hot, uneven. “You feel this and still wanna lie to me?”

Before you could answer, he kissed you again.

Deeper and slower this time. Like he had decided to savor it. His mouth moved with intent, like he knew exactly how to pull a reaction out of you, how to make your hands fist in his shirt, how to make your knees go weak even while you were trying to stay mad.

Your fingers slid up his neck, nails scraping just enough to make him suck in a sharp breath. His grip tightened in response, hand slipping up your back, flattening you to him. There was no space left, no room to think.

The bathroom felt too small, it buzzed from the music outside. The mirror caught the movement, your bodies pressed together, his head tilted down, yours tipped back slightly, lips swollen, breath ruined.

Taehyung pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, blown out, jaw tight like he was holding himself back from doing something much worse. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, slow, possessive.

“Okay. Now tell me to stop if you really want me to.”

You wanted to say something sharp, something mean.

Instead, you grabbed him again and kissed him back, harder and needy. And Taehyung let out a sound that was pure satisfaction as he kissed you like he had been waiting his whole life to finally have you, like he had been starving and you were the only thing that could ever fix it.

The fact that now you wanted him too made his heart beat like it was about to jump out of his chest.

Taehyung wanted to take it slow. Show you how good he could be for you, even though you had been so mean to him. But he couldn’t wait. He didn’t want to wait for you to change your mind. And as much as he wanted to have your mouth over his till the end of times, it took everything in him to pushed back enough to look at you in the eyes. His hands roaming all over your body before they settled in your waist.

God, he wanted to ruin you so bad.

You looked so good for him. Your hair messy, your lips swollen and red, your cheeks blushed, your eyes dark and lustful. For him, only for him. You were practically begging him to act up, looking like that. You were sinful.

“What are you doing?,” you asked breathily when he didn’t move.

Taehyung looked at you. “I want you to say it.”

“Say what?.”

“Say you want me.”

You titled your head, confused. You had finally accepted him and he was trying to make you say it out loud?. You didn’t know if you should’ve been mad or horny.

“Are you serious?.

“Say it,” he said. His voice deeper, firmer. “Say it and I’ll take care of you.”

You went silent, just for a second before looking at him prettily. “I want you.”

“Say it correctly.”

“I want you, Taehyung.”

You weren’t ashamed, you didn’t look shy or regretful. It was like it caused you satisfaction to say those words. Maybe because you knew the effect that you had on him.

And the way you said his name, the way your voice went so sweet, almost pouty... needy. Taehyung was only a man after all. And you had a way to make his head spin in the wrong ways. You gave him a smile that seemed like you were just begging him to ruin you. Taehyung didn’t think of him as a strong willed man. He could see you looking at him like that and it was game over for him.

With a hand on your chin, he leaned in to give you a sweet kiss. He thought of all the ways that he would ruin you that night. The way you finally wanted him like that too. He wanted to burn his taste inside your mouth. He wanted you to be full of him in every way you could be. Just him, nobody else, not your ex boyfriend, not that man you were dancing with him. His, only his. And he knew that once he was done with you… you would come back for him, for more.

God, he was going insane.

His lips moved to your jaw, kissing down to your neck with desire, sucking hard and not caring whether or not it bruised. He imagined for a second how Jungkook would react to it. If tomorrow he showed up to your house, asking you to take him back only to find you covered in Taehyung’s marks. The thought made him rolled his eyes back, pleasure building in his stomach, making him rock hard. He wanted you more than words could let you know. He turned to marking you to show you just how bad he craved you, how much you were now his.

His right hand hovered over your body, slowly making his way between your thighs. You were so sweet for him, slowly opening your legs to give him better access. To invite him to touch you. He kissed your mouth as a reward, you were so obedient. Taehyung liked it, like the way you would do whatever you wanted to have your pleasure, to get off. He liked the way you choose him tonight, only him, to trust him with it.

He wasn’t going to disappoint you.

Taehyung ran his index finger through your folds over the cloth. He moaned into your neck, eyes rolling back at the feeling of your soaked panties. God, you were going to kill him. Have you been wet all night? or did he make you feel like this just now?. He couldn’t wait to put his mouth there between your legs. It was so soaked through that he could feel the outline of your pussy perfectly. He pushed his index finger just barely into your hole, feeling your panties scrunch up into it.

He pulled away to catch his breath, eyes full of lust as he watched your face contort with pleasure from his touch.

“You like that?,” Taehyung whispered in your mouth. His voice deeper, it made you clenched into nothing. “I’m going to touch you, okay?. I’m going to make you feel so good.”

His eyes were dark and blown out. He pulled your panties down just barely, letting them sit below your hip bones while he kissed your chin. He was agonizingly slow as he pulled further and further, not daring to reveal your cunt until you were desperate enough to say it out loud.

“Tae—”

“Yeah,” he nodded at you. “I like how you say my name like that, so pretty.” He kissed your mouth, hard, sweetly. “You’re so pretty. So, so pretty for me.”

His fingers found your clit. You melted into the feeling, sighing in relief. Your hips twitched closer to his hand, making sure he won’t leave so soon.

“Yes, please.”

He stopped, making you whined.

Taehyung swallowed the noise, his cock twitching in his pants. Then he kissed you hard, tongue sliding in your mouth to prove how much he wanted you, messy, dirty. It felt perverted how much he wanted to have your mouth in his all the time. But he had a mission.

“Fuck, fuck.” He gave you a last peck before slowly kneeling. “Say please again.” You groaned and his fingers circled your clit again, this time with more intention. You bit your lip as he watched you trying to contain your pretty sounds. “Say it. Ask nicely, baby. And don’t bite your lips, I wanna hear you.”

You let a breathy moan, opening your legs wider while looking at him. “Please, Tae.”

“Please what, baby?.”

“Please touch me.”

“So sweet,” he kissed and bit your inner thighs. “So, so sweet for me. God, you’re so hot, baby. Gonna make you feel good. Wanna hear you, okay?. Make me hear you.”

Taehyung was so desperate, he felt feral. He almost was sure he could cry of joy. He had waited for so long, so patiently. You’ve finally broken, you finally wanted him back. You were finally spreading your pretty legs for him to touch you, to make you feel better. His cock was straining against his pants, he could feel his pre cum leaking profusely from his tip, but he ignored it completely to focus on you.

His hands quickly moved your skirt higher, leaving him a good sight of your cunt. He tried not to lose control, sliding your panties to the ground and taking them off before saving them in his pocket. He could moan from the sight. Your glistening cunt, so sweet and waiting for him.

Taehyung rubbed your slit and gathered your arousal on his fingers. You gasped as he glided his fingers across your clit, playing with the swollen bud for a minute, wanting to get you soaking before he stretched you out, before he could taste you. He circled his finger around your entrance, teasingly applying pressure just to watch you squirmed. He felt good, having you like that.

Even if he was on his knees he felt like he had the power. He was going to make sure you would come crying back to him every night asking for his touch, desperate, needy for him and no one else.

He dipped a finger into your hole, stopping once he was knuckle-deep. He fucked his long finger into you slowly, and you sighed at the relief. He watched his finger sink into you, humming in pleasure when he saw how it collected your wetness. Taehyung didn’t ask before he was inserting another one, already feeling your walls clenching at him for dear life. His fingers were so long, so mean, stuffing you so deep and full. He couldn’t wait to have his cock burry inside you. The stretch would feel like heaven, and he knew you were craving to be stuffed by him.

Taehyung increased his pace a little more, curling his fingers up. It took him a minute to find what he was looking for, but he knew he got it when you whined and your leg kicked out helplessly. It didn’t take you too long to put it around his shoulder, Taehyung hold it steady, gripping your fat thigh. You held yourself for dear life to the sink behind you. He kept pressing into that spot, curling his fingers up to hit it every time, relishing in the garbled moans that spill out of your mouth.

You arched your back and yelp at the sensation of him pressing against the spongy part inside of you roughly. He grinned and kept thrusting against that spot, watching your reactions with amused eyes. His head moved down between your thighs, biting and sucking at all the flesh his mouth could find.

And then he wrapped his lips around your clit once he grew tired of marking you.

“Tae— Ngh… shit.”

Taehyung could come from just your taste and your sweet sounds. He was sure of it.

His eyes almost rolled back at how much you were clamping down on him, his wet fingers making dirty noises of how hard he was fucking them inside you, wet sounds filling the buzz in the room. But that wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to taste you correctly.

With a final hard suck on your clit, he took his fingers out of your entrance before eating you out properly. Taehyung thought you were such a dream when you were mewling and panting like that, eager for him. He licked you like you were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. At first very slow, dragging his tongue flat and firm to savour you and memorize you with his tongue. And then focusing in on your clit with a rhythmic flick that had your whole body jerking. He knew how to make you jump in pleasure now, and he loved knowing it.

Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft dark strands as you moaned shamelessly. He liked you like that, shameless, breakable.

His tongue moved down to your fluttering entrance, and his stomach clenched when he realized how empty you must feel for him. Taehyung couldn’t wait to fuck you, have you stuffed of him. But first, he stuffed his tongue inside you, making sure his nose stayed pressed against your clit. He moaned at your juices dripping on his taste buds and the way you tried to tighten around his tongue. He licked and rubbed at you as much as he could, determined to get his fill of your arousal.

Taehyung could swear he could cum untouched if he hadn’t waited so long for you to finally gave in. He swore he could die between your legs, his mouth on your cunt, sucking and lapping, moaning into your heat like he had found water after being thirsty. He was making the most unholiest, nasty dirty noises like it was a fucking heaven for him. And it was, it was a dream.

Taehyung was going insane.

Everything faded into a lofty state of bliss while he hungrily ate you out without taking a break, consumed with the urge to swallow you whole. He relished in the way you grabbed onto his hair, nails digging into his scalp as he barely pulled back for air all while he devoured you. The way you were squirming and rubbing yourself in his tongue and nose was a sight to behold, one that caused him to chase the friction that he earned when his aching, neglected cock rubbed in his pants, almost humping the air like a dog in heat.

You moaned, pulling him back by the hair. His mouth, nose and chin covered in your juices, he looked crazy drunk of you. He was crazy drunk of you.

“Tae—”

“Want you to cum on my mouth,” he tried to go back in but you pulled his hair harder.

“Taehyung fuck me already, please.”

Taehyung was sure you were a witch.

His cock jumped in his pants. In less than two seconds he was already standing up, badly cleaning his face with his shirt before stamping his lips into yours and kissing you hard. You moaned at your own taste. His kiss was messy, he wanted to show you how much he wanted you. How dirty and perverted he was for you.

You jolted when you felt his teeth on your jaw and neck, biting down and sucking hard. It made your hips push forward, and he moaned against you. His hard on poking at your thigh angrily, he start rubbing himself on you. Taehyung started to suck at your neck. the pressure was light, but enough to leave some marks. You played with his fluffy hair, letting out a noise between a sigh and a moan.

Taehyung pushed you harder to the sink, unbuckling his jeans and shoving them down with his underwear to the ground. His cock jumped out. His tip was red and angry, leaking pre cum. Taehyung was big, and veiny. He saw the way your eyes narrowed down, as if you wanted to kneel and put it in your mouth.

Before he could stop you, you were already wrapping your hand around him. Your thumb brushed his tip, collecting the pre cum before passing it around his length. He groaned, closing his eyes and his head dropping to your shoulder while you started pumping his cock so sweet and softly. Like you were taking your time to make him suffer.

“You’re so big.” You said so sweetly, like you weren’t doing the nastiest shit ever. As if you didn’t make him have the dirtiest thoughts about you. “Your cock is so pretty, Tae.”

Your fingers could barely wrapped around his cock, your hand was hot and felt so good around him. Your long nails looked so pretty around him, so feminine, so in place. Shit, Taehyung knew wasn’t going to last much. You felt too good, You were so good for him, touching him like that. So sweet making him lost in pleasure. Your soft hands making him feel so—

Taehyung snapped open his eyes.

No, you weren’t the one that was supposed to have control. He promised he was going to make you feel good.

He took your hand out, softly, to not make you angry. He wrapped it around his cock and moved to give him space between your legs.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he whispered in your ear. “I want you to take it, okay?. Gonna take what I give you.” The head of his cock brushed your clit and it made your thighs jolt. “I’m gonna fuck you the way I want. Got it?” You quickly nodded. He grabbed your jaw with hardness, his gripped in your thigh around his waist was leaving a bruise. “Say it.”

“Yes,” you breathed out.

“Yes, what?” he gathered your arousal on his cock as he waited for your answer, sliding his tip through your folds, your juices coating all his length. And then his tip hit your clit angrily, so good it made you rolled your eyes for a second.

Your head was spinning, and you knew you shouldn’t let it happen, but fuck, you need it too. So badly. “Yes, yes. I’ll take it. Everything.” You whined. “Just fuck me already,” you caved, arching your back invitingly.

“Say please,” he teased.

“Taehyung—”

“Say it.”

“Mmm. Please, please, please…”

Taehyung gripped your thigh and slammed into you, hips snapping forward with a force that punched the air from your lungs. Your back arched, toes curling as the wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. You felt so good, Taehyung hissed and dropped his forehead to your shoulder, pushing forward and brutally the last bit that wasn’t able to fit. It was rough, almost a little painful. He tried to held your legs open so he could try to press his hips flush against yours. You both groaned at the feeling, needing a minute to adjust.

Taehyung felt like heaven. He tried to think about the music outside, the buzz, the dirty bathroom and all the germs, the terrible dancers, the disgusting shots… he wanted to think other that wasn’t your cunt choking his cock so needing. No, he couldn’t. You were burning. You were wrapped around him so warm, so delicious. He could feel his thighs tensing, his grip in your skin tightened. You were so good, so perfect, your walls were swallowing him whole.

“Shit, so good. You— you feel so good.” Taehyung stuttered. He pulled out just a couple inches and rammed himself back in. You cried in his ear, feeling so deliciously full, it was almost overwhelming. “Yes, yes. Shit, you sound so sweet, baby. Tell me, tell me how much you like it.”

“S-so good. You feel so good.”

Oh. He was going to make a mess out of you.

Taehyung slammed his hips into yours harder, meaner. His tip touching the spongy spot it made you almost whimpered. His hand pressed hard in your lower tummy, making you squeeze him harder. Making you feel him completely inside you.

“Gonna fuck you so fucking good, you’re gonna keep coming back for more.” You could barely breathe, barely think. His cock was hitting every sensitive spot inside you, your clit throbbing from how hard he was diving into you. “Gonna make you beg for it, just how you made me do it for years.”

He reached down, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing fast circles that made your whole body spasmed under him.

“Wait, w-wait, s’too much…” You stuttered, jaw dropping open with a gasp as he pounded into you without a care.

He gripped your hair, pulling your head back, your lips meeting in a hot, messy kiss. You were practically drooling with the way his cock was abusing your cunt. He was meaner, he was trying to prove something.

Your head fell back as he continued fucking you angrily. His mouth bit your already bruised throat, marking your skin as his.

“I told you, you’ll take what I give you.” He growled, his voice rough, wrecked. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be stretched, filled— fucked properly?” You shook your head, teeth biting down into your bottom lip roughly to suppress your moans. He chuckled dryly, moving his hips a little faster as he fucked you. “You were gonna choose a lame guy to what? Seek attention from your loser ex? You’re so pathetic, baby.” Taehyung felt on cloud nine, he couldn’t stop taking, couldn’t stop fucking you. “But it’s okay now. I’ll take care of it. Gonna make you dumb, huh? Gonna make you so dumb you won’t be thinking about him anymore.”

“Mhm, don’t stop,” you whined, pulling his hair.

“Did he touch you better than this?” He slammed his hips harder into you. “I’ll make you forget about him. This greedy cunt is mine now. Got it? He’ll probably be back begging for you to take him back,” his grip on you were bruising now. His thrusts came fast, filthy, brutal, skin slapping, breath ragged. “But you’ll be dripping and covered in me. Only me, baby— Only me. Won’t let you— won’t let you go one day without my cum, okay?. That fucking loser won’t have you, huh? He doesn’t deserve you… tell me you won’t take him back.”

You shook your head, “I won’t.”

“Say my name. Promise me you won’t take him back.”

“I won’t— I won’t take him back,” you whined, too drunk of him. “I promise, I promise, Tae.”

Taehyung was sure you didn’t know what you were saying, what he was making you say. Too drunk on him, too of a whore for his cock hitting the right places.

He rubbed your puffy clit faster. “That’s right. Y-you are gonna be crawling back to me, pretty. And I’ll fuck you like this. I’m the only— I’m the only one that can make you feel this good. Mm, shit— s’good. I should’ve been pumping this pretty cunt with cum every single day…”

Taehyung was already pounding you dizzy. And he felt his lower stomach tightened.

He knew he shouldn’t be so reckless. He should sprayed his cum on your thighs or in his hand. He knew that, but your cunt was sucking him in so tightly and so delicious that the only thing he could think of was his cum rushing deep inside of you. Consequences be damned, he thought. He’ll cum inside of you if he fucking wanted to.

You were his now, you looked so gorgeous only for him. He continued thrusting into you hard, never pulling out more than halfway, letting you take him deep inside your cunt. “oh my god, don’t stop,” you urged, nails digging into his neck and shoulders.

You were close. Taehyung felt your walls squeezing him harder. He moaned in your neck, you were sucking him so hard it was too much. He rubbed your clit desperately, helping you find your release. It didn’t take you too long to do so. Your high hit you like a truck, your nails scrapped his shoulder, your mouth parting to moan loudly. You closed your eyes, walls closing so hard and your juices coating his cock. Your vision went blurry, your breathing uneven.

Taehyung’s cock twitched inside you. His eyes rolled back, his hands gripping your skin as he heard your whimper. That hit his final straw, his forehead hit your shoulder as he felt succumbing to the sweet release. He didn’t even as he came undone, ropes and ropes of hot cum filling up your sloppy cunt and spurting down onto your thighs.

He was unrelenting, keeping you within the throes of orgasmic bliss with his cock plunging inside of you over and over again. You tried to push him away, whining overstimulated, but he didn’t let you. He needed it so bad, and so much more he kept slowly rutting into you, his cock softening inside you as he allowed himself to keep going. The overstimulation was getting to him, teeth sinking back into his lip as he tried to contain his whiny moans until his legs twitched, his eyes fill with tears and his cock ached asking him to stop, even if he didn’t want to.

It took you both a couple of minutes to catch your breath and come back to reality. The buzz of the music and noise outside hitting you back to reality. Taehyung felt you trying to push him away again, maybe to clean yourselves and go back outside. Finishing whatever had happened there.

But he didn’t want to. He didn’t want it to the end just yet.

Taehyung pulled apart, giving you a soft kiss before sliding out of you. You let a breathy moan, feeling your cunt expelling his cum and pulsating hard, very sensitive. He didn’t give you time to react before he was kneeling again, opening your legs apart to watch your pussy clenching at the tingling sensation of his cum dripping down.

His mouth was salivating at the sight. And he thought it was perfect. That is perfect. He wanted to see you covered in him. Your cunt puffy and swollen, overstimulated and asking for mercy. He wanted to give you all he had to offer to you. He wanted you to take it all, even if you couldn’t not more.

“What are you doing?” You asked him, voice raspy and dragging it. He looked at you, dark gaze and starry eyes. “Don’t do— Mmhg, Tae, fuck!.”

His mouth was on you in an instant, tongue lapping up the mess he had uncovered like he didn’t care about anything else. His eyes rolled back at the taste, eating his own cum from your cunt. The first swipe was slow, tasting every bit of the slick coating your folds. He thought it was the perfect taste, the perfect meal. Both of you dripping from your hole.

The next one was rougher, hungrier, tongue pressing deeper as he groaned into your heat. He wanted nothing more than that.

“Wait, wait. too much, s’too much, please…” You cried out.

You tried to pushed him away, you were too sensitive, he could tell. Your lips were swollen and your clit was so puffy and red. You were so cute, so sensitive, so weak. But Taehyung liked it, you couldn’t do anything than just take it. He gripped at you stronger, making you wrapped your leg around his shoulder and holding you in place as he licked you clean, every part of you dirty heat getting clean with his mean tongue.

Your back arched and he was sure that was the best view. Watching you break apart, legs open, back arched, trembling and moaning for him, in his tongue. Accepting your fate. Not being able to push him away, too week to fight. You just had to take it and enjoy it.

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to have you like that again. Stuffed by him, lying in his bed, in his sofa. Against his walls, in his kitchen counter. Taehyung was sure that wouldn’t be the last time. There was no way he could spent more than a week not tasting you, not feeling your heat in his face. Not being deep inside you. He couldn’t bear the thought of it. He wouldn’t have it that way.

Taehyung got sloppy with it, getting more into it. He didn’t care about how messy he got, lips and chin completely covered of your juices but he loved it. He practically drowned himself between your thighs, gripping them so tightly as if he was afraid you’ll slip away. But you weren’t, you really couldn’t. He was holding you open for him.

He pressed your thighs harder and pulled slightly apart. Your head quickly moved to look at him, exasperated, you looked troubled. Maybe trying to stop him, maybe looking for your next release. You were so pretty. Taehyung looked up at you and his cock twitched in his pants, dying to get hard again for you. You were a mess, tears spilling down your cheeks, your face red and your lips pouty. You were so cute, so overstimulated, so sensitive. Taehyung could come from that sight. He was so drunk of you, chin full of your juices and swollen lips. He thought you were the prettiest like that, ruined by him.

He dived back, his head back into your cunt, his eyes still glued to yours as he sucked on your clit, hard and mad. And it didn’t take you too much to come undone. He didn’t look away, not even when you sobbed and rubbed into his mouth desperate. He didn’t look away when he drank all your juices, and he didn’t look away when he cleaned you up like a starved man.

“S-stop! Please, please, Taehyung, stop—”

You tried to pull him away from you by his hair, your grip so weak he could just push your hands away and dive back into you. But he didn’t, he wasn’t that mean. Not when you look so pretty fucked up, begging for mercy.

God, you were so fucked. So ruined by him. He loved it. He loved it so much. You were a piece of art he had made.

You were still catching your breath, thighs trembling, almost sobbing and tears falling down your cheeks when Taehyung kissed you again, deep and dirty, like he wanted you to taste yourself on his tongue. It was sloppy, messy. He thrusted his tongue into your mouth so he could make you taste everything. Him, you.

He wanted to engraved himself into you forever.

Taehyung pulled apart, and held you softly between his arms, letting you come back to reality. It took a couple of minutes, voices barging outside to hurry up because someone wanted to use the bathroom. He barely cared about it. His hands grabbing your face to watch you, cleaning your dry tears with his thumb and making you look at his eyes with your now dumb gaze.

“You’re okay, baby?” He brushed your cheek sweetly. “I’m gonna clean you up now, okay? Just talk to me.”

“Uhm,” you nodded weakly. “Just need a second.”

Taehyung chuckled, watching you try to act tough. “It’s okay, take all the time you need.”

When you were able to stood by yourself, Taehyung cleaned himself quickly before grabbing some paper to start cleaning your thighs with delicacy, softly.

There was a silence. Taehyung was stretching the time cleaning you. Like he didn’t want to break the bubble you were both in. Because he didn’t. He didn’t want you to leave him. He didn’t want you to let go yet. It felt too soon. I felt wrong. He just wanted to take you back home, put you in his bed so you could rest and then fuck you again and again the next day. And the day after that, and the day after that too…

You hummed, trying to get his attention. “Tae,” you called. He watched you from below, gaze softer. Your eyes weren’t so bright now. Now a little more grounder and sober than before. “We can’t tell Jungkook about this.”

Taehyung stopped breathing for a second. It felt like the little bubble you were both in had exploded. His blood burned hot all over his body. Why were you even thinking about him now? It pissed him off. A minute ago you were shaking and crying for him and now you were thinking about Jungkook?.

He wanted to fuck you stupid again. Make you beg and cry for making him mad. Make you ask for forgiveness. Make you suffer a little for him…

His phone buzzed in his pants pocket.

Taehyung took it, almost too aggressively, to find a lot of missing calls and messages.

Jungkook: arrived at the party

Jungkook: where are you?

Jungkook: do you know if she’s here?

idk what’s wrong with me and these nasty ass one shots but everytime i smoke is like i can’t write more angst but only porn 😓😓

this was nasty ashellll i’m so sorry. i feel like i have to confess my sins to god or something

permanent taglist:

Sometimes, you now realize, it's better to keep your mouth shut than say anything at all.

Because what on Earth were you thinking? Offering yourself up to your boyfriend's—extremely hot—friends may have not been your smartest decision. You've told Jay time and time again to never take anything you say seriously for at least thirty minutes after he fucks you.

Yeah, his dick is that fucking good.

But now you're on your bed, legs spread wide with your boyfriend sitting behind you. His arms are hooked under your armpits, supporting your body as you press your back into his chest with every soft flick of Sunghoon's tongue over your clit. Yes, Sunghoon's tongue.

You can only see the top of his head; only see the floppy mop of hair that brushes along your inner thigh every time he tilts his head to get a better angle. Your back arches up off of Jay's chest, a whine ripping out of your throat when Sunghoon flattens his tongue and licks a particularly long stripe up your pussy.

"Fuck!"

Jay chuckles behind you, kissing your neck as he strokes your stomach. "Feels good, baby?" You nod feverishly against him, craning your neck to burry your face into his chest. "Sunghoon making your pussy feel good?"

Sunghoon's lips find your clit, latching on and suckling the swollen bud. You whine again, thighs threatening to close around his head. "Hoonie—mpfh, there, there!"

Never, in your entire life, did you believe you'd find anyone who could compare to Jay's ability to eat you out. The man had it down to a science; knew exactly where to lick, where to kiss, where to suck and prod. He knew when to speed up his movements, when to flatten his tongue, when you needed more stimulation from his fingers. Every single time, like clockwork, Jay had you writhing and squirming and begging him to keep going, even after you'd come twice, because it just felt that good.

And here comes Sunghoon—threatening to kick Jay off his throne. He was eating you out like you would seriously be his last meal on Earth; like he'd go home to no food, no money, and would be forced to starve for the rest of his life. He was ravaging you, completely abusing your pussy. And Sunghoon knew it was good. He knew you were obsessed from the way you thrashed in Jay's arms and the way you tried to pull away from his mouth.

Sunghoon chuckles against your core, vibrations traveling from your puffy lips up to the growing heat in your stomach. You moan, high-pitched and squeaky. Jay kept up his kissing, offering little nips here and there when you move too much.

"Almost there, baby," he whispers into you, "let Hoonie do his thing."

And let him you did. Because not even two seconds later are you cumming all over Sunghoon's face. He doesn't relent, simply keeping up his pace. Sunghoon flattens his tongue, licking thick and slow stripes up your pussy, gathering your arousal onto his tongue before scarfing it down. You twitch from the overstimulation, and he places delicate kisses onto your clit.

Sunghoon never meets your eyes, too entranced by your soaking pussy to pay your pouty face any mind. It twitched when he pulled away, hole clenching around nothing—begging Sunghoon for any kind of pressure. He chuckles, kissing your clit again. Sunghoon's tongue darts out from his mouth, playing with the bud before licking another stripe along your entrance.

"Fuck, Jay," he groans, going in for more, "she tastes so fucking good."

Jay laughs behind you, cocky and arrogant because he knew. Every damn night he was having the revelation Sunghoon was currently having; every night he could bury his face into your pussy and make you cum on his face; every night he could bury his fingers deep inside of you, pulling them out of your hole and into his mouth as he sucked them clean of your arousal. He knew you tasted like fucking heaven, but his friends didn't.

This was all a part of his sick fantasy.

"I know, man—I'm the one tasting her every night."

"And you're so damn lucky for it." Sunghoon finally lifts his eyes to meet your own. Your eyes are glassy and hooded, the aftereffects of the mind blowing head he'd just given you.

You take note of his eyes as he did yours. Contrary to your own, Sunghoon's eyes were wide, pupils blown out with pleasure and curiosity. Because, honestly, Sunghoon was curious. He was curious to know every small detail about you, sexually, of course.

He wanted to know what made you cum hardest, what elicited the cutest sounds out of you, what made you cry, what made you beg, how his name would sound falling off your lips mid-orgasm—everything. Sunghoon was fully prepared to memorize the way you worked for his own wet dreams later on.

"What I wouldn't do to taste her every day," he whispers, kissing your thigh. You whine at the contact, twitching lightly.

"Don't test your luck, Hoon," Jay warns, a tight laugh accompanying his words.

"Oh, c'mon, man," Sunghoon sits up from his position on the bed and onto his knees between your legs, an obvious wet patch plastered across the crotch of his gray sweatpants; the crotch that flaunted his incredibly hard cock. "I'd suck your dick—serious."

"Gross! I don't want you sucking my dick," Jay's hands make their way up to your breasts, cupping them through your shirt. You weren't wearing a bra—you didn't see the point. Jay gropes your tits over the fabric, squeezing the mounds and pinching your nipples as his lips stay on your saliva-covered neck.

"Well, if it meant I got to do this more often," Sunghoon leans forward, lips connecting to your jaw on the opposite side Jay was working, "I'd suck your dick."

"Why would I need anyone else sucking my dick when I have her?"

Sunghoon moans at Jay's words, cock jumping in his pants. His hands quickly latch onto your waist, pulling you closer to him. He grips the flesh through your shirt, almost kneading you in his hands. "Fuck—wanna feel it."

You feel Sunghoon's cock against your shin, desperately rutting into you with the promise of friction.

"Gotta pick one," Jay says, "you either get to fuck her mouth or fuck her pussy—not both."

"C'mon, Jay," Sunghoon protests, pulling off of you and resting on his heels, "this isn't fair."

"I don't really care about what's fair," he laughs, finally raising his head to look at Sunghoon, "she's my girlfriend."

Sunghoon stares at Jay; Jay stares at Sunghoon. The two have that challenging look to them, daring the other to back down. Neither want to, that's the problem. And you're sitting right in the middle of it—legs spread wide, pussy soaking and clenching around nothing. Neither of them seem to care, almost as if they'd forgotten your presence as if they weren't literally arguing over you.

"Choose," Jay challenges.

"I can't," Sunghoon groans, throwing his head back in frustration.

You snake your socked foot up Sunghoon's thigh, the sole resting on the tent in Sunghoon's pants. He groans, immediately snapping his attention down to the contact. You circle your ankle once, twice, to give him some relief before retreating back to the bed.

Sunghoon grabs your ankle, thumb rubbing soft circles onto the fabric of your sock as he keeps his gaze focused on you. His eyes narrow, sharp and plotting, like he's running through all of the situations in his mind.

"What do you think, pretty girl?" Sunghoon's voice comes out quietly, almost like he wants the conversation to be between the two of you, no Jay in sight.

Jay pinches your nipple, your back arching off of his chest. "I don't know," you whine, "just want something."

"It's your choice," he leans closer, lips brushing along your jaw. His hand slides from your ankle up to the bend of your knee, settling there. "You want Hoonie's cock in your mouth," he pecks your lips with his own, "or your pussy?" Sunghoon cups you in his hand; the simple action alone has you bucking up into him, desperate.

"Mouth," you moan, "wan' you in my mouth, Hoonie."

He chuckles, "Right answer."

Jay gives your tits one last squeeze before pulling his arms out from under you. His hand finds your shoulder blades, holding you steady as he changes his position to be on his knees. Jay towers above you from behind, and Sunghoon rises in front of you.

Sunghoon's clothed dick is practically in your face. You can see the strain; the way the tip leaks precum and the way he's begging to be touched. So, you lean in on all fours. Your lips meet his clothed cock, placing soft pecks onto his tip before your hand comes up to cradle the rest of his length.

Sunghoon hisses at the contact, hand instinctively coming to grab a fistful of hair, "Holy shit," he huffs out. Your kisses turn sloppy—open mouthed and needy. Sunghoon's eyes widen before returning to their previous hooded nature; he meets Jay's gaze.

"Your fucking girlfriend, dude," he moans, tugging on your hair.

Jay just laughs, palming your ass, hands delving deeper before his fingers find your desperate pussy. "Yeah, she's insane."

You giggle at their praise, ass wiggling back against Jay—a silent request for him to slip his fingers in. Jay tuts, fingers prodding at your puffy lips, collecting your arousal. "This isn't about you, princess—this is about Sunghoon."

Sunghoon isn't paying attention to a word of what came out of Jay's mouth; his hand hastily dips underneath his waistband and pulls out his cock. When it appears in front of your face, all you can do is stare.

Now, based on how he carries himself, you never assumed Sunghoon was small. However, it still doesn't quell the initial shock you feel when you finally see his dick. It sits proudly in his hand, thick and long, a few noticeable veins trailing up the side. His tip is red and pumping precum.

Sunghoon watches your reaction, pumping his cock as soft groans slip past his lips. "Fuck—'m gonna cum just from how she's looking at it."

"You're so big, Hoonie," you whisper, chin lifting to meet his eyes. "I don' think I'm gonna be able to take you all."

Jay scoffs behind you, two fingers circling your wet entrance before slipping into your pussy. "C'mon, you can take him—you take me all the time."

You swallow thickly, leaning forward as you lick a small stripe up Sunghoon's tip, collecting a drop of his precum. Sunghoon's eyes roll back in his head at the contact, hand tightening in your hair.

"He's no bigger than I am, baby," Jay chuckles.

"Fuck you, Jay," Sunghoon moans, head thrown back, "let her suck my fucking cock—don't need any of your cocky bullshit."

You giggle at Sunghoon's words, his obvious neediness slipping through the sounds. Your breath fans over his tip, and without thinking, he bucks his hips forward, tip pressing against your lips. You part your lips, taking the head of Sunghoon's cock into your mouth. You suckle it, looking into his eyes as you do so.

"It's true, she knows it," Jay curls his fingers inside of you; you moan around Sunghoon's cock.

Sunghoon bucks his hips at the vibrations, burying himself a few inches into your mouth. You let out a shocked squeak, but don't pull off. You simply take the time to adjust to his length.

"Show me, then," Sunghoon lets out a strained laugh, "let her see 'em next to each other."

"Fuck you, dude," Jay pulls his fingers out of you before slamming them back it. You jump at the sudden harshness of his actions, pushing yourself deeper onto Sunghoon's cock. His tip hits the back of your throat; you hollow your cheeks, sucking him deeper. "Not gonna show you my dick."

"Why not?" Sunghoon grunts, hand gripping your hair harder. His free hand cradles your jaw, holding you in place.

"'cause," Jay grunts, fingers picking up the pace inside of you.

You moan around Sunghoon's dick, tears brimming in your eyes as Sunghoon begins to set his own pace for your mouth. His one hand still holds your jaw still while the other fists your hair; you're entirely pliable in his hands. Sunghoon's treating you like a stupid fucktoy, like you're only purpose is to get him off; and you fucking love it.

You sit there, fire blooming deep in your belly while the two men abuse you from either side.

"Shit, your mouth's so good, baby," Sunghoon nearly whines at the way you're sucking him. You rest your tongue on the underside of his cock, feeling his vein with each thrust he gives. All you can do is babble little moans; saliva and precum pooling at the corners of your mouth and dripping down your chin.

You let out a particularly high moan when Jay's fingers find that one spot—the one deep inside your gummy pussy. Sunghoon bottoms out without warning, pressing you so deep down his cock that your nose brushes his pelvis.

He cums down your throat, not even bothering to pull away from you. You let him, eagerly taking every drop of cum he gives you. You feel your own orgasm wash over you, legs shaking as Jay wraps an arm around your waist to stabilize you. You cum on his fingers, arousal dripping obscenely down his hand and onto his wrist.

"There we go," Jay coos, soothing you through your orgasm.

Sunghoon doesn't let go, not for a few seconds. When he finally releases his grip on your hair, you pull off, a string of saliva and cum connecting your swollen lips to his spent cock. You gasp for air falling back into Jay.

Jay wraps his body around yours, clean hand brushing your hair out of your face as he laughs at your fucked out state.

"Holy," Sunghoon breaths out, "fucking shit, Jay."

Sunghoon falls down onto the side of the bed next to you and Jay, head crashing into the pillow as he lets out a deep breath and closes his eyes. "There's no fucking way you're doing this every night."

Jay laughs at his friend, moving you to rest on the bed in between them. Jay throws an arm around your waist, hands snaking under your shirt and stroking the skin beneath. "Jealous?"

"So fucking jealous, man." Sunghoon runs a hand through his hair, letting out another deep breath. "Gonna be thinking about that for years—seriously, best fucking blowjob I've ever had."

"It was good?" You croak out, turning your head to look at Sunghoon with big, curious eyes.

"Please tell me you're not actually asking me that."

"She always asks that," Jay groans, kissing your shoulder.

"It was fucking incredible," Sunghoon leans in and kisses the top of your head, softly petting your hair before he pulls away. When he does, he notices Jay's glare. "What?"

"Watch yourself, Hoonie," he mocks, pulling you closer to his body.

"Chill—she's your girlfriend, I know," Sunghoon shakes his head, huffing out a laugh. Silence envelopes the room for a moment, the three of you existing in the space together. Sunghoon shifts in the bed, the sound of the sheets and blankets rustling interrupting the calm.

"Are you seriously gonna let Jake and Heeseung fuck her?" He asks as if it's the most casual conversation in the world.

Jay shrugs, turning to you. "Do you wanna fuck 'em, baby?"

Your eyes dart between the two men, before you softly curl in on yourself, "I mean," you begin, voice small, "I wouldn't hate it."

Jay laughs at your response, "No need to be shy—I don't get jealous about that."

Sunghoon scoffs and rolls his eyes, muttering something about how Jay is a 'big fat fucking liar'.

"Plus, they all know you're my girlfriend," he finishes, "right, Hoonie?"

taglist : @enhypenlvrsstuff @deobitifull @mrstellaaa @berryysuyoo @d1seongjeglazer @engeneheree @lesbiansforakaneheiya @gett-fukedd @someoneskpopmystery @jaeyundazed @devilish-meangadh

“That’s it, baby. Say my name. Louder.”

You do. Again and again. While he eats you out like a man possessed, tongue flicking fast then slow, lips sucking, teeth grazing just enough to make you see stars. Two fingers slide back inside you, curling against that spot that makes your thighs shake violently around his head.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he mutters against your pussy, voice muffled and wrecked. “Gonna feel so good wrapped around my cock. Bet he never even got close to filling you up like I will.”

You’re babbling now, nonsense, pleas, his name over and over, while he works you higher and higher. When you start clenching around his fingers he growls, “Cum for me, sweetheart. Right now. Let me feel it.”

You shatter. Hard. Louder than you’ve ever been. Whole body convulsing, hands scrabbling at his hair, thighs clamping around his ears as wave after wave crashes through you. He doesn’t stop, keeps licking, keeps curling, keeps murmuring filthy praise into your pulsing cunt until you’re sobbing from overstimulation and trying to push his head away.

He finally pulls back, chin dripping, eyes black with lust, and crawls up your body like a predator who’s finally caught his prey.

“Look at you,” he breathes, thumb wiping your own tears and slick from your cheeks. “So fucking beautiful when you cum. And that was just the warm-up.”

He kicks his sweatpants off, cock springing free, heavy, thick, already leaking at the tip. You stare, wide-eyed, chest heaving.

“He never made you feel this full, did he?” Heeseung wraps your hand around him, lets you feel how hot and hard he is. “Never stretched you out like this?”

You shake your head, biting your lip.

“Good.” He lines himself up, rubs the head through your soaked folds, coating himself in you. “Because I’m about to fuck every memory of him out of this pretty little body.”

He pushes in slow, inch by torturous inch—watching your face the whole time. When your eyes flutter and your mouth drops open in that perfect little ‘o’, he groans deep in his chest.

“Fuck, there she is. Taking me so well already.”

You’re whimpering, nails digging into his shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist like you never want him to leave.

He bottoms out, hips flush against yours, and stays there for a second, letting you adjust, letting you feel every thick inch splitting you open.

“You feel that?” he whispers, rolling his hips in a slow grind that makes you see white. “That’s what it’s supposed to feel like. That’s what you deserve.”

Then he starts moving.

Deep, punishing strokes at first, pulling almost all the way out just to slam back in, making the headboard knock against the wall. You’re loud, God, you’re so loud, and he loves it. Loves the way you claw at his back, the way your tits bounce with every thrust, the way you keep chanting his name like a prayer.

“Harder—please—Hee—”

He flips you onto your stomach without warning, yanks your hips up, presses your cheek into the pillow. “Like this, baby?” He slams back in from behind, deeper than before, hitting that spot over and over until you’re screaming into the sheets. “Gonna fuck you so good you forget anyone else ever touched you.”

One hand snakes around to rub tight circles on your clit while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise.

“Cum again,” he growls. “Cum on my cock this time. Show me how much better I am.”

You do, almost instantly, walls fluttering and squeezing him so tight he nearly loses it.

“Fuck, yes, good girl, fuck—”

He keeps going. Doesn’t stop. Fucks you through it, fucks you past it, until you’re a trembling, overstimulated mess begging and crying and still pushing back for more.

When he finally cums, deep inside you, hips stuttering, groaning your name like it’s the only word he knows, he collapses over your back, kissing the nape of your neck, your shoulder blades, anywhere he can reach.

“Mine now,” he pants against your skin, still buried to the hilt. “All fucking mine.”

You’re boneless, wrecked, glowing. And for the first time in months…you don’t feel empty. You feel claimed. Loved. Ruined in the best possible way. Heeseung presses one last soft kiss behind your ear.

“Sleep, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

[Masterlist]

@hellomynameis-jessica @svvtvenom @saeivra @chaebbys @wonswrl @rianzysworld @bxldak @liloaeu @seungsoftly @enstarzzi @slut4heespam @freakseung2001 @strawberrykkkl @hoonsocks @rikifishh @onlynkfans @gardenwonn @saccharinezennie @yjwpout @kpopishgirlie @minamores @chario1397 @astronomicalastro-blog1 @seungsoftly @toastmenace @ori2ari @psyches-reid @beomchuu2 @wonsbabe @meowwons @shhth @lilyofthevalley6 @nishimurarikiswifeee @mandmilovehim @jun2ki @gchirpy @sungheejaki @j4k3shous3wif3 @mermaidgoddess-world @leyhaya12 @desirejay @daemyratwst @skzenhalove @hhoonieeswifxyy @piwonparisa @saraabbas @addictedtohobi @wonniesjungdimple @jvnsoraa @justasheepgarden @strawberrykkk1 @ellyre @fancypeacepersona @standisease @kikidoul @yushadreamsriki @kpopishgirlie @aamirazx @ikeumuses @brokenengene @jungw0nluvrr @insignificantlillady @mwezieclipze @rintsro @kamiliora @123hees @hoonsocks @shionsunny @rikifishhh @omlhyck @xowonat @berriesandcigs @jspoets @tmtxtf @bvbblyjasmine @vantxx95 @jakeyyyjakexoxo @hoonfavv @gyubestboi @vanillakirstein @dollhoonki @lawjakesim @beomchuu2 @eilishlamour @hunbunki @seranghaesvt @hellomynameis-jessica @simpikeu @randompocky @glitteryfoxtyrant @doraemon02 @rageholic-alcoholic @caratchronicles @softblaqn

You felt the leaves brushing against your naked skin, the cold breeze that made your body shiver, the uneven pathway underneath your feet. 

At least it remembered to put on shoes. When it took over, the last time your feet were bleeding at the end of the night. 

It ran through the woods behind the small brook in your hometown, searching for something, someone. You weren’t entirely sure what it was searching for. 

Your body stopped in front of a small pond. The bright light of the moon was softly reflecting off the surface, soft ripples causing it to reflect like small sparks of glitter. 

It took a step towards the water, kneeling down and softly touching it with your fingers. It was cold, and your body shivered. Your mouth made a pleased sound. With a sudden movement, it plunged your arm into the water, the cold engulfing your limb. 

The water was freezing cold. It hurt. 

You wanted to instinctively pull your arm backwards, to step away from the water, but you couldn’t overpower the creature. 

A sudden noise made your head shoot upwards. A wolf was staring at you from the opposite end of the pond, growling.

The creature cocked your head to the side. Tingles of pure power ran through your veins. You couldn't see your arms while it was staring at the wolf, but you knew your fingers were starting to shift black, your veins turning a dark shade. 

The wolf growled even louder, and you heard more footsteps hurtling through the woods, probably the rest of its pack.

Your chest kept moving in calm, even, relaxed movements, the panic you should be feeling not overpowering the Gyunhyongsin. If it were only you in the woods right now, you would be shaking in fear, your heart hammering through your chest, but you knew it would never let anything hurt you. You were too precious. Or, well, your body was. 

It used you, needing a human host. 

The Gyunhyongsin wasn’t bad or good per se; it just simply was there, existing to preserve the harmony and equilibrium between the human world and the supernatural world.

They were true; all the stories, all the myths you were ever told or read were inspired and based on facts, at least partially. They all existed and lived among humans, even sometimes mixing with your kind, or what you would call your kind. You weren’t even really if you were still human.

There weren’t too many stories on Gyunhyongsins; no matter how much you researched and asked around, no one knew about the myths that would explain what it was, what you were. 

The wolf was still staring at you, and you felt the Gyunhyongsin pulling your lips into something that resembled a smile, moving your arm, and reaching towards the wolf. 

For a second, it seemed like the animal was almost entranced by the movement, watching. Its head dropped down for a second, and it shook its head, the moonlight catching in the white fur. A sliver of black fog is unleashed from your fingertips, moving in its direction. The wolf's eyes opened in what looked like shock or fear, and it yelped, turning around and running before the darkness could reach it. Your body chuckled and slowly stood up from where it was crouched on the floor. 

The Gyunhyongsin stepped forward, carefully climbing into the water. It was unbearably cold, your flimsy pyjama doing nothing to help against the sensation, the pain instead sticking to your skin. 

The creature in you hesitated for a few seconds, taking a few breaths before continuing. Step after step, your body entered the freezing pond. Eventually, the water got too deep, causing you to float up a bit with each step. An annoyed sound came from your mouth. You took a deep breath and slipped under the surface, continuing underwater. You started to panic slightly, trying to fight against the restraint in your mind, trying to take over control of your body, but it was useless. 

“Calm.” The voice grumbled through your mind, startling you into stopping. Hearing its voice reverberating in the space that was usually only yours was a weird, uncomfortable sensation.

The creature suddenly moved your arms and swam back to the surface, taking a deep breath when it reached the air again. 

It slightly turned your head, locking eyes at a rock and swimming towards it. The texture of the rock was rough, and when it pulled your body up, you felt the edges of the stone scrape against your knees and shins.

When it sat on top of the rock, it leaned back, took a deep breath and closed its eyes. ────────────────────────  You woke up with a sharp inhale. The cold air tearing into your lungs stung, causing you to cough. Your body jerked slightly.

Snowflakes landed gently on your face, stinging the skin. Your hands were hanging over the edge of the stone, the water lapped gently at them, a slow rhythm that only made the cold worse.

You tried to move, but your body was unresponsive. No matter how hard you tried to move, it felt like your muscles weren’t connected to your brain anymore. It somehow felt like you were pushed beyond the boundaries in your mind whenever the Gyunhyongsin took over. But it wasn’t. It was you, just you, in the crevices of your mind. 

It was almost an uncomfortable feeling to feel nothing there. The slight pressure was just gone. 

With it being gone, all its magic disappeared as well. 

Pain shot up your head and bloomed outward, violent and raw, like every nerve in your skull had been set alight at once. The pressure returned instantly, crushing, as if someone was driving a wedge into the space between your temples. Your vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges. You blinked as fast as you could, trying to blink them away. 

The nausea came next, heavy, twisting, crawling up your throat until you tasted bile. 

You wanted to scream, but the pain swallowed even that, leaving only a raw, rasping breath.

Where was it?

Where was the Gyunhyongsin? Why would it leave? 

It hasn’t found what it was searching for, right? 

Was it searching for another host? Did it find another one? 

You searched inward, mentally reaching through that place in your mind where it always waited. But there was nothing.

Not quiet.

Not stillness.

Just absence.

Your breath caught in your throat and came out in a ragged, hoarse gasp.

No, no, no.

You tried to lift your head, ignoring the screaming pain that came with the movement. It lolled slightly, then dropped back down with a dull thud. 

You couldn’t feel your legs.

Gyunhyongsin!, you called inside yourself. Or maybe out loud, you weren’t sure anymore; every sensation felt too loud, too bright, too fast, it was like your brain couldn’t keep up. 

Nothing answered.

The sky was so bright it hurt, illuminated by the full moon. Your head hurt. The pressure on the inside of your head was increasing by the second. Moonlight reflected weakly off the pond and blinded you when you tried to look up, and you let your eyes flutter shut again. 

You promised, you screamed. 

Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe that was just what you told yourself, night after night, when it moved your hands like they weren’t yours and spoke in your voice when it needed to.

Your skin started to tingle. 

Not the sharp pins and needles of cold, it felt like a dull kind of tingling. 

You remembered learning that hypothermia makes you feel warm before it kills you.

You felt warm now.

Maybe it would be better. Maybe dying here in the middle of the woods would be the best option.

You heard a crunch over the static in your ears. 

Footsteps? It sounded almost rhythmic.

A low growl reverberated through the still air.

Did the wolf return? 

You couldn’t turn your head, couldn’t focus on anything else but the pounding behind your eyes. Your vision would have been too blurry to see anything anyway, even if you were able to look in the direction of the wolf.

The snow crunched louder and closer.

The wolf returned first. Its footsteps came to a halt on the snowy floor. 

It wasn’t alone.

Two sets of heavy footsteps echoed through the woods. They sounded human. 

One of them halted dead in his tracks and muttered something you didn’t catch. 

You wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or both.

Someone spoke loud enough for you to understand. “Is that a–?”

Another male voice answered for him. “A human. Sunghoon found a human.”

They stopped at the edge of the pond, both probably staring in your direction. Your chest spasmed from the cold, and a weak, broken sound escaped your throat. You tried to open your eyes, to turn, to do anything to tell them to go away, to let you pass out and end the pain. 

One of them moved again, snow and leaves crunching under his boots.

“What the hell–?” he said, sounding stunned. "She’s alive.”

His boots crunched over the frozen mud around the pond, and you heard the quick splash of him stepping into the water. 

The first scoffed. “How the fuck would a human survive this deep in Grey Pines? Let alone end up half-naked, in that.”

The second didn’t answer right away. You heard his boots crunch as he took a few slow steps closer to the water’s edge. “Look at her arms.”

He paused and continued quietly. “They’re all torn up.”

Were they? You couldn’t tell; everything was hurting. 

“She’s not moving. Shouldn't she be like shivering or something? I can still hear her heart.”

“No human could survive out here”, the first man muttered.

The wolf let out a low, warning growl. You couldn’t tell if it’s directed at them or something else in the woods.

“I don’t like this,” he continued. “It feels like bait.”

“I don’t think she’s from the Jeoseung,” the quieter one muttered again.

“She’s in the middle of the damn pond. On a rock. How does a human even get there without dying of hypothermia?”

“I guess swimming?”

You heard the sound of leather creaking, cloth rustling. 

“She’s looking at us.”

Were you?

The first cursed. “You’re seriously thinking of going out there?”

“She’s gonna die if we don’t get her out of this water now.”

Your hand twitched, barely. Just enough to get their attention again.

“She moved.”

“Yeah, I saw it.”

Silence stretched, thick with tension.

You tried to move, but your body was still unresponsive, and you knew that the Gyunhyongsin had to return. Soon. 

“She’s freezing,” the first one said again, more quietly this time.

“Then leave her, Jake,” the other guy snapped. “She’s not our problem.”

You heard him sigh, and then the unmistakable splash of water. The slow, squelching footfalls as one of them stepped into the pond, each one followed by a hiss through clenched teeth.

“God, it’s freezing. Why couldn’t Heeseung come tonight?” he muttered. “He’d just hover her out with his mind and be done.”

“Or he’d tell you not to touch a strange girl in the middle of a cursed pond,” the other one snapped. “This reeks, Jake. Humans don’t just end up here.”

“She’s barely breathing, Jay.”

“Exactly.”

Jake didn’t answer. He waded in deeper, the sound coming closer. “We can’t just leave her.”

He cursed under his breath when he reached you, his hand touching your shoulder tentatively. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “Hey, can you hear me?”

You blinked slowly. That’s all you could do. 

He looked over his shoulder. "She is still awake. If she’s just some unlucky girl who wandered in–”

“No one wanders in,” the second one shook his head. “She’s here with something. No way a human crosses the Grey Pines without a guide. ”

You felt him move your body from the stone back into the freezing water. You gasped violently, coughing, the air scraping against your throat like broken glass. Jake steadied you, holding you close to his chest to keep your head above water.

He exhaled sharply, and suddenly, his hands were hot. Not just warm from blood and skin, but radiating. Like touching the sun wrapped in human form.

The heat poured into you in waves. Your body twitched once. Then again.

Your eyes fluttered open, and the first thing you saw was firelight. Not a literal flame, but the glow coming from Jake’s skin. It dimmed the moonlight and warmed the space around him like a living furnace. 

You signed and relaxed into his hold, just letting your eyes close. ────────────────────────  You were warm, almost too warm, when you managed to open your eyes the next time. The moon was still high above the tops of the pines, stars peeking through the thick clouds. It had stopped snowing. You were wrapped in a leather coat, the texture weird against your damp skin. You were being carried through the woods.

The two men were talking lowly, and you struggled piecing the words together. 

Why was the Gyunhyongsin still gone? Why were you feeling so much?

Your chest hitched, the air was suddenly wrong, too thick, too heavy. You couldn’t pull enough of it in. Your heart hammered against your ribs, and you felt your fast pulse in every part of your body. 

Pain slammed through your skull, sharp and merciless, and your stomach clenched so hard you thought you would vomit. You closed your eyes again, trying to block out the faint moonlight.

Jake's grip around your body got tighter. “Hey. Hey. Hey. Everything is fine. It’s okay.”

You swallowed and tried to take a breath again, the movement bringing even more pain. 

“What’s happening?” the other one asked, his voice louder than Jake’s.

“I don’t know.” Jake moved you again, and the pain of your frozen limbs bending made you whimper.

“I got you,” he said, muttering in a calm, soft voice. “We’ll get you warm, and then you’re telling us what the hell you’re doing out here.”

You wanted to tell him you don’t even know yourself.

You wanted to ask where the creature went. 

Why did it leave you? 

“Can you open your eyes?” Jake asked, his voice low and oddly soothing.

You forced your eyelids open. The second your eyes met his, you knew what was coming. 

They were glowing faintly at first, then brighter, red bleeding into his irises like ink spreading in water. The books warned you about this. Taught you to look away. To resist. But it was hard to remember how, when your mind was already feeling so slow and tired.

“Good,” he murmurs, and his voice is different now, silkier. 

“You’re going to close your eyes now,” he said, and it didn’t sound like a suggestion. “You won’t notice the path we take. You won’t remember the way. You’ll be safe, so just sleep until I wake you up again.”

You wanted to fight it; you should fight it. Being left alone with two vampires without the Gyunhyongsin to protect his earthly host didn’t feel like a good idea. But the warmth of his voice wrapped around your mind like a blanket, and your body listened. Your lashes fluttered once, twice, and then fell shut.

But before you could fall asleep, you felt a sudden pulling sensation in your chest, and your scalp started tingling. It was back. It came back. 

A low, guttural growl reverberated inside your skull, and you almost sighed in relive. 

It came back.

It came back. 

The Gyunhyongsin. Came. Back.

Joy flooded your body. It's joy. Your chest swelled, and you giggled.

A bright, brittle sound, too sharp for the night.

You couldn’t tell where the creature ended and your conscious mind began. 

Jake's hands started feeling even warmer, but the heat was different from before. You didn’t feel it on your skin, you felt it in your bones. 

His magic.

It was draining him.

The creature wasn’t stealing whatever body warmth Jake had; it was draining him. 

You felt his magic sliding into your body like syrup, thick and rich and burning hot. And it felt so good, like waking up inside sunlight after a long nap. The creature was pulling it through you, eating it up like it was starving.

You tried to stop it. 

“No,” you whispered inside yourself, but the word is hollow, useless. “Don’t hurt him. He’s helping-he’s nice-”

Jake stumbled, his grip tightening, and you felt his chest tense beneath you.

The creature's pleased grumble rumbled through your head, and it pulled even more energy from Jake now, a foreign heat flaring in your gut. You felt your limbs twitch slightly, your spine arching.

Jake stumbled.

It giggled again and opened your eyes. Your vision blurred a bit and then sharpened; the effects of the creature being gone now almost completely disappeared.

Jake flinched. You felt it in the stutter of his breath.

His arms jerked, trying to let go of you, to drop you. But it was too late, the shadows started moving.

“Whoa, what the hell?” he gasped.

They wrapped around you, curling out from beneath your hair, your skin, the hollows of your eyes. Tendrils of inky black coil-like snaked around Jake’s forearms, snaring you to him as if the darkness itself refuses to let him drop you.

Jake panicked. “Jay?! What–what the fuck?! She’s doing something!”

Jay’s voice cut from nearby, alarmed. “Put her down!”

“I can’t!” Jake shouted. “She’s–she’s stuck to me!”

Your body shuddered again. The air rippled with heat and the scent of smoke. Jake groaned, staggering under your weight.

It kept happening. You couldn’t stop it. The warm waves of whatever the creature was stealing from Jake pulsed through your body, and with every pulse, the darkness around you blackened. It felt so good. 

The Gyunhyongsin giggled again. You tried to bite it back, stop the creature, but the sound slipped free, breathless and feather-light. You started to feel like you’re drunk. Or dreaming. Or both. 

Jake choked and staggered, dropping down onto his knees.

You didn’t want to hurt him.

But you were so warm now.

Somewhere, you heard its voice whisper through your mouth, giddy and breathless.

“Found.”

“Stop.”, you tried to say, but you were caged in the part of your subconscious that's yours and purely yours. You pressed against the restraint with as much force as you could bring up. The flow of warmth ebbed, flickered, and cut off like a candle being pinched out.

The shadows that had curled around Jake loosened. 

You blinked slowly, then lifted your head just an inch, enough to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” you wheezed, voice raw and broken. He froze at the sound.

Your lips were trembling from the cold and exhaustion. “I didn’t… it didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Jake’s jaw was clenched, breath ragged, eyes flicking from your face to the now-drifting shadows.

Your head slumped back against Jake’s chest, and you curled inward with a shiver so violent it nearly knocked the breath from your lungs. Now that it came back, the only pain you were feeling was the one coming from the cold.

Your body was on fire and freezing at the same time. The Gyunhyongsin shifted softly inside your mind.

Neither of the men said anything for a long moment.

Jake’s arms were still around you, but his grip was tighter now. Almost rigid. 

“Jay, she touched my core. She stole magic,” Jake muttered, voice clipped. 

His breathing was ragged. 

Jay snorted beside him, not even trying to hide his alarm.

“Yeah? After she drained half your strength and wrapped shadows around your goddamn wrists, you’re using your critical thinking skills, asking yourself if this was a good idea?”

You blinked slowly. Jake’s arms trembled slightly under your weight. 

“She shouldn’t be this deep in Grey Pines,” Jay said, quieter now, but his voice drifted through the dizziness.

Jake swallowed hard.

“Jeoseung creatures, don’t just wander this far,” Jay continued. “It’s either lost or looking for something.”

You tried to lift your head, but your body refused. 

“I don’t want to bring her back. Even if a veil spawn has taken her body, she is still human; she smells and feels like one at least. Maybe the mudang can do something to get it out of her.” Jake mumbeled.

“Let’s bring her to the Bongunsa temple. It should be warded enough to keep whatever she is in there,” Jay said, his voice clipped, obviously not pleased with Jake's sympathy. 

Jake didn’t answer.

He just adjusted his grip, tighter now, like he’s afraid you’ll wake up and tear your way out.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the same way you did earlier. ────────────────────────  The Gyunhyongsin stirred when you were close to the temple. The red paint was almost glowing in the darkness of the woods. 

It crept back from its place in your mind where it rested when you were in control, and you felt its presence uncoil like smoke, lazy but alert, drawn forward by something in the distance.

 It was interested.

Excited almost.

The moment you crossed the threshold, something clicked in the air. Jake stepped into a circular chamber under the temple, the walls carved with deep runes and overgrown sigils. 

He lowered you to the stone floor, carefully, almost gently. You didn’t deserve him to be this gentle after you just almost sucked him dry. 

The instant your back hit the cold slab, the entire room responded.

With a sound like a slow breath, the tomb awakened.

Flames sparked to life in the sconces lining the walls. One by one. The runes etched into the floor blazed white, circling your body in a perfect ring.

Jake jerked backwards, stumbling, and Jay cursed under his breath.

Even the wolf let out a sharp, guttural snarl.

You completely forgot the wolf was there. 

It stood near the threshold, white fur streaked with old blood. Its eyes, glowing red, lock onto you. 

The runes should burn, you know that. They were there to keep creatures in pain, to weaken them until mudang knew what to do, or to immediately get rid of weaker veil-spawns. 

But they didn’t. You felt them thrumming beneath you, alive with power but not against you. 

The Gyunhyongsin hummed.

It was… pleased.

Your gaze slipped back to the wolf.

It should be terrifying.

But all you could think about was how beautiful it looked in the firelight.  ────────────────────────  You were lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling of the room. Talismans were hanging from it, swaying slightly back and forth. The shackles they put on your wrists and ankles were burning steadily. It wasn’t painful. Or at least not as painful as you anticipated them to be when you realised what was happening. The thick iron circlets had different marks etched deep into the metal, glowing softly. They were connected to a central ring on the floor by short, heavy chains, long enough for you to sit up, barely. 

“Great.”, you mumbled, taking a deep breath, your lungs rattling a bit. 

“What kind of situation did you get us in again, Gyunhyongsin?” you sighed and leaned your head back onto the cold stone floor. 

It just made a grumbling noise in your head again, and you felt it retreating into that part of your consciousness it liked to stay when it wasn’t currently playing puppeteer with your body. 

Your throat felt scratchy, and you were already dreading the cold you would have to deal with, only because it had decided a night with almost freezing temperatures would be a great moment to take a swim in an almost frozen pond to end up being saved by vampires. If one could even call whatever was happening being saved. 

The cold metal was slightly burning against your ankles and wrists. 

You moved again into a more comfortable position when you noticed a bundle of fabric on the floor. A blanket. 

You carefully moved to reach for the item. It was a heavy, thick kind of fabric. 

The creature grumbled again, apparently in the mood to talk, but not in any human language. Sometimes you wished it would actually talk to you. 

You blinked, then giggled. You don’t know why it’s funny–it shouldn’t be funny–but the creature seemingly started to remember that it got what it wanted and was thrumming with satisfaction.

You wanted to be angry. You wanted to panic. But it was infectious, bleeding through you. 

A low click echoed through the room. Your head shot to the side, where you assumed the entrance to the tomb was supposed to be. Whatever mudang created the bonds and seals for this tomb made sure to include one to disorient its inmate. No matter where you looked, there was no door, just walls with rows and rows of talismans along the walls. 

The creature went quiet and tempered down its joy, as if it didn’t want you to be influenced by its feelings. 

A tall man stepped into the chamber, the wall flickering as he stepped through the glamour. His eyes were glowing, almost burning red. 

A vampire.

Just like Jake and Jay. 

A very angry vampire. 

If he weren’t as scary and intimidating as he was, he would have been beautiful, but the expression on his face was anything but friendly.

He stopped in front of the rune circle and stared at you. 

You opened your mouth to speak, no idea what to say, but he cut you off before you were able to think of something to say.

“What are you?”

His voice was sharp and demanding. 

You flinched. “I–I’m–”

“What did you do to Jake?”

He stepped closer. You swallowed down your panic, which the creature oh so greatly let you feel.

“He’s sick.”

Sick? But vampires didn’t get sick. You knew that. Whatever happened in the woods, what the creature did, it must’ve–

Your heart stuttered in your chest when you realised what it did.

“I didn’t–” your voice came out hoarse. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s not an answer.”

You shrank back, only to be jerked short by the chains. The iron bit your skin, and you could already see the red rings forming on your skin.

“I swear–I didn’t–I stopped it–I told it to stop–”

He crouched suddenly, close enough for you to see light specs of gold in one of his eyes. 

“That thing inside you,” he growled. “The one that made the shadows move. That just laughed through your mouth. What is it?”

You didn’t know how to answer. You didn’t know if you could answer. You looked into the vampire’s eyes, your voice a whisper:

“It’s not from the Jeoseung.”

That was as much as you could actually tell him. Gyunhyongsin were sacred creatures, ones that other creatures would rather not have around alive. You weren’t sure how vampires would react to knowing one was residing within you. They weren’t part of your folklore, so maybe he wouldn’t benefit from you being dead, but you didn’t want to take that risk. 

“You’re lying.”

He stood in a flash, towering above you again. “Tell me what you are or I’ll open every single talisman in this vault and drag the thing inside you into the light.”

Terror coiled in your gut. You didn’t even know if that was possible, but just the thought let your heart beat faster in your chest. 

He didn’t let up and circled you slowly now, like a predator testing a cage.

You shifted slightly, the chains clinking loudly in the silence, the blanket slipping off your shoulder.

“You say it’s not from the Jeoseung,” he murmured, stopping behind you now. “Then what is it?”

You opened your mouth, but your voice failed. Nothing came out.

He stepped closer. You heard his boots scrape against the stone.

“You pulled in dark magic, controlled shadows. Maybe it’s some kind of shadow demon,” he said, thoughtful now. Coldly clinical. “A parasite. Like those cursed husks in the Northern Divide.”

You flinched. So did something else.

The Gyunhyongsin shifted. The moment the vampire said “demon”, something inside you recoiled in disgust, and the creature growled loudly. You shuddered at the feeling.

It was offended. Deeply.

The vampire moved around you again. Stepping in front of you, crouching down.

“You don’t look possessed,” he said, voice quieter now. “You don’t look scared either.”

You were sure that if the Gyunhyongsin wouldn’t be dulling your emotions, you would be shaking and sweating in fear, but with it being back, all you felt was its annoyance. 

He leaned in and lifted his hand, his long fingers reaching toward your cheek.

And that was when the air stopped.

The torches stopped flickering, and the talisman pulsed one last time before they dimmed.

The shadows moved quickly, not around you but behind him. They gathered like a thick black cloud, crouching over him, along the walls, covering the protective magic in the room. You felt how the Gyunhyongsin took control, pushing you back into your corner within a millisecond.

The vampire paused, fingers just inches from your skin. His eyes widened, and he jerked his hand back before touching you.

“What–” he whispered, standing up fast, scanning the chamber. “What is that?”

The Gyunhyongsin didn’t answer him and just stared at him. Ready to kill if he came too close to you again.

You tried to regain control of your body, fighting against whatever power the creature had, and choked out: “I’m not possessed.”

The vampire looked down at you again, but this time, he didn’t come closer.

The temperature hadn’t gone back up, and the room was still engulfed in unnatural stillness and darkness.

You didn’t know how long the vampire just stared at you, but he didn’t step closer again.

And then the vampire made a mistake. He sneered. Just a little. A shift of his mouth.

“You’re right,” he muttered. “You’re not possessed. You’re infested. A puppet for something that shouldn’t even be breathing in this realm. You reek of veil magic, and I don’t care what name it hides behind, demon, god, wraith, it’s all the same rot in a different dress.”

Shadows tore off the walls like living things, surging across the floor. They slammed into him, engulfing him in darkness.

You heard him grunt, staggering, his boots skidding across the stone, as the creature pulled him towards you, into the rune circle. He tried to fight it. He was strong, but the Gyunhyongsin was stronger.

As soon as the vampire was close enough for you to touch him without hurting your wrists, the creature reached out. Wrapping a hand around his throat, his face distorted into shock, and his eyes flared up in an even darker shade of red.

Then flickered.

You felt it happen.

The creature pulled his magic into your body, your magical core hungrily reaching for it.

Heat.

Strength.

Power.

You felt it pour into your body, molten and raw. So much stronger than whatever Jake had to give.

The vampire choked, his hands wrapping around your arm, trying to pry it off his throat, but the creature didn’t even flinch.

Your lips parted, and you heard the Gyunhyongsin’s voice echo through your mouth, guttural and low: “Enough.”

And then the shadows folded in, a black explosion of smoke and wind, and the world bent.

You lurched through the shadows and found yourself running.

The Gyunhyongsin was running through the dark forest. Your lungs were screaming, and your legs were burning.

It only slowed down, your chest heaving, when a villa came into view.

You saw lights glowing inside, flickering orange behind warped glass.

The Gyunhyongsin exhaled through your lungs, slow and satisfied, as it continued its way just before the heavy iron fence.

The shadows folded in around you one more time. ─────────────────────── And a second later, it had to screw your eyes shut, as light flooded your view. Your feet touched something soft. A rug?

The creature opened your eyes and looked up, scanning the room.

Three pairs of golden eyes were locked on you.

A boy on the couch closest to the TV, gripping a game controller, had frozen mid-move, his mouth slightly open.

The second one sitting next to him had already half-risen, muscles coiled, confusion morphing into panic.

The third sat in a chair near the fireplace, a book halfway to his face.

They all stared at you with confusion written on their faces.

You realised, distantly, that you had just appeared out of thin air in their living room.

The one with the controller was the first to react, jerking upright from the couch, his game controller falling with a plastic crack against the floor.

“What the hell–” he breathed, fangs out.

The creature turned your head, slowly, deliberately, and looked directly at the one whom he had been playing against.

You raised your hand, and within seconds, you felt your magical core stretch out again, black tendrils reaching out, moving toward the vampire.

All three men moved to stop you.

But it was too late. 

The shadow touched his chest, and he collapsed, like a puppet with its strings cut.

His eyes rolled back, a choked sound escaping his lips, and his knees hit the floor with a crack.

The one next to him lunged forward, catching him just before he hit the ground completely.

“Sunoo!” the one who was previously reading turned to you, “What did you do–what did you do to him?!”

The Gyunhyongsin didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. It just tilted your head slightly to the side and growled: “Anchor.” 

Sunoo lay limp in the other vampire’s arms, his chest barely rising. His skin had gone from pale to ashen.

You tried to speak, tried to wrestle the Gyunhyongsin back.

The other two vampires were on edge, one kneeling beside Sunoo, checking his pulse, the other standing like a coiled spring between you and the rest of the room.

Your body made instanced to step forward. “Don’t move!” one of them snapped, his red eyes fixed on you like a hawk.

And you didn’t, you couldn’t. Your legs trembled, and for a moment, they almost gave out beneath you, as the creature suddenly pulled back.

Magic churned under your skin, burning at the edges, wild and hungry. Your breath came in short, shallow bursts.

Oh god.

You killed someone.

Your mouth opened, and all that came out was a shaky, broken noise.

“I didn’t–I didn’t mean to–” Your voice cracked, raw and barely there. “It wasn’t me-I–I mean, it was, but I didn’t want–”

The door to the living room slammed open.

You flinched, spinning toward the sound. 

The blond vampire from before stood there, breath sharp. “What the hell–”

Another vampire was with him.

You turned just in time to see him skid to a stop in the entryway. His eyes found you immediately, wide, burning red, and then they flicked down to Sunoo.

Jay’s voice is tight. “She was in the Vault. Sunghoon was guarding it. How the hell did you get out?”

“I don’t–I don’t know,” you stammered, heart pounding. “I don’t know how I got out. I didn’t want to–please–I didn’t mean to hurt him–”

You took a breath too sharply, and it tore at your throat. You tried to move backwards, to do something, to show them you’re not dangerous. 

The Gyunhyongsin was shifting in the back of your mind again, watching, too satisfied for your liking.

“I’m not a–,” you try again, the first tears spilling out of the corner of your eyes. You just killed someone. “I’m not a from the jeoseung–I’m not–I–please.”

“Then what the hell are you?” Jay snapped, slowly coming closer to you, cornering you.

“I–a-a human?”, you said, your voice wavering slightly as you wrap your arms around your body and take a step back, your back hitting a wall.

“A human?” the vampire that came inside the room, together with Jay, asked. 

You flinched as he stepped toward you, slow, careful, but not gentle either.

“Don’t,” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please–don’t come close to me. I’ll–I’ll lose control again–I don’t want to hurt anyone–”

“I know,” he said. Quiet. Almost soft. “That’s why I’m not giving you a choice.”

And before the creature could react, before you could scream, he moved.

His hand closed around the back of your head, the other catching your jaw with practised ease.

Your body froze, the Gyunhyongsin roaring in protest inside your skull–but it was like your limbs had turned to stone. 

“No–” the creature snarled through your teeth, but it was too late.

A pulse of magic slammed through your body.

And you dropped like a ragdoll. ─────────────────────── You woke up slowly.

Heavy.

Your eyelids felt like they were glued shut, your limbs like they were filled with sand. The air was cold and stale, carrying the scent of incense and old stone.

You blinked once, then again, and your vision began to form.

You were back on the stone floor, shackles cold against your wrists and ankles. The rune circle beneath you pulsed faintly. You tried to sit up and regretted it instantly. Every muscle screamed, and your head felt like it was cracked open and hastily patched.

This time, you weren’t alone. The vampire that was in the vault with you before was standing right in front of you, his hands crossed in front of his broad chest. He was talking to Jay and another tall man dressed in shaman clothing. You killed a person You killed a person. They would kill you for killing one of them. The realisation crashed down on you like a wave, your stomach lurching violently.

You wanted to say something. To tell him you were sorry. That it wasn’t your fault. That the Gyunhyongsin did something. It wanted to do something right now.

Hot, magic coiled in your ribs, humming through your bloodstream, seething. You felt the pressure pushing against your bones like it wanted out.

You bit down hard, clenched your fists, and forced your breath into something steady.

Not now.

Not here.

They were all watching you.

Jay tilted his head slightly. “Yeonjun. She’s awake.”

“I can see that,” the shaman muttered.

He stepped closer to the rune circle. The magic flared faintly, reacting to him.

You tried to sit up straighter, to speak. You needed to explain. You needed to say something before they made a decision you couldn’t come back from.

“I–” Your voice cracked. “I didn’t mean to hurt him–”

Yeonjun didn’t blink. “And yet you did. How? How did you do that? Drain not only one but two vampires.” He started walking around the rune circle in slow, calculated steps. You forced yourself to swallow, and your mouth tasted like ash.

The creature pressed against the condiments in your mind again. You bit the inside of your cheek.

You didn't know how to answer. What to say to make the whole situation better. "I'm not a veilspawn."

“You almost killed Sunoo, Jake and Sunghoon,” Jay said, stepping closer. 

“I didn’t try–I’m not veilborn,” you manage. “I’m not a demon. It–"

Your throat closed up.

Literally.

The words stopped mid-sentence, a pulse of something magic seizing your lungs. It felt like invisible hands around your neck, not tight enough to kill, but enough to burn.

You gasped, trying to cough it out, but nothing helped. The pain spread, dragging down your chest.

The shaman stepped forward, eyes sharp. "I didn't say you were."

Your lips parted.

You wanted to explain.

To say something, anything, that might make them believe you. That might make them understand this wasn’t you. That you never meant to hurt anyone.

But the words wouldn’t come.

The pain started in your throat, sharp and searing, and then spread like fire through your chest.

You choked on air, eyes going wide, a hand jerking toward your throat before the shackles clanked and yanked you still.

“Stop,” you managed to rasp.

Jay stepped forward, but the mudang beside him raised a hand. He stopped dead.

“Don’t,” he said. “If she’s what I think she is, trying to speak of what’s forbidden will kill her before she finishes a sentence.”

He stooped right outside the rune circle, where the magic burned white and sharp between you, and knelt. His eyes were dark. Calm. Almost cold.

“You’re not from the Jeoseung,” he said. “You’re human, partly at least, aren’t you?”

You shook your head, mouth still open, breath shallow and pained.

“I want to tell you,” you gasped, every word scraping your throat like glass. “Please. I’m not–”

Your body jerked forward as the magic flared again.

Yeonjun raised a hand. “Don’t try. You’ll burn your voice box if you keep pushing.”

You fell back with a strangled sob, tears streaking down your cheeks now, your chest heaving with effort. Your whole body was humming uncomfortably.

Sunghoon took a step forward. “Her body is close to giving out, Yeonjun. Her heartbeat is slow; you should hurry if you need information."

Jay glanced at him. “She also broke a sealed Vault and crossed half a forest in shadow. She will be able to stay alive for a few minutes until we know what she is.”

“I didn’t do it,” you wheezed. “It–he–”

You bit back a scream as your throat seared again.

Yeonjun watched you.

Then he leaned in just a little.

“Whatever you’re carrying must be powerful, right? It must have been so scary when it chose you. If it keeps protecting you like this, we can’t extract it. Not without killing you.”

Your breath stuttered.

The creature stirred.

You felt him tense in your bones.

Extract? No. They can't do that.

“I don’t want to kill you,” he said. “But I need to be sure that you really are a host of a Gyunhyongsin. And if it isn’t ready to tell us, then maybe we need to ask differently.”

Yeonjun reached into his coat for something. 

The creature inside you growled, low and dangerous. And before you could stop it, the Gyunhyongsin took over.

It stirred, pushed against your skin, and without your permission, your mouth opened.

“No.”

The shaman in front of you didn’t react right away.

But the Vault did.

The runes flared and dimmed down, and the temperature dropped. 

Jay took an unconscious step back.

Yeonjun’s eyes narrowed.

“No”, he echoed. 

He straightened slowly, gaze unreadable, and turned slightly toward Sunghoon.

“I have to make sure she isn’t possessed by something else but the Gyunhyongsin,” he said, turning back to you. “If I am right, then Sunoo losing a bit of his magic for the day isn’t our biggest problem.”

He paused, and you felt his magic dragging the air tight around your lungs.

“You’re too weak. Your body is too weak, isn’t it?”

Yeonjun moved forward.

“It doesn’t belong here. It needs you to anchor itself in this realm, but you’re too weak, aren’t you? That's why you need a tether. It chose a vampire for that? Does it want vampire magic?”

Your pulse roared in your ears.

“I didn’t try to kill him,” you rasped.

“I know,” Yeonjun said.

And then he stepped into the circle.

The runes flared white-hot as he crossed them, but didn’t reject him.

You tried to scramble back, but the chains held you still.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said and knelt before you.

You shook your head. “Don’t–”

“You know what this is, what you are, don’t you?” he asked.

You don’t answer. Your throat was still burning. And what good would it do? They would still think you did want to kill them.

“I’ve never seen one in real life,” Yeonjun continued. “I've read about countless sightings and warnings about your kind. But I never thought it was real.”

You breathed in slowly, mouth dry, but your face stayed blank.

Because what else could you do? Panic?

Yeonjun rose, slowly, gaze never leaving yours.

“Anchor,” he said. “That’s what it said itself, right? The Gyunhyongsin only acquired anchors when their current host was insufficient,” he murmured. “Too weak. Dying. Or unable to do what must be done.”

He looked down at you.

“The Gyunhyongsin doesn’t come unless something is out of balance,” he said.

He took a breath. “And if it’s here, if you’re here, then something is already wrong.”

Yeonjun crouched again.

“I want to see it,” he said.

You froze.

“No,” you whispered, hoarse.

“I need to,” he insisted. “If it’s tethered to you, then maybe I can extract part of its signature. Not all of it–just enough to see what kind of magic it carried. It might help us help you.”

“No,” you said again, sharper this time. You didn’t want their help.

But Yeonjun was already moving.

He placed one hand against your jaw and gently moved it up so you were looking into his unnaturally blue eyes. The weight of his magic sank into your skin.

It hit your core with an unbelievable amount of power.

You screamed.

Your body arched against the stone, shackles groaning with the force, every nerve set on fire as his power dove through you.

The creature roared.

It surged upward, slamming into your ribs, clawing for dominance.

You felt yourself being shoved back, like your own awareness was nothing more than a curtain pulled aside.

Yeonjun’s eyes stayed locked on yours, his magic pouring through your skin, through your blood, through every cell in your body. It flickered around the two of you, bright for a heartbeat.

And then died.

He stumbled back a step, brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his face.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “I couldn’t even touch it.”

You breathed out slowly.

Yeonjun exhaled and straightened. “We need to figure out how to speak with it willingly.”

You shook your head.

“No,” you whispered. “You don’t.”

“Why not?” Sunghoon demanded. “If you’re supposed to be on the good side, then–”

“It’s not,” you cut in. “It’s on no one's side; it will kill what it needs to to finish what it is here for.”

They fell silent.

You let your head fall back against the stone. You have never used this much magic within such a short period. 

The vault had gone still.

You felt the Gyunhyongsin shift.

You gasped, the breath hitching in your throat, not from pain, but from the cold pressure that bloomed behind your ribcage, slow and precise. He wasn’t surging through your body. He was slipping out of it. 

Your fingertips tingled. The shadows beneath you curled like steam rising off the runes, ignoring the sigils entirely.

Yeonjun’s head snapped around.

Thin tendrils of shadow snaked across the floor, slow and elegant, trailing outward from beneath your body. No one moved at first, too stunned.

Until the first strand touched Sunghoon’s boot.

And didn’t stop.

It slid up his ankle, then his leg, pulsing like a heartbeat. He cursed and took a step backwards, trying to shake them off. 

Yeonjun stepped forward, back into the circle again. He crouched in front of you again, his fingers seizing your jaw, forcing your face toward him, away from Sunghoon's figure.

“Don’t,” he hissed. “Don’t look at him.”

Your lips parted to answer, but Yeonjun’s breath stuttered. His eyes widened.

He reeled back with a sound halfway between a curse and a prayer, stumbling to his feet. You felt yourself getting pressed to the back of your mind, the Gyunhyongsin taking over for a second, the shadows moving faster than you could react. 

You landed hard, a few meters outside the Vault.

It was still dark outside; hopefully, the same night, the full moon still illuminating the forest floor. 

Your knees sank into wet leaves, and your hands braced against the cold dirt. 

You blinked once.

Twice.

You had to go. Fast.

Something crashed behind you, and the vault's doors slammed open.

“She’s outside!”

You turned around.

Sunghoon was standing in the entrance.

The second you saw him move, your magic reacted like a struck nerve.

The shadows at your feet leapt upward and–

You vanished again. ────────────────────────  Your boots skidded across wet leaves as you landed near the edge of a ravine, heart clawing at your ribs. You didn’t know how many jumps you’d made now – four? Five? Your head was spinning, magic crackling under your skin like static.

You didn’t know where you were.

Behind you, voices cut through the dark.

“She went this way!” 

They were tracking you. You didn’t know how. By scent? Sound? Magic? All of it?

You scrambled forward, blood pounding in your ears.

The sun was just starting to stretch across the horizon. Weak, golden light crept over the forest floor.

You whirled around, panting, shadows flickering at your heels.

You didn’t want to fight.

You just wanted this all to stop.

Before you could move again, before your legs even fully straightened, a gust of wind hit you from behind.

You barely had time to scream.

A hand slammed around your throat and dragged you backwards mid-step. Your feet left the ground. Your body twisted as you were thrown like a rag doll into a tree trunk. The impact knocked the air clean out of your chest. Your vision blurred.

You collapsed to your knees and scrambled backwards, coughing, until a figure came to stop in front of you. Dirt kicked up in all directions as he crouched, fangs bared. 

Sunghoon.

His eyes were glowing red. His beautiful face twisted in fury.

He moved so fast you didn’t even see it, just felt the snap of your body against the forest floor, his hand crushing your throat.

“You’re going to tell me what you are,” he hissed, his face coming closer to yours. 

“You’re going to tell me,” he said again. “Or I will rip you open and find out myself.”

Tears blurred your vision. You choked against his grip. “I-I don’t-”

“You drained Jake.” His voice cracked like a whip. “You bled him almost dry. If he dies, we all know what happens to you.”

You shook your head, panic rising. “I didn’t-I didn’t know-”

“Oh, of course you didn’t, poor thing. And you’re definitely an ordinary little human girl that got lost in the sacred woods.”

“I am human,” you gasped.

 “Bullshit.” 

He slammed your head lightly into the dirt, not enough to knock you out, but enough to daze you.

“You think you’re in the position to lie to me right now?” he snarled, mouth at your ear. “Try lying again. I’ll show you what dangerous looks like.”

You whimpered, fingers scrabbling at the dirt. “Please-”

And the shadows took you. Your scream was ripped out of your throat mid-jump.

You landed near a broken fence post. 

You didn’t mean to come here.

You didn’t know how you got here.

You just wanted to be safe.

You took a slow, ragged breath and staggered forward. You didn’t know if you’d made it far enough. 

The sky was changing faster now, streaks of purple and deep blue peeling back the stars.

Sunrise.

Please let them have turned back.

You pushed through one last jump and collapsed in the middle of the clearing. 

And then you heard it.

Thudding paws.

Five wolves emerged from the woods.

One pure white.

One ash grey.

Two shades of deep brown.

And a wolf in black, streaked with silver. The second he saw you, his feet moved faster, and he skidded to a stop in front of you.

You sank into the ground, sobbing in relief, shadows curling off your skin like steam as your panic finally cracked open into exhaustion.

“Help me,” you whispered.

He whined and pressed his snout to your face, lapping up your tears, ignoring the black tendrils of magic around you. 

One of the other wolves pressed its head under your arm when it reached you. Another circled your back.

Your chest was heaving. 

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you whispered, “I didn’t mean to–I just–I just wanted to get away–”

A growl came from somewhere behind you. 

The vampire was standing at the broken fence signalling the beginning of the pack's territory. 

The wolves moved instantly.

Nicolas stepped forward, baring his teeth in warning. The others spread into a loose semicircle around you, hackles raised, low growls vibrating in their chests.

You didn’t even try to move. Even if you did, you probably wouldn’t be able to; your arms and legs were trembling in overexhaustion, and you were struggling to keep your head up. 

“Sunghoon.” Fuma had turned back to his human form and stood in front of you. “How can I help you?”

“Hand over the girl”, Sunghoon answered, his voice cold. “She ran from containment.”

“She’s in our territory,” one of the wolves growled, his voice laced with the unnatural sharpness of someone mid-shift. Probably Maki or EJ.

“I don’t care,” Sunghoon snapped. “She almost tore the vault apart from the inside. She attacked Sunoo; she drained him, nearly killed him.”

“I didn’t–” your voice cracked. “I didn’t mean to–”

Sunghoon’s glare cut toward you. “You didn’t mean to drain him? You didn’t mean to throw half a coven into the walls? Or disappear into shadows like a fucking cursed wraith?”

Nicolas let out a deep, guttural growl and took one step forward.

“She’s going to kill someone,” Sunghoon said suddenly, eyes still on you. “Yeonjun thinks she is a Gyunhyongsin.”

The wolves tensed, fully knowing that already and knowing the consequences of someone else knowing.

Sunghoon took another slow step forward.

“If you keep her here,” he said, voice like ice cracking underfoot, “she will suck you dry like she did with two of us already.”

Nicholas growled again, low and sharp.

And then he shifted.

The silver-black wolf twisted mid-step, bones breaking, flesh shifting, fur sliding into skin.

His voice was quiet.

“You chased her across the forest. Into our sacred ground.“

He looked at you.

Then back at Sunghoon.

“If she’s so dangerous,” he said, “why do you look like the one she ran from?”

Sunghoon went still.

You felt something in your chest tighten, guilt, maybe. 

Regret.

Nicolas knelt beside you again and said to no one in particular, “She stays here.”

Sunghoon stared at you for a long, impossible moment.

Then turned. And vanished into the trees.

A sob tore out of you like it had been waiting hours to escape. Your body was aching all over, your head pounding, your lungs not being able to take in air properly without your whole upper body screaming in pain.

You didn’t even realise you were falling forward until Nicolas caught you.

He pulled you in without hesitation.

His hands cradled your face gently, so gently, like he was afraid you'd shatter under him.

“Hey,” he whispered, brow furrowed, voice soft in that way it only got when no one else was around. “Hey, I’ve got you. You're okay.”

You shook your head, choking on the word.

“No.”

He pulled you closer, letting your head press against his naked chest, one hand in your hair, the other rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades.

“What happened?” he asked, quietly.

“It ran … I didn’t mean to–” You gasped in between sobs. “He threw me–Sunghoon–”

“Easy.” Nicolas tilted your face back up, gently brushing the tears off your cheeks with his thumbs. “You’re not making sense.”

“I don’t know what happened. I was sleeping and then he took over.” You got out.

“I should’ve stayed near your flat,” he murmured.

“You couldn’t have stopped it,” you whispered.

You shut your eyes, pressing your forehead to his chest.

The rest of the pack gave the two of you some privacy and walked towards the house at the edge of the clearing, still close enough to jump in in case something happened. 

“I jumped so far,” you rasped out when you realised how close you were to the edge of the woods. 

“Mhm. If you came from the Bongunsa temple, you did,” Nicolas said, carefully caressing your cheek, tilting your head up. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

You peeled them open and tried your best to focus them on his face.

“You’re burning up,” he murmured, panic bleeding into his voice, when your eyes slipped shut again. “God, you’re actually–how long were you out there? How many jumps did you make? Did you hit your head?”

“I don't know,” you finally managed after clearing your throat multiple times.

He pressed the back of his hand to your jaw, and his breath caught. “Your magic’s flaring.”

You opened one eye, and there really were small black and silver slivers of magic twitching around you. Usually, he shouldn’t be able to see them.

“I’m fine,” you whispered.

He didn’t look convinced.

“You’re not. You’re–shit, Y/N.”

You blinked slowly. Your lips moved, but the words didn’t make it out.

“Oh, Y/N. What did you do again, you reckless idiot?" ────────────────────────  The door creaked open with a groan of old wood, and Nicolas stepped through it. You barely registered the warm scent of pine and the old floors. Your limbs hung heavy with exhaustion, head pressing weakly to his chest as your body sagged deeper into him with every step.

Inside, the pack was bustling around. K, still shirtless and wiping dirt off his arms, froze mid-step in the hallway.

“Is that–?”

“Y/N,” Nicolas said, low and quiet. “Fire. Now.”

They moved fast. Someone cracked the hearth open, and others dragged pillows and blankets in from the corner. 

Nicolas knelt in front of the flames and set you down gently on the thickest fur blanket in the room. A heavier one was wrapped around your shoulders a moment later. You blinked slowly, the light from the fire licking at your skin.

Your body suddenly felt like it was on fire. The heat was just too much. It burned on your skin.  

You shivered.

Your skin was too hot, but your bones felt like ice.

“Hot. Nicho, it’s too hot”, you rasped out and tried to sit up. 

“Too hot?” Nicolas’s voice was cautious, his eyes flicking over your trembling body. He touched your wrist. “Y/N, you’re freezing cold. We need to get your core temperature back up.”

You shook your head violently, a tear slipping from the corner of your eye as another shiver wracked through you. The firelight against your skin felt like knives. “It hurts,” you whispered, curling in on yourself. “Please.”

For a moment, he looked like he would argue, torn between instinct and the sight of your pain. Then his jaw set. “Okay.” He slid one arm beneath your knees, the other behind your back, and lifted you again, blankets and all.

The pack parted without a word as he carried you up the creaking stairs. His room was dimmer, quieter, the air cooler than the heat suffocating the main room. He set you down on the bed and crouched low, his hands steady even as his voice softened.

“Your clothes are wet. That’s what’s making it worse,” he said carefully. He tugged gently at the damp fabric sticking to your side. “We need to get this off, yeah?”

You wanted to protest, but another violent shiver rippled through you, stealing the strength from your lips. Your teeth clattered against each other, loud in the silence.

Nicolas pulled the blanket higher around you and coaxed the shirt over your head in quick, efficient motions. The damp fabric hit the floor with a wet slap. You gasped when the air hit your bare skin, goosebumps rising instantly, but he was already pulling a hoodie that was lying next to his bed over your head. 

“The pants too, Y/N.”, he mumbled, gently taking the blanket from your lap to wrap it around your shoulders. You pulled your dirty pants down your legs with trembling hands and let them fall next to the shirt. The pair of joggers Nicho gave you was fluffy on the inside, and it stuck to your clam skin when you pulled them up. 

“There,” he murmured, tucking the blanket back around your shoulders. “Better.”

You weren’t sure if it was or not. The world kept tilting, your stomach rolling, your head pounding with each heartbeat.

Nicolas climbed into his bed behind you, pulling you against his still-naked chest. His warmth was immediate, stronger than any human body heat, and you sank into him. 

The steady rhythm of his heartbeat pressed into your back. He tucked the fur around you both, one broad hand rubbing circles between your shoulder blades.

“This will help,” he murmured into your hair. “Not too much heat all at once.”

Your body still ached, nerves screaming with every temperature change, but the burning lessened. Instead, you could feel his warmth seeping into you slowly, inch by inch, as your shivers rattled against him.

Nicolas bent his head just enough for his breath to ghost against your temple. “Stay with me, Y/N. Don’t fall asleep. Talk to me.”

You swallowed against the dryness in your throat. “About what?”

“Anything,” he said. “Doesn’t matter. Just… don’t close your eyes for too long.” ────────────────────────  Time bled strangely. It felt like you were lying here for days already, when it probably hasn’t even been more than a few hours. You were sleeping for short periods of time, waking up from the stabbing pain in your head and ribs or because Nicolas woke you up. 

You tried to stay awake, but your body wouldn’t obey. 

The door creaked open, and soft steps crossed the room. “Here,” Taki’s voice whispered. A mug clinked against the bedside table. “Tea. Ginger, honey and a lot of sugar. Maybe she can try drinking again?”

“Thanks,” Nicolas said quietly.

You felt him shift, tugging at the blanket. “Let’s try to drink something, Y/N,” he coaxed, voice gentle but insistent. “You need something in your system.”

You grumbled something and buried your face deeper into his chest, taking in his familiar scent. 

“She’s not looking better,” Taki murmured, concern edging into his voice.

“She isn’t getting better,” Nicolas admitted under his breath, one hand gently petting your hair. His jaw was tight when you blinked weakly up at him. “I think it’s her magic. She definitely has a concussion and is hypothermic, but her magic has been pulsing outwards. It feels weird.” 

The steam from the tea curled in the air, fading into nothing while your own breath came in shallow, uneven pulls. Nicolas pressed the mug gently to your lips, but your head lolled, eyes half-closed, body shivering too hard to obey. 

“Y/N,” he urged, voice tight. “Just a sip. Please.”

Your throat wouldn’t open. The tea sloshed back into the cup as he set it down quickly, his free hand cupping your cheek. You could barely feel the warmth of his palm.

“Is she dying?” Taki whispered from the doorway, his face pale.

Nicolas’s head snapped up, his jaw clenched. “No. She just needs more time; everything will be fine.”

You weren’t sure if he was right. Your body was shivering violently against his. You weren’t cold, nor very hot anymore, but your blood was humming with energy, with magic. It was a surreal feeling, and you felt like you were caught in molasses. Every move felt like you had to work against invisible forces pressing in on you from all sides. Your body felt too tight.

When you coughed, the sound was raw and wet, tearing through your chest. It hurt. Sunhoon must have broken a rib or something when he repeatedly threw you around like a ragdoll. 

K appeared in the doorway, standing behind Take. “She’s not stabilising?”

“She doesn’t need–” Nicolas started, then broke off, looking down at you again. Your lashes fluttered weakly against your cheeks when you looked up into his face. Has he always been this pretty? Why was he so pretty? 

“It’s been almost two days, Nicho. She needs help,” K said, sharper this time. “More than we can give her. Either we bring her to a hospital or we get the mudang.”

Silence hung, heavy and suffocating, before Nicolas finally gave the smallest nod. His grip on you tightened.

“Call them,” he said hoarsely. “Get the Soobin. Now.”

Taki was gone in an instant, feet pounding down the stairs. The room fell quiet again except for your ragged breathing. Nicolas leaned down, pressing his lips against your temple. 

“Hold on. Just a little longer. Don’t you dare let go now.” ────────────────────────  Soobin turned out to be another shaman. The colorful hanbok open over his usual daytime clothing. 

“Hi Nicholas,” he stepped into the room and softly closed the door behind him. 

Taki was curled up in his wolf form in front of you on Nicho's bed, while Maki was resting on the floor in front of it. You’ve stretched one hand in his direction to pet his head a while ago and just let it rest on his head, when even that minuscule movement turned out to be exhausting. Your head was hurting in a way it never did before. The pain started underneath your jawline, up to the top of your head, pulsating, humming. Moving your neck in the slightest, your upper body made the room spin in circles and black spots appear all over your field of vision, so you were just standing in that position, three werewolves curled around you. 

Maki's head moved in the direction of the door, lifting your hand in the process, making your eyes move towards the door. 

“Hello, Soobin. Thanks for coming”, Nicholas mumbled from behind you, shifting slightly to sit up. 

“What have you done, Nicholas?” Soobin asked when he knelt next to the two wolves. Taki growled weakly when he reached out to touch your face. He didn’t seem to mind and carefully touched your forehead. His hand was cool against your hot skin. 

“Nothing. I haven’t done anything”, Nicholas said, clicking his tongue. “You have to ask Sunghoon what they did to her. She was running from him when we found her.” Soobin hummed, and his hand moved towards your jawline, pressing into the pulsating spot underneath your ear. Pain shot up from where the tips of his finger touched your skin, and you gasped, moving your head to the side to escape his touch, only for the whole room to start spinning. 

“I’ve heard what happened”, Soobin said and tilted his head to the side. “Y/N, I’ll try something to figure out what’s going on. It might be a bit painful, but I need you to stay still, okay.”

“Don’t,” you whispered, throat raw. 

“Relax,” he murmured, and you wanted to scream because you couldn’t.

You tried to shift again. Tried to crawl back. Tried anything.

But Soobin was quicker than you, and you felt his magic flare up, a warm, honey-like stream of warmth gliding down your neck to your chest, where your magic responded with an almost brutal outburst of energy. 

You shuddered beneath him, not in pain, but in relief. His magic felt so good against your core, so warm. Soobin hissed through his teeth and yanked his hand back like it burned him.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Nicolas grabbed his shoulder. “What? What’s shit? What’s going on?”

“Her core is fractured. Her magic is feeding on itself,” Soobin said, standing quickly. “Her body wouldn't be able to handle that in a healthy state, and looking at her right now, she looks like she is about to pass out from a fever.”

“Then help her,” Nicholas demanded.

“I can’t. Not here.” Soobin’s eyes locked onto you again. “She needs to be with the other half of the anchor.”

“What anchor?” Nicho snapped.

“You know what she is.” Soobin’s voice was suddenly very quiet. “You have to. She’s a Gyunhyongsin host. And that means–”

“She’s not going anywhere,” Nicolas cut in, voice sharp with fury.

Soobin didn’t tear his gaze away from your face, scanning it over and over again. “If her bond doesn’t settle soon, her body is going to burn itself out trying to carry the magic alone. She’s clearly the weaker side of the bond. When I last talked to Yeonjun, he said Sunoo was fine.”

The room went dead silent.

You wanted to scream.

To say you didn’t want to go. 

But your mouth wouldn’t work.

Your vision blurred, black static lining the edges. Whatever Soobin has done has made everything worse.

And all at once, the shadows in the room surged, rising in smoke like tendrils. They curled along the floor, pulsing to a slow beat.

One.

Two.

Three.

Like a second heartbeat.

Nicolas swore and backed away from the walls. Maki stared at you, his ears at attention. Taki whined from beside you, pressing his warm body against your side.

“I think,” Nicolas said, voice shaking. “I think you’re right. She’s not stable.”

“No,” you croaked.

Soobin turned to you, surprised. You blinked once. 

“Don’t–don’t want to go,” you whispered. “Not again. It hurts.”

His face shifted slightly.

“I know,” he said softly. “But if we wait, it won’t just hurt. It’ll kill you.”

Nicolas didn’t speak as he picked you up, one arm under your knees, the other bracing your back.

You stirred slightly in his hold, brow furrowing when the warm blanket slipped from your shoulders.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, almost too soft to hear.

You didn’t respond, accepting that you had no other way of surviving than going back to the vampires and that creepy vault. ────────────────────────  You were chained down. Again.

But this time the chains actually burned.

No, not only the chains burned. Everything burned.

Your wrists felt flayed where the cuffs dug in. Your chest was splitting apart, as if every breath was both too much and not enough. You felt your magic rushing through your bloodstream, trying to find a way out. Trying to tear through you to get there.

It wanted out. Now.

You tried to give it space, to let it flow out of your system like you did hundreds of times before. But whatever contained you to the floor was not letting you use any magic. The bindings drank your magic like a sponge, and every second that passed, the world blurred at the edges.

The floor you were lying on was rough against your back, and the air tasted stale.

They brought you into one of the caves in the mountains, hoping the magic in there was able to help whatever was happening. 

There were only a few places like this in the sacred grounds. Hidden deep in the bones of the mountains, carved out long before any human nation existed. 

Your eyes flicked toward the runes glowing faintly at your wrists, the chains humming with suppressed magic. The air was thick with it, old magic. Your breathing picked up again.

Nicholas allowed them to bring you here.

Nicholas brought you here.

Nicho.

Nicho thought you were dangerous. 

You were. You knew that. You’d seen what you’d done. The way the shadows had leapt from your skin. How it almost killed thrice today. You knew if it wanted to, it would. 

But it never touched Nicho. Never. You would never. He knew that. Didn’t he?

You were breathing too fast. Or maybe not at all.

Your vision swam, and the stone walls of the cave twisted and bent in strange directions, the glowing runes flashing in nauseating rhythm. You tried to close your eyes,  but behind your lids was just light.

White.

Gold.

Burning.

Panic curled up in your throat. You gasped against the weight of it.

You barely registered the sound of boots echoing down the tunnel. 

“Is she awake?” You barely registered the voice echoing down the tunnel.

“Barely,” a familiar voice replied quietly. K. He sounded strained. Tired. “She’s burning through the seal faster than Soobin predicted.”

“She needs to stabilise her magic. Quickly.” Another voice.

“She needs to get out of here,” K snapped. “Look at her.”

You couldn’t focus enough to lift your head or do anything particular aside from trying not to panic, but your heart rate spiked up the more consciousness you gained. 

Why was it hurting so much?

Where was the Gyunhyongsin? 

Why were you feeling so much? 

“I think she’s having a panic attack,” K said, more quietly. 

There was a rustle of cloth, and then K crouched down beside you. He didn’t touch you. But his voice was closer, softer than the others. “Hey. Hey, Y/Nie. Can you hear me?”

You choked on a sound that clawed its way up. Your throat burned, but your eyes cleared a bit, and you were able to make out K’s worried face and Yeonjun's looming creature behind him. 

“You really wanted to bring that thing to our villa again. She is dangerous. I warned you, K. You should have just given her back to me, and I would have ended this before it even started,” Sunghoon appeared next to Yeonjun, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You flinched back, further away from him.  

K almost growled. „I‘ve seen her use whatever magic is in her, and she never hurt any of us.“

You didn’t hear whatever Sunghoon answered over the sound of your own heartbeat that suddenly increased tenfold. Your magic – or the Gyunhyongsins' magic? – roared in your veins, too much for your body to handle. Your human body wasn’t made to keep in the dark magic, only to redirect it.

You tried to lean into it, to let it flow out of your limbs in those creepy shadow tendrils you learned to perfect over the years. 

It wanted out. 

You wanted it out. 

Just anything to stop the pain.

But whatever magic they used in the seals wouldn’t let you. You couldn’t move, no matter how much you tried. 

The chains burned.

A quiet sob ripped its way out of your mouth, and all three supernatural sets of eyes focused back on you. 

K’s breath hitched, and he was about to touch you, but stopped when he realised he shouldn’t touch whatever magic was swirling around you right now. “We need to do something.”

“We can’t break the circle,” Yeonjun said. “Not until she stabilises. She might die if we try.”

“Good,” Sunghoon said darkly. “Let her.”

K turned his head sharply. “Die?”

“She’s already dying,” the vampire shrugged, “her heart seems to be giving out any minute now.”

Your head rolled to the side, hair plastered to your sweat-slick face, to look at him. Stupid prick. Who did he think you were? You weren’t about to just die on a random cold cave floor, no matter how strong their magic was. You survived having cancer; this was nothing compared to chemotherapy.

Where was that stupid Gyunhyongsin? Why was it so quiet? In the 6 years of it being inside you, it never pulled back so much. 

“Yeonjun, do something,” K said, and this time his voice cracked.

Your eyes shot to K’s face. He looked so worried and, quite frankly, a bit panicked. None of the other two answered him, and for a few long seconds, the only sound in the cave was your harsh breathing. 

“I’ll call Soobin,” Yeonjun finally said. “Tell him the wards are failing. Maybe he found something we can do to save her.” ────────────────────────  You didn’t know how long it had been since the voices faded. But you felt a familiar pressure in the back of your head and almost cried out in relief. 

It was back. 

And within seconds, you felt your panic ebb away, replaced by the unnatural calmness that came with being a host to a Gyunhyongsin. 

The moment it took over the chains burned brighter, as if they realised that the true creature they were meant to hold down finally emerged. The runes flared up once, but the soft glow didn’t stop. 

Darkness snapped around your body like a second skin, the wall of the caves bleeding shadows that had no source. 

The firelight that illuminated the cave in that strange, bright light was swallowed first, snuffed out like a breath extinguishing a candle. 

Then the glow of the runes.

The chains cracked.

Not broke. Cracked. Like old bone under too much pressure.

And then they shattered.

Magic exploded in every direction as the runes ripped apart, unravelling beneath you like threads.

It moved your arms and legs, shaking off the pieces of the chains and stood up. You felt the cold stone floor under your naked feet and how your legs shook in exhaustion, but it didn’t stop. It shook your head as if trying to shake off the dizziness, making everything worse and huffing out a breath, steadying itself against one of the walls. 

You felt your lungs expand as it took a deep breath, and when it exhaled, the stone walls trembled. Dust sifted from the ceiling like falling ash onto the floor.

Your head shot up when frantic and rushed footsteps echoed down the tunnel that led towards you. You could hear them before the light returned.

A sliver of firelight tore into the room as the heavy wooden door slammed open.

Sunghoon.

He stared at you, blade drawn, glowing faintly with defensive sigils. 

Yeonjun and K came stumbling in behind him. But neither of them made it far.

The creature moved your hand, stretching it out towards the three men, and before you could scream at it to stop it, all the magic that was boiling within your veins moved towards them.

The tendrils made a grabbing-like motion for them, and before they could react, they were enveloped in darkness and lifted off the floor. Within milliseconds, their faces went from angry, frightened and worried to what you would consider neutral or almost calm. The shadow around Sunghoon pulsated with more vigour than the ones around the other two men. 

The Gyunhyongsin took another deep breath and lowered your hand, shaking it.

You, or the thing inside you, turned toward the men again. It opened your mouth: „Anchor.“ 

Its voice resembled a growl more than any humanoid sounds you could have made, but it seemingly made its point. 

Yeonjun’s throat bobbed. He tried to move his mouth again, tried to speak through whatever was holding him locked in place. The creature tilted your head to the side with agonising slowness toward Yeonjun. Just barely.

A croak freed itself from the witch's mouth. „Sunoo.“

The Gyunhyongsin nodded your head, seemingly satisfied that Yeonjun understood.

„Here,“ it growled again.

„I-I-We we can get him here.“, Yeonjun stammered, sounding out of breath. 

The creature nodded your head again and reeled the shadows back in.

Sunghoon made a sound, baring his teeth the second the shadows pulled back slightly, and the Gyunhyongsin moved your head so fast your body got whiplash. The shadows around the Vampire tightened again, and there was a flash of panic in his eyes. 

His eyes then suddenly darted towards the door, and you only then realised the new set of hurried footsteps that were coming in the cave behind the three men.

The creature didn’t even react, keeping your eyes locked onto Sunghoon's body. 

“Nicholas, don’t-!” Yeonjun managed, voice strained.

Nicolas burst into the chamber, eyes wild, hair wind-whipped and damp with sweat. Behind him, EJ followed, looking similarly dishevelled. 

Nicholas didn’t listen to Yeonjun and walked past his Alpha and the two other men, coming towards you. The shadows seemed to completely ignore him. He didn’t even stop when your head turned in a way that wasn’t quite human. He came to a halt when he was standing directly in front of you, tentatively trying to reach out. When the creature didn’t seem to disapprove, Nicholas carefully cradled your face into his hands. They were so warm.

“Y/N.”, he said with a calm voice, his fingers shaking slightly against your hot cheeks. 

The shadows stopped moving, froze halfway up his leg.

“Y/N,” Nicolas said again, softer this time. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

The creature took in a deep breath, and you swear it rolled your eyes in annoyance. 

“Come on, girl. Fight your way outta there,” Nicolas said again, eyes locked on yours, on whatever was behind them. “Let her come back.”

For a second, everything was too still.

Then the shadows sighed and pulled back.

The Gyunhyongsin pulled back into its corner of your mind, and you almost cried out in protest. As long as it was in control, you couldn't feel pain. Or, well, not directly. 

But now it came back with full force. 

The places where the chakels touched your skin was burning. Your magic felt scraped out of your bones, and your head was pounding so hard your vision blurred. You were shivering and sweating. Burning up and freezing from the inside out.

Your legs gave out, and you stumbled into Nicholas.

You collapsed against his chest, your fists curling into his hoodie, breath coming in shallow, shuddering gasps. “Nicho–I didn’t– I’m not–”

“I know.” His voice was softer than breath against your temple, while he guided you to sit on the cold floor again. “I know, Y/N. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

EJ moved to kneel beside you, his voice pitched low. “Can you try releasing the others?”

You blinked and realised that the room was still engulfed in the unnatural darkness your shadows brought with it. Sunghoon's figure was almost completely engulfed in darkness, while K and Yeonjun were suspended by just a few tendrils of darkness. A few of them were even wrapping around EJ and Nicholas.

You drew in one more shaking breath.

And finally let go.

It felt like the pend up pressure in your body snapped, and the light returned to the room with a blinding force. 

And in that moment, all you could do was bury your face in the curve of Nicolas’s shoulder.

The silence barely lasted five seconds before it shattered.

“You saw what she did,” Sunghoon spat, his voice sharp enough to cut. His eyes glowed faintly, still bloodshot from the Gyunhyongsin hold. “Don’t tell me you’re still pretending this thing is human.”

You flinched.

“Stop it,” Nicolas growled, arms tightening around you protectively. “She’s not a thing.”

“Then what is she supposed to be?” Sunghoon snarled. “Whatever she did just now. It touched my magical core!”

You didn’t touch his magical core. The Gyunhyongsin did. And it gave back. It gave Sunghoon all the magic you took earlier back, balancing out your magical core in the process. 

You tried to take a deep breath in, but your lungs rattled, and instead of defending yourself, the only thing your body was able to do was to cough, heavy, deep coughs that shook your whole frame. 

Nicholas cursed and tried to steady your shaking form while EJ removed his jacket and draped it over her figure. 

“She touched my core as well,” K retorted, “but she didn’t drain me and neither did she drain you.”

“It-I’m-It gave back.”, you forced out, “whatever-” a cough interrupted you, ” it took in the vault.” 

Sunghoon’s mouth twitched, his jaw clenching. “It shouldn’t have taken any magic in the first place.” 

He took a step forward.

In an instant, the Gyunhyongsin surged just beneath your skin, and your head lifted sharply toward him. You felt the whites of your eyes vanish into black.

Nicholas’s grip shifted fast, one arm curling fully around your back, the other bracing your head. “Stop,” he barked at Sunghoon, low and dangerous. “Back off.”

“Or what?” Sunghoon’s voice was quieter now, but it had lost none of its threat. “You think you can shield her from that thing?”

Nicholas didn’t answer.

Instead, his hold on you grew firmer. The Gyunhyongsin shifted inside you again, unsettled by the tension and ready to reach out in case someone's emotions took over. Your body twitched, and your hand spasmed with the pull of shadow.

Sunghoon’s fangs dropped.

Nicholas bared his own teeth in return.

“You don’t touch her,” Nicolas said, voice vibrating with fury. “Not unless you want to deal with me next.”

K held a hand out between them, his voice urgent. “Both of you, stop. It won’t help anyone if you kill each other.”

Both of them kept staring at each other, seemingly listening to K but not really content with not killing each other. 

You tried to breathe through the ache. You needed it to stop. You needed something to stop.

Your eyes snapped to the black smear of shadows still wrapped around Sunghoon’s boots.

“Anchor,” the creature's voice reverberated through your head, and you flinched at the sudden sound. 

“It wants Sunoo”, your voice sounded more stable than you felt. 

Sunghoon laughed. A sound with no joy, only disgust. “You’re a fool if you think we would allow you near him after what you did in the vault.”

“I didn’t… mean to,” you breathed. “Please. I just…need…”

Honestly, you didn’t really know what you needed, but considering the Gyunhyongsin asked for Sunoo repeatedly at this point, you guessed his magic could help even out the mess that was your magical core right now.

“No.” Sunghoon stepped closer. “You don’t get out of this cave. You don’t get near him. You don’t get to lie your way out again.”

Your whole body shrank against Nicolas as the cave’s shadows stirred faintly, responding to your rising panic. You weren’t supposed to feel panic. What was the Gyunhyongsin doing?

“She’s not lying,” Nicolas said, low and dangerous now. “And if you come closer, I’ll ignore K’s command.”

K stepped between them before anyone could move. “Enough,” he turned towards Yeonjun, who was watching you intently, “do you have any idea what to do? Where is Soobin?” 

Yeonjun tentatively took a step closer, and when he realised that no one saw him as a threat, he crossed the room in three quick strides to kneel next to you and Nicholas. 

“I am not sure,” he said quietly, “Y/N. Can I touch you? I promise it won’t hurt, but I want to see what your magical core is doing. If you’re safe enough to be brought out of the mountains.”

You swallowed but nodded weakly, bracing yourself in case it did hurt, but Yeonjun's hand only felt warm against your temple. You almost signed when his magic touched yours. 

After a few seconds, he pulled his hand back. “I think we should try bringing Sunoo here.” 

Sunghoon turned to him. “You can’t be serious.”

“She’s unstable,” Yeonjun said flatly. “Not dangerously, but if whatever is in her asks for Suoo, repeatedly, we might just try and get him here. I have no clue how to contain her, and rather than her and the thing kill us while trying to get to Sunoo, why don’t we try bringing her to him?” 

“And then what?” Sunghoon growled, and Nichoas's head shot in his direction. 

“Then we do whatever we need to figure out what to do with this mess.” 

You shuddered involuntarily. 

“Can we go somewhere warm?” EJ asked while he wrapped his jacket closer around your body. 

“What would you recommend?” Yeonjun asked, “We can’t go to your house, you would never let a vampire in, I don’t want to bring her close to other humans, so our flat and wherever she lives is definitely not an option.”

Sunghoon’s mouth tightened. His eyes burned as they met yours and then wandered to Yeonjun. „You want us to take that thing in?“ 

„Considering that all we know this ‚thing‘ is bound to one of you anyway. I don’t know much about whatever is going on, but I know if two magical creatures bond in any way, they should be close. And I don’t think Sunoo would appreciate being in this cave for a longer time than necessary.“ Yeonjun shrugged and stood up again, his tall frame towering over Nicholas and you.

Before Sunghoon could answer, K interrupted him: “We have a warded hut in the woods, an old lookout of the pack. We can bring her there, and all of us can stay in there to keep an eye on her and Sunoo. I don’t want Y/N alone with vampires.”

Yeonjun nodded and looked at you. “Can you stand?”

You shook your head. Your legs were shaking from exhaustion. 

“It’s fine, I’ll carry her.” Nicholas shifted you in his arms and stood up, careful not to jostle you too much. 

“I’ll get Sunoo then,” Sunghoon grumbled, turned around, and before anyone could stop him, he was gone, disappearing in a blur of speed.

“Great,” you mumbled and rested your head on Nicholas's shoulder. 

“We can take my car,” Yeonjun said a few seconds after, breaking the silence. “I didn’t feel like walking through the woods while it was snowing like this.”

“I’ll tell the rest of the pack what's going on,” K walked over to you and Nicholas, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, “you scared the shit out of us, Y/N. I had to command Taki to go home; he wouldn’t leave your side.” 

“Mhm,” you said, closing your eyes, “I am his favourite, what can I say?”

EJ snorted behind K, and you felt the rumble of laughter coming from Nicho's chest. 

You’d always imagined the tunnels ran deep beneath the mountain, but after only a few unsteady steps and what couldn’t have been more than five minutes, you were spilling out into blinding white.

Snow fell in thick, wind-whipped sheets, tumbling sideways through the air. The clouds above were heavy, a deep iron-grey that swallowed the horizon. 

The cold cut through you instantly. Your skin prickled as the wind bit down to the bone, and within seconds, your teeth were clattering against each other, your whole body wracked with violent shivers.

“We’re almost there, Y/N,” Nicho pressed you closer to his warm body. 

You just nodded and buried your face into his chest, taking in the familiar smell of his perfume. 

K changed into his wolf form and darted away while Yeonjun, EJ, Nicho, and you continued your way down towards a stretch of dirt which was used as a road. 

Yeonjun opened the door to the backseat. 

Nicholas set you down in the car, crawling in behind you and pressed his chest against your back. EJ opened the door on the opposite side and sat down, so you were sandwiched between two unnaturally hot people. 

The witch started the engine and drove along the uneven path deeper into the woods, following EJ's directions. 

“Nicho,” you said, closing your eyes and curling into him.

“Mhm?”, he hummed and brushed through your hair, the tips of his fingers softly grazing your scalp.

“I haven’t started on my essay for my politics class yet,” you huffed out against his collarbones.

He snorted and shook his head, his hand momentarily stopping his ministrations. “That’s what you’re worried about right now? Not the fact you almost died multiple times?”

You nodded weakly against his chest. “I don’t want to fail. I’d rather die than fail.” 

“You won’t die,” he said and pressed you closer to his chest. “We’ll figure out what is wrong, and you won’t die.”

His hand shook lightly when he resumed brushing knots from your hair.  ────────────────────────  The hut, as K called it, turned out to be a small house on the edge of the pack's territory.

The woods around you were a swirl of grey and white, trees stripped bare, snow piling thick on the low roof. Smoke curled gently from the chimney.

Yeonjun parked behind a set of paw prints that led straight to the front door. Nicholas opened the front door and didn’t even stop to peel his dirty shoes off before carrying you to the living room. 

The room was small but warm. Taki, Jo, and Maki sat on the floor near the hearth, tense and quiet, their heads snapping toward you the moment you entered.

Taki was on his feet before Nicolas even reached the couch.

“Y/N,” he breathed, already moving toward you, but K caught his arm.

“Give her space.”

Nicholas crouched and gently set you down on the sofa, adjusting a worn blanket over your body as your limbs gave a violent shiver. The warmth from the fire helped, but not enough. Your skin still burned and froze in waves, your magic flickering like a broken fuse.

EJ stepped in and closed the door behind him and Yeonjun, locking it. 

“How are you?” Jo asked softly.

“She’s dying,” Yeonjun said without turning. 

“Lies,” you rasped out. “I am feeling peachy, Jo. You are just a teeny tiny bit blurry. And I’m cold. But aside from that, I am feeling peachy.”

Nicholas softly hit your head. “Shut up, Y/N. You’re pale like a sheet of paper and shivering. Peachy is something different.”

You gave him a weak smile. But before you could answer, a loud knock interrupted you. 

Nicolas immediately tensed, Taki froze, and Maki sat up straighter.

K moved to the door and opened it slowly. 

Sunghoon, Sunoo and two other vampires were standing in the doorway.

All of them were snow-dusted, their expressions taut and unreadable. Sunoo was at the front, eyes already locked on you before he even stepped over the threshold. 

“You gonna invite us in?” one of the vampires asked lightly, but his voice was tight.

K stared at them for a second, then glanced back at you, at your shaking form, the sweat on your brow despite the cold, your eyes that were slipping in and out of focus. Then he let out a low, exhausted sigh.

“Fuck it. Whatever helps.”

He stepped back.

“Come in.”

The moment Sunoo crossed the threshold, your breath caught.

The creature stirred, and you felt it pressing on the imaginary wall in your subconsciousness that separated the two of you. 

Heat rippled through your chest, chased instantly by a wave of nausea and cold.

You closed your eyes to try to swallow the feeling, and when you tried to open them, the Gyunhyongsin had already pressed you back into your corner of your consciousness. 

It watched for a second as Sunoo tentatively moved closer to the sofa, tightening your muscles like a predator about to strike. When he was close enough, your body shot up, one of your hands wrapping around Sunoo's arm. Sunoo’s eyes widened. “Wait–”

But it was too late.

Within seconds, the shadows were moving towards Sunoo’s body, engulfing his body in darkness, and you didn’t even have time to realise what it was doing. Sunoo and you moved through the darkness.

You hit the frozen earth.

Snow crunched beneath your knees, your bare palms scraping against ice. Trees surrounded you in every direction. 

“What the hell?!” Sunoo’s voice cracked through the clearing. He stumbled backwards, brushing melting snow off his coat, shadows still flickering faintly at his boots like static that hadn’t discharged. “Why would you touch me?”

Sunoo backed away another step, hand twitching toward the dagger at his hip.

Your knees buckled before you could answer him, and the shadows thrashed outward in every direction, slamming into nearby trees, cracking bark, turning snow into a swirl of black mist. Birds shrieked and burst from the canopy above.

Sunoo stared at you, chest rising and falling, the panic now plain on his face.

Your knees sank into the snow, legs crumpling beneath you as the last of the shadow pulse recoiled.

The woods were deathly quiet.

Sunoo stood a few paces away, chest rising and falling too fast, mist curling from his mouth in uneven bursts. 

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but the Gyunhyongsin was faster.

“Closer.”

Sunoo flinched. You reached toward him.

Or rather, it did.

Your hand lifted without permission, fingers twitching in the air, shadows curling faintly from your knuckles like smoke grasping for something. 

Sunoo staggered back a step. “Don’t–don’t do that.”

Your body moved slowly, staniding up, taking a step towards him. When your hand reached his shoulder, and for a split second, your magic stilled. His core, raw and bright, brushed yours.

And something inside you sighed.

It was like exhaling after hours underwater.

But Sunoo didn’t look soothed at all.

His expression twisted.

And then he shoved his hands under your knees and behind your back, lifting you into his arms in one quick, rough motion.

“Fuck this,” he muttered. “I’m not standing in the middle of the woods waiting for you to explode again.

The wind bit into your face as he moved faster than your eyes could keep up with. ──────────────────────

Jake was the first one to see you.

He froze mid-step, expression dropping like stone. “Sunoo?”

Within seconds, a second figure appeared in the doorway.

“What the fuck–” he started, but stopped cold when he saw you lying limp in Sunoo’s arms, magic pulsing out of your skin in threads.

“What did she do?” he said, not to you but to Sunoo.

“She’s burning up,” Sunoo bit back. “She beamed us into the woods.”

Your head lolled back as the world spun in slow circles around the white sky.

“She’s bleeding magic,” one of them said, sounding almost fascinated.

“I need to bring her inside,” Sunoo said, tone flat. “Now.”

“Are you insane?” Jake spat. “You want to drag that thing back into the house?”

“I don’t care.” Sunoo’s voice was hard now. “You don’t like it, tell the stupid thing inside her. It wouldn’t let me get further away than a few steps.”

Jake just opened the door further, and the three vampires stepped aside.

Sunoo laid you down gently on a bed in a room colder than it should have been after he walked through the gigantic villa the vampires lived in. The curtains were drawn, but light bled through the heavy fabric.

You blinked up at the carved ceiling beams.

“Why are there so many rooms?” you mumbled.

Sunoo paused, halfway to pulling the blanket over you. “That’s your only problem right now?”

“No,” you whispered, closing your eyes. “I’m cold. And I have a headache. And I’m warm. And– I think I’m dying. You should just let me die.”

Your voice cracked halfway through.

“Fever,” he said simply, after a beat. “You’ve got a high one.” There was a long silence. You thought he had left the room, but then you heard the shift of fabric. You rolled halfway onto your back just in time to see Sunoo bite into his wrist.

Your stomach twisted.

“No.” “What?” he asked, hand hovering in the air between you, his blood collecting around the bite. “I don’t want your blood.” “But it will help you feel better?” He leaned forward, holding out his wrist, blood welling up. You recoiled. “No, seriously, I don’t–I don’t want to be addicted to that shit,” you hissed. “Oh my God,” he groaned. “You’re burning up, and you’ll pass out again if I don’t fix it. Your little guard dog will kill me if anything happens. And then you’ll die, and whatever that thing is will have to search for someone different, and everyone else will die. So just drink it.”

“I’ll pass out anyway. Let me just sleep through the fever,” you argued weakly. “Exactly. Might as well make it less dramatic.” You shook your head again. And that’s when Sunoo’s voice dropped. “Y/N.” You blinked at him. “Look at me.” Your eyes lifted, reluctantly. His pupils were dilated. “You’re going to drink. And then you’ll sleep until we wake you up or you feel better.” The moment your gaze locked fully with his, your breathing slowed. And your thoughts felt… fogged. Your arms felt like lead, and your thoughts were loose threads. You were so tired. When he moved his wrist toward your mouth again, you didn’t resist.

You hated that the blood was warm. Hated that you started gulping it down almost immediately. Hated how your stomach immediately stopped churning, and how the cold in your bones ebbed away almost instantly. You pulled back before he could move. He stared at you for a second, watching. “See?” he murmured. “Not so bad.” “Fuck you,” you whispered hoarsely, settling back against the pillow. But your body sank deeper into the mattress. Your eyelids fluttered. “Mmhm,” he said, pulling the blanket over you. “Save the thank-you for when you don’t feel like roadkill.”

You let out a weak huff, already half-asleep. ──────────────────────── The room was dim when you woke up again. You took a deep breath in, noticing that breathing came easier now. Your lungs felt better, and the pounding in your head had stopped. You sat up slowly, noticing you weren’t alone in the room. Sunoo was sitting in an armchair just opposite the bed. “Oh. You’re awake.” “How long was I sleeping?”, your voice was rough from disuse.  “Almost 15 hours.”, Sunghoon answered from the corner of the room. “You broke out of the vault and the caves. Those places were built to hold things like you. I’m surprised you woke up at all.” You blinked. “Things like me?” He shrugged, almost uninterested. “You melted ancient containment runes. That’s not normal, and I don’t know what you are, so yeah, things like you.“

You hummed a bit and tilted your head towards Sunoo. “Guess that makes you one of those things too now.” Before he could reply, you let your magic stretch, just a little. One long, shadowy tendril slid across the floor like mist and brushed against his ankle. Sunoo jolted, eyes snapping down, but the shadow had already curled around his leg, up toward his hip in a lazy loop before coiling softly across his chest like a sleepy cat. He stared at you. “This is somehow really creepy.” You grinned faintly, too tired to hold it for long. “You don’t seem to mind.” “I didn’t say that.” He reached up and tapped the shadow draped over his collarbone. “It’s just… weird. I think I should be scared, but somehow I’m not.”

“It does that. The Gyunhyongsin,” you murmured, gaze sliding shut again. “You’ll get used to it.” “That’s the most terrifying thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he muttered. For a second, neither of you said anything. You just stared at the tendrils as they pulsed faintly. His magic was brighter now, clearer somehow. You could feel it; your magic felt drawn to his. You inhaled slowly. Then, quietly, almost absently, your magic reached deeper. Sunoo flinched. You felt something crack, and Sunoo screamed. A sharp, guttural sound ripped from his throat as he doubled over, hands clawing at his chest. His magic pulsed erratically, ribbons of pure, ancient energy threading into your body. Before you even realised what was happening, you slammed into the far wall. All of the air in your lungs was forced out as you crumbled to the floor. 

Sunghoon stood between you and Sunoo, his red eyes glowing, and fangs out. “Would you stop trying to kill Sunoo, if we have to keep you alive. I promise, if anything happens to him, I don’t care about you being an anchor, you will die,” he snarled. You tried to sit up, failed, and then everything went very, very still. The Gyunhyongsin surfaced. Not fully. Not visually. But its power rolled through the room like a pressure wave.  Sunghoon’s anger ebbed first. His posture loosened, his shoulders unlocking. Sunoo’s pain seemingly dulled. His breathing evened out a bit.

The shadows curled gently away from both of them. You pressed a hand to your temple, bile rising. Your head spun. “Fuck,” you choked out. You had to furiously blink your eyes to get them to focus. You probably had another concussion.  Great. Seems like Sunghoon's favourite pastime was throwing you around. Sunghoon looked furious but uncertain. His eyes were darting from Sunoo to you and back.

Sunoo was still breathing hard, but he nodded, staggering closer to you, his hand catching your arm and pulling you up, the touch immediately calming the magic that was buzzing around the two of you. You gave him a watery, apologetic look. “I didn’t know it would hurt you. I’m sorry,” you whispered and grasped Sunoo’s arm. The whole room was spinning.  Sunoo didn’t answer right away. “Yeah. Well. Magic’s a bitch. Turning into a vampire is also supposed to not hurt, and I still thought it was horrible.” “I think I have a concussion,” you said, your eyes still not focusing, “my head hit the wall pretty hard.”  You weren’t sure when the door had opened again. You only knew there were footsteps, sure and quick, and a calm voice cut through the haze.

“I think you do,” the vampire said, crouching near where Sunoo still steadied you. His voice wasn’t sharp like Jay’s or cold like Sunghoon’s; it was… almost gentle.  “I’m Jungwon,” he said. “Would you be alright if I gave you some more blood?” You didn’t hesitate. You just nodded. You were too tired to be proud. And if you got addicted, who cares? Maybe that wasn’t a true thing. Humans invented a lot of fantastical story telling around actual facts. You just were so sick of being in pain. Jungwon offered his wrist, and the moment your lips closed around his skin, you tasted the difference. His blood was colder than Sunoo’s. Not temperature-wise but spiritually. It felt different. But it still burned down your throat with heat. Your stomach curled gratefully around it. Something inside your chest loosened. Bone knit. Veins stopped screaming.

You leaned back slowly once it was done, panting a little, blinking to clear the fuzz from your eyes. Sunoo hadn’t moved much. He was breathing shallowly, clearly still recovering. You felt his magic in your veins now. Your core has never been this calm before. It felt controlled, the pressure behind your ribs where it usually swirled around disappearing.  Then Jungwon’s voice came again, quiet, soothing. “That worked well, didn’t it?” he said, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. You turned your head slightly, eyes half-lidded. “It stopped hurting.” “Good.” He smiled faintly, tone even.

Jungwon’s gaze held yours a second too long. “Y/N, how much do you know about the Gyunhyongsin?” You blinked, slowly. Your thoughts were too heavy, your tongue too slow. “Not… not much.” It wasn’t a lie, not entirely. You didn’t know too much, enough, but not too much. “Hmm,” Jungwon murmured thoughtfully. “But you seem to know what’s going on pretty well?“ You swallowed. “I found books. I… I just wanted to understand. What it wanted. What I was becoming.” “And did you?” he asked, voice smooth, almost kind. “Do you understand now?”

“I… I understand enough.” “Enough to be afraid?” he asked, brushing his fingers lightly against your temple. You barely felt the touch, but your eyelids fluttered shut for a second. You nodded, small and weak. “Mhm,” he murmured. "Can you tell me a bit more? So we know what we are dealing with? So we can try helping you and Sunoo?" Your mouth opened, then shut. You clenched your jaw. The Gyunhyongsin stirred faintly, like it knew what he was doing but wasn’t stopping it. Watching, maybe. His hand came up again, fingers brushing the edge of your jaw, featherlight, like a leaf brushing against your skin.

“Tell me what you learned, Y/N. Answer all of my questions truthfully.” You tried to shake your head. But your mouth moved instead. “I’m an Anchor,” you heard yourself say. “Bound to a Gyunhyongsin. It exists to preserve the boundary between the human world and the supernatural.” “When did it pick you?”, the vampire asked.  “Six years ago. I was dying when it came,” your voice was weirdly calm, when you answered his question. Jungwon’s eyes didn’t blink. “You were dying? Is that why you’re struggling so much right now?”

“I was sick. Cancer. Stage four,” your breath hitched, and you braced yourself for the pain that usually came when you talked about the creature, but the words kept going, unravelling from your throat, “I wasn’t supposed to make it.” Jungwon was quiet, waiting for you to continue. “And then… it came,” you whispered. “The Gyunhyongsin. It didn’t heal me. It just… replaced the dying part? I don’t really know.” “So you will die if it finds a better host?” Junwon asked “Yes.” Jungwon studied your face for another beat. Then, almost gently asked:

“Where are the books?”

You were barely holding onto the thread of conversation now. “Nicolas has some,” you said softly. “But most… are in my flat.” “Which ones matter?” You exhaled, eyes fluttering. “The flat.” „Mhm,“ he hummed, letting his fingers graze along your jawline, holding it up slightly so you were still looking in his red eyes, unable to break the spell, „how much do the wolves know? Or is it just Nicholas?“ „Not much,“ you said, your head felt so woozy. „Oh, why?“The vampire crooked his head to the side, never breaking eye contact.

“Nicho can’t know I will die. So no one of them can know.”, you murmured. “Isn’t he your boyfriend?” Jungwon asked, tilting his head slightly. “He’s an Alpha, right? Don’t they usually bond young?” Your eyes stayed on his, wide and glassy. You couldn’t even think on your own. “He wanted me to be,” you said simply. “He asked. “And?” You blinked slowly. “I said no.” “Why?”

“Because I’m going to die,” you murmured. “He’s supposed to find someone who builds a life with him. Who stays. Who lives beside him until they’re old and slow and safe. ” He hummed again, soft and satisfied. “You love him.” “Yes.” Jungwon nodded and disappeared, moving faster than your human eyes could track. Your heart stuttered when you realised what had just happened. They couldn’t know more. They would kill you. Your eyes snapped to Sunoo, who was still slumped, jaw clenched in pain.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, trying not to show your panic. He blinked at you. Just once. You reached out slowly, palm hovering over his chest. “Please… I’ll fix this.” You didn't wait for his answer, nor for Sunghoon to move to stop you. You closed your eyes and focused on the magic you felt coursing through his veins, trying to pull in as much of the warm, guey sensation as you could.  He gasped. 

Your fingers curled at the sound, but the magic ignited in your spine, your ribs, your throat. You didn’t stop to think about what you were about to do, and let darkness swallow you. The first jump was back into the forest, close to the villa. You knew if you were running, jumping would be easier, so you turned away from the villa and ran as fast as you could, jumping through the darkness of the woods. After a few minutes, as you staggered, clutching the wall of a building you didn’t immediately recognise. A few seconds passed.  You were close.  Near your apartment complex, if the crooked lamppost and the chipped paint on the corner deli meant anything. You were drenched in sweat, and your lungs felt tight, but you were impressed by how well that had worked. You’ve never travelled this far in daylight, when the shadows were weaker and more sparse. 

You wiped your sleeve across your mouth and forced your legs to move.  And froze. There was light. Through the second-floor window, your window, a faint, unmistakable glow. Someone was inside. Your breath caught. No. No, no, no.

How did they know where your apartment was? How did they get inside without you inviting them in? How could they have possibly been that fast? You pressed your hand to the door and eased it open as quietly as you could. Every nerve in your body screamed as you crept up the stairs.  You reached your apartment door and hesitated. Light spilt out from beneath it, warm and yellow. You pushed it open with a shaking hand. And froze.

Thank you so much for reading! Lots of Love, Patty

asks and reblogs are welcome ⭑.ᐟ ⤷ my masterlist ⭑.ᐟ

He stops. The shift is sudden—your body still clenching around his dick, desperate for friction that’s no longer there. His hand fists in your hair and jerks you up hard, arching your spine until your back meets his chest. One arm locks around your waist, ribs pressed to his forearm. The other grips your jaw, fingers pressing into the hinge until your mouth falls open.

You can feel his pulse against your cheek.

You can feel your own everywhere.

“What did you just call me?” His voice is low, dangerous, a heat against your ear. You feel it more than hear it, vibrating through your ribs where he’s got you pinned. The air is hot and thin.

Your breath comes shallow, uneven. “I—”

“Say it again.” Hongjoong’s hips shift, just enough to make you gasp, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t give you what you need. His thumb drags across your bottom lip, smearing spit at the corner. “Go on.”

You swallow. Your pulse hammers against his palm. “Da—”

He tsks, the sound soft and cutting. His grip tightens on your jaw until your eyes sting. “Wrong answer.” His thumb pushes your chin up.

His hand slides from your jaw to your throat, not squeezing yet. “You know better.” The words are barely above a whisper, but they land heavy. He pulls out almost completely, the drag lighting every nerve, then slams back in without warning.

Your body jerks forward with the force, a broken cry tearing from your throat. The slap of skin is sharp. The mattress stutters under your knees, the headboard slams again.

“Daddy—” The word comes out garbled, desperate, exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Good girl.” His grip on your throat softens, becomes almost tender. “Again.”

“Daddy,” you gasp, the word punched out of you with another sharp thrust. Your fingers curl uselessly in his grip, your whole body wound so tight you think you might shatter. “Please—addy, I need—” Your own spit threads from your mouth to his thumb where it drags your lip and you taste metal from your bitten tongue.

Hongjoong’s laugh is dark, satisfied. “Need what, love?” The hand on your throat slides down to palm your breast, rolling your nipple between two knuckles until heat spikes. He pinches it and the pain blooms sweet and mean. “Use your words.” His breath hits damp hair stuck to your temple.

You moan uselessly, the sound ragged and broken. Words won’t come—just desperate, incoherent noise that makes him groan against your ear.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, satisfaction dripping from every word. Your knees skid an inch on the sheet and his hand leaves your breast to clamps your hip and hauls you back so you feel the blunt head punch deep again. He holds you exactly where he wants you as he starts thrusting deep inside you. “Can’t even speak anymore, can you?”

You shake your head frantically, or try to—his hold on you barely allows the movement. Everything’s gone white‑hot and overwhelming, your body trembling in his arms as he takes you apart piece by piece. Your mascara is a damp smear at your lashes; a tear salt‑burns the corner of your mouth where it meets his thumb.

“Mmpf—please—” The words break on a sob as the tension coils impossibly tighter, your walls fluttering around him. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably. The mattress squeals. Hongjoong groans when your cunt strangles him, like the sound is dragged from somewhere he doesn’t show anyone.

“I’ve been a good girl, Daddy, please—” Your voice breaks on the words, desperate and pleading. “Please let me—fuc—k—let me cum, I need—”

“Not yet. Listen to yourself—messy little thing, slobbering on my hand and still trying to think you get a say.” His pace doesn’t falter, each thrust hitting that devastating spot that has your vision blurring. He changes nothing just to prove he controls everything. “You’ll cum when I say.”

“Daddy—” It’s a sob more than a word, your body trembling violently as you fight against the edge. “Please, I can’t—I can’t hold it—”

“Yes, you can. You’re a hole when I tell you to be a hole.” His lips brush your ear, voice dropping lower, amused and cruel. “Be useful.” His teeth take the soft flesh of your shoulder, a quick bite that stings and his tongue soothes, then he bites again, harder.

A broken whimper tears from your throat as tears prick at your eyes. “Yes—yes, I’ll wait—fuck—please—” The word breaks because he drives in meaner, holding you down with his forearm across your ribs until your breaths come shallow and quick.

“That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? Taking.” The room narrows to the slick drag and the hot thud of him and the damp heat where your bodies meet. “Just a wet little thing I wreck.”

Your eyes sting, vision blurring as the first tear slips free. It tracks hot down your cheek, and Hongjoong’s rhythm stutters for just a beat like he’s savouring it. His grip on your jaw shifts, thumb catching the wetness before it falls to the sheet.

“Look at you,” he breathes, hungry. “Crying because you can’t keep up. Cock‑drunk already and I’m not even trying.” He drags the tear across your cheekbone, reverent and mean at once. “So fucking pretty when you beg with your eyes.” He licks the salt from his thumb, eyes fixed on your wrecked mouth. “Open that useless mouth and try again.”

Another tear follows, then another. A sob catches as he drives deeper. His groan vibrates against your spine. “Pathetic,” he murmurs, almost fond.

Hongjoong’s hand moves from your jaw to cup your face, fingers gentle even as his hips maintain their brutal pace. “Let me see what a mess you are.” He turns your face just enough to catch the tear‑tracks in the low light, pupils blown. “Crying so pretty on Daddy’s cock.”

The praise and the cruelty braid together and break something in you. “Please—” Your voice frays to a thread.

“So good for me,” he says, and then ruins it: “Good for nothing but this.” He catches another tear with his thumb. “My perfect little toy.” His palm slides down your belly, heat making your muscles jump. “Say it.”

“T—toy,” you gasp, shame and want tangling.

“Show Daddy how pretty you look when you break.” He hooks two fingers in the corner of your mouth, yanking it open so spit strings glitter from your lip. “There. Pretty mouth.”

His thumb presses your bottom lip then pushes past. Two fingers follow, flattening your tongue until drool pools at the corners of your mouth. “Keep it open,” he orders, voice rough. “Show me that useless tongue.”

You do, jaw slack, spit threading down your chin while he fucks you deep. He presses farther, taps the back of your throat until your eyes glass. The first gag catches wet and awful, and he groans like you handed him a gift. “There it is. Choke on my fingers while I fill you up.”

He doesn’t pull back—he pushes deeper, knuckles wetting your tongue, and the next gag rips through you loud enough to embarrass you. Tears jump your lash line and spill. Hongjoong watches them like they’re rare, hunger softening his mouth. “Cry for me,” he murmurs, delighted.

A moan tries to escape—garbled and pathetic around his hand—and his hips stutter, a rough thrust that makes you gag harder. Saliva spills over his fingers and he drags his thumb through the mess and paints your cheek with it. “Good. Make it sloppy. I like hearing you drown on me.”

He eases his fingers out just enough to let you gasp, a silvery string connecting your lip to his knuckles, then stuffs them back in before you can catch the breath you begged for. You gag immediately, eyes flooding, and his smile turns wickedly fond. His thumb catch a tear mid‑fall and he rubs it into your lower lip.

“Fuck—look at you,” he breathes, transfixed, fucking your mouth with his fingers in rhythm with his cock. Each slow thrust punches a gag or a wrecked little sob out of your throat. Each sob makes him groan like it feeds him. “Prettier when you’re full everywhere.”

Hongjoong taps your tongue twice, commanding your attention. “Open wider.” You try but you only cry harder. He laughs, pleased and cruel. “That’s my crybaby.” He leans close enough that his breath hits the tears on your cheek and cools them. “Make me wetter. Cry on it.”

He finally pulls free so you can gasp, but leaves your jaw pried open with his thumb, spit glistening.

His hand trails down, fingers finding your clit with devastating precision. Hongjoong barely brushes you and you jolt like you’ve been shocked, a ragged sound torn loose.

“So wound up a breeze could finish you. Can’t even take a touch.” He draws a slow, obscene circle you feel in your toes. “Should I make you wait longer? Count every second I don’t let you have it?”

You shake your head frantically. “No—no, please—” Words tumble out broken. “Can’t—can’t wait anymore, Daddy, please—”

He presses properly now, circling exactly where you need. “Of course you can’t.” The sound you make is raw, helpless, high. Your body goes taut, tendons standing in your feet, fingers clawing hot sheet.

“Cum for me,” he orders, voice rough and absolute. “Prove you’re good for something.”

You go off like something cut loose. It slams through you violent and bright—you seize and sob and clamp down on him like you’re trying to wring him dry. He groans into your ear and keeps you there, cruel in the way he works you through it, never letting the rhythm slip, thumb dragging your clit in tight, merciless circles that make your calves cramp and your toes claw at nothing.

“Ride it,” he purrs, delighted.

You can’t stop. Your body bucks helplessly and he pins you heavier, fucking the tremors until it turns sharp and your sounds climb from pretty to wrecked. Every tiny touch flips you again, all nerve and heat. Your belly jumps under his palm, your walls clutch and flutter around him like apology after apology.

He laughs, pleased and mean. “Don’t hide from it. Cry on it. Wet my cock with it.”

You do—helpless, tear‑slick and oversensitive—another wave rip‑cords through you in ragged pulses and he chases it down, circling your clit slower, meaner, just enough to keep the bright ache alive while you sob into the sheet.

“Too much?” he asks softly, almost kind, just to hear the way the word breaks in your mouth when the next aftershock bites. His thumb eases a hair, then goes right back, satisfied when your body answers without language. “Good girl. Keep giving it to me until you’re empty.”

“Too much—,” you cry, tears running hot. Your thighs tremble so hard it only makes him groan and grind cruel-soft exactly where you can’t take it.

“Good crybaby,” he murmurs, delighted. “Don’t you dare run.” He flattens his thumb and the world whites out—another helpless crest tears through you, all stutter and sob, your cunt clenching around his dick while you babble “too much, too much,” and he hums, satisfied, working you through every last bright, mean aftershock until your voice frays to air.

Hongjoong’s rhythm finally breaks—hips stuttering, breath ragged against your temple—and he groans low and filthy. His hands leave and you whimper at the loss. Air kisses the slick heat when he pulls free and you shudder. He flips you in one swift motion; your back hits the mattress, a bounce knocking a gasp out of you. The sheets are damp under your shoulder blades and the pillow is cool under fevered skin.

“Look at me.” Jaw tight, eyes wild, control fraying. A vein jumps in his neck. He looks like sin and victory.

“Hands above your head.” You obey, wrists crossing. “Don’t move.” His palm pins your wrists; the heel of it grinds the bones together until you whine. The other drops to his cock and works himself once, twice, your slick shines on his length.

“Eyes on me.”

“Fuck—” The word breaks as his release lashes hot across your stomach and chest. Cum splashes your throat, a line streaks your collarbone. He doesn’t look away from your face while he watches it drip. Ragged breath. Shuddering shoulders.

He drags two fingers through the mess and paints your lips with it, slow. He pushes his fingers past your tongue. “Suck it up like a good little slut.” You do, cheeks hollowing, and he hums approval when you gag around his knuckles then he pulls free with a wet pop.

Hongjoong smears the rest of his cum across your cheek and jaw, then rubs what’s left into your throat.

“Hands stay.” Your wrists ache deliciously. His palm presses your sternum, shortening your breath; he lifts it just enough to give you air, like charity. Then he kisses you deep, filthy, tasting salt and himself on your tongue. He palms the back of your thigh and hikes it high to his hip. “Round two,” he says like a sentence.

“No—no—” Your thighs slam shut on instinct, trembling violently. Oversensitive doesn’t begin to cover it—every nerve ending feels raw, exposed, like touching a live wire. Your knees knock together as you try to curl away, breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

Hongjoong’s hand catches your knee before you can fully close yourself off. His grip is firm but he doesn’t force—not yet. He watches you shake apart, eyes dark and assessing.

“Too much?” The question sounds almost curious, like he’s cataloging your limits for future reference.

“I can’t—” Your voice breaks on a sob. “Please, I need—just a minute—”

His thumb traces idle circles on your kneecap, a mockery of gentleness while your body still trembles from the aftershocks. “That’s not how this works, love.” He leans down, lips brushing your temple. “You don’t get to decide when we’re done.”

His hand slides up your thigh, not forcing your legs open yet, just resting there with casual ownership. “You know how we end things.” It’s not a question. His eyebrow arches, that familiar challenge, and your stomach drops because you do know. You know exactly what he’s waiting for.

The word sits on your tongue—red. Simple. Final. It would stop everything.

But it won’t come.

“No?” His thumb strokes once, twice, maddeningly gentle against your feverish skin. “Then I’ll make it easy for you.” His voice drops, taking on that edge that makes your pulse stutter. “Three seconds. Say it or I’m not stopping.”

Your breath catches. Every nerve ending screams that you can’t, that you’re too wrecked, too sensitive, too much—

“One.”

The word is right there. Red. Your lips part.

“Two.”

His fingers trail higher, barely a whisper of touch, and you tremble. Your mouth stays open, empty.

“Three.” He waits one more heartbeat, eyes locked on yours, searching. When nothing comes—when you just stare back at him, panting and wrecked and silent—something shifts in his expression. Satisfaction, dark and absolute. “That’s what I thought.”

“Let daddy in.”

Your thighs fall open slowly, a surrender that feels like defeat and relief tangled together. He drags the blunt head through your slick and slaps it against your clit—wet, obscene—once, twice, just to watch your whole body jump. When he pushes in—slow, deliberate, watching every micro-expression that crosses your face—the oversensitivity makes you keen, a broken sound that's half-sob, half-moan.

“Good girl,” Hongjoong murmurs, and doesn’t move. He stays buried to the hilt, making you feel every inch, every slow pulse. Your walls flutter around him and he hisses through his teeth. “Still.”

“Daddy—” You twitch, trying to adjust to the obscene fullness, and his hand clamps your hip hard enough to bruise.

“I said still.” His voice is steel. He shifts a mean millimeter deeper, a promise you’re going to hate loving. “You said you ‘can’t’ anymore? Cute.” He settles like a stake driven into the earth. “Then be useful.” Hongjoong’s hand lifts your thigh and hooks your knee higher, forcing the angle open until the stretch sits deep and electric. “Keep Daddy’s dick warm,” he says, bored and cruel.

Heat licks up your spine. Hongjoong doesn’t thrust. He doesn’t have to. You try to breathe around it. He shifts another millimeter—just a cruel reminder of his thickness—and the sound that leaks out of you is humiliating.

You twitch—instinct, pathetic—and his cock slides against a nerve that makes your whole body jolt. You try to chase it, hips rolling a greedy inch before you can stop yourself.

“Did I say you could move?” His voice cuts through the haze, razor-clean. His palm slams your hip back to the mattress, pinning you flat with bruising force. “Greedy little sleeve. One rule. You can’t even manage one.”

A wrecked whimper leaks out. The stillness is torture—every ridge, every vein, the obscene stretch of him pulsing inside you while your body screams to grind, to rub, to take. Your thighs tremble. Your toes curl like you’re trying to scratch at the air.

“Please—” you gasp, voice shaking. “I need—”

“You need?” He laughs, low and mean. “You need to learn to take what you’ve given.” His fingers dig into your hip, owning the flesh. “Move again and I pull out. I leave you empty and leaking with your little hole clenched around nothing. Is that what you want?”

“N—no, Daddy, please—”

“Then be fucking still.” He settles a breath deeper, a hateful inch that makes you sob, and holds you there like a knife sheathed to the hilt. “Keep me warm like I told you.” His mouth brushes your ear, the smile audible. “Stop acting like a desperate slut who can’t control herself.”

You feel the words burn through you; your walls flutter helplessly around him. You can’t stop the tiny drag of your hips—barely there, shameful—and he feels it immediately.

“Ah‑ah.” He smiles against your cheek.

“Please—” It scrapes out of you, ragged.

“Please what.” Flat as a verdict. “Use your stupid mouth.” His thumb strokes your jaw, mock‑gentle.

Your body shakes with effort. Your calves cramp. “Please—” The word fractures before it can form, dissolving into a sound that’s barely human—just need and surrender wrapped in breath.

The fullness skates the edge of too much; oversensitivity turns every slow beat into bright heat. Hongjoong only watches, pleased and dark, while you struggle to hold still around him. A whimper leaves you, broken and desperate.

“Quiet,” he says, almost bored. “Toys don’t whine.” He shifts deeper just to hear the noise you make. “Hands flat. Eyes open. Count your breaths if you need to. Don’t twitch.”

You count breaths because he told you to and lose the thread at eight, at nine, at nothing, because your body betrays you—tiny flutters you can’t control. Each one earns you a hum against your temple, a lazy squeeze at your throat that says he felt it.

“Pathetic,” he croons finally, sounding pleased.

“Daddy—” slips out again, ruined.

“What do you think you’re going to ask for? You’re full. You’re not getting more. You’re keeping me.”

“Please—”

“Please what?” His voice goes flat. “No babbling, no noise. Full sentence. Ask to be used.”

Shame burns hot. “Please use me, Daddy.”

“Mhm.” He rewards you with a single, slow grind that rolls through you like thunder, then stops dead. “Ask better.”

Your throat tightens. The words stick—humiliating—but his silence is worse, patient and hungry, like he has all night to watch you crack. “Please use me however you want, Daddy,” you whisper, voice breaking. “I’m yours—I’m just—please, I need you to—”

“Need me to what?” His thumb traces your bottom lip, almost tender in a way that makes you want to sob. “Say it clear or I’ll sit inside you and watch you shake until morning.”

“Please fuck me,” you gasp, shame scorching every syllable. “Please—use me like the toy I am. I can’t—Daddy, wreck me, please—”

“There it is.” His smile cuts wicked against your jaw. “See? Useless little mouth can learn.” He drags out of you slow—obscenely slow—until only the tip sits at your entrance. The loss rips a whimper out of you. “Since you asked nicely.”

He slams back in with no warning. Your toes curl hard enough to hurt. Your nails bite your palms. You don’t move. You don’t dare.

“Better,” he decides, and finally gives you motion—small, shallow, nothing like mercy. Short, ruthless strokes that never leave you, just rock deep enough to make your breath hitch on every one. “Count them.”

“One,” you whisper. “Two.” By four your voice shakes. By seven it thins to air. By ten you’ve lost the number and he has to murmur it for you against your mouth, amused.

“Ten,” he says, and nips your bottom lip. “Hopeless little counter.” He pulls out to the edge again and you whine without meaning to. He catches your chin hard. “What did I say about whining?”

“Toys don’t whine,” you breathe, panicked and obedient.

“That’s right.” He slides back in, the stretch a bright, tearing relief, and sets a new pace that is nothing like earlier—just deep and slow and devastating, like he’s proving he can keep you here forever.

You feel it rising again—desperation clawing up your throat, that helpless way your body starts chasing friction on its own. Your hips twitch forward, greedy without permission. His fingers bite down instantly.

“Stop.” Ice-cold.

But you don’t. You can’t. You’re wrecked and stupid with need, and your body rolls again—small, hungry little pulses that betray every order he’s given you. A whine slips out, high and broken.

“Daddy, please—I can’t—I need more, please—”

“You can’t?” His voice drops to something dangerous. “Or you won’t?”

“I can’t—” Another whimper. Your hips buck again, chasing the friction he’s withholding, and the sound that leaves you is pathetic. “Please, Daddy, I need—need you to move, need it harder, need—”

He goes dead still inside you. The absence of movement is worse than any punishment.

“Greedy little thing,” he says, tone flat with disappointment. “I give you my cock to keep warm and you can’t even manage that without turning into a whining, desperate mess.”

“I’m sorry—” You’re babbling now, words tripping over themselves. “I’m sorry, Daddy, please—just—please fuck me, I’ll be good—”

“You’ll be good?” He laughs—sharp, cruel, joyless. “You’re not being good now. You’re being a greedy slut who can’t follow a single fucking instruction.” His hand slides from your hip to your throat—fingers wrapping lightly. Your pulse hammers against his palm. “I don’t like you like this.”

It hits like a slap. Shame floods hot and immediate, and still your body trembles, still clenching around him, still needing.

“Please—”

“Please what? Please keep giving you what you clearly can’t handle?” He shifts just enough to make you whine, then stops again. “You’re not ready for more. You can’t even take what I’ve already given you without falling apart.”

“I can—I can take it—” Your voice breaks on a sob.

“No.” Firm. Final. “You can’t. Look at you. Shaking and whining and begging like you forgot how to be still.” His thumb strokes your throat once—almost gentle, which makes it worse. “I told you to be useful. Instead you’re being pathetic.”

The disappointment punches something open in your chest. You force yourself still—every muscle screaming—swallowing the whine clawing up your tongue. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, small and wrecked. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

He watches you for a long, measuring beat. Then, slowly, he withdraws completely. The emptiness is a knife.

“Daddy—no—please—”

“Quiet.” The word drops like a brick. He stays out of you, cock wet against your slit, heat without mercy. “You want more when you can’t even fucking hold still?” His laugh is flat and ugly.

Your chest hitches. “Daddy, I—”

“Don’t talk.” He drags the swollen head through your slick once, slow, and you gasp like a drowning thing. The emptiness screams. “You don’t get my cock. You get consequence.”

“Do you want Daddy to go find himself another hole?” His words hit like acid, eating under your skin. “A quiet one. An obedient sleeve that doesn’t twitch, doesn’t whine, doesn’t make me repeat myself like I’m training a puppy.”

“No—” It tears out of you, small and panicked. “No, Daddy, please—”

“No?” Hongjoong sounds almost curious, like he’s already halfway out the door. “Because you’re not acting like you want to keep me. You’re acting like a spoiled toy that forgot what it’s for.”

“I do—I want to keep you—” Your voice breaks. “Please don’t—I’ll be good, I promise—”

“You promised to stay still five fucking minutes ago and look where that got us.” His thumb drags across your bottom lip, cruelly tender. “Maybe I should find a hole that knows how to listen. One that doesn’t babble, doesn’t beg, and doesn’t forget every rule the second it gets full.”

The image scalds—him leaving you empty and shaking while he goes somewhere else—and the sob that rips free is ugly.

“Please, Daddy—please—I’ll do better, I swear—don’t leave, please don’t, I need you—”

“Need me?” His voice goes flat. “You need to learn to fucking behave.” He drags the head of his cock on your swollen clit like a threat and your body jerks up desperately. “See? Even now you can’t stay still.”

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry—” Tears slip hot into your hair. “I’ll be good, I promise, please just—stay—”

“One. More. Chance.” Soft and lethal. “You twitch, you whine, you breathe wrong—and I’m done with you tonight. I’ll go find that quiet hole, and you can hump the sheet and think about why I left.”

The burn in your eyes sharpens.

“Say the rule.”

You swallow. “Keep—keep you warm.”

“At a minimum.” He taps the head against your clit again—light, mean—once. Your twitch and his hand locks your pelvis to the mattress with bruising pressure. “And you couldn’t even fucking do that.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, shaking.

“I don’t want sorry. I want silent, still, useful.” He lays the fat tip at your entrance and holds it there. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to keep me right here and not twitch. You breathe wrong, we reset. You beg wrong, we reset. You whine, you don’t get me at all.”

“Daddy—”

“Start.” His thumb presses your throat, not choking, just owning. “Five breaths.”

You count, voice wrecked and tiny. One. Two. Your body claws for friction and he hears the minuscule drag in your hips like it’s a confession.

“Reset,” he says, bored. The head lifts off you. The loss is a knife. He sets it back and you whine before you can strangle it.

“Reset.” He smiles without warmth.

Shame burns through you. “Please—” You bite it off and force your lungs to move. One. Two. Three. At four he ghosts the head forward—no entry, just stretch on the skin—and you hiccup a sound you barely recognise.

“Reset,” he repeats, almost amused now. “We’d be done by now if you weren’t such a needy fuckup.”

“I can do it.”

“Doubt it.” He pats your cheek condescendingly. “But try again.”

You count, lips trembling. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

He stares down at you, unimpressed. “Now thank me for not fucking you.”

The sentence scrapes your throat raw. “Thank you for not fucking me, Daddy.”

He hums, pleased—and disappointed anyway. “Again, like you mean it.”

“Thank you for not fucking me,” you rush the words out, “For making me still. For making me useful.”

“Finally.” The head presses, a murderous inch, then stops dead inside—no thrust, just fullness that feels like a verdict. You choke on a sound; his fingers tighten on your jaw.

“Now you hold me there and you don’t move,” he says, low and lethal.

Your body locks into place, every muscle screaming against the stillness. The stretch sits there—barely inside, not enough, too much—and he doesn't move. Just watches you shake around that single cruel inch, his expression flat and clinical, like he's studying how long it takes before you break again.

He watches your thighs quiver around that single inch like he’s timing a lab experiment. “Three breaths,” he says, voice clinical. “Earn another inch.”

You breathe. One. Two. On three your belly flutters; he feels it. The head slides in a second inch and stops dead. You whimper through your teeth.

“Again. Three.”

You make it, barely—every nerve screaming—and he feeds you another inch like he’s measuring with a ruler. “See?” he murmurs, disappointed anyway. “When you shut up and follow orders you almost pass for useful.”

“Daddy—”

His palm covers your mouth, not to mute, to own.

He waits, indifferent to the shake, then seats the rest in a slow, inevitable push and locks your hips to the mattress. Utterly full. Utterly still.

“There.” His fingers tap your jaw, condescending. “Now ask me for nothing.”

You swallow hard, nod against his palm because language might ruin you. He smiles—cold, pleased—and starts the smallest motion imaginable, a cruel internal drag that never lets you chase. Your body tries anyway. He feels the microscopic reach.

“Aaand there she is,” he sighs, disgusted.

“On your fucking knees,” he says, voice flat and final. “Ass up.”

He pulls out completely—the emptiness is brutal—and you scramble to obey, limbs clumsy with need. Your knees hit the mattress, your chest drops, and you arch your back the way he likes, presenting yourself like an apology.

“Higher.” His palm cracks across your ass—sharp, unforgiving—and you gasp, lifting until your spine curves obscene. “There. Now stay exactly like that and think about why you're here instead of full of my cock.”

The air feels too cold on your exposed cunt. You hear him move behind you, deliberate and unhurried, and the anticipation is its own kind of torture. His hand smooths over the curve of your ass once—almost tender—then his palm comes down again, harder. The sound cracks through the room.

“Count.”

“One,” you breathe, shaking.

Another, lower—right on the tender hinge where ass meets thigh. You jerk, then wrench yourself back into place.

“Two—”

“Louder. Like you fucking mean it.”

The next lands before your mouth can catch up. You yelp. “Three!”

“Better.” He pauses, fingers trailing through the slick mess between your thighs, not giving you anything, just reminding you what you're not getting. The touch is featherlight—clinical, almost—and it makes you ache harder than if he'd pressed down with intent. Your clit throbs where his knuckles barely graze it, swollen and desperate, and the emptiness inside you feels like a wound. Every nerve ending screams for more.

“Why are you here?”

“Because I couldn’t stay still—couldn’t—”

“Because you’re greedy.” The slap is vicious and precise. “Four.”

“Four,” you sob.

“Because you take what I give you and immediately beg for more like it’s not enough.” His hand comes down again, twice in quick succession, and you lose count, scrambling to catch up.

“Five—six—“

“Pathetic.” He sounds disgusted and pleased at the same time. His knuckles skim the burn, then slide meanly through your slick, circle your clit once and abandon it like a test you failed. The touch makes you clench around nothing, empty and aching, every nerve ending screaming for more pressure, more contact, more of him. The abandonment feels like a punishment you can’t name—your body chasing something he’s already taken away. “Still dripping. Still desperate. Still not listening.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy—”

“You will be.” His fist knots in your hair, yanking your face off the sheet. “We keep going until your body remembers how to obey. You twitch or gasp wrong, we reset to one.”

The next strike lands; you choke the whimper into your teeth and hold. “Seven!”

“Let’s see you make it to ten without falling apart.”

Eight snaps high on the curve; nine brutal on the sit spot. You bite the inside of your cheek until you taste iron and force the numbers out steady—“Eight. Nine.”—and you don’t move.

Ten comes down perfect, right where it hurts prettiest.

“Ten.” Your voice is raw but even. Silence drops heavy around it.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, palm smoothing over the heat, reverent like he’s polishing his work. “Directions aren’t complicated when you’re not busy failing.”

His fingers trace the marks he’s left, then slide lower, through the slick mess between your thighs. You bite down hard on your lip to keep from making a sound, from pushing back into his touch.

“Don’t you dare chase,” he says softly.

You lock your hips but Hongjoong rewards you with nothing. Then—finally, cruelly—one slow circle on your clit that makes your calves charlie-horse and your lungs forget.

You wait. You hold perfectly still, thighs shaking, breathing shallow through your nose. You wait for the praise—for him to tell you you’re good, that you’ve finally done it right, that you’ve earned something. The silence stretches. His thumb stays maddeningly light, circling without pressure, and the words don't come.

They’re not coming.

The realisation settles cold in your chest even as heat coils tighter in your belly. He’s not going to give it to you.

“Please,” you whisper, a thread. “Please tell me I did good.”

Hongjoong’s hand stills. The silence stretches, and you feel the weight of his gaze on you.

“Ask properly.”

You swallow hard, forcing the words out even as shame and need tangle in your chest. “Please, Daddy. Please tell me I’m good. I need to hear it. I need to know I did well.”

His thumb resumes—tight, deliberate circles that you meet with perfect stillness because you want the words more than air. “You want praise?” he asks, almost curious. “After the shitshow you put on?”

“I made it to ten,” you rasp. “I stayed still. I didn’t move.”

“You finally did what you were told,” he concedes. Pressure sharpens and every muscle in you locks so you don’t grind into it. “Miracles.”

“Please,” you breathe. “Please, Daddy—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Hongjoong says, voice flat. His thumb stops mid-circle and lifts off entirely. “I didn’t ask for begging. I asked for obedience.”

The loss of contact is devastating. You bite back a whimper, holding position even as your thighs shake.

“You think making it to ten earns you anything?” He sounds almost bored now, disgusted. “That’s the bare minimum of not being completely fucking useless.”

Your eyes burn. You keep your face pressed to the sheet, don’t move, don’t speak.

“You want praise for doing what you should’ve done the first time?” His hand comes down once more on your ass. “For finally shutting up and following a simple fucking instruction?”

Silence. You don’t answer because he didn’t ask a question you’re allowed to respond to.

“That’s what I thought.” His fingers trail back between your thighs, maddeningly light, and you hold so still you forget to breathe. “You don’t get praise for meeting expectations. You get my cock when you exceed them.” His voice drops, cruel and clinical. “And you? You’re so far below the bar I’d need a fucking shovel to find where you started. You think ten slaps and some tears make you special? You’re not even average. You’re just finally less of a disappointment than you were five minutes ago.”

His fist knots in your hair again and yanks you upright—sharp, brutal—until your spine arcs and your knees scream against the mattress. Your scalp burns; your throat opens on a gasp you can’t swallow back.

“Look at me.” His voice is low, final. You force your eyes open, vision blurred, and meet his gaze. It’s flat. Clinical. Like he’s deciding whether you’re worth the effort.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” He tightens his grip until tears spring hot and immediate. “Attention. Validation. My fucking time.”

You can’t nod—his hold won’t let you—so you whisper it, wrecked. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Then stop fucking wasting it.” He drags you closer by the hair, your body folding backward, chest exposed, throat vulnerable. “Stop begging for praise you haven’t earned. Stop moving when I tell you to be still. Stop acting like you don’t know exactly what I expect from you.”

He releases your hair and you collapse forward, gasping. Before you can catch your breath, his hands are on your hips, hauling you upright and off the bed entirely. Your legs don’t work right—numb and shaking—but Hongjoong doesn't care, dragging you across the room until your palms hit cold glass.

“Hands flat,” he orders, positioning you facing the window. The city glitters below, oblivious. “Don’t you fucking move them.”

You press your palms to the glass, the chill biting into your overheated skin. The window is floor-to-ceiling, and you’re on the twentieth floor—exposed, visible if anyone bothered to look up. The thought makes your stomach drop.

“Daddy—“ you start, voice thin with panic.

“I don’t remember asking you to speak.” His hand lands between your shoulder blades, forcing your chest forward until your breasts press flat against the glass. The cold shocks through you, nipples hardening instantly, and you gasp at the contrast. “You wanted my attention? Congratulations. Now everyone down there gets a front-row seat to what happens when you finally shut the fuck up and do what you’re told.”

His breath is hot against your ear as he leans in closer, caging you against the window. “Look at them. All those people going about their boring little lives, and if even one of them glanced up right now, they’d see you—spread out, dripping, desperate. They’d see exactly what kind of slut you are. The kind who begs for cock pressed against a window twenty floors up.”

He grinds his hips forward slightly, not entering yet, just letting you feel the threat of it. “Think about it. Some guy walking his dog. Some woman coming home from work. And there you are—tits against the glass, ass out, waiting to be fucked like you’re on display. Like you’re a show I’m putting on for the whole goddamn city.”

He kicks your feet apart, wider than stable, until you’re on display—open, vulnerable. His hand trails down your spine, over the burning marks on your ass, then lower.

“Stay exactly like this,” he says, voice deadly calm. “Hands on the glass. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound."

You feel him line up behind you, the blunt pressure of his cock against your entrance. Your breath fogs the window. Every instinct screams to push back, to take what you need, but you lock your muscles and hold.

“Everyone can see you,” he says, breath hot against your ear as he leans over you, caging you between his body and the glass. “See how desperate you are.”

The angle is punishing. He bottoms out so deep you feel it in your throat then he pulls to the edge and shoves back in in one rude stroke. Your gasp splashes white on the glass. Hongjoong watches it bloom and fade and times the next thrust to erase it. He does not tease. He does not test. He just takes—hips snapping in a pace with no mercy—each impact a proof that your body belongs exactly where he’s putting it. When your thighs start to shake he only tightens his hand at your hip, grinding you into the glass so the cold bites your nipples and the heat bites everywhere else

Your reflection stares back at you—fucked out, wrecked, mouth open on silent gasps you’re not allowed to voice.

“This is what you needed,” he continues, rhythm brutal and unrelenting. “Not praise. Not softness. Just someone to put you exactly where you belong and fuck the desperation out of you until you remember how to behave.”

Your legs are shaking so hard you can barely stand, but his grip on your hips is iron, holding you in place, keeping you upright and on display as he uses you against the window.

You’re e so full. The stretch is devastating—not painful, but so complete it rewires every nerve ending, makes you hyperaware of every inch of him inside you. Your body clenches reflexively, trying to adjust, and the friction makes your breath stutter. He’s so deep you feel it in your stomach, a pressure that borders on too much but somehow isn’t enough.

The heat of him is overwhelming. You can feel every throb, every shift of his hips, the way he fills every space until there’s nothing left but him. Your walls flutter around his length, trying to accommodate, trying to hold on, and the sensation makes your head spin.

You feel owned. Claimed. Like your body was made specifically for this—for him to fill and use and shape however he wants. The thought makes you clench again, and you hear his breath catch behind you.

Hongjoong’s hand clamps your hip and drags you back onto him while his mouth finds the slope where neck becomes shoulder. He bites—hard, deliberate—until your breath splinters on the glass, then sucks wickedly slow to pull the bruise up dark and pretty. “Mine,” he says into the mark, not for you, for the mirror of your face in the window.

Rings grind into your skin as his fingers hike your waist higher, leaving crescent dents along your side. He shifts his grip to your ass and you almost hiss—the flesh is still burning from before, hypersensitive—but he doesn’t care, squeezing until your skin crests his knuckles. Then he smacks the same handprint in place—once, twice, a third time—each impact landing on already-raw skin that makes you gasp sharp and broken into the glass.

His mouth trails lower, teeth scraping the curve where your shoulder meets your throat. He sucks hard enough to sting, working the skin until you feel the heat bloom under his lips. When he pulls back, you know there's a mark—dark and obvious, a claim you'll see tomorrow and every day after until it fades.

“Everyone’s going to know,” he murmurs against your skin, moving to a new spot. His teeth catch again, sharper this time, and you whimper before you can stop yourself. He doesn’t scold you for it. Instead, he hums, pleased, and works his way across your throat, your collarbone, the top of your shoulder—each love bite deliberate, territorial. His tongue soothes over the marks before his teeth return, and the contrast makes you dizzy. Your reflection in the glass shows the trail he’s leaving. A constellation of bruises that spell out exactly who you belong to.

“Prettier when you bruise,” he murmurs, and you feel him smile against your throat. He shoves your wrists wider on the glass, laces his fingers over yours so you can’t hide the way you shake, and fucks you harder—short, piston drives that press your chest flat and stamp the rhythm into your spine. Your breath paints messy halos on the pane. Hongjoong leans forward and bites your ear, low laugh ugly against your skin.

His mouth moves to the curve of your neck, lips dragging slow over the sensitive skin just below your ear. The gentleness is unexpected—devastating. Your body doesn’t know what to do with tender after brutal, and the contrast hits like a live wire. He kisses once, soft, then again lower, and your breath catches wrong in your chest.

“Daddy—“ you try to warn him, but it comes out broken.

“Quiet,” he murmurs against your throat, and kisses you again. His lips are warm, almost reverent as they trail down to your shoulder, and the rhythm of his hips never falters—still deep, still unrelenting, but now paired with this impossible softness that’s unraveling you faster than anything brutal ever could.

It builds wrong. Too fast. You weren’t ready for it—one second you’re holding on, the next you’re free-falling, your orgasm slamming into you without warning. Your whole body locks up, spine arcing away from the glass as the pleasure rips through you in violent, uncontrollable waves. He feels the clamp coming—a greedy, panicked grab—and rips out in one brutal drag.

The world snaps wrong. Heat turns to air, slick to cold, friction to nothing. Your cry out raw and too loud, fog exploding across the glass in a white star. Your thighs slam together on instinct and find only his palm, flat and merciless, forcing your knees wide again. Everything skids, your body still pitched for impact while the impact is gone, nerves misfiring, the ache in your belly pitching higher with nowhere to go. Your clit throbs, your calves seize, your nipples spark on the pane.

“Did I say you could cum, you filthy slut?” His voice is ice and venom.

”Please-” Your voice cracks into a ragged wail you can’t swallow. The sound embarrasses you even as it keeps coming-thin, high, animal-your chest scraping the glass as you shudder.

“Shut your fucking mouth.” Hongjoong’s hand clamps your jaw brutal and drags your open mouth to the window so you hear yourself against the pane-hot breath, pathetic little whimpers bouncing back. “Disgusting. Look at this mess.” Two fingers slide through the slick pouring out of you and slap your clit mean, the sting bright and metallic and your whole body jerks like a current ran through you. “Dripping like a bitch in heat. You’re fucking pathetic.”

He does it again-lighter, crueler-just enough to sharpen the ache and keep it blooming. “Greedy cunt couldn't wait, could she?” The cold on your front feels like punishment, the heat at your back feels like a dare. You can taste blood where you bit your tongue, you can feel his ring scrape your hip as he drags your pelvis higher and pins you there, open and empty and shaking. “Worthless little whore. Can’t follow one simple fucking rule.”

“Could’ve asked. Could’ve been good. But no-you had to be a desperate fucking cumslut,” he snarls at your reflection, voice dripping contempt. He paints your hipbone with your own slick like a stripe, degrading, then presses his thumb into the fresh bruise on your shoulder hard enough to make you gasp. “Now hold it and suffer.”

Your body argues in every language it has—fluttering, pleading squeezes at nothing, a pulse between your legs that hurts, a tremor you can’t stop—while he gives you exactly no motion where you need it and too much where you can’t take it. He bites the hinge of your jaw, sucks until colour swells up pretty and dark, and when your breath stutters toward that helpless climb again, he taps your clit once—just once—and the wave collapses with a sob that fogs the glass and runs. “Filthy fucking thing. This is what disobedient sluts get.”

Your body is betraying you—hips rolling in tiny, desperate circles even though he’s not inside you anymore, chasing friction that isn’t there. The orgasm he denied you earlier left everything raw and oversensitive, and now every nerve ending is screaming for release. Your clit throbs in time with your pulse, swollen and aching, and the emptiness inside you feels like a physical wound.

You can feel it building again—that terrible, inevitable climb. Your thighs are shaking so hard they might give out. Heat pools low in your belly, coiling tighter with each ragged breath. It’s different this time—sharper, more desperate, edged with something that feels dangerously close to panic because you know what happens if you fall over without permission.

“Daddy—please—” Your voice cracks on the plea. “I need—I can’t—”

The pressure builds and builds, your body pulled taut as a wire, every muscle locked in anticipation of a release you’re not allowed to have. You’re so close it hurts—that edge right there, shimmering just out of reach, and your body keeps reaching for it anyway, mindless and greedy and completely beyond your control.

His fingers barely touch your clit, just the ghost of pressure—and begin to circle with agonising slowness. Not enough to give relief, just enough to make everything worse. Each lazy pass sends sparks shooting through your nerves, stoking the fire instead of quenching it.

“You gonna try cumming again without permission?” His laugh is cruel against your ear, all sharp edges. His hand spreads over your throat, thumb under your jaw to keep your face to the window, forcing you to watch yourself fall apart. “Be still. Feel every second of what you don’t deserve. Feel it, you needy little whore.”

Your body doesn’t listen—can’t listen. The orgasm crashes through you anyway, ripping a broken cry from your throat as you clench and pulse around nothing. Your legs give out completely, only his grip on your throat keeping you upright against the glass as pleasure tears through you in waves you can’t control.

“Did I fucking say you could?” Hongjoong’s voice is ice.

Your vision blurs with tears—shame and oversensitivity and the cruel ache of cumming empty. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry—I couldn’t—”

“Pathetic.” He releases your throat and you crumple, legs buckling, but he catches you by the hips before you hit the floor.

Hongjoong peels you off the window by the back of your neck and walks you to the bed like he owns the hinge of every joint. The mattress hits the backs of your knees, he doesn’t guide you down so much as throw you, a bounce knocking a breathless sound out of you.

His hand cracks across your face—not hard enough to hurt, but sharp enough to snap your attention back to him. The sting blooms hot across your cheek, shocking you into stillness.

“Eyes on me,” he commands, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you dare look away.”

He slaps you again—same cheek, harder this time—and the sound that rips from your throat is pure, shameless need. A moan, broken and desperate, that makes his eyes go dark.

“Fuck,” he breathes, almost reverent. His thumb traces the reddened skin, the heat of it blooming under his touch. “You like that, don’t you?”

Before you can answer, he slaps you again—lighter this time, almost playful—and watches your pupils blow wide. “Yeah,” he confirms, reading your body like a book he’s memorised. “You fucking love it.”

He’s on you a second later—knee between yours, shoving them wide—hands mean on your hips as he lines up and drives in with one brutal stroke that punches the air out of you.

“Quiet,” he snaps, palm clamping over your mouth. “Swallow it.”

Your moan dies behind his hand, trapped in your throat where it burns. No easing, no rhythm—just slam, slam, slam—his pelvis clapping your thighs, the headboard starting to complain in hard little knocks that match your pulse. The angle is obscene with your hips tipped; each drag feels like he’s stripping you to the studs and hammering you back together wrong. Every sound you want to make gets caught behind his palm, building pressure in your chest until you’re choking on your own desperation.

“Look at me,” he grits. You do—eyes glassy—and it only makes him rougher. Heat builds thick and fast in your belly again, that off‑the‑cliff drop, the ache and burn at your clit. The sounds are wet and humiliating and loud, but your moans stay trapped—swallowed down like he ordered, leaving only the whimpers that leak through your nose and the desperate way you’re breathing against his palm.

Hongjoong’s close—you can feel it in the way his breathing saws, in the vicious set of his mouth, in the way his rhythm goes intent and ugly, grinding at the end of each thrust like he’s carving his name into the spot that makes you see static. His hand stays firm over your mouth, forcing you to take it in silence, to keep every wrecked sound locked inside where only you can feel how thoroughly he’s breaking you apart. You catch the first stutter in his hips and reach for him without thinking, greedy, pleading.

“Don’t.” The word is a snarl. He stuffs you full and holds there, cock thick and pulsing inside you, then drags out slow enough to scrape sparks and snaps back in hard enough to jolt your spine. “You don’t deserve Daddy’s cum.”

The sentence lands like a slap. Heat spikes behind your eyes; your body clenches around him in panicked apology.

“Please—” you manage against his palm, the word muffled and desperate.

“You need to learn.” Another slam—deep, punishing—and the next rolls through you like thunder, heavy grind at the end that drags a high, torn sound from your throat.

Your hands scramble for purchase on his shoulders, nails digging in, but he catches both wrists in one hand and pins them above your head. His other hand finally leaves your mouth.

“Please,” you sob, shameless now. “Please fill me—please let me have it—I’ll hold it—I’ll be good—”

He laughs—short, cruel—breath burning your cheek. “Will you?” His hand slides to your throat, thumb under your jaw to tilt your face up so he can watch you fall apart. “Say it properly.”

“Please, Daddy,” you gasp, voice breaking on the word. “Please cum inside me. I need it. I need you. I’ll keep it. I’ll—” Your voice knifes up because he grinds just right and the lights stipple again. “Please—I’ll be useful—please—”

His control frays; you feel it in the nasty little shiver that runs through him, in the way he clamps your hip like it’s the only thing stopping him from painting you from the inside. He bares his teeth, eyes sharp and dark. “Beg better.”

“Please—use me properly—mark me from the inside—please, Daddy—”

“Mhm.” The sound is a threat and a promise. He slams you deeper, deeper, harder—headboard knocking time, breath brutal at your ear—then rips out at the last second and fists himself once, twice, the wet slick of you shining his length while you wail.

“No—no, please—" The words tumble out desperate and broken. You reach for him with shaking hands, shameless now, all pride dissolved. “Please fill me up—mark me—use me—” You’re babbling, hips canting up obscenely, trying to tempt him back.

His eyes darken as he watches you fall apart, a cruel smirk playing at his lips. “Look at you,” he breathes, voice dripping with condescension. “Begging like a bitch in heat.” His fist keeps working himself, slow and deliberate, making you watch every stroke.

Your thighs spread wider without him asking, presenting yourself like an offering. “Please cum in me—I'm begging—I'll do anything—” Tears stream down your face, your voice cracking. “Need to feel you—need Daddy’s cum so bad—please don’t waste it—please use my hole.”

“Shut the fuck up.” His voice is dead calm, which makes it worse. “You think you deserve Daddy’s cum?" He laughs—short, cruel. “No. You’re going to lie there empty and watch me waste it. Watch what you don’t get to have.” His eyes are vicious, mouth twisted. “Pathetic little cumslut can’t even follow simple fucking rules. Open your eyes wider. I want you to see every drop you’re not getting.”

“Please, Daddy,” you sob, voice breaking on every word. “Please use your cumslut—please fuck me —I’ll be so good—I’ll take everything—please.”

You look at him—eyes glassed, mouth open, body clenching on nothing—while he edges himself cruelly, letting every half-breath of relief flash and die on his face. He squeezes himself hard, strangling the tremor, and lets the edge bleed away while you sob beneath him, trembling empty and open.

His hand fists in your hair, “What are you?"

“A slut,” you whimper, shame burning through you.

“A what?” He pulls harder, making you gasp.

“A pathetic slut—Daddy’s pathetic slut—”

“That’s right.” He releases your hair with a shove, letting your head fall back against the mattress. “And you love it,” he continues, voice dark with satisfaction. “Love being Daddy’s desperate fucktoy. Love being used and degraded and filled up like the greedy whore you are.”

“Yes,” you sob, because it’s true, because you can’t deny it when your body is still trembling with need.

“Tell me what you are.”

“I’m Daddy’s greedy whore,” you gasp out, shame and arousal twisting together. “I’m a desperate cumslut—I’m pathetic—I need you—”

“Fucking right you do.”

Then he flips you onto your stomach before you can process it, one hand shoving between your shoulder blades to pin you flat. The sheets are hot against your cheek, your breath trapped in the mattress.

“Stay down," Hongjoong orders, voice low and mean behind you. You feel him shift, feel the mattress dip as he repositions, and then his hands are on your hips, dragging them up, arching your back until you’re presented exactly how he wants you. You’re face-down, ass up, completely exposed with no way to see what he’s doing, no way to brace for what comes next. Your fingers twist in the sheets.

“Daddy—” you start, voice muffled.

“No,” he cuts you off. “You don’t get to look at me. You don’t get to see if I’m close. You just take what I give you and be grateful.”

He lines up and shoves in without warning, the angle deeper like this, meaner. Your cry gets swallowed by the pillow as he sets a brutal pace, hips slamming against your ass with each thrust. The sound is obscene—skin on skin, the wet slide of him inside you—and you can’t see any of it, can only feel and hear and drown in it.

“You’re lucky Daddy loves your hole,” he growls, and the words hit like a brand. His hand comes down hard on your ass, the sharp crack echoing in the room. The sting blooms hot and immediate, and you whimper into the pillow.

“Lucky I don’t leave you empty and aching.” He punctuates it with another thrust, deeper, meaner, grinding at the end until you’re sobbing. “This greedy little cunt,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Always so desperate for me. Always begging so pretty.”

“Say it,” he demands. “Say you’re lucky.”

“I’m—I’m lucky,” you gasp out, voice wrecked and muffled. “I’m lucky Daddy loves my—”

“Louder.”

“I’m lucky Daddy loves my hole,” you sob, shame and arousal twisting together until you can’t tell them apart.

“That’s right.” His rhythm turns vicious, each thrust punching the words back into you. “Don’t you forget it.”

“Please, Daddy—please—I'll do anything—I'll be so good—please just fill me—please cum inside me—” You sob again, pushing back against him even though you know better, trying to take him deeper. His breath hitches and you chase it, sensing weakness.

His hand finds your clit immediately, two fingers pressing down with just enough pressure to make you jolt. “This what you needed?” he asks as he starts to rub tight, mean circles that have you gasping.

“Yes—fuck—yes, Daddy—” You can barely get the words out, your whole body arcing up into his touch. His fingers work your clit in ruthless little circles while he fucks into you, the dual sensation making your vision blur at the edges.

“Gonna make you cum on my cock this time,” he growls. “Gonna feel you squeeze me while you fall apart.” His fingers speed up, the pressure perfect and devastating, and you’re already so close you can taste it.

“Please—Daddy—I can't—” Your voice breaks, thighs shaking so hard you can barely hold yourself up. The pressure builds too fast, too much, coiling tight in your belly until it feels like something’s going to snap.

“You can,” he snarls, “You will. Show Daddy what a good little slut you are.”

The angle shifts just enough and suddenly you’re there again—past the point of holding back, past the point of control. Your orgasm slams through you with brutal force, and this time it’s different. Wetter. Your whole body locks up as you gush around him, soaking his cock, the sheets, making a mess you can’t stop even if you wanted to. The sound that rips from your throat is inhuman.

“Fuck—” Hongjoong chokes out, and his rhythm shatters. “Fuck—that’s it—” He feels you clenching and pulsing around him, feels the hot rush of your release, and it destroys him. Three more brutal thrusts and he’s gone, slamming deep and grinding as he finally, finally fills you. You feel every pulse, every throb as he empties himself inside you, his groan low and wrecked against your spine.

His hips stutter through the aftershocks, grinding shallow like he can’t bear to pull out yet. Your body is still twitching, still clenching around him in weak little aftershocks while his cum starts to leak out around where you’re joined. He stays buried deep, breathing hard against your shoulder blade.

“Good girl,” he finally murmurs, voice hoarse. “Such a good fucking girl for me.”

He doesn't pull out. Instead, his hips roll forward again, fucking his cum deeper into you, the obscene wet sound making you whimper. “One more,” he growls against your ear, his voice rough and commanding. “Give me one more.”

“Daddy—I can’t—” Your voice breaks, oversensitive and wrecked, every nerve ending screaming. It hurts—the drag of him inside you feels like fire, too much sensation on already brutalised nerves. You try to squirm away but his grip on your hips is iron.

“You can.” His hand slides back to your clit, fingers still slick, and starts those same ruthless circles. The first touch makes you sob—it’s too much, bordering on painful, your body trying to reject the stimulation. “You’re going to cum on my cock again with my cum inside you. Going to make a bigger mess.”

The sensation is overwhelming—too much, too sensitive—and it hurts. Each thrust feels like he’s grinding against raw nerves, the wet slide obscene and filthy but painful in its intensity. You can feel his cum leaking out around him, coating your thighs, but all you can focus on is how much your body is screaming at you to stop.

“Daddy—please—it hurts—” you sob, tears streaming down your face.

Hongjoong stills immediately. Completely. His fingers freeze on your clit, his hips lock in place, and the sudden absence of movement is almost jarring after the relentless intensity.

“Colour,” he demands, voice cutting through the haze with sharp clarity. “Give me your colour right now.”

You’re gasping, trying to process the question through the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

“Green,” you manage to choke out between sobs.

“Don't lie to me.”

“Green,” you repeat, more firmly this time despite how wrecked your voice sounds. “Promise—it's green—just hurts—overwhelming— don’t stop”

“I know,” he murmur gently, his hips moving again. “I know it hurts, baby. Just breathe through it.”

You try to obey, gasping for air, and somewhere in the burning oversensitivity, something shifts. The pain doesn’t disappear, but it starts to blur at the edges, transmuting into something else. Your body adjusts to the intensity, and suddenly the hurt starts to feel good—sharp and bright and desperate.

“Feel that?” he asks, grinding deep. “Feel how full you are? That’s all Daddy’s cum, and you’re going to squeeze it out when you cum again.”

“Please—” The word comes out broken because you don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore. His fingers work your clit with practiced cruelty, and the oversensitivity that was making you sob is suddenly driving you higher. You can feel it building again—impossibly, devastatingly—your wrecked body finding another peak despite everything.

“That’s it,” he encourages, voice dark with satisfaction. “Knew you could take it. Feel you getting close again. Such a greedy little thing. Can’t get enough of daddy’s cock, can you?”

“No—no, I can't—” you gasp, pushing back against him mindlessly. The pressure builds impossibly fast, sharp and brutal and bright now instead of painful. Every nerve that was screaming in protest is now singing, driving you toward the edge with vicious intent.

“Come on,” Hongjoong growls, his fingers pressing harder, circling faster. “Give it to me. Show Daddy what a mess you can make.” His cock grinds deep, hitting that devastating angle. “Cum on Daddy’s cock right fucking now.”

Your body obeys before your mind catches up, the orgasm ripping through you with devastating force. You clench around him so hard it hurts, your walls spasming and tightening in a vice grip. The sound you make is broken and desperate, somewhere between a scream and a sob.

“Fuck—” Hongjoong chokes out, his rhythm faltering. “Fuck—you’re so tight—” His voice breaks on the last word because you’re squeezing him so hard he can barely move, your body milking him with each brutal pulse. “Gonna make me—fuck—”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence. Your cunt clamps down on him one more time and it destroys him completely. He slams deep with a guttural groan, grinding against you as he cums again, harder this time, filling you even fuller. You feel every throb, every pulse as he empties himself inside you for the second time, his whole body shuddering against your back.

“That's my good girl,” he gasps out, voice wrecked. “Making such a pretty mess for Daddy. So fucking tight—milked it right out of me.”

You gush again—harder this time, wetter—your body wringing itself out around him in pulsing waves while his cum floods you. The release is so intense it borders on violent, liquid heat flooding between your legs, soaking everything. You feel it run down your thighs, hear it drip onto the already-ruined sheets, and the humiliation of it only makes you clench harder, forcing more of his release to leak out around where you’re joined.

“There it is,” Hongjoong breathes, reverent and filthy at once. “So fucking messy for me.” His hips keep grinding shallow, working you both through it, forcing every last drop out while you shake and sob beneath him. “Such a good little squirter. Making Daddy so proud.”

Your whole body goes limp, muscles giving out completely. You collapse face-first into the mattress, boneless and used, trembling with aftershocks. Hongjoong finally stills, cock still buried deep, and lets his weight settle against your back. His breathing is ragged against your neck.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your sweat-slick shoulder. “You did so fucking perfect, baby. Squeezed me so tight I couldn’t help it.”

You can’t move, can’t think, can barely breathe. The sheets beneath you are soaked—cum and your own release mixing in a cooling puddle. Hongjoong shifts slightly, cock still buried deep, and you whimper at the oversensitivity. You can feel how full you are, how much he’s filled you, and it leaks out in thick rivulets with even the smallest movement.

When he finally pulls out, the loss is immediate and devastating. You whine—high and broken—feeling unbearably empty after being so full. His cum starts to leak out in earnest now, thick and warm, dripping down your thighs in slow rivulets. The sensation makes you shudder.

“Shh,” Hongjoong soothes, his hand stroking down your spine. He shifts his weight, hands sliding under your shoulders as he carefully rolls you onto your back. Your body settles against the mattress, and you feel more of his cum leak out with the position change, thick and warm between your legs.

“There we go,” he murmurs, settling between your spread thighs. “Look how much Daddy filled you up. So much it can’t even stay inside.”

You whimper, hips twitching uselessly, body still trying to clench around nothing. The emptiness feels wrong after everything, like you’ve been carved hollow. More of his release spills out with each aftershock, and you can feel it cooling on your skin.

“So pretty like this,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “All fucked out and dripping. Made such a mess of you.” His thumb drags through the slickness, spreading it further, and you keen at the oversensitivity. “My perfect mess.”

You can’t form words, can only lie there trembling while he touches you with a gentleness that feels almost cruel after everything.

“Good girl,” he whispers, and the praise makes something warm bloom in your chest despite your exhaustion. Your body is wrecked, oversensitive, every nerve ending raw and singing. But when his fingers brush over your entrance again, gathering more of the mess he’s made, you find yourself pushing back into the touch despite the sensitivity.

“Oh?” Hongjoong’s voice lifts with surprise, his fingers stilling. His eyes darken as he watches you move against his hand—mindless, instinctive—seeking more despite everything. Despite being so thoroughly fucked out that coherent thought is impossible. “Still greedy for it, baby? Even with that pretty head all empty?”

You can't answer with words—don't even fully understand the question—but your body knows. Your hips roll weakly against his palm, chasing the touch with clumsy desperation. A soft whine spills from your lips, needy and thoughtless. Parts of you crave the continued touch. The emptiness feels worse than the sting.

“Greedy thing,” he murmurs, but there’s wonder in it now, not just teasing. His fingers slide through the mess again, more deliberately this time, and you whimper. “Even after I fucked you senseless. Even after you came so hard you soaked the sheets twice. You still want Daddy’s touch.”

“Puh—please,” you manage, the word barely forming through drool-slicked lips, voice completely destroyed and slurred beyond recognition.

Hongjoong’s expression shifts—something possessive and tender at once. “Okay, baby,” he soothes. “Daddy’s got you. Always got you.” His fingers circle your entrance gently now, gathering the cum that’s still leaking out and pushing it back inside with careful pressure. The sensation makes you gasp, oversensitive but good, filling that devastating emptiness just slightly.

“There,” he whispers. “Is that what you needed? To stay full?”

You nod frantically, pushing against his hand, and he obliges—two fingers sliding in deeper, keeping his release inside you. The stretch is almost too much on your abused walls, but it’s what you want. What you need.

“Such a good girl,” he praises softly. “Taking everything Daddy gives you and still asking for more.”

His fingers work slow and steady inside you, and something in your brain just... shuts off. The constant buzz of thoughts, the ability to form coherent words—it all dissolves into nothing but sensation. Your mouth falls open, soft moans spilling out with each gentle thrust of his fingers.

“There she goes,” Hongjoong murmurs, watching your expression go slack with satisfaction. “There’s my girl. Nothing left in that pretty head but how good Daddy makes you feel, huh?”

You can’t even nod properly, just a loose movement of your head, eyes unfocused and glassy. Another moan slips out, breathy and mindless. His fingers curl slightly and your hips twitch, but there’s no urgency to it—just your body responding on pure instinct while your mind floats somewhere far away.

“Look at you,” he says softly, almost reverent. “Fucked you so good you can’t even think anymore. Just my empty-headed baby now, aren’t you?”

“Mm,” is all you can manage, the sound quiet and blissed-out. Your eyes flutter, struggling to focus on his face. Everything feels distant and warm, your body heavy and pliant beneath his touch.

“That’s right,” Hongjoong coos, his free hand stroking your cheek. “Don’t need to think. Just need to feel. Just need to let Daddy take care of you.” His fingers maintain that slow, gentle rhythm, keeping you full, keeping you floating. “Such pretty sounds you’re making. Can’t even form words anymore, can you?”

You shake your head—barely—another soft moan falling from your parted lips. The oversensitivity has melted into something dreamlike, each movement of his fingers sending lazy waves of pleasure through your wrung-out body. There’s no edge to chase anymore, no building tension—just the mindless contentment of being touched, being full, being his.

“Perfect,” he whispers. “Absolutely perfect like this.”

His hand slides up from your hip, palm warm against your ribs as it travels higher. When he cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple, you keen—high and broken. The sensitivity is different here, less raw but somehow more direct, each touch shooting straight through you.

“So responsive,” Hongjoong murmurs, watching your face as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. Your back arches weakly, pushing into the touch despite your exhaustion. “Even here. Every part of you is so fucking sensitive for me.”

His fingers inside you curl slightly in time with the pinch of his other hand on your nipple, and the dual sensation makes your eyes roll back. Another mindless moan falls from your lips, your body responding without thought, without control.

“That’s it,” he coos, switching to your other breast, palm kneading gently before his fingers find that peaked bud. “Just feel it, baby. Don’t think. Just let Daddy play with you.” He tugs slightly and you whimper, hips twitching against the fingers still buried inside you. “So pretty when you make those sounds.”

His touch alternates between gentle and firm—thumbs circling your nipples, palms pressing against the soft weight of your breasts, fingers occasionally pinching just hard enough to make you gasp. Each touch keeps you floating in that mindless space, pleasure washing over you in slow, lazy waves.

“Could play with these all day,” he murmurs, dipping his head to press a kiss to the curve of your breast. “Watch you fall apart from just this.” His tongue flicks out, circling your nipple before his lips close around it, and you gasp—the wet heat of his mouth making everything sharper, more intense.

Hongjoong sucks gently, tongue working the sensitive bud while his fingers continue their slow rhythm inside you. Your hands find his hair, holding on weakly, not pulling—just needing something to anchor you. When he grazes his teeth across your nipple, your whole body jolts, a strangled sound escaping you.

“Good girl,” he whispers against your skin. “Taking everything so well. My perfect, empty-headed doll.”

Your thighs shake harder now, trembling under his attention, muscles twitching with aftershocks that won’t stop. Each suck of his mouth, each curl of his fingers inside you makes them quiver more violently, until you can’t keep them still even if you tried.

“Joong,” you whimper, his name barely coherent, your voice destroyed and small. His mouth releases your nipple with a wet pop, switching to the other side, and the attention makes your back arch off the mattress weakly. “Can’t—too much—”

“Shh, I know, baby,” he soothes, releasing your breast to press kisses along your sternum. His fingers slow inside you, gentling their rhythm as your thighs continue to tremble uncontrollably. “But you’re doing so well for me. Just a little more, okay? Let me take care of you.”

You nod weakly, unable to do anything but submit, your body no longer your own—just something for him to play with, to care for, to keep floating in this mindless space. Your thighs won’t stop shaking, trembling against his sides as he settles between them again, and you can feel more of his cum leaking out despite his fingers still working to keep it inside.

“One more, baby,” he whispers against your lips. “Give Daddy one more and then I’ll let you rest.”

You manage to look at him through heavy-lidded eyes, vision blurred and unfocused. It takes effort to keep them open, each blink longer than the last. His face swims above you, features soft and concerned, and you can barely make out the dark intensity of his gaze.

“There you are,” he murmurs, his free hand cupping your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone. “Stay with me, baby. Just a little more. Can you do that for Daddy?”

You try to nod, but your head feels impossibly heavy, movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Another weak sound escapes you as his fingers curl inside you, and your eyes threaten to slip closed.

“Eyes on me,” Hongjoong coaxes gently, tapping your cheek to keep you present. “Want to see you when you fall apart one more time. Need to watch my baby come undone.”

It takes everything you have to keep your gaze on him, eyelids fluttering with the effort. His fingers work inside you with deliberate care, coaxing your body toward that edge one more time despite your exhaustion.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises softly. “Keep those pretty eyes on me.” His thumb finds your clit, circling with barely-there pressure, and your mouth falls open on a silent cry. “Almost there, baby.”

His hand moves from your face to slide two fingers past your parted lips. The touch is unexpected, gentle but insistent as they press against your tongue. Your eyes widen slightly, trying to focus on him through the haze.

“Suck,” Hongjoong commands softly, his voice dropping lower. “Show Daddy how good that mouth can be.”

You obey automatically, lips closing around his fingers, tongue working weakly against them. The taste is clean, just skin and the faint salt of sweat, and something about the act—the fullness in your mouth matching the fullness between your legs—makes you whimper around his fingers.

“Pretty,” he murmurs, watching your lips wrap around his digits with dark satisfaction. “Such a perfect mouth. Takes everything I give you so well.” His fingers inside you curl harder and you moan around the ones in your mouth, the sound muffled and desperate.

He pushes them deeper, making you gag slightly, and your eyes water as you struggle to accommodate them. “Shh, relax,” he soothes, easing back just enough. “Just like taking my cock. You can do it.” The comparison makes you clench around his other hand, and he groans. “Feel that? Your body knows what it wants.”

His thumb on your clit presses firmer now, circling with intent, and you keen around his fingers. Drool starts to leak from the corners of your mouth as you struggle to keep sucking, your jaw slack and uncoordinated. Everything is too much—the stretch in your mouth, the fullness between your legs, the relentless pressure on your clit.

“So messy,” Hongjoong says with satisfaction, watching the spit drip down your chin. “Can’t even keep it together anymore, can you? Just my brainless little toy.” He pulls his fingers from your mouth with a wet sound, dragging the saliva down your neck, your chest, leaving a glistening trail. “Open.”

You obey without thought, mouth falling open, tongue out. He leans down and spits directly onto your tongue, the act filthy and possessive, and you moan at the degradation of it. “Swallow,” he commands, and you do, throat working visibly.

“Good fucking girl,” he praises darkly. His fingers push back into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, keeping your mouth open and exposed.

Your hand moves without thought, fingers wrapping weakly around his wrist. You pull it down, guiding it to your throat, settling his palm against the vulnerable column of your neck. The request is silent but unmistakable.

Hongjoong’s eyes darken immediately, understanding flickering across his face. “Yeah?” he asks, voice dropping lower. “Want Daddy’s hand around your throat while he makes you come?”

You nod as much as you can with his hand there, a desperate whimper escaping you. His fingers curl around your neck—not squeezing yet, just holding, the weight of his palm a promise.

“Please,” you manage, the word barely a whisper, and that’s all he needs.

His hand tightens around your throat, pressure building slowly, controlled. Not enough to cut off your air completely—just enough to make each breath something you have to work for, something you have to earn. The restriction sends your body into overdrive, every nerve ending lighting up as his fingers inside you curl relentlessly and his thumb grinds against your clit.

“That’s it,” Hongjoong growls, watching your face flush darker as the oxygen thins. “Give it to me. Come for Daddy one more time.” His grip shifts slightly, thumb pressing against your pulse point, and he can feel your heartbeat racing beneath his palm. “Feel how hard your heart’s pounding for me? Your body knows who it belongs to.”

Your vision starts to blur at the edges, stars dancing across your sight as the pleasure builds impossibly higher. His fingers don’t let up, working you with practiced precision, and you’re teetering right on that edge—desperate for release but unable to tip over without his permission.

“So fucking beautiful like this,” he murmurs, voice rough with awe and desire. “Completely at my mercy. Taking everything I give you so perfectly.” His hand loosens slightly, letting oxygen rush back in, and the sudden clarity makes everything sharper. “You'’re doing so well, baby. So good for Daddy. Just let go—I’ve got you.”

The praise combined with the pressure returning to your throat is what breaks you. The orgasm hits different this time—slower, deeper, rolling through you like a wave pulling you under. Your mouth opens on a silent scream, no sound escaping with his hand locked around your throat, and the deprivation makes everything more intense.

“Perfect,” Hongjoong breathes, watching you fall apart beneath him. “That’s my perfect girl. Look at you—so beautiful when you come for me. Did so fucking well, baby.” His hand stays firm on your throat through every wave, controlling even this, drawing it out until you’re shaking uncontrollably.

When he finally releases your throat, you don’t even gasp for air. Your body just goes limp, every muscle surrendering at once. Your eyes slip closed despite trying to keep them on him, and the last thing you register is his voice—distant, concerned—calling your name.

“Baby? Hey—” Hongjoong’s hand immediately cups your face, patting your cheek gently. Your head lolls to the side, body completely unresponsive. You’re still breathing—he can see your chest rising and falling—but you’re utterly gone, consciousness slipping away into the exhaustion he’s wrung from you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, but there’s no panic in it. Just concern mixed with something like awe. He carefully withdraws his fingers from inside you, and you don’t even twitch at the loss. More cum leaks out onto the sheets, but you’re too far gone to notice or care.

He shifts immediately into caretaker mode, moving with practiced efficiency. His hand stays on your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone as he checks you over. Your pulse is steady under his fingers when he presses them to your throat—the same throat he was just restricting. Your breathing evens out into something deeper, more peaceful.

“Did so good,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Too good. Gave me everything.” There’s pride in his voice, but also guilt—he pushed you right to your absolute limit and over it.

He stays close, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest, making sure you’re really okay. After a moment, he tries again, voice soft but insistent. “Hey. Baby, come on.” His hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing across your cheek. “Need you to wake up for me.”

You don’t respond, body still limp and unmoving. He sighs, shifting to sit beside you, one hand sliding to your shoulder to shake you gently. “Can’t let you sleep yet. We need to get you cleaned up first.”

Still nothing. Your breathing stays deep and even, completely out of it. Hongjoong’s expression softens, guilt flickering across his features again. He really wore you out this time.

“Okay,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “Guess we’re doing this the hard way.” He slides one arm under your shoulders, the other beneath your knees, lifting you carefully against his chest. Your head lolls against his shoulder, body pliant and unresisting.

He carries you toward the bathroom, your weight comfortable in his arms. “You’re going to be so mad at me later if I let you sleep like this,” he says quietly, nudging the bathroom door open with his foot. “All sticky and messy. You’ll complain for days.”

He sets you down carefully on the edge of the tub, one hand staying on your shoulder to keep you upright while he reaches for the faucet. Your head tips forward, chin nearly touching your chest, and he has to catch you before you slump completely.

“Baby,” he tries again, patting your cheek a bit more firmly. “Come on. Just need you awake enough for a bath. I’ll do everything else.” The water starts running, warm steam beginning to fill the small space as he tests the temperature.

Your eyelids flutter—barely, but it’s something. A soft, incoherent sound escapes you, and Hongjoong takes it as a victory.

“There you are,” he encourages, both hands cupping your face now, lifting your head. “Let’s get you in, okay?” He helps you into the tub, supporting your weight as he eases you down into the warm water. The heat envelops you immediately, and you let out a small, contented sigh.

He kneels beside the tub, one hand still steadying you, about to reach for the washcloth when your fingers weakly grasp at his wrist.

“With you,” you mumble, eyes still closed, the words barely coherent but unmistakable.

Hongjoong’s expression softens immediately, a quiet laugh escaping him. “Yeah? Want me to get in with you?” He doesn’t wait for another response—just climbs into the tub behind you, pulling you back against his chest. His arms wrap around you, steadying you in the water, and you let out a small, satisfied hum as you melt into his warmth.

“Stay still,” he murmurs against your skin, voice soft and gentle—so different from how he sounded minutes ago. His lips press to your shoulder, kissing over the marks he left there. Some are already darkening into bruises, others are just faint impressions of his teeth. He maps each one with careful attention, like he’s cataloging the evidence of what he did to you.

You lean back into him, boneless and pliant, letting him support your weight completely. The warm water laps around you both as he reaches for the washcloth, soaping it up with one hand while the other stays wrapped around your waist.

“You’re going to be so sore tomorrow,” he says quietly, dragging the cloth along your arms with gentle strokes. His lips find the curve of your neck, pressing soft kisses to the red marks his hand left on your throat. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“Don’t be,” you mumble, the words thick and drowsy. “Wanted it.”

He makes a soft sound—half laugh, half sigh—and kisses the bruise at the junction of your neck and shoulder, the one from his teeth. “I know you did. Doesn’t mean I can’t take care of you after.” The washcloth moves to your chest, your stomach, washing away the sweat and evidence of everything that happened.

His other hand comes up to tilt your head to the side, giving him better access to your neck. He kisses every mark there too, lips tender against the sensitive skin. “So pretty,” he whispers. “Even covered in bruises. Especially covered in bruises.”

You hum contentedly, eyes still closed, completely surrendered to his care. His hands are so gentle now—washing you clean, touching you like something precious. The contrast makes your chest ache in the best way.

“I love you,” you murmur, barely audible.

Hongjoong's hands still for just a moment before continuing their careful work. “I love you too,” he says against your shoulder, punctuating it with another kiss. “So much. Even when I’m mean to you.”

Especially when he’s mean to you, maybe—but that’s something you both understand without saying.

He brings the cloth to your inner thighs, cleaning away the evidence of your releases, his movements are especially gentle, aware of how sensitive you must be.

“Almost done,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to your shoulder. The washcloth moves down your legs, over your calves, taking his time to make sure he’s gotten everything. You feel yourself drifting again, lulled by the warmth of the water and his tender care.

When he’s finished, he sets the washcloth aside and just holds you for a moment, his arms wrapped securely around your waist. You can feel his heartbeat against your back, steady and reassuring.

Something stirs in your chest—gratitude, affection, love.

With effort, you turn your head slightly, just enough to press your lips to his cheek. It’s a soft kiss, lazy and uncoordinated, but full of feeling.

Hongjoong goes still, then lets out a breath that sounds almost like relief. His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer against him. “What was that for?” he asks quietly, though there’s a smile in his voice.

“Thank you.”

His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, turning to press his own kiss to your temple. “Don’t thank me for taking care of you,” he says softly. “That’s my job. Especially after I’ve wrecked you like that.” But his voice is warm, fond, and you can hear how much your simple gesture affected him.

You shift in his arms, turning more fully despite the exhaustion weighing down your limbs. The movement sends water sloshing gently against the sides of the tub, but Hongjoong adjusts easily, his hands sliding to your waist to help stabilise you as you face him.

His eyes meet yours—dark and searching, still carrying traces of the intensity from before but softened now with concern and affection. You lift one hand, fingers trembling slightly as they trace the line of his jaw, then cup his cheek.

“Hey,” he whispers, his own hand coming up to cover yours against his face. “You okay?”

Instead of answering, you lean in and kiss him. It’s slow and deep, nothing like the desperate, hungry kisses from earlier. This one is grateful, reverent—a thank you and an I love you and an I trust you all wrapped into one. Your lips move against his with deliberate tenderness, and you feel him sigh into it, his body relaxing as he kisses you back with equal softness.

His arms wrap around you properly now, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head while the other stays secure at your waist. He angles his head to deepen the kiss just slightly, still gentle but more present, more him. When you finally pull back, it’s only enough to rest your forehead against his, both of you breathing the same air.

You catch the softness in his expression—the way he’s looking at you like you’re something precious—and a small, teasing smile tugs at your lips despite your exhaustion. Your fingers trace lazy patterns on his chest.

“You know,” you murmur, voice still thick with exhaustion but laced with amusement, “for someone who just fucked me unconscious, you’re being awfully soft right now. What happened to the mean Joong from like ten minutes ago?”

Hongjoong’s eyes narrow slightly, though there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “Are you complaining?”

“No,” you say, still trailing your fingers down his chest lazily. “You’re just being so sweet.”

His eyes narrow slightly, though there’s amusement flickering in them. “You want him back? Because I can arrange that.”

“Mm, no,” you hum, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I like this version too. All gentle and worried about me.” Your smile turns a little wicked. “It’s cute.”

“Cute,” he repeats flatly, though you can see the way his lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile.

“Very cute,” you confirm, your fingers walking up his chest to tap against his collarbone. “Taking care of me, kissing all the marks you left, being so—” You pause, pretending to search for the word. “—domestic.”

Hongjoong’s hand slides up to catch your wrist, his grip firm but not rough. “You’re lucky you can barely move right now,” he says, voice low, “or I’d remind you exactly how un-cute I can be.”

You laugh—soft and breathless—and let yourself collapse back against his chest. “See? Cute. You’re threatening me while holding me in a bubble bath.”

He groans, but his arms wrap around you again, pulling you close. “You’re impossible,” he mutters against your hair, but there’s no heat in it. Just fondness, and maybe a little exasperation. His hand strokes down your back in slow, soothing motions. “Rest. You’ve earned the right to be a brat for a few minutes.”

“Only a few minutes?” you tease, already feeling yourself starting to drift again.

“We’ll see how long my patience lasts,” he replies, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. But his tone is warm, and you know he’s not actually annoyed. If anything, he sounds relieved that you’re coherent enough to give him a hard time.

You shift again, the water rippling around you as you turn to face him fully. His hair is damp, some strands clinging to his forehead, others pushed back haphazardly. His eyes are dark and deep, watching you with that same careful attention he always has, like you’re the only thing that matters.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs, close enough that your breaths mix. His thumb strokes your cheek like he’s checking you’re really here.

“Like what?” you ask while your fingers starts tracing idle circles on his chest.

His gaze narrows, suspicious. “Like you’re about to start something.”

You tilt your head, considering him with exaggerated seriousness. “Maybe I am.”

A quiet, disbelieving laugh slips out of him. “You can barely keep your eyes open.”

“And yet,” you say, letting your fingers trace his jaw again, feather-light, “you’re still watching me like you’re trying to figure out what I’m thinking.”

His hand closes around your wrist—not tight, not controlling. Just there. Grounding. Possessive in a way that doesn’t hurt.

“I don’t have to figure it out,” he says. “I know you.”

“Oh?” You lean in, just enough to brush your mouth against the corner of his—almost a kiss. Almost. You stop a heartbeat short, letting him feel the tease in the pause. “Then tell me.”

His eyes drop to your lips. “Don’t get cocky,” he warns, but the warning sounds thin, like it’s already losing.

You hum, pretending to think about it. “I’m not cocky.”

He gives you a look that says liar.

You meet it without flinching. “I’m just… curious.”

“About what?” he asks, voice low.

You press a soft kiss to his cheek, then his jaw, then the place under his ear where you know it makes him go quiet. You feel his breath hitch, and it makes you brave.

“About how long it takes,” you murmur against his skin, “before you stop being sweet and start being mean again.”

He exhales a laugh—one of those quiet ones that means he’s trying not to show how much you got to him. His hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb brushing your pulse. “You’re teasing me,” he says.

You blink slowly, innocent on purpose. “Am I?”

He leans in, close enough that his nose brushes yours. “You should rest.”

You let your smile widen, just a little. “Make me.”