Hi, I’m a 19 year old girl who’s always loved to write. I hope y’all could enjoy what I post!
THIS IS A DARK CONTENT BLOG, IF YOU’RE A MINOR OR NOT SPECIFIED AND YOU INTERACT WITH MY +18 WORKS IM GONNA BLOCK YOU
Positivity! She/her, bisexual, Italian, Atiny, Moa, Gllit, Engene, InSomnia, RoadY, P1ece, big swiftie! If you want to be added at the tag list made your request here.
Feel free to refer to me as Jen or Ginny!
I don’t write about:
Incest
Grape
Cheating in the main couple
Orgy
Ships
Male reader (sorry guys I don’t feel comfortable)
Smut with minors involved
𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐒 𝐈 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓:
Ateez
Games of thrones
House of the dragon
A knight of the seven kingdoms
The request are closed!
If you want to check, here my main masterlist! Enjoy!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
tho im sorry i just had to share this and i think it is due to being sleep deprived but why is it when she said ‘appa’ i imagined her saying it more like singing it in such a high note like jongho would do like imagine lmao
Of course, Jongho was the first to move, because the sound of his daughter's voice was something he could recognize even before it left her mouth. The voice came out soft, thick with sleep and slightly muffled by her pacifier, but it was still strong enough to wake him. His eyelids fluttered slightly, his breathing changed rhythm, and within seconds he was already shifting beneath the sheets.
The mattress dipped under his weight as he sat up, running a hand through his messy hair. The room was wrapped in darkness, broken only by the faint glow of the small bedside light he liked to keep on and the dim light filtering in from the street.
«Haewon, my love, light of my life...» he murmured, his voice rough and still heavy with sleep. He paused, squinting to focus on the tiny figure that had approached the bed. «Why are you awake?»
The little girl's dark head barely peeked over the mattress, her hair sticking out everywhere, her big eyes shining in the dim light.
«Snack time?» her thin voice piped up, a sly little smile curling her lips.
A long silence followed, during which Jongho held his breath, his mouth curving into a smile he was desperately trying not to show. He cleared his throat with a small cough, in a failed attempt to mask his amusement.
«N-no, sweetheart, it's um...» he stammered, reaching toward the bedside table to check the time. «It's two in the morning. Snack time will be in a few hours.»
«Haewon hungryyy...» she whined, stretching out the word with determination.
«Shh!» he said immediately, bringing a finger to his lips and glancing around as if afraid someone might be watching him in the dark. «Alright, alright, but don't wake Mommy.»
Too late. But you appreciated the effort anyway.
Still wrapped in drowsiness, you had already heard everything: the shift in the bed, the warmth moving away, the faint creak of the springs. With a deep yawn, you felt Jongho get up, the soft shuffle of his steps on the floor and the small, satisfied sound from your daughter when he lifted her into his arms.
You stayed there for a moment, suspended between sleep and wakefulness, listening. Their voices drifted away down the hallway, low and conspiratorial. A smile touched your lips before you even decided to follow them.
When you finally got up, the floor was cold under your bare feet. You padded quietly toward the kitchen, guided by the soft light of the bulb above the sink.
The scene you found made you stop in the doorway.
Jongho was leaning against the counter, his body slightly hunched forward as if he were fighting off sleep. His arms were just barely tense to keep his balance, fingers gripping the edge. His hair fell into his eyes, and every now and then he brushed it back with a slow, distracted motion.
In front of him, sitting on the stool, Haewon swung her legs in the air, completely focused on her colorful bowl. The cereal floated in the milk, and she was carefully separating them, pushing the marshmallows to one side and the cereal to the other.
«Sweetheart, try to eat quickly so we can go back to sleep.» Jongho muttered, almost struggling to keep his eyes open.
«Uncle Woo says you're boring.» she announced innocently, without even looking up from her bowl.
You had to bring a hand to your mouth to keep from laughing.
Jongho, on the other hand, let his head drop forward with an annoyed sigh. «I need to remember to stop letting you hang out with him.» he muttered, more to himself than to her.
You stayed in the shadows a little longer, watching them. There was something incredibly tender in the way he, despite his obvious exhaustion, didn't take his eyes off her for even a second. It was as if he feared that if he looked away, she might cause some kind of disaster, or simply disappear.
«Uncle Woo says you and Mom used to be fun.» Haewon continued, finally looking up at her father. «But Haewon thinks you're very fun like this too, Daddy!»
A hoarse chuckle slipped from Jongho's lips as he looked at his daughter's milk-smeared face smiling at him. He reached toward the kitchen balcony to grab a napkin, then leaned closer, gently wiping the milk from her chubby cheeks.
«I appreciate that, princess.» he said softly. «But please, finish your cereal.»
You couldn't hold back anymore.
«I think you're fun too.» you said, stifling a laugh when your husband jumped in fright, nearly collapsing to the floor, making your daughter burst into laughter with her mouth still full of cereal and milk.
When he finally recovered, he gave you a reproachful look, shaking his head. «You really are a—» he stopped, remembering his daughter was right there listening with innocent eyes. You raised an eyebrow in challenge, and he cleared his throat. «—a beautiful and loving soul, whom I'm proud to call my wife.»
«Yes, that's what I thought.» you smiled, stepping into the kitchen and wrapping your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his back. The fabric of his shirt was warm, still carrying the trace of interrupted sleep. You could feel his slow breathing, the heartbeat still a little fast from the scare and your closeness.
You took a deep breath, letting yourself be enveloped by that familiar feeling. «Do you want me to make you a snack?» you asked, your voice softer.
«Nah...» he yawned, tilting his head slightly back. «If I eat now, I'll stay awake all night.»
«Jjong...» you huffed, holding back a laugh as you watched Haewon meticulously separating her marshmallows, her feet gently swinging. «I think we will anyway.»
He sighed, lowering his head in defeat. «A banana with some peanut butter, please.»
This time you couldn't hold back a real laugh. You rose onto your toes to place a light kiss on the back of his neck, then moved toward the counter.
The knife sank softly into the banana, the sound gentle and rhythmic. The jar of peanut butter opened with a small pop, and its sweet, salty scent filled the air.
Behind you, their voices continued, low and calm.
Every now and then Haewon laughed, a crystal-clear sound that felt too big for such a small child. Jongho responded with sleepy murmurs, but always present.
When you handed him the plate, he looked at you as if you were offering him something precious. «Thank you.» he said softly, placing a light kiss on your cheek.
The three of you stayed there, in that softly lit kitchen. You already knew the next morning would be difficult. That Jongho would snooze the alarm once, twice, three, maybe four times. That you'd spend half the day yawning, and that Haewon would be full of energy as if nothing had happened.
And yet, in that moment, you didn't care in the slightest.
Because in front of you was your daughter, her legs swinging, a perfectly separated pile of marshmallows beside her bowl.
And next to her was the man you had chosen, with messy hair, tired eyes, and a full heart.
And you were there, in the middle of it all.
And there was nothing, absolutely nothing, you would have wanted to change about those small, imperfect, wonderful memories taking shape right before your eyes.
[ badboy!Wooyoung x nerdy!Fem! Reader ] — one shot, smut — Ateez masterlist — wc: 4816
WARNINGS: MDNI, unprotect sex (use protections guys!), dirty talking, fingering, p in v, dom Wooyoung, small plot with porn, Wooyoung gives reader orders lol
A/n: Yall I’m trying to write but I have a massive block sorry😔😔
THE CHATTING of the students was muffled by the music of your earphones. You walked fast in the hallways, your head low and your presence ignored by others. You had your books pressed against your chest, your grip tight as you stopped in front of your professor class.
You got called for the fist time ever since you started school. It was actually confusing to you, because you don't recall doing anything wrong since the start of the year.
You sighed, adjusting your skirt with your hands, and took out your earphones to put it into your pocket. You opened the door slowly, poking your head in to see professor Kim sat at his desk.
«Miss Y/n, come in.» he said you, rising his head with a smile to look at you. You waked in and closed the door.
In front of him was a boy. He had jack back hair, pulled back with gel, and a high number of piercings on. There was one on his mouth, one on his eyebrow, a few on his ear and surely more that you couldn't see. He wore a black leather jacket, his hands deep in his pockets.
He didn't seem to enjoy being here, but after looking at you, the side is his mouth lifted.
You cleared your throat, straightening your back. «Mr. Kim, you wanted to talk to me?» you said shyly. You looked at the boy beside you, turning to the teacher with a confused expression. «I'm not in trouble? I'm sure I didn't do anything.»
Professor Kim gestured chuckled softly, shaking his head with a smile. «Don't worry, you're not in trouble.»
A weight seemed to lift from your shoulders. You sighed, nodding. «So, why did you called me?»
The pierced boy smirked at your confusion, finding your innocent demeanor amusing.
Professor Kim leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. «Ah yes, let me explain. This young man here is Wooyoung, his grades are getting worse, and he needs help.» He smiled, long at you trough his glasses. «Since you have the best grades in the third year i thought you could give him some lessons. Do you mind?»
You blinked in surprise at the unexpected request, glancing between Professor Kim and the handsome boy, Wooyoung. You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt, considering the propose.
«I...suppose I could try to help.» you said hesitantly, still unsure about tutoring someone who seemed so different from yourself. «But I'm not sure how effective I'd be. My study methods might not work for everyone.»
Despite your reservations, there was a part of you that felt compelled to assist, driven by your strong sense of responsibility and desire to help others succeed. You looked at Wooyoung again, trying to gauge his reaction to the arrangement.
«Um, what do you think about this, Wooyoung?» you asked tentatively, wanting to ensure both parties were comfortable with the tutoring agreement before committing.
Wooyoung's piercing gaze raked over your form appreciatively, a slow grin spreading across his face. He stepped closer, invading your personal space slightly as he spoke in a low, smooth voice tinged with amusement.
«Oh, I think it's a brilliant idea. Having such a smart girl to help me?» His tongue darted out to wet his lips, drawing attention to the silver stud glinting there. «I'm sure we can find plenty of motivating ways to improve my grades.»
There was a suggestive undertone to his words that you didn't catch, his eyes smoldering with barely restrained interest as they roamed your body once more.
A faint blush colored your cheeks as you noticed Wooyoung's intense gaze and proximity, feeling a bit flustered by his boldness. You took a small step back, unconsciously tugging at the collar of your blouse.
«W-well, I'm glad you're open to the idea.» you stammered, lowering your eyes shyly.
After that, you get out of the classroom, walking trough the hallway shoulder to shoulder.
Despite your demure demeanor, you found yourself drawn to Wooyoung's magnetic presence and striking appearance. There was an undeniable allure to his playboy charm that stirred something within you.
«Perhaps we could start by discussing when we could meet?» you said, looking at him.
Wooyoung smirked at your flustered reaction, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. As you walked together down the hallway, he draped an arm casually around your shoulders, pulling you subtly closer.
«Mmm, I like the way you think.» he chuckled, your name rolling off his tongue like a caress. «How about we meet up at my place tonight? No one will bother us.»
His fingers traced idle patterns along your upper arm as he spoke, sending shivers down your spine despite the innocence of the gesture. There was a wicked gleam in his eye, hinting at untold temptations should you choose to accept his invitation.
Your heart raced at Wooyoung's touch and intimate suggestion, a mix of excitement and trepidation swirling inside you. Being alone with him at his place seemed daring and perhaps even inappropriate.
Still, the prospect of helping someone improve academically was too tempting to resist. You nodded slowly, biting your lower lip.
«Tonight sounds perfect.» you agreed breathlessly, meeting his heated gaze. «What time should I come over? And where exactly do you live?»
As you walked, your bodies brushed together occasionally, each contact igniting sparks beneath your skin. You tried to focus on the logistics of your first private meeting, but Wooyoung's intoxicating nearness made it difficult to concentrate on anything else.
Wooyoung's eyes lightened up as you accepted his invitation, a triumphant smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He leaned in close, his lips nearly brushing the shell of your ear as he murmured,
«Come over at 8 o'clock sharp. I live in apartment complex next to the park.»
His hand slid down to the small of your back, applying just enough pressure to guide you forward as you continued walking. The heat of his palm seeped through the thin fabric of your shirt, branding your skin.
Your breath hitched as Wooyoung's warm breath ghosted over your sensitive skin, his deep voice sending shivers racing down your spine. You could feel the firmness of his body pressing against yours, his masculine scent enveloping you.
Swallowing hard, you managed to respond, your own voice taking on a husky quality. «Eight o'clock then. I'll be there.»
The promise hung heavy in the air between you. As you reached the end of the hallway, Wooyoung reluctantly released you, leaving you feeling bereft at the loss of his touch.
With a final smoldering look, he sauntered away, leaving you standing there, pulse pounding and thoughts consumed by the impending evening ahead.
That night, as the clock struck eight, you found yourself standing outside an upscale apartment building, nerves fluttering in your stomach. You smoothed down your dress, checking your reflection in the glass doors before taking a deep breath and ringing the doorbell to Wooyoung's unit.
Moments later, the door swung open, revealing Wooyoung himself. He looked devastatingly handsome in a fitted black button-up shirt that hugged his muscular frame, the top buttons left tantalizingly undone. His black hair was artfully tousled, and those piercing eyes raked over your form appreciatively as a slow grin spread across his face.
«Well, well, look what we have here.» he purred, stepping aside to let you enter.
You stepped into Wooyoung's apartment, immediately struck by the sleek modern decor and expansive views of the city skyline visible through floor-to-ceiling windows. The space exuded luxury and sophistication, much like its owner.
As Wooyoung closed the door behind you, sealing you two alone together, you turned to face him, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his intense scrutiny. You fiddled with the strap of your purse nervously.
«Your place is amazing, Wooyoung. Very impressive.» you complimented with a smile, hoping to break the charged silence. «Shall we get started with our first lesson then? I brought some study materials that I thought might help you grasp the concepts better.»
You held up your bag, filled with textbooks and notes, eager to shift the focus onto academics rather than the palpable sexual tension crackling between you.
Wooyoung's eyes followed the movement of your hands, lingering on the curve of your hip as you shifted your weight. He took a step closer, invading your personal space once again as he reached out to take your bag, his fingers brushing against yours.
«Study materials, huh? How thoughtful of you.» His voice was a low rumble, almost a purr. Setting the bag aside, he didn't release your hand right away, instead using his grip to gently tug you closer.
«But first, why don't we get comfortable? It's been a long day, and I'm sure you're tired from classes.» His other hand came up to rest on your waist, thumb tracing small circles through the thin fabric of your dress. «Why don't you relax on the couch while I bring us some drinks?»
Your breath caught in your throat as Wooyoung drew you nearer, his large hand splayed possessively against your lower back. The warmth of his touch seeped through your clothing, igniting a fire beneath your skin.
«Drinks sound nice...» you managed to say, your voice coming out breathier than intended. You allowed him to guide you towards the plush leather sofa, perching on the edge uncertainly.
You hands grabbed the hem of your skirt, fidgeting with it in an attempt to calm your nerves.
As Wooyoung moved to pour two glasses of amber liquid from a decanter on the bar cart, you took the opportunity to discreetly admire his slim physique, the way his shirt stretched taut across his broad shoulders and tapered waist. He moved with such a smoothness.
When he returned, handing you a tumbler filled with juice, you accepted it gratefully, needing something to occupy your trembling hands.
«Do you live alone?» you asked, looking around.
Wooyoung settled beside you on the couch, angling his body towards yours. He took a sip of his drink, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. «I have a roommate, but he's away for his sister's wedding.»
He chuckled, the sound low and rich. Setting his glass on the coffee table, he turned to face you fully, one arm draping across the back of the sofa behind your shoulders. «Should we get started?»
You nodded, setting your own half-finished drink down and reaching for your bag. Pulling out a stack of papers, you began explaining the key points and concepts you thought would be most helpful for Wooyoung to review.
As you talked, you became increasingly aware of his closeness, the heat radiating off his body and the occasional brush of his arm against yours. It was distracting, making it hard to concentrate on the material.
At one point, you paused mid-sentence, realizing you had lost your train of thought entirely. Swallowing thickly, you glanced up at Wooyoung from beneath lowered lashes.
«Sorry, I guess I'm a little nervous...» you admitted softly, your cheeks warming with embarrassment.
Wooyoung's eyes softened slightly at your admission, a gentle smile curving his lips. He reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingertips grazing your cheek in the process.
«Hey, no need to be nervous. It's not like we're doing something wrong.» His voice was uncharacteristically tender, a stark contrast to his usual bravado. Leaning back slightly, he patted the space beside him invitingly. «Why don't you scoot a little closer? It'll be easier to go through the material together if we're next to each other.»
There was a sincerity in his expression that put you somewhat at ease, even as your heart continued to race at his proximity and the intimacy of the moment.
Feeling emboldened by Wooyoung's reassuring words and gentle touch, you scooted closer until your thighs were brushing against his. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, and you could smell the subtle scent of his cologne, a mix of sandalwood and something uniquely masculine.
Focusing intently on the papers in your lap, you resumed your explanation, pointing out important diagrams and equations. However, every now and then, you would glance up to check Wooyoung's reaction, seeking confirmation that he understood.
To your surprise, he seemed genuinely engaged, his brow furrowed in concentration as he studied the material. Occasionally, he would ask insightful questions.
As the night wore on, Wooyoung found himself becoming increasingly captivated by your intelligence and passion for the subject matter. He listened intently to your explanations, his earlier playboy facade slipping away to reveal a curious and attentive student.
At one point, as you leaned in to show him a particularly complex diagram, your faces were mere inches apart. You could feel his breath mingling with yours, see the flecks of gold in his irises. The air between you felt electric, charged with unspoken tension.
Suddenly, Wooyoung set the papers aside, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed over your lower lip, his gaze intense and searching.
«You know, you're really pretty.» he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion.
Your breath caught in your throat as Wooyoung's thumb grazed your lip, his intense gaze holding you captive. A shiver ran through you at the intimate contact and the raw desire evident in his eyes.
«Thank you...» you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.
Emboldened by the charged atmosphere, you leaned into his touch, your eyelids fluttering closed for a brief moment. When you opened them again, you found yourself drowning in the depths of his piercing stare, the world seeming to fade away until only the two of you remained.
Slowly, giving you time to pull away, Wooyoung began to lean in, his lips hovering a hairsbreadth from yours. His free hand came to rest on your waist, fingers splaying possessively over the curve of your hip.
Wooyoung's eyes fluttered closed as he closed the remaining distance between you, capturing your lips in a soft, sensual kiss. It started out gentle, almost reverent, but quickly deepened as he poured hours of pent-up desire into the embrace.
His hand on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against his firm chest as he angled his head to deepen the kiss further. He tasted faintly of the juice he'd been drinking, the flavor sweet as his tongue teased the seam of your lips, silently begging for entrance.
Lost in the sensation, Wooyoung's other hand slid into your hair, cradling the back of your head as he kissed you with increasing urgency. He nipped lightly at your bottom lip before soothing the sting with his tongue, the dual sensations sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.
You melted into the kiss, a soft moan escaping you as Wooyoung's tongue delved past your parted lips to tangle with your own. The taste of him, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the skill of his mouth. It was overwhelming in the best way possible.
Your hands came up to clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into the firm muscle as you clung to him. You kissed him back with equal fervor, breathing heavily against his hace. Your lips moved against his in a dance as old as time itself, matching his passion with your own.
When he nipped at your lip, you gasped, the small pain only heightening your arousal. You chased after his retreating tongue, unwilling to let the delicious friction end.
He suddenly stopped the kiss, smirking softly. «Keep teaching ne, we don't want to stop our study session, right?» he whispered as his hand ghosted to your tight.
You nodded, your face flushed hot as your trembling hands took the book.
Wooyoung smirked at your flustered state, clearly pleased with the effect he had on you. Leaning back, he allowed you some space to collect yourself, though his arm remained draped casually across your shoulders, keeping you anchored to his side.
«Now, where were we?» he asked innocently, though the glimmer in his eyes betrayed his true intentions.
You licked your swollen lips, tasting him still, and struggled to refocus on the task at hand. Clearing your throat, you pointed to the relevant section in the textbook, trying to ignore the way your body thrummed with residual arousal.
«Okay, so if we apply this formula here...» you began, your voice slightly breathless.
As you attempted to explain the complex mathematical concept, Wooyoung listened attentively, nodding along. However, his wandering hand on your thigh made it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Each time his fingers drifted higher, grazing the sensitive skin just below the hem of your skirt, you had to pause and gather your scattered thoughts.
«And then, um...» you faltered, your cheeks flushing hotly as Wooyoung's touch sent sparks of pleasure racing through you. «We solve for x by isolating it on one side of the equation.»
You squirmed slightly in your seat, hyperaware of every point of contact between your bodies. The heat of his palm seeping through the thin fabric of your stockings was maddening, stoking the flames of your desire with each passing second.
Wooyoung's smirk widened as he noticed your growing discomfort, thoroughly enjoying the power he held over you. His hand crept higher, fingertips teasing the edge of your panties, the lace damp with your arousal.
«Is everything alright?» he asked innocently, feigning ignorance of the effect he was having on you. «You seem a bit distracted.»
He punctuated his question with a deliberate squeeze to your inner thigh, his thumb brushing dangerously close to your clothed sex. The air between you grew thick with tension, the scent of your perfume mingling with the musk of his cologne.
You shook your head, blushing even more. «I'm... I'm okay.» you muttered with weak voice.
Wooyoung's eyes darkened with lust as he witnessed your obvious arousal and flustered state. He leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered huskily,
«Are you sure about that? Because you look a little tense.»
His hand slid fully under your skirt, cupping your core possessively. Even through the drenched fabric of your panties, you could feel the heat of his palm, igniting nerve endings you didn't even know existed.
Wooyoung nuzzled into your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. «Let me help you relax a little while you read.» he rumbled, nibbling at your pulse point.
Wooyoung's fingers began to move in slow, deliberate circles over your clothed clit, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp and arch into his touch. He could feel the heat emanating from your core, the evidence of your desire coating his digits through the thin barrier of lace.
Your voice grew weaker and trembling at his touch, shaking at every word you were saying. The grip on your book was tight, scratching the pages with your strength. You whined softly as he grabbed the hem of your panties just to took them off. Cold hair made you shiver.
You trembled as cool air hit your exposed flesh, your arousal now laid bare for Wooyoung's hungry gaze. The rational part of your brain screamed that this was moving too fast, that you should put a stop to this before things escalated beyond control. But the aching need pulsing between your thighs drowned out all logical thought, urging you to surrender to the exquisite sensations only Wooyoung could provide.
«Please...» you whimpered, unsure exactly what you were begging for but knowing you needed more of his electrifying touch. Your hips rolled instinctively, seeking greater contact with his skilled fingers.
Wooyoung groaned at the sight of your dripping pussy, the pink folds glistening with your essence. «Keep reading.» he commanded.
«Then... if-if you count this» a loud moan interrupted you, rolling out of your lips. «mhh, you can find the x.»
Wooyoung dipped a finger into your slick folds, groaning at the velvet heat that enveloped him. He pumped slowly at first, allowing you to adjust to the intrusion before curling his digit to stroke that secret spot deep inside that made your toes curl.
«That's it, baby. Keep going. Let me hear that sexy voice of yours while I fuck this pretty little cunt.» he growled, adding a second finger to stretch you further.
His thumb circled your clit lazily, the rough pad abrading the sensitive bundle of nerves. The dual stimulation had you writhing in your seat, incoherent moans tumbling from your lips as you tried valiantly to continue reading aloud despite the mind-blowing pleasure coursing through your veins.
You could barely focus on the words in front of you, Wooyoung's skilled fingers driving you to new heights of ecstasy with each thrust and caress. Your hips bucked shamelessly, grinding against his hand as you chased your rapidly approaching climax.
Your voice broke on a particularly high-pitched keen as Wooyoung rubbed your G-spot dead-on. Drool trickled from the corner of your slack mouth, eyes glazed over with pure, unadulterated lust.
The book fell on your belly, too far gone to care about anything except the overwhelming pleasure consuming you. Throwing your head back, you surrendered completely to the sensations, letting out a guttural moan.
«Oh god, oh fuck, Wooyoung!»
Wooyoung captured your cries with his mouth, swallowing your screams of pleasure as he ruthlessly drove you towards your peak. His fingers pistoned in and out of your sopping cunt, the obscene wet sounds filling the room.
He could feel your walls beginning to flutter around his fingers, signaling your impending orgasm. «You want to cum? Let me feel this greedy pussy milk my fingers dry.» he demanded roughly, pinching your clit sharply between his thumb and forefinger.
Your back arched off the couch as the coil within you snapped, wave after wave of intense euphoria crashing over you. «Fuck!»
Your vision went white as you came harder than you ever had before, juices flooding Wooyoung's hand as he worked you through the aftershocks.
You collapsed bonelessly against the couch cushions as the last tremors of your earth-shattering orgasm subsided, your chest heaving with ragged breaths. A fine sheen of sweat coated your skin, making it glisten in the low light of the room.
Wooyoung slowly withdrew his soaked fingers from your twitching heat, bringing them to his lips to lick them clean with a wicked grin. «Delicious. You taste even better than I imagined.»
He shifted to hover over you, one hand braced beside your head while the other trailed teasingly down your quivering stomach. His eyes raked over your disheveled form hungrily, taking in the flush of your skin and the dazed, blissful expression on your face.
«We're not finished yet.»
Wooyoung's hand continued its downward path, skimming over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and leaving goosebumps in its wake. He nudged your legs apart with his knee, settling himself between them.
«In fact, we've barely begun.» he purred, leaning down to capture your lips in another searing kiss. His tongue plundered your mouth, tangling with yours in a sensual dance as his rigid length ground against your still throbbing core.
Breaking away, he blazed a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, pausing to suckle at the delicate skin where your pulse beat wildly. «I'm going to take you right here on this couch, nice and slow. I want to savor every inch of this gorgeous body.» he rasped, his voice heavy with lust.
You shuddered in anticipation, your oversensitized body already yearning for more of Wooyoung's masterful touch. The feeling of his hard cock pressing insistently against your slick folds sent jolts of renewed desire shooting through your nerves.
«Yes, please...» you breathed, tilting your hips up to grind against him wantonly.
Your hands roamed over the planes of his muscular back, nails raking lightly over his skin as you pulled him closer. The heat of his body scorched you, his scent enveloping you, an intoxicating blend of male musk and expensive cologne.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, using the leverage to roll your hips in a sinful rhythm, coating his shaft with your copious arousal. The fabric of his pants rubbed against your bare core, wetting them with your juices.
With a low groan, Wooyoung reached between your bodies to undo his belt and zipper, freeing his throbbing erection. The thick head nudged insistently at your entrance, smearing the pearl of precum leaking from the tip through your slick folds.
«I'm going to fill this cunt so much with my cum that it will recognize only me.» he growled possessively, notching the broad crown at your opening.
Without warning, he surged forward, sheathing himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust. He stretched your welcoming heat, feeling you tightening around his cock. A guttural moan tore from his throat at the exquisite feeling of your velvety walls gripping him like a vice almost made him cum.
«Fuck, you're so tight. Like you were made for me.»
He set a deep, powerful rhythm, each snap of his hips driving him impossibly deeper.
You burned, the initial penetration made you cried out in pain. But quickly gave way to pure, unadulterated pleasure as he began to move his hips.
«Fuck... fuck... fuck...» you babbled incoherently, lost in the sensation of being so utterly claimed by him.
Your nails dug into the flexing muscles of his ass, urging him on as he pounded into you relentlessly. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, mixing with your wanton moans and Wooyoung's guttural grunts.
Sweat beaded on your skin as he worked you over, each powerful thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids.
«Oh god, right there.» you moaned particularly loudly.
Wooyoung's breathing became ragged as he felt your inner walls milking his cock with every contraction. He adjusted his angle, plunging deeper until his pelvis met your soaking wet core.
«That's it, baby. Scream for me.» he ordered, slamming into you with brutal intensity. «Let everyone hear how good my cock feels inside this tight little pussy.»
His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he fucked you senseless. The couch creaked ominously beneath you both, the wood groaning with every violent thrust.
A strangled cry escaped your lips as another wave of pleasure crashed over you, your body convulsing around his invading member. Wooyoung's eyes darkened with feral hunger as he watched you come undone, his own release dangerously close.
Your crying filled the air, a symphony of pleasure that seemed to spur Wooyoung on. He pistoned his hips faster, chasing his own climax with single-minded determination.
«Fuck, I'm gonna... I'm gonna cum soon. Gonna fill this pussy up so good.» he grunted, his movements becoming erratic.
The coil in your lower belly wound tighter and tighter, your impending orgasm building to a crescendo. Your walls fluttered wildly around Wooyoung's thickness, trying to draw him deeper.
With a final, brutal thrust, Wooyoung buried himself to the hilt inside you. His cock jerked and pulsed as he emptied himself, painting your insides with thick ropes of his hot seed.
Wooyoung let out a guttural roar as his climax hit, his entire body tensing as he spilled his load deep inside you. His fingers dug into your hips, bruising the tender flesh as he rode out the waves of pleasure surging through him.
But he didn't stopped, his hips continued to moving against you, fucking his cum right into your core.
You whined as Wooyoung's hot seed flooded your spasming channel, triggering another mind-blowing orgasm. Your vision whited out, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of your shared climax.
Your inner muscles rippled and clenched around his pulsing cock, milking him for every last drop as he continued to grind into you. The feeling of his cum being pumped directly into your womb sent shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your entire being.
You clung to him desperately, nails scoring down his back as you rode out the seemingly endless waves of your peak. Drool leaked from the corner of your slack mouth as you hide your face in his neck, eyes rolled back in pure bliss.
Wooyoung finally stilled, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he rested his forehead against yours. His cock, still buried deep inside you, throbbed one last time before softening gradually.
He ran a shaky hand through your sweaty hair, his touch surprisingly gentle. «Hey,» he murmured, his voice hoarse. «what do you think about getting a coffee together sometime?»
He lifted his head to meet your dazed eyes, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Writing for wlw and not for mlm is pretty weird and homophobic to me
Omg my first hater hiiii!
Ok this is so funny because I’ve already said in my bio or somewhere the reason why don’t write for mlm or like ships but not everyone can read apparently.
No I’m not homophobic, I’m bisexual and it would be weird if I was against myself lol. I don’t write about mlm simply because I’m uncomfortable to.
I’m a woman, who feel good with her gender, and I don’t see myself in any other way. The reason why I write fanfic is because I want to see myself in the fmc to fill my delulu, because yes, I do this for my own pleasure too. If I do this for myself, then why would I make the main character a boy? I would not see myself in it anymore, defeating the purpose of my writing.
I don’t force anyone to read my fics, if you don’t like it it’s ok, I’m sure there’s a plenty of blogs that write about mlm or whatever you want to read.
Instead of spreading hate and negativity just use your time to do something useful and maybe you’ll find the blog perfect for you!
Can you write about snow leopard hongjoong x human reader where she works at a hybrid shelter and he had been there for a long time and they were gonna put him down due to aggression so she adopts him
She wasn’t scared of him at first until he attacked her so then she just left him in peace and doesn’t bother him anymore
Until he gets anxious about her being around other hybrids and makes it up to her and it goes into smut
Cold as snow
Snow leopard hybrid!Hongjoong x human!reader
Hybrid AU, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff
Wc:~5.9k
Warnings: mention of euthanasia, past animal cruelty and fighting ring, violence (attack, clawing, blood), isolation and emotional neglect, possessiveness/territorial behavior, smut, unprotected sex, oral, creampie, use of tail?
The fluorescent lights in the east wing of Seoul Hybrid Sanctuary always buzzed like dying insects. You had stopped noticing the sound years ago, the way most people stop hearing their own heartbeat until something forces them to listen. But today the buzz felt louder, angrier, as though the bulbs themselves knew what was scheduled for Room 47 at 3:00 pm.
You stood outside the reinforced glass door, clipboard pressed against your chest like a shield. The chart on top bore Hongjoong’s name in red ink, never a good sign. Red meant high-risk, aggression history, repeat escape attempts, and, most recently, euthanasia approved. The signature at the bottom belonged to Director Park, who had never once hesitated when signing off on a hybrid deemed irredeemable.
Inside the room, Hongjoong sat on the far edge of the metal cot, knees drawn up, tail wrapped tightly around his ankles. The snow leopard hybrid had always been striking, even in captivity. His hair fell in uneven silver-white strands past his shoulders, ears tufted and restless, constantly flicking toward every sound in the corridor. Those eyes: deep brown, never softened. They tracked movement the way a predator tracks prey that hasn’t yet realized it’s already been chosen.
He had been here four years and seven months. Longer than almost any other hybrid in the high-security wing. Most aggressive cases either improved enough to be rehomed or… didn’t. Hongjoong refused both paths. He didn’t improve. He didn’t die. He simply endured, growing sharper and quieter with each passing season.
You had first noticed him during intake. A midnight raid on an illegal fighting ring in Incheon; thirty-seven hybrids pulled from cages reeking of blood and fear. Hongjoong had been the only one who didn’t cower when the lights came on. He stood in the center of his pen, spine straight, lips peeled back just enough to show fang. When the rescue team breached the enclosure he didn’t run. He lunged, straight at the handler holding the capture pole. Three officers and a tranquilizer dart to the shoulder later, he was dragged unconscious into the transport van. The report noted: "Subject displays unusually high prey-drive response toward humans. Recommend permanent isolation."
That was the beginning.
Over the years you watched him from a distance. You weren’t assigned to his case: senior staff handled the dangerous ones, but you passed his room every shift. Sometimes he ignored you completely. Sometimes he tracked your footsteps with slow, deliberate turns of his head. Once, when a new volunteer dropped a metal tray outside his door, the crash echoed down the hall and Hongjoong exploded off his cot, slamming both palms against the glass so hard it spiderwebbed. He didn’t roar. He didn’t hiss. He simply stared through the fracture lines, pupils blown wide, chest heaving, until security arrived with the stun baton.
After that they tripled the thickness of the glass.
You weren’t supposed to talk to him. Policy forbade personal interaction with red-chart cases unless under direct supervision. But rules had always felt elastic to you. On slow nights you would linger just outside the range of the hallway camera, speaking in the soft monotone you used for frightened kittens and traumatized wolf pups.
"I know you can hear me" you’d murmur. "I’m not coming in. Just… letting you know someone’s here."
He never answered. Not once. But he listened. You could tell because his ears would stop flicking wildly and angle toward your voice. His tail would loosen its death grip on his own legs. Sometimes his eyes would slide sideways, catching yours through the reinforced barrier, and hold there for one long, unreadable second before he looked away.
It wasn’t friendship. It wasn’t trust. It was acknowledgment: You exist. I see you. I haven’t killed you yet.
That small ritual carried on for nearly three years.
Then the notice came down. Director Park called an all-staff meeting at 8:00 am on a Tuesday in March. The conference room smelled of burnt coffee and antiseptic. Twenty-three employees sat in folding chairs while the director paced in front of a projected spreadsheet titled "Capacity Reallocation Q1 20XX."
"We are currently twenty-eight percent over safe occupancy" Park said, tapping the screen. "The Ministry has threatened to pull funding unless we reduce high-maintenance cases by fifteen percent before the next audit. I’ve reviewed every file. Unfortunately, several long-term residents have not responded to rehabilitation protocols."
A murmur moved through the room. Park clicked to the next slide. Hongjoong’s intake photo filled the screen: younger, angrier, lip split and one ear torn. Below it ran the red banner: Subject HK-0047 – SNOW LEOPARD HYBRID – EUTHANASIA SCHEDULED XX SEP 20XX @ 15:00.
Your stomach dropped so violently you tasted bile.
Someone (Minji from intake) raised her hand. "Has he… shown any recent improvement?"
Park’s mouth thinned. "He mauled Handler Choi last month during routine health screening. Four-inch lacerations to the forearm. Choi needed thirty-two stitches and is still on medical leave. That was the third incident in six months."
Another click. Security footage began to play, silent and grainy.
Hongjoong crouched in the corner of an exam room. A handler approached with a syringe. The moment the needle glinted, Hongjoong moved faster than should have been possible in the small space. One second he was still; the next he had the handler pinned facedown, teeth buried in the meat of the man’s shoulder. Blood bloomed dark across the white tile.
The video cut off.
Park folded his arms. "We’ve exhausted every option. Behavioral enrichment, scent therapy, even pharmacological intervention. Nothing works. He’s not adoptable. He’s barely containable. The decision has been made."
The room stayed quiet after that. You didn’t speak during the rest of the meeting. You didn’t speak when everyone filed out. You walked straight to the east wing supply closet, locked yourself inside among shelves of bleach and kibble and cried so hard your throat felt raw.
Then you dried your face, straightened your uniform and went to find Director Park.
He was in his office, already filling out the final disposition form.
You didn’t knock.
"I’m taking him" you said.
Park looked up slowly, pen still poised above the paper. "Excuse me?"
"Hongjoong. HK-0047. I’m adopting him. Today."
For a moment the only sound was the wall clock ticking. Then Park laughed, short, disbelieving. "You’ve read his file."
"I’ve read it more times than you have."
"He nearly killed a handler last month."
"He didn’t kill him. He could have. He didn’t."
"That isn’t the point-"
"It is to me."
Park removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You understand what you’re asking? If he hurts you or anyone else in your building the liability falls entirely on you. No shelter insurance. No legal protection. You’ll be blacklisted from every hybrid-related job in the country. And if he kills someone…" He let the sentence hang.
"I know."
He studied you for a long minute. "Why him?"
You didn’t have a clean answer. Not one that would satisfy bureaucracy. So you gave him the truth you’d been carrying for years.
"Because no one else ever stayed outside his door and talked to him just because they wanted to. Because every time I walked past that room I felt like I was leaving a piece of myself behind. Because if we kill him tomorrow, I’ll spend the rest of my life knowing I could have tried."
Park exhaled through his nose. "You’re insane."
"Maybe."
He stared at the form another moment, then slid it into the shredder beside his desk. The machine whirred.
"Get the paperwork started with admin" he said quietly. "You have until 14:30 to sign everything and take possession. After that, he’s your responsibility. Completely."
You nodded once and left before he could change his mind.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of forms, liability waivers, emergency contact sheets and a mandatory psych evaluation you barely passed because the counselor kept asking if you understood the danger and you kept saying yes.
At 2:15 pm you stood outside Room 47 with a transport crate on wheels (protocol oblige), a heavy-duty collar-and-leash set no one expected you to actually use and a heart that felt too large for your ribcage.
A security officer unlocked the door.
Hongjoong was already on his feet. He didn’t growl. He didn’t bare teeth. He simply watched as you stepped inside alone, closing the door behind you.
The room smelled of metal, antiseptic and the faint musk of snow leopard: clean, cold, wild.
You set the crate down slowly.
"I’m not here to trick you" you said, keeping your voice low and even. "They were going to kill you today. I told them no. I’m taking you home instead."
His ears flattened slightly. Tail tip twitched once.
"I know you don’t trust me. I know you have no reason to. But I’m not leaving this room without you and I’m not dragging you out in chains. So you have two choices." You lifted your empty hands. "Walk out with me, or I sit here until they come in with the needle anyway."
Silence stretched thin and dangerous. Then Hongjoong moved. Not toward you, past you. He circled the small space once, twice, tail brushing the wall. His gaze never left your face.
When he finally stopped, he was close enough that you could see the faint scars running through his left eyebrow, the way his pupils flexed in the dim light. He spoke for the first time in four years and seven months. His voice was low, rough from disuse. "You’re going to regret this."
You swallowed once. "I know."
He studied you another long moment. Then he walked to the crate, crouched and climbed inside without being asked.
The latch clicked shut. You carried rolled him out of the east wing, past staring coworkers, past the security desk, past the front doors into late-afternoon sunlight he hadn’t felt in years.
He didn’t speak again during the drive. But when you reached your apartment and opened the crate door, he didn’t bolt. He stepped out slowly, tail low, ears swiveling, taking in the new space: the living room, the kitchen, the bedroom down the hall.
You stayed by the front door, giving him distance. He turned to look at you once, eyes unreadable. Then he padded silently to the farthest corner of the couch, curled into a tight ball and closed his eyes. Not trust. Not gratitude. Just… survival. For now.
You stood there a long time, watching the slow rise and fall of his breathing, the faint twitch of his tail even in sleep.
The first week felt like holding your breath underwater.
You came home from the shelter each evening expecting chaos: overturned furniture, shredded cushions, claw marks on the walls like territorial warnings. Instead the apartment was eerily still. Hongjoong claimed the far corner of the sectional sofa the moment you opened the crate that first afternoon and he hadn’t moved much since. He slept in tight coils, tail tucked over his nose, ears twitching at every street noise filtering through the single-paned windows. When he was awake he watched. Always watched.
You learned his patterns quickly because they were so rigidly consistent. He drank from the wide ceramic bowl you’d placed on the kitchen floor, never from the glass you left on the counter everyday, as though human containers carried contamination. He ate the high-protein hybrid kibble you poured at exactly 7:00 pm, picking through it with delicate precision, leaving anything that smelled faintly of vegetables or grain. And every night at 11:43 pm (you checked the clock the first three times) he padded silently to the balcony door, sat with his back to the glass, and stared out at the city lights until dawn.
You gave him space. Not because you were afraid but because every book, every training seminar, every whispered story from veteran handlers said the same thing: forced proximity with a long-term isolation case was the fastest way to trigger a defensive snap. So you moved carefully. You spoke in the same soft monotone you’d used outside his shelter room, never raising your voice, never making sudden gestures. You announced your intentions before you acted.
"I’m going to turn on the kitchen light now."
"I’m opening the fridge."
"I’m taking a shower, it’ll take twenty minutes."
He never answered, but his ears would flick in your direction, acknowledging receipt. That small reaction felt like victory.
You bought things for him in careful increments, never all at once so it wouldn’t feel like overwhelming charity. A thick wool blanket the color of fresh snow (he ignored it for three days, then dragged it behind the couch and slept on it). A scratching post taller than you were, he tested it once with slow, deliberate drags of his claws, left faint silvery streaks in the sisal, then never touched it again. A wide, water fountain because the shelter notes said snow leopards preferred moving water, he drank from it exclusively after the first night, tail tip curling in what might have been approval.
You didn’t try to touch him. Not even close. You didn’t try to make eye contact for longer than a second. You didn’t sit on the couch if he was already there. Instead you took the armchair across the room, or the floor cushion by the coffee table, or, when your legs ached from twelve-hour shifts, you sat at the kitchen island with your back to him, pretending to scroll through shelter reports on your tablet. You let him dictate the distance.
And slowly, almost imperceptibly, the apartment began to smell like him. Not overpoweringly, just enough that when you came home after a long day the familiar musk of clean fur, cold stone and faint cedar greeted you before the smell of last night’s takeout did. It wasn’t unpleasant. It was… grounding. Like the apartment had finally decided to belong to someone other than you.
You started talking to him again, the way you had through the glass. Not expecting answers. Just filling the quiet.
"The new kid in intake today cried the whole transport. Wolf-dog mix, maybe sixteen months old. Kept asking for his mom. Broke my heart."
Or: "Director Park asked if you’d torn the place apart yet. I told him you’re neater than I am."
Or, once, very quietly after a particularly bad day: "I’m glad you’re here. Even if you never speak to me."
He never responded, but he never left the room when you spoke either. It felt like progress.
Then came the evening that would change everything. You’d had a double shift: two emergency intakes, a fight in the large-cat wing that required sedation of three tigers, and a power outage that sent half the shelter into backup-generator panic. By the time you dragged yourself through the front door at 10:17 pm, every muscle ached and your scrubs smelled like fear-sweat and antiseptic.
You kicked off your shoes, dropped your bag, flicked on the entryway light.
Hongjoong was already sitting upright on the couch, ears pinned flat, pupils blown so wide the amber irises were thin rings.
You froze. "Hey" you said softly. "Long day. I’m just gonna-"
You took one step toward the kitchen. He moved. Not the slow, deliberate prowl you’d grown accustomed to. This was explosive, silent, liquid violence. One heartbeat he was on the cushion; the next he was across the room, claws out, slamming you back against the wall beside the coat rack. Your skull cracked against plaster. His forearm pressed across your throat, not choking, but pinning. His other hand braced beside your head, claws sunk into drywall. Hot breath fanned your cheek. His tail lashed hard enough to knock a framed photo to the floor; glass shattered somewhere unimportant.
You didn’t scream. Training kicked in: don’t scream, don’t struggle, don’t challenge. You went limp instead, eyes fixed on the middle distance past his shoulder, breathing shallow and even.
He snarled, low, guttural, more vibration than sound. "You reek" he rasped, voice shredded from disuse. "Other cats. Dogs. Fear. Blood."
His nose dragged along your jaw, inhaling sharply. "Mine" he hissed, the word torn out like it hurt him to say it. "This place. Mine."
You swallowed carefully around the pressure on your throat. "I’m sorry" you whispered. "I didn’t realize-"
His claws flexed. Pinpricks of pain bloomed along your collarbone where fabric tore. Then, abruptly, he released you. He stepped back three paces, tail whipping, chest heaving. His ears stayed flat. His pupils hadn’t shrunk.
You slid down the wall until your knees hit the floor, hands trembling so badly you clasped them between your thighs to hide it. Hongjoong stared at you for another endless second. Then he turned, padded back to the couch, leapt onto the highest backrest and disappeared over the top into the shadowed corner he’d claimed as his den.
You stayed on the floor until your heartbeat stopped thundering in your ears. The scratches weren’t deep: three shallow lines across your collarbone, already clotting but they stung like betrayal.
You cleaned them in the bathroom with shaking hands, applied antiseptic, taped gauze over the worst of them. Then you changed into clean clothes, threw the blood-scented scrubs into the washer on hot and quietly set his dinner bowl down in its usual place.
He didn’t come out to eat that night. Or the next morning. You left the food anyway. Fresh water. A new blanket folded beside his old one.
From that moment on, you stopped trying. No more soft announcements before moving through the apartment. No more casual one-sided conversation. No more lingering in shared spaces.
You fed him on schedule, 7:00 pm exactly, then retreated to your bedroom with the door closed. You showered with the fan on to drown out any sound he might make. You worked late at the shelter whenever possible, taking extra shifts just to delay coming home to the suffocating silence.
When you were home, you became a ghost in your own apartment. You used the armchair only when he was clearly asleep. You walked wide arcs around the couch. You kept your gaze lowered, never meeting those glacial eyes even by accident. You stopped buying things for him. No more blankets, no more toys, no more attempts to make the space feel welcoming. If he wanted comfort, he could use what was already there. If he wanted interaction, he could initiate it. He didn’t.
Days blurred into weeks. The apartment stayed clean, unnaturally so. He groomed obsessively, fur gleaming like fresh powder. He ate every bite of food you left. But he never once approached you.
Sometimes, late at night when you couldn’t sleep, you would sit on the floor of your bedroom with your back against the closed door and listen. You could hear him moving: soft footfalls, the faint drag of claws on hardwood when he stretched, the rhythmic thump of his tail against the couch frame when something outside startled him.
Once you thought you heard a low, rumbling sound that might have been a purr. You told yourself it was the refrigerator.
December arrived with rain that hammered the windows for days. Hongjoong took to sitting on the windowsill, nose almost touching the glass, watching water streak down in rivulets. You wondered if he missed snow. You wondered if he remembered mountains. You wondered if he hated you now, or if he’d simply gone back to the state he’d lived in for four years at the shelter: watchful, untouchable, alone.
You stopped wondering so loudly inside your own head. You stopped wondering at all. In January, you had settled into a routine that felt sustainable, if joyless. You woke at 5:45 am, showered, dressed, left his breakfast on the way out. You worked. You came home at whatever hour the shift ended, set dinner down without looking toward the living room, retreated to your room. You slept. You repeated.
The scratches healed into thin pale lines. You wore high-necked shirts to the shelter so no one would ask questions. No one did. You told yourself this was better. He was alive. He was safe. He wasn’t in a steel room waiting for a needle. That had to be enough. But sometimes, when you passed the couch and caught the faint scent of musk and fur, you felt the absence like a bruise you couldn’t stop pressing.
You had adopted him to save him. Instead you’d built a new cage. This one just had better lighting. And softer floors. And no cameras.
On one evening, you came home to find the food untouched. You paused in the doorway. The apartment was dark except for the blue glow of the city bleeding through the balcony glass. Hongjoong was on the windowsill again, back to you, tail curled tightly around his feet.
You set your bag down quietly, walked to the kitchen, poured fresh kibble anyway, set the bowl in its place. Then, because you couldn’t help it, you spoke for the first time in six weeks.
"I’m sorry I smell like the shelter" you said to the darkness. "I can’t help it. It’s on my skin now. Probably always will be."
Silence.
You exhaled. "I’ll sleep in the spare room tonight. Give you the whole place." (The spare room is the furthest from the living room)
You turned toward the hallway. Behind you, a low sound, barely audible. A single, rough word. "Wait."
You froze. He didn’t repeat it. He didn’t move. But the word hung between you like smoke. You waited another thirty seconds. Then you continued down the hall, closed the spare-room door behind you and sat on the edge of the bare mattress with your head in your hands.
He had spoken. After everything. One word. Wait. You didn’t know what it meant. You didn’t dare hope. But for the first time since you took him in, your heart beat fast enough to hurt.
The apartment had become a museum of careful distance. February slipped into March without fanfare. Snow gave way to rain that fell against the windows like a second skin. You kept the balcony door cracked at night for air, even though the city noise filtered in: sirens, distant laughter, the low rumble of delivery scooters. Hongjoong still perched on the windowsill most evenings, nose almost touching the glass, tail curled so tightly the tip trembled. You no longer spoke to announce your movements. You no longer spoke at all unless it was necessary: "Dinner’s down." "I’m heading out." "Good night."
He answered in monosyllables when he answered at all. "Yes." "No." "Fine."
That single "wait" from weeks ago had never been repeated. You told yourself it had been a fluke, a slip of the tongue after too many weeks of silence. You told yourself not to read meaning into it. You mostly succeeded.
Work became your anchor. The shelter was busier than ever. You started bringing home temporary cases: a pair of lynx kittens who needed bottle-feeding every three hours, a timid caracal recovering from a broken leg, a young clouded leopard hybrid who flinched at every sudden noise. They stayed in the spare bedroom you’d quietly converted into a nursery. You spent evenings there instead of the living room, rocking tiny bodies, murmuring lullabies, cleaning formula stains from your shirts.
Hongjoong noticed. At first it was subtle. His ears would flatten when you rolled a carrier past the couch. His tail would lash once, hard, against the cushion. He stopped sitting on the windowsill when the nursery door was open; instead he paced the hallway in slow, deliberate circuits, claws clicking faintly on hardwood. You pretended not to see.
One evening in late June you came home with a fox hybrid kit, barely weaned, red fur matted with street grime, trembling so violently his teeth chattered. You carried him straight to the bathroom for a warm bath. Hongjoong was already in the hallway when you stepped out of the elevator. He didn’t move aside. He stood in the center of the corridor, shoulders squared, pupils thin slits.
You paused. "I need to get him cleaned up" you said quietly. "He’s freezing."
Hongjoong’s gaze dropped to the bundle in your arms. The kit whimpered, pressing his face into your neck. A low growl rolled out of Hongjoong’s chest, slow, continuous, like distant thunder. You met his eyes for the first time in months.
"I’ll keep him in the spare room" you said. "He won’t be out here."
The growl cut off abruptly. Hongjoong stepped aside. You walked past without another word. That night the pacing started. Soft at first, footfalls up and down the hallway. Then faster. Then accompanied by the scrape of claws against baseboards. You lay awake in the spare room with the fox kit curled against your chest, listening to the restless rhythm on the other side of the door. At 3:17 am the pacing stopped.
You heard the soft thump of him jumping onto the couch. Then silence.
The next morning the food bowl was untouched again. You left it anyway.
Over the following weeks the pattern sharpened. Every time you brought home a new foster, every single time, Hongjoong’s behavior shifted. He would position himself between you and the nursery door when you rolled carriers inside. He would sit directly in your path when you left for work, forcing you to step around him. Once, when the clouded leopard hissed at you during a nail trim, Hongjoong appeared in the doorway so fast you didn’t see him move; he didn’t enter, just stood there, staring until the younger hybrid went quiet and hid under the bed.
You started leaving work earlier when possible, just to minimize the hours the fosters spent alone with him prowling the apartment. You told yourself it was protectiveness toward territory. You told yourself it wasn’t personal. You were lying.
May arrived with a heatwave that turned the city into a furnace. The air conditioner struggled; you kept it set to 24°C and still woke up damp with sweat. The fox kit had been adopted out. The lynx kittens too. Only the clouded leopard remained, still skittish, still healing, still sleeping in the crook of your arm every night because thunderstorms made him cry.
Hongjoong stopped eating on the days you came home smelling strongest of the nursery. You found half-finished bowls shoved under the couch. Water left untouched. Once you discovered the scratching post dragged into the hallway and shredded to ribbons, fibers scattered like snow. You stopped bringing fosters home after that.
Director Park raised an eyebrow when you requested to cut back on temporary placements. "Everything okay at home?" he asked.
You smiled tightly. "Just need a break."
He didn’t push.
The apartment felt bigger without the soft sounds of kittens or the patter of small paws. It also felt colder. Hongjoong returned to the windowsill. But now he watched you. Not the city. You.
When you moved through the kitchen he tracked every step. When you sat in the armchair with a book he stared until you looked up, then looked away. When you showered he waited outside the bathroom door; you could see the shadow of his tail under the gap.
You started locking your bedroom door at night. Not because you were afraid he would hurt you. Because you were afraid of what might happen if he didn’t.
One night, you came home late, overtime covering a staff shortage. The apartment was dark except for the blue glow from the balcony. Hongjoong sat on the back of the couch, tail hanging down, swaying slowly like a metronome counting something only he could hear.
You set your bag down. "I’m home" you said, habit more than expectation.
He didn’t answer. You walked past him toward the kitchen. His tail snapped out, curling around your wrist, not hard, but firm enough to stop you. You froze.
His voice came low, rough, barely above a whisper. "You smell like him again."
You looked down at the tail wrapped around your skin.
"The clouded leopard" he said. "His scent’s all over you. On your neck. Your arms. Your clothes."
You exhaled slowly. "He was scared tonight. Thunderstorm. I held him until he fell asleep."
Hongjoong’s grip tightened, just a fraction. "Then you came home to me smelling like him."
You met his eyes. Dark amber. Pupils blown wide in the dim light.
"Is that a problem?" you asked quietly.
He didn’t answer right away. His tail uncoiled from your wrist, slid up your arm, brushed the side of your neck where the kitten had nuzzled.
"Yes" he said finally.
"Why?"
"Because I thought-" His voice cracked. He swallowed. Tried again. "I thought when you brought me here… you chose me."
The words landed like stones in still water. You felt them ripple outward, touching every careful wall you’d built for months.
"I did choose you" you said.
"Then why do you keep bringing them home?" His ears flattened. "Why do you let them sleep in your arms? Why do you come back smelling like someone else?"
You took one careful step closer. He didn’t retreat.
"I brought them home because it’s my job" you said. "Because they needed somewhere safe. The same reason I brought you."
His tail lashed once. "I’m not the same" he hissed.
"No" you agreed. "You’re not."
Silence stretched. Then he spoke again, so softly you almost missed it.
"I waited."
You blinked.
"I waited four years in that room. No one came close. No one stayed. Then you did. Every day. Talking through the glass like I was… someone." His gaze dropped to the floor. "I thought when you took me out of there, it meant something. Then you stopped. You stopped talking. Stopped looking. Started bringing others."
His claws flexed against the couch leather.
"I got scared" he admitted. "Scared you’d realize I wasn’t worth it. Scared you’d send me back. Or worse, keep me but never look at me again."
Your throat tightened. "Hongjoong…"
"I attacked you" he continued, voice raw. "I hurt you. And after that I didn’t know how to fix it. So I stayed quiet. Stayed away. Thought maybe if I didn’t bother you, you’d keep me anyway."
He lifted his eyes again. "I’m sorry."
The apology hung between you, simple, jagged, honest.
You stepped closer. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. Close enough to see the faint tremble in his ears.
"I never stopped wanting you here" you whispered. "I just didn’t know how to reach you after… after that night."
He exhaled shakily. "I didn’t want to hurt you again."
"You didn’t."
"I could have."
"But you didn’t."
Another long silence. Then he moved, slowly, deliberately. He slid off the couch back, landed soundlessly in front of you. His hand lifted, hesitated, then brushed your cheek with the backs of his knuckles. Careful. Reverent.
"I don’t want to smell anyone else on you" he murmured.
You swallowed. "Then don’t."
His pupils dilated fully. He leaned in, slow enough you could stop him if you wanted. You didn’t. His nose brushed your jaw first. Inhaling. A low rumble started in his chest, not a growl. A purr. Deep, continuous, vibrating through both of you. He licked once, slow, warm, deliberate, over the spot where the clouded leopard’s scent lingered strongest. Then again. And again. Until your skin tingled and your knees felt unsteady.
"Hongjoong…"
He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. "Tell me to stop."
You shook your head. He kissed you. Not gentle. Desperate. Teeth and tongue and the faint scrape of fangs against your lower lip. His hands slid into your hair, tilting your head, holding you exactly where he wanted. Tail wrapped around your thigh, possessive, anchoring. You gasped into his mouth. He growled approval.
Clothes came off in a frantic rush: your shirt over your head, his thin sleep pants shoved down, your jeans kicked somewhere unimportant. He lifted you effortlessly, carried you to the couch, laid you down on the blanket he’d claimed months ago. The one that smelled like clean fur and musk and him.
He hovered above you, breathing hard, eyes searching yours. "Last chance" he rasped. "Tell me no."
You reached up, cupped his face, pulled him down. "Yes."
He claimed your mouth again, deeper, hungrier. Then he moved lower. Teeth grazed your collarbone, over the faint silver scars he’d left. He paused there, licked them slowly, reverently, like an apology pressed into skin.
"I’ll never hurt you again" he whispered against the marks.
You believed him.
His hands mapped you: strong fingers, careful claws retracted, palms warm and rough from years of gripping bars and concrete. He kissed every inch he uncovered: the hollow of your throat, the curve of your breast, the dip of your waist. When he reached the inside of your thigh he nuzzled there, inhaling deeply, rumbling with satisfaction. "Mine" he growled softly.
Then he tasted you. Slow at first, exploring, learning. Then faster, hungrier, until your back arched and your fingers tangled in his hair and you were gasping his name like a prayer. He didn’t stop until you shattered: back bowed, thighs trembling, crying out into the dark apartment.
Only then did he crawl back up, kissing you so you could taste yourself on his tongue.
He settled between your legs, hard length pressing against you, hot and insistent. "Look at me" he said. You did. He pushed in slowly, careful, watching your face for any sign of pain. There was stretch, pressure, fullness, but no pain. Only heat. Only him.
When he was seated fully he stilled, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. "You feel…" He swallowed. "Perfect."
You wrapped your legs around him. "Move."
He did. Slow rolls at first, deep, deliberate, letting you feel every inch. Then faster. Harder. The couch creaked beneath you. His tail curled around your calf, holding you open. His teeth found your shoulder, not breaking skin, just pressing, marking without drawing blood.
You raked your nails down his back. He snarled, pleased, primal. The rhythm built until it was frantic: skin slapping, breath mingling, growls and moans overlapping.
When you clenched around him he buried his face in your neck, fangs grazing, hips stuttering. "Come for me" he rasped. "Let me feel it."
You did, harder than before, crying his name, nails digging crescents into his shoulders. He followed seconds later, deep growl vibrating against your throat, hips grinding flush as he spilled inside you, marking you from the inside out.
He didn’t pull away. He stayed buried, arms wrapped around you, tail still curled around your leg, purring so loudly it rattled your bones. You stroked his hair, his ears, the base of his tail until the purr softened to a contented rumble.
He nuzzled your neck. "You're so mine" he whispered again, this time gentle.
You kissed the top of his head. "Of course, kitty"
He stayed inside you until he softened, then carefully pulled out, gathered you against his chest, and carried you to the bedroom, your bedroom.
He laid you down, crawled in beside you, pulled the covers over both of you. His tail draped across your hip. His hand found yours under the blanket, fingers lacing tight.
"I’m not letting you go" he murmured into your hair.
You squeezed his hand. "I’m not going anywhere."
He pressed a kiss to your temple. "Sleep."
You did, wrapped in fur and warmth and the steady thump of his heart against your back.
can i just say how ridiculous it is that black & poc readers still have to scream and shout about being represented properly in fics?? you’d think that people would get the hint by now, but no. you still have your plain old, brunette with long straight hair and pale skin. like don’t you guys think it’s getting old? it’s 2026.
WHERE IS THE TRUE INCLUSIVITY?
specifically writers who have the “x reader” inserted. i’m so sorry but your fic is NOT x reader if you have your own descriptions of the readers inserted—you’re literally creating an OC. my skin does not flush pink, no he did not run his fingers through my hair, nor did they glide through that easily. and yes, many may say “make your own fics” and i do!!!! but we should not have to fight for representation if your fic is for READERS. it’s supposed to be all readers, no? so why are you inserting certain characteristics that not everyone has? of course you don’t know what all of your readers look like, which is why you don’t add things like that in there. it’s easier for many people not to feel this struggle and to tell us to “stop being dramatic” because YOU don’t have to experience that.
it’s completely unfair to the fans that would love to see themselves represented more and can’t, because writers in 2026 have yet to realize that not everyone has pale skin, flowy hair, and a slim figure.
I agree with you, in fact I always try to not specify too much about the reader just saying things like “her hair fell on her shoulders” which is pretty generic, but yall need to understand that sometimes things are just meant like romantic actions.
“He run his fingers through her hair” is just a way to do a romantic action that people are used to in their everyday life. It’s not like they don’t want to be inclusive, but just write a scene. If we start to count literally everything we wouldn’t be able to write anything at all.
The expression “her face flushed pink” it’s just a way to say “she reddened”, and black ppl get red too btw, it’s it’s just not evident like others. I have a black friend and she gets darker when she’s embarrassed, that’s why I use the expression “she flushed”. It’s like saying “their eyes darkened” it’s not a real thing, but more a way to describe something.
Write a xreader where the protagonist can represent: white peoples, black peoples, Asian people, Hispanic people, curly haired people, straight haired people, long hair people, short hair people, disabled people, mentally ill people, skinny people, thick people, chubby people, feminine people, masculine people, short people, tall people, and neutral people is really hard.
I agree that we have to be inclusive, but sometimes people just write their fanfic basing their actions on their personal experiences.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
