minkimivx

Their saving grace, their Prophet, a woman in pure white lace laid out on a red velvet chaise, temptation upon the marble staircase, candelabras hanging from the walls, the ceilings, washing You in flickers of warm yellows, fighting off shadows that would otherwise frighten Lee Chan as he waited at the end of the aisle. His entrance filled the room with desire, each disciple withstanding their hunger, famished beyond their years, Lee Chan wielding the power in his tongue, his fingers, to end their fast.

To please You.

For if he fails, You, their prophet, their almighty saviour, shall condemn Lee Chan and the disciples of Seveen to two months of abstinence.

October first, their fast began, strictly set commandments to follow, to endure, to execute. Some reigning thirty days strong, others falling short, in turn dropping to Your feet, brokenhearted, confessing their sins, the greed coursing through their bodies, the need for release, reclamation.

They shall not give in to their desires, whether the urge becomes too great. They shall not indulge in themselves, in other disciples, they must practice celibacy, refrain from pleasure, from losing oneself in the warmth of another.

Torturous for beings who spend their days, their nights, curled beside their lover, beside You, beside themselves, committing themselves to Seveen, to You, their Prophet, for eternity. A month of a certain emptiness they once felt before initiation, that clouded over Lee Chan now, trembling at the foot of salvation, the knowledge that fulfillment lay before him in white easing any lingering doubts he harbored the night he’d been given a bed in the disciples chamber. 

The knowledge that the Twelve, for thirty days, thirty nights, couldn’t wrap themselves around their lover or another, slip into them and relish in nirvana, rut into something tight, grind against a sweet song that ignited their fire, swap spit and sweat in the heat of the night, cum onto a tongue with a pretty face drenched by the tears of hedonism, terrified Lee Chan.

Twelve sets of eyes watching, studying, attempting to articulate whether or not this one would make it through, whether or not Your body would accept him, or else they’d live out the year in suffering. Twelve mouths whispering, to one another, not to Lee Chan, forbidden from slipping him secrets, forbidden from sharing with him what it took to bring You to deliverance, for he had to do it alone.

That didn’t stop them from sharing daily life. Bringing Lee Chan into their home, into their chambers, taking the time to ensure he knew what his life would become shall he be blessed, a life devoted to You, to the disciples, to Seveen. Twelve stories he heard of initiation, twelve stories he heard of who had paired with another, each disciple seemingly belonging to another though their true devotion lied with You.

Lee Chan made the Twelve, Thirteen.

Withstanding thirty days, thirty nights, gentle nods amidst the marble stoned halls grew hungry. Delighted browns drew famished. As Lee Chan took to his duties, learning his way around, earning his position amongst the disciples before facing You, he began to understand the weight of what waited. 

He also understood that once his task had been fulfilled, once he succeeded, if he succeeded, that there were twelve beautiful men starved eager to pounce upon fresh meat, a body without the stamina to compete, to last. 

The bottom of the food chain. 

A lamb thrown to wolves.

Mingyu had done it in two minutes.

Seungcheol, the leader of the disciples, took more pleasure out of the act, barely a task for him to conquer, but one to enjoy. 

SoonYoung, attempted to break the rules, tried to touch You anywhere and everywhere, a mischievous grin on his face, so eager to fuck You, to win, to celebrate, that Junhui, the last initiate before him had been ordered to hold him down, hands clamped to his wrists, secured behind his back so tight that SoonYoung had Junhui’s fingers branded into his skin for days to come.

Junhui who succeeded in quiet, focused concentration much like Wonwoo, Jihoon, and Minghao, the four competitive in a sense that there had been no room for failure, only completion, their blessing a relief, falling into the arms of the disciples in celebration just before sinking into You with satisfaction.

Joshua, Seokmin, Seungkwan, Hansol, the four who took their initiation into their own hands, barely swayed by others' stories, mere legends they kept from tangling with the worries plaguing their minds, they moved on their own. Following every rule to the book, they worked, they persevered, and though each one different, Seokmin and Seungkwan loud, torturing everyone in the chamber, while Joshua and Vernon let out but mere hums of praise, struggle was unbeknownst to the four.

Jeonghan, whom Lee Chan learned belonged to Seungcheol, the second initiate had only the leader at his beck and call. Thirty days and thirty nights spent together, alone, long days side by side blending into nights slipping into separate rooms. Jeonghan succeeded, but of course he did. Jeonghan pledged his life to You, his Prophet, he worshipped only You, he devoted himself to You, however, he spent his days beneath Seungcheol’s arm. In Seungcheol's presence. Answering to Seungcheol.

Lee Chan stood before You, but he also stood before an established hierarchy, a family, one he, hopefully, would blend into once he took a step forward down the aisle.

Chants echoed, quiet, the notes ricocheting off of stone, reverberation resonating like a breeze over bare skin, the chamber awash in all things Holy, in all things sacred. The Twelve sang in harmony, differing riffs fueling the persistence residing in Lee Chan's gut, the determination residing in Yours.

A gorgeous boy, one with hair black as night, a jaw strong as stone, eyes feline and alluring, Lee Chan was the perfect initiate. 

A tantalizing addition. 

Seungcheol would spend many nights beside You for this finding, this discovery of this broad shouldered, toned, confident boy eyeing You from the floor. If Lee Chan were to succeed as expected, You may allow Jeonghan to join You and Seungcheol, possibly Jihoon as well, the three utterly vulgar when brought together, put to work.

One bare foot step at a time, Lee Chan inched closer.

Head held high, lace patterned on his cheekbones, he paced himself to the hums of Your disciples, eyes locked on Yours, jaw set in place. A picture of perfection.

Unmoving, analyzing his every move, You tipped Your lips up in a soft smile, an invitation, one that told him to ascend the marble staircase, one that reflected each flicker of light, every shadow bouncing about the chamber. Taking a deep breath, one he pushed down into his stomach, his naked body a work of art, Lee Chan peered to his left, Seungcheol kneeling, on Your right.

The leader eyed him.

Truly on his own, Lee Chan had one chance. If he failed, he’d never have another opportunity for Your blessing, ever again. Seungcheol’s heavy gaze spoke to him, but didn’t plead, never a beggar. The man wide, shoulders to his hips, with large, strong hands that gripped his thighs where he knelt, his full, pouty lips moving with the hymn the disciples forced into the air, he told Lee Chan through swirls of chocolate, that if he were responsible for an end of year drought, he wouldn’t leave unmarked.

The room cast in shadows of autumn warmth, contoured in crimson, swallowed Lee Chan whole when the lace adorning his body dropped to the floor behind him as he approached the pallet of chestnut wood before You. He can barely hear his own short breaths as the hymn seemed to grow louder, Twelve beautiful voices in his ears, they urged him to succeed, suffocating him, no room for failure. 

Seeing You, up close, Your imperishable beauty, Lee Chan can see Your heart. Soft, smooth legs crossed over the red velvet chaise, an arm thrown over the back of it, Your smile warmer than the candles heating the Sanctuary. Lee Chan can feel You, Your compassion, Your unconditional love, he wants nothing more than to trust You, please You, to devote his life to You.  

He barely feels the lack of fabric touching his skin, Lee Chan doesn’t feel naked at all. He bowed, deeply, body bending ninety degrees, arms tight to his flushed torso, feet firmly planted in the floor beneath him. He stays there, bowed in adoration and praise for what felt like an eternity, but not long enough. Forever with You isn’t long enough. 

“You may rise,” Your voice, a sweet command. Soft like the velvet You lay upon, authoritative in a way that had him upright in a blink. Your grin had spread wider, satisfied, eyes curious as they danced to take in his build, hungry as You relished in the sight of him. 

Lee Chan swallowed, fingers fidgeting at his sides. His eyes dropped to the pallet below him for a millisecond before they burned into Your gaze once more, “May I pray?”

Your small nod had his knees cracking as they hit the lambs wool, barely a comfort, chestnut wood beneath it cutting through the flimsy fluff, penance for the sinful life he lived before You. Lee Chan bowed his head, elbows bent to press his palms together, thumbs kissing the crease between his pecs, the room quieted when You moved. 

He caught Seungcheol out of his peripherals, his head bowed, his palms pressed together. When one disciple prayed, they all prayed, in reverence to their Prophet. You. 

“Lee Chan,” Your voice powerful, his name rolled off Your sweet lips like You awarded him salvation, he saw Your supple legs crossed before him, painted fingernails laid on Your thighs. He keeps his head bowed. “Whatever You ask in prayer, believe that You have received it, and it will be Yours.” 

Lee Chan’s head dropped lower. “One thing I shall ask of the Prophet, that I will seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the Prophet all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Prophet and to inquire in Her Sanctuary.” 

“I believe that, if I confess my sins, You are faithful and just to forgive, and to cleanse me from all unrighteousness. One Prophet, one faith, one baptism, I am to be cleansed by Your holy water, Her Spirit.” Lee Chan lifted his head, to gaze into Your eyes, to see Your beauty before him. 

“You shall drink from the fountain, Lee Chan,” You stood before him, looking down at him through Your brows, “I baptize You with water for repentance.”

Lee Chan jumped when the congregation behind him sang in chorus, “Amen.”

Seungcheol stood on Your right, his shoulders squared, jaw locked in an attempt to hide the starvation he’s endured for thirty-one days. His voice bellowed through Her Sanctuary, “We pray for Lee Chan. Set him free from sin, make him a temple of Her glory, and send Her Holy Spirit to dwell with him. We ask this through our Prophet.”

The chorus sang again, “Amen.”

You smiled down at him, teeth exposed, eyes glowing with anticipation, “Stand, Lee Chan.”

He stood with the rest of the congregation, the low groan of wood bounced off stone walls, body mere inches from Yours, drinking in the heat which radiated off of You. Never taking Your eyes off his, You sang, “Recite the Rites, Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol, stepping forward, his voice matched the strength his body displayed. “Do You renounce temptation?”

Lee Chan kept his eyes on Yours, “I do.”

“Do You believe in our Prophet, Her word, Her everlasting love?”

“Do You believe in Her Spirit, Her Sanctuary, its disciples, Her forgiveness of sins?”

“Do You believe that to be taken into Her Sanctuary, You must complete the initiation alone, without the touch of others, without thy own wandering hands, only touching the Prophet where She is Sacred?”

“Do You believe You will become a new creation after clothing Yourself in Her robes, which in Her white garment lay the outward sign of Your dignity?”

Lee Chan nodded, lost in Your eyes, his new life that lived behind them. His words slipped out low after every question, escaping from freshly-licked lips, “I do.”

“Our Prophet, the all-powerful Mother who has given us new life by Her water, Her Spirit, and forgiven all our sins. May he keep faithful to our Prophet for the rest of his days.”

After taking a step back, Lee Chan bowed deeply, palms pressed together in prayer, “Amen.” 

Once Lee Chan had risen, You bid Seungcheol a glance, in which he bent down and slid the chestnut wood pallet closer to Your cathedra. You sat back on the red velvet chaise, arms stretched behind You, knees still knitted together, and the congregation knelt on their lambs wool once more. 

Lee Chan swallowed. 

“Confess to me Your sins, Lee Chan.” Legs spreading, head falling backward, Your chin tipped up with a sigh. “Let My water save You.”

Lee Chan’s eyes widened, pupils dilating at the sight before him, his first glimpse of Heaven was between Your thighs. He moved on command, the crunch of his knees against wood was nonexistent as he knelt upon the lambs wool, lips parted and wet. He wanted to thank You, even for the sight, if he was expelled right now without as much as a taste he’d still be eternally grateful for Your humble gift. 

He dragged his eyes from Heaven to meet Your eye for a split second, adrenaline swimming through his veins when he saw the hunger, the passion behind them, You wanted him to succeed. You wanted to save him, You wanted him as Your disciple, Your pupil, You wanted him in Your Sanctuary. 

Lee Chan has never known such ambition before he stepped foot in this room. 

Wet, dripping, beauty he never could have imagined lay before him, waiting to be ravaged, ready to be devoured by Lee Chan’s tongue. He would not let a moment of second-guessing cloud his mind, he could do this, he would do this. He wanted to worship You, everlasting life at Your side.

He leaned forward, tongue poking between his lips to drag the muscle up Your folds in one swipe, collecting Your water, eyes rolling back as the feeling of absolution warms his bare body. Sweet, slightly acidic, You, Lee Chan moaned at Your taste, how his tongue felt between Your folds, as if he was born for this very moment. Born for Seungcheol to find, a paragon to a prophecy, his ultimate destiny.

Lips swirling around Your swollen clit, he hums in pleasure, this has never felt so good before. Giving another person euphoria, it’s never drilled such quick pressure into his cock, his bent knees flexing as his cock hardens, growing against his clenched stomach. His nails claw into his thighs, tongue lapping at Your folds, drinking up every ounce of Your water because nothing has ever quenched his thirst like You. 

The first moan that slipped from Your lips made his kneeling legs spread wider. A sound so beautiful, so intoxicating, spiritual, the note played from Your lips at such frequency had his mind whirling. He needed to hear it again, and again, and again.

His tongue flicked at Your clit and one of Your hands dug into his hair, fingers sinking into his roots, to be touched by You… Lee Chan felt he was already saved. 

Your hips bucked into him, lifting from the chaise, and his mouth followed Your every move. Licking, sucking, tongue slipping inside Your hole, he wanted everything. 

How long has it been? Has it been two minutes?

He lifted his right hand from his thigh, lips swirling around Your clit while one finger swiped through Your folds, collecting his own saliva, Your water that wouldn’t stop pouring, he supposed he had much to be cleansed. Sinking one finger inside You, he curled it towards himself and the sound that left Your lips was angelic, Lee Chan groaned, eyelids fluttering as pleasure consumed him head-to-toe. 

Tirelessly, movements filled with determination, Lee Chan added another finger, working them against the front of Your walls, the spot inside You that was spongy, edible. He wanted to taste it with his tongue. Your fingers curled into his hair, head tipping backward, Your chest glowing with a sheen of sweat, Lee Chan wanted to lick that up, too. 

Minutes, hours, years had gone by– Lee Chan would spend forever between Your thighs, but would You let him? Did Your salvation have a timeframe? 

Where his resolve was strong, his body wasn’t as strong as his mind. Pads of his fingers working in tandem with his tongue, Lee Chan kept his rhythm, waiting to feel You clench around him, any sign that what he was doing was bringing You closer to the edge. Closer to Your fountain anointing him into Your Sanctuary. 

His cheeks grew hot. His fingers slowed. The pressure in his tongue weakened.

Is this what damnation feels like?

Mingyu had done it in two minutes. 

Seungcheol had done it without issue. 

Legends sat behind him, waiting like starved dogs that could smell their meal from where they knelt. Could Lee Chan satisfy their hunger? Could Lee Chan receive the blessing that would end their drought?

Disciples humming, a vibration off the walls seeping into his skin, traveling up into Your body, he curled his fingers thrice, he twisted his tongue though it yearned to rest, he curled his brow, determination hurtling toward frustration. Twelve mouths before him. Twelve tongues You’ve accepted into Your heat. Twelve triumphant loyal disciples– Perhaps his expectations were too great.

Perhaps Seungcheol hadn’t properly chosen the right damned fool to fulfill their succession.

Your song began to quiet. Fingers curling into his hair, they lost their vigor. Your body, though relaxed, remained unsatisfied.

Lee Chan took a breath.

And then another.

His eyes flickered behind You, Your participatory sighs flipping his stomach. Seungcheol, unmoving, he stared. He watched. He studied. He analyzed. He spoke, his eyes relaying a thousand things his lips wouldn’t dare, not here. Not now. Not in front of You, in Your presence, at Your most holy hour.

You’re failing, Lee Chan.

A most disappointing performance.

And to think we thought You worthy of trying.

Maybe he made it up himself.

Seungcheols straightened brow and tense shoulders moved, briskly, disappearing from sight. Gentle hums seemed to lessen, the air growing thicker around Lee Chan, disciples quieting, a shuffling occurring behind him, down the marble, wood creaking, deep voices exchanging solemn whispers…

Eyes squeezing shut, pulling his mouth from You, he pressed the tip of his nose to Your clit and twisted his fingers within You, scissoring them out–

“Ah.”

A rough hand dug against his scalp, fingertips lacing through his locks, rearing his head backward without a sound. Standing behind him, above him, looking down at Lee Chan with brown pointed brows shadowed by lace, Hansol. 

A breath racked through his chest. He remembered SoonYoung and Junhui, the latter needing to assist in holding the tiger back, one too wild, too eager. 

Hansol ripped him away from You.

He glared down at Lee Chan, jaw firm, set into place.

Your hands slipped over Your body, over Your sacred lace, and in one fluid motion You rose, sitting forward, meeting Hansol with a smile, knees pulling backward, legs spread. You knew he could smell You, the memory of his own initiation but two years passed. 

You crooned, “Hansol.”

He knew better than to speak.

Eyes dropping to Chan’s desperate gaze locked onto his predecessor, all of his pent up determination, frustration, his anguish, seeping from his pores like the tears that threatened his feline eyes, Your smile softened.

You wanted him.

You needed him.

The hungry eyes from the floor whispered to You, they needed him, too.

Taking a breath deep into Your belly, releasing a sigh, You sprawled onto the velvet. “Hansol, please.”

Chan’s teeth chattered behind closed lips, he trembled beneath the knot Hansol wove atop his head, he gasped aloud as the disciples palm cracked across his cheek, quick, hard, piercing. Chin knocked to the left, he gulped. Pressing his eyes shut, he prayed off tears.

Positioning himself in front of You, Hansol’s fingers poisoned in apathy, Chan shuddered. Blinking but three times, he whispered to Hansol, “Again.”

He had no room to make demands, to ask for favors, to plead for any help, that when the word slipped from his lips he cursed himself for eternity, that is until he watched Hansol pull his back his arm, gentle muscle flexing in his bicep, a sight to make Lee Chan’s mouth water before his eyes blurred with a water he wished had been Yours.

A crack rang in the air, and Chan groaned, his mouth dropping open to penetrate the air with the sound that drilled up into You, disgustingly erotic and all the more enticing.

You haven’t had a disciple enjoy this since Minghao, yet alone have one beg for more.

Hansol’s palm seemed to read all of Your secrets, the way Chan dipped his head back between Your thighs with fervor, a newfound hunger in his eyes when he looked up at You through wet lashes. You moaned the moment his wet lips made contact, face scrunching together in awe as a singular tear dipped past his waterline, swimming down his beautiful, rosy skin.

“Chan,” You whispered his name like You were writing it in Your missal, Your fingers joining Hansol’s in his onyx locks, a featherlight touch, one encouraging, one pleased, compared to Hansol’s demanding grip, pushing, holding. 

Two fingers plunged inside You, curling, pressing, his tongue flicking over Your clit, You felt his desperation in his lips. Tears poured down his cheeks, dampening Your thighs as they squeezed around his head, Your head tipped backward in ecstasy. A third finger, he added, before Your eyesight grew hazy, thick fingers pressing so hard along Your walls it was as if You had his cock inside You, despite the clear sight of it red and leaking against his abdomen. 

Your hips rocked against him, Your chest a hymnal, jaw slack and lips wet with enough spit drool might slip past. Your disciples loved when You were messy, thoughtless, lost within the pleasure they gave You, they revered it a blessing, propitiation, each one of them moaned as they licked up every drop. 

When his teeth grazed Your clit Your eyes flew backward into darkness, fingers knotting in his hair, hips bucking into his fingers, You could taste it. On the cusp of exaltation, Lee Chan could taste it too, how he followed Your hips’ movements, never breaking rhythm, eyes still glued to You and each one of Your reactions, he was enraptured, You could hear him in Your mind, praying for it.

A Prophet benevolent, You heard his prayer, and answered it. 

One gush into his mouth until he broke away with a proud grin, two with a loud cry from Your lips, three with his fingers still working You open, milking You of every last drop. Greed personified, now two deadly sins of seven, You absolved him with each swallow, You forgave when his tongue met Your folds again, licking You clean. 

Hansol’s grip in his hair pulled him backward, his eyes low-lidded, lips curled upward in satisfaction, he looked at You with love in his eyes. Hansol bent down, voice strained, one hungry, “Let us pray, then we can feast.”

Chan’s chest continued to heave as Hansol took his spot in the precession, knelt onto lambs wool, while Seungcheol quickly rose to his feet, bowing before You in reverence. 

“O Holy Prophet, You gift us grace through sacrament, with Your holy water we are baptized into Your Sanctuary, the wellspring of all holiness.”

He stands, shoulders back, head straight, one out of Thirteen who hides his famine best.

Long strides around the chaise, he stands behind Your cathedra, “By water and the Holy Spirit, he is to receive the gift of new life from the Prophet, who is Love.”

He met Chan’s eye over Your head, thick fingers laid over Your shoulders, tucked into the lace adorning Your body. He lifted it off Your body slowly, praying, “The Prophet has freed You from sin, given You a new birth by Her water, and has welcomed You into Her Sanctuary. She now anoints You with the chrism of salvation.”

You helped him by shimmying the lace off Your body, sinking into the chaise once Seungcheol had the lace in his hold, watching as his body, draped in black, sauntered before You once more. 

You smiled, eyes low, “Stand, Lee Chan.”

Seungcheol, dwarfing Chan as he stands, held the white lace robe as if it were made of glass, open and ready for Chan to sink his arms into. Slowly, Chan slipped his arms through the lace, Seungcheol’s fingers lingering on his body, his muscle, the only sign of his hunger.

“You have become a new creation, and have clothed Yourself in white. See in this garment the outward sign of Your faith, and with the help of Your family, those of the Sanctuary, by word and example, bring that dignity unstained into the everlasting life of paradise.”

“Chan.”

His eyes fell to You, Your parted lips drinking in air like it fueled the lust in Your gaze, his name uttered, a sweet beg, a gentle whine. Legs spread, chin tipped backward with desire, You welcomed him upon the chaise with the smallest nod of Your head, lashes brushing Your cheeks in a beguiling sweep.

He gulped. He was truly ravishing in white. “Prophet,” he whispered, strong jaw, neck and chest glistening with remnants of You.

Seungcheol narrowed his eyes, famished beyond belief. “Do not keep Her waiting.”

Turning Your chin, grinning upward at Your liege, You teased, “Don’t keep you waiting, Cheol, is that right?” He simply tipped the corner of his mouth, allowing You in to see the famine in his stare. “You can have him when I’m finished.”

“You keep every promise,” he whispered, his need slipping through his lips as much as it raged beneath his hips. 

Your smile melted, smirking. “Every promise.” Facing Your newest disciple, a newfound greed soaking the velvet between Your legs, leaking from Chan’s tip, You beckoned him toward You with one finger, releasing a sigh as he knelt onto the cushion, Your ankles hooking behind his back, around Your lace that now caressed his smooth skin.

Soft to the touch, now that You could feel him, You pressed Your palms to his cheeks, Your fingertips brushing his dark hair. Thumbs dancing over his cheekbones, admiring his features up close, You smiled. Chan settled his hands over Your shoulders on the velvet, breathing like one in a race, one ready for it to end, to accept his reward. Head dropping down, Yours moving in tandem, open mouths whispered secrets, lips just touching enough for him to see within You, enough to appease the curiosity that had grown.

This was only the beginning.

Lee Chan had much to learn, much to experience.

But, tonight… Tonight he was to be celebrated.

Nudging the tip of his nose with Your own, warm, sticky breath intoxicating, You thrusted him forward with a pull of Your ankles, one swift lift of Your hips allowing him to slip into Your heat.

Thirty-one days untouched, fulfilled.

Thirty-one days without release, fulfilled.

Thirty-one days without the stretch of another to bring You to fruition, fulfilled.

At the sound of Your moan ripping from the back of Your throat, the toss of Your head onto the red velvet, Chan’s teeth sinking into the plush of Your neck– Seungcheol called out, “Brothers…” His eyes drew toward Jeonghah. “Lovers. May the feast… commence.”

Chan dropped on top of You, smothering You entirely, his greed now unabashed. Pressing into You, his tongue dragging up Your neck, along Your jaw, his lips hungrily smacking against Your skin, he thrust himself deep into You and groaned aloud, the chamber filling with a song of utmost ecstasy.

Jeonghan, wrapping himself around Seungcheol from behind, pressed kisses to his shoulder blade, two hands sliding down his now bare middle, the marble floor draped in onyx lace, littered with naked bodies that stumbled closer to the altar, their Prophet. 

The noises amidst the air warmed You, powered You, fed You more than the boy stuffing You full of him. With Your hands clawing into his hair, keeping him caged to Your chest, Your neck, Your lips, You writhed as the beautiful chaos unfolded around You.

Your disciples, Your loyal believers, Your Thirteen delectable men taking part in and losing themselves in harmonious copulation.

Hands slid into Your hair. Tilting backward, plastering Chan and his filthy lips to Your skin blooming reds and purples, You met Seungcheol’s heavy gaze, his heavy cock, Jeonghan’s slender fingers wrapping around him, his tip a burning red contrasting with sweet cream colored Jeonghan.

Jaw falling open, Seungcheol groaned as Jeonghan squeezed, his lips baring his teeth, dragging them down his elders bicep. Jeonghan gazed down upon You, drifting to where Your body met Chan’s, his eyes fluttering shut with a most beautiful moan. Rutting against Seungcheol’s back, his sounds bordering on whimpers, he muttered something against the leader's thick skin, not to be heard over Chan's desperate pleas for release as he pistoled into You.

Body heaving, sweaty, sticky with penance, unknowing that You focused on the two behind You, Chan took what he desired. All of You. With the knowledge that eyes were on his back, on You, this new life of his entirely erotic, but all the more binding, full of love, family, everlasting life…

“Seungcheol,” You whispered, lips curving into a smile, Your body rocking with every one of Chan’s steady, heady thrusts. 

Licking Your lips, Your eyes softened as You parted them, moaning in delight when Seungcheol’s strong hands slipped from Your hair and wrapped around the back of Your throat. Lowering himself on one knee onto the chaise, Jeonghan taking both hands to his leader's hips, Seungcheol rounded his back and slid himself through Your slick lips, holding You by the neck, his tip nudging the back of Your throat. 

They both thrust into You as one, Your body arching at the middle, both boys holding onto You, holding You down. Muffled moans, the slick slip of Seungcheol in Your throat– Chan threw his head back, his eyes wide, his composure hanging on by a thread.

“Fuck,” he sighed, looking up at Seungcheol and his furrowed brow. 

Taking in the perfect body using Your throat, Chan’s belly tightened. Jeonghan smiled at the boy, his hands palming at Seungcheol’s tight skin, one slipping behind him. He sucked on his middle finger, his eyes glued to Chan, and as his hand disappeared behind Seungcheol, Chan watched in awe as the leader groaned louder than them all. Head thrown back, he screwed his eyes shut and snapped his hips relentlessly, Your smothered moans lost in the chorus of the Thirteen.

The smirk growing on Jeonghan’s lips as he stared at Chan…

Nirvana shot through him. Choking on a moan, his hips stuttered into You, his top half collapsing back down unto Your chest, he emptied within You, filling You with his promise, gifting unto You his commitment, his loyalty, his forever.

Jeonghan, one hand wrapped around his length, the other grasping Seungcheol by the chest, he looked down upon Chan and grinned wickedly. “Quick trigger,” he uttered, and Seungcheol lowered his chin to glower at the boy. Jeonghan teased Seungcheol before pressing into him, slowly, the leader's eyes rolling back, his own body almost folding on top of You. “We’ll have to spend some time practicing with You,” Jeonghan said to Chan, his skin smacking against Seungcheol's, the two thrusting at once, the leader's cock still buried in Your throat.

Behind them, the other Ten, a whirlwind of passion and lust and reverence detonated upon the Sanctuary. Couples, pairings, a haze of hunger, cloudy lust, they gravitated toward each other as if it were rule, a commandment in Your book.

Wonwoo, teeth grazing Mingyu’s jaw, callused palms pushing the lace off his shoulders, every muscle in Mingyu’s chiseled body clenched at the feel of the older man’s hands on him. Mingyu’s neck flexed, dark eyes dragging back up the marble steps to where Chan kept drilling into You, Seungcheol’s cock repeatedly hitting the back of Your throat. 

Mingyu groaned at the sight, the feeling of Wonwoo’s rough palm tugging at his cock, his vision blurring as he was finally given relief. He needed more, needed to feel full, he wanted You, most of all. 

“Not your turn yet,” Wonwoo growled, low under his breath, as if he was reading his thoughts, as if he said them out loud. Mingyu’s face twisted together, ripping his eyes away from You back to the dark haired man whose face was too close for him not to devour whole. 

Wonwoo pumped his length faster, Mingyu’s hands traveling down his honey skin to grab at his length, and Wonwoo’s cry of relief was immediate. The two, wrapped up in each other, they both knew in the back of their minds the real relief would be pushing into Your warmth. 

Across the aisle the marble tiled floors were already biting into Minghao’s knees, Junhui’s hands knotted in the roots of his hair. “That’s it,” Junhui’s voice was soft, encouraging, even if the hands in Minghao’s hair were pulling tight. “You can take it deeper, baby.”

Soonyoung’s palms were painted onto Junhui’s back, meticulously clean nails cutting crescents into his bronzy skin as Jihoon carved space for himself in Soonyoung’s ass. Wet cheeks pressed into the lace still adorning Junhui’s body, Soongyoung was a crying, whimpering mess. 

“Ji, please,” he whined into Junhui’s back, which was a wall of strength, an anchor for Soonyoung’s already shaking body. “Harder, faster, more, anything, please.”

Minghao’s cries were muffled around Junhui’s cock as his fingers tightened in Minghao’s scalp, the wicked smile on his pretty pink lips was nothing short of sinful. Minghao took him deeper as the pain seared into pleasure, throat contracting around his cock, gagging as tears spilled from his waterline down his splotchy cheeks, his eyes barely open, too lost in the way Junhui played into his kinks easily.

Jihoon’s focus was barely on the way his cock disappeared into Soonyoung, his neck craned to watch You taking Seungcheol’s cock down Your throat, his mouth watered imagining the things he wanted to do to You. With You. He loved You open, dripping wet, free for him to do as he pleased, You loved Jihoon when he was worked up, when he took You like he owned You– Even though you both knew he worshiped You.

He landed a harsh smack on Soonyoung’s ass and Junhui hissed when Soonyoung’s nails dug into him harder, he’d have to confess his pride with You later, make it up to You tenfold. Right now, this pride, pleasuring Soonyoung and having Junhui feel it, Jihoon felt on top of the world. 

At the altar, on top of You, worshipping You, Jeonghan's hands pressed into red velvet, his eyes locked on where he sunk into You, thrust into You, a heaving, wild mess of moans. Your hands caressed his cheeks, Your own whimpers of praise tangling within his, the tips of Your fingers brushing tears that poured down his porcelain skin, Your second disciple, one bound to the man that thrust his cock into him, beautiful. Onyx hair framing his cheeks, his gleaming wide brown eyes gazing down upon you, the name of his lover stuck in his throat— Seongcheol slid a hand around Jeonghan’s neck and squeezed, rendering his lover thoughtless.

Eyes rolling back, jaw falling open, Jeonghan’s pushes into You were fueled by the snap of Seungcheol’s hips behind him. As the eldest thrust into his lover, he thrust him into You. Bodies glowing, the heat too much to bear, the pleasure entirely overwhelming, Jeonghan lost his composure and collapsed over you, catching himself on his elbows, careful to not harm You in anyway as he shook, spilling into you, filling you with a piece of himself as the two before him did. A gentle whine escaped through his lips as a crystal tear slid down his cheek and onto your chest.

“Thank you, Prophet.”

Lifting your head, your lips brushed over his chiseled cheekbone. “My love for you is eternal.”

You wrapped your legs around Seungcheol’s back, around his hips that worked mercilessly into the round of Jeonghan who hadn’t taken himself out of you yet. Lips twitching into a smile, you met Seungcheol’s eyes over his lover's shoulder and told him with the curve of your smile to not stop. 

Jeonghan winced. Seungcheol groaned. The sound of skin smacking skin and high pitched whimpers surrounded the three of you, drowning Chan who unbeknownst to You sat on the floor of Your altar, beside You, his lustrous gaze locked onto Seungcheol and the power he appeared to bestow. 

Paying no mind to the chorus of erotica around them, the three boys lost themselves again. Seungcheol pumping Jeonghan impossibly full, Jeonghan releasing nothing into you, Chan cumming onto his stomach untouched, cock pulsing as his hands tried to dig into the marble of the floor.

Thick fingers grabbed onto the plush of Seungcheol’s waist, your third, ravishing his way through several bodies, a hunger in his piercing doe eyes. Accepting his dismissal with grace, Seungcheol wrapped himself around Jeonghan and picked him up, lifting him off of you and over to Chan, the three escaping nearby. 

“Mine.” The soft lilt in his tone, the song he sang each time his lips parted, Joshua curled around you, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Jisoo,” you whispered, sliding your arms around his back, nails grazing his olive skin with tenacity. 

Eager, a man starved, his lover dropping to his knees behind him, Joshua laid your head in his palms, holding your thighs open with his elbows. Sliding into your warmth, the purest of moans ripped from his throat, his eyes fluttering closed as he dropped his head unto your chest. His cock, stretching you open, his heart, thundering in his chest, the snap of his hips, restless, unsettled, unsatisfied.

Seokmin slid his hands around Joshua’s ankles, his lips pressing to his lover's thighs, taking his time. Hands smoothing over his skin, he cupped the round of his ass and bared his teeth, sinking them into the curve of his beloved, allowing one hand to slip between his thighs to cup Joshua where he’s most sensitive, turning the passion in his thrusts to mere humps. Gentle spears of himself into you while whimpers escape him.

“Mine,” he uttered again, parting his lips to suck at the skin on your neck, “Mine, mine, mine…”

Dragging your hands up his back and into his hair, you tugged at the strands, sighing heavily, “Careful, Jisoo.”

Joshua, crying out as Seokmin spread him open and drug his tongue daintily over his hole, he threw his head backward with a sharp yell, “Mine!”

Seokmin pulled a hand back to smack his lover where he knew it’d sting. “Greed.”

You pulled at his hair, eliciting another cry out of him. “Your hunger, it overwhelms you, Jisoo,” you said through pants, heavy air but dirty whispers, your eyes welling with tears at the pressure building between your hips. “I don’t belong to you. You don’t own me.”

He whimpered and Seokmin smacked him again, rising to his feet. “I ought to pull you away Jisoo,” he uttered, dropping his lace to the floor, his gaze beholding you like you were made of gold, “You speak of nonsense.”

Gifting Seokmin a smile, you pressed your lips to Joshua’s ear and drug your tongue over his lobe. “Fill me with your adoration, then tend to your lover. I am not yours, you are not mine. Give me your gift, release yourself of this frustration you harbor, Jisoo, I am yours to confide in, give it to me.”

The room shook.

“Inside,” Minghao’s cry could be heard throughout the Sanctuary, but no one lifted their head, everyone too engrossed with where their cocks were buried. 

Junhui bit his lip as his eyes drifted back up to Your cathedra, his palms spreading Minghao’s ass before him, he glanced back and forth twice before he noticed Joshua’s shoulders shake in the way they only do when he orgasms. Mumbling a curse under his breath, he squeezed his ass once, “Later, promise.”

Junhui’s legs brought him up Your stairs until he was bowing deeply before You, taking Joshua’s place between your legs. Your cheeks reddened and wet, eyes half-lidded and gone, oh how Junhui loved You like this. Not quite spent, but definitely not fresh. 

“Jun,” you whispered, a smile on Your pretty lips as Your arms stretched outward to cup his cheeks, Junhui melted.

“Prophet,” he responded, leaning into Your touch, he bent forward just enough to press his lips to Yours. Blazing, a heat spreading throughout every limb, every vein, Junhui was consumed with such gratitude, immediately he fell to his knees. 

You gasped as his hands spread Your thighs, tongue slipping from his lips to lap up every ounce of release from You, Joshua, Jeonghan, the newest member of their Thirteen, Chan. Junhui’s eyes rolled back at the taste, spirituality in the form of splendor, he ascended as Your thighs caged him in. 

Hands on his back, on his head, on your thighs, spreading them further, Minghao’s caramel knees a stunning comparison to the red velvet of the chaise. “Prophet,” Minghao whispered, almost a whine, a needy, deprived sound. 

“Come here, sweet thing,” Your tenth, usually one of the last to rise upon Your cathedra, his face twisted up, splotchy, bleeding at the seams– he needed it. He needed You, the sight summoned a wide grin, a nasty smirk on Your swollen lips. 

“Missed you,” his breath staggered, his body shaking, as much as it consumed you with love, You knew Your tenth well. 

Kneeling beside Your chest, Your hands landed on his thighs, his length caught between white knuckles, Your mouth watered. “Missed you, my love,” You smiled despite Your brows furrowing together at Junhui’s tongue slipping inside you, curling to massage your walls. 

You replaced Minghao’s hand with your own only to slightly satiate his endless hunger, he was usually well behaved after a fast, this was different. Your Thirteen surprising You was few and far between, as your disciples, You knew them better than they knew themselves. As You believed You should, being their Prophet. 

His head knocked backward at Your touch, a long, languid moan dripping past his lips, his hips bucking into Your hand. Junhui followed Your hips as they jerked into him, Your eyes fluttering, receiving pleasure and providing it, there was no better offering, no better gift you could give. 

“You want to cum?” You ask Your tenth, squeezing his length tighter, eyes watching closely as his face contorts somewhere between pleasure and pain.

He nods first, hips thrusting into Your hand, “Please, please, Prophet. It’d be mercy.”

“Ah, mercy?” You pop a brow, involuntarily gasping as Junhui’s tongue flicks over your clit. Your head turns, eyes swimming down the aisle, catching on each one of Your disciples lost in euphoria. Landing on Soonyoung, his dark brown eyes swimming with tears already as Jihoon lost himself behind him, You gave him a look that said Come. 

Minghao pouts, bottom lip jutting out, You give his cock one last tug before You smile, “Junhui, give Minghao his mercy.”

Within a second they peeled off Your body, only from the growl that left Junhui’s mouth could you tell that Junhui would be punishing Minghao himself. Junhui’s turn, yet over the years, the silver-haired man had become Junhui’s pair, his partner, the one responsible for Minghao. The thought crosses your mind of who would become Lee Chan’s– as Soonyoung excitedly walks past Minghao and Jun upon the marble tiled steps, your eyes drift to where Seungcheol and Jeonghan were with the boy, and you realize maybe Lee Chan would never have just one partner.

Soonyoung, flushed and heaving, presents himself before you with Jihoon on his heel. Soonyoung bows deeply, “My Prophet, wherever You will have me.”

You grin, sitting up straighter, body sticky and spent but still buzzing with need, adrenaline sizzling your skin hotter when You take in the two men before You. Eyes drifting to Jihoon, seeing the spark of mischief in his eye, Your lips curl into a shit-eating grin. 

“Sit,” is all You respond, patting the spot beside You. Soonyoung straightens on command, sitting beside You in a flash, and You crawl over his lap to line Yourself up with his length. Eyes drifting over Your shoulder to Jihoon, “Behind.”

With something between a nod and bow of his head Jihoon wears a lazy grin on his cheeks, and as You sink Yourself onto Soonyoung’s length, Jihoon presses into You from behind, the three of you filling the Sanctuary with the most beautiful hymn of pleasure. Soonyoung, lips parted, hands heavy on Your hips, Jihoon’s chin on Your shoulder keeps You tucked into his chest. 

Softer strokes at first, easing the three of you into a rhythm, until the stretch turns to burning hot pleasure and the true nature of Your fifth and seventh awakens. Jihoon, a hand stretched around Your stomach, the other clasped around Your throat, rocks into You as Soonyoung pulls out, the older man’s feet planted into red velvet, fucking up into You like You were nothing but a toy. 

Despite how they used Your body, how You loved them doing so, the two didn’t stop speaking sticky sweet praise into your ears. 

“My beloved, you’re so beautiful.”

“I was born to adore You, my Prophet.”

“The most holy sacrament, You are s-so generous, thank You, Prophet.”

“Mm, fuck, so warm, You are Heaven.”

It wasn’t long until a blazing hot pit of pleasure sat heavy in Your gut, knees aching, body shaking with pleasure. Jihoon’s hand fell from Your stomach to trace circles on Your clit, his voice hot on the shell of Your ear, “Cum, cum for me, for us. Let us know we’re adoring You properly, my Prophet.” 

Another hand on Your cheek, someone else, palm rough, hot, he squeezed Your jaw and it was enough to send you hurling over the edge. 

“You make her cum so beautifully, Ji.” Wonwoo. 

Your skin heats up all over again, the curl in Your stomach restarted as if You hadn’t just had an earth-shattering orgasm. Mingyu’s golden, bronzed, muscular back blocks Your sight of Soonyoung, but his cock stays buried inside You. 

Your head falls to his shoulder, kissing the skin of Your ninth, while Your sixth is lost in Jihoon’s heat. Turning Your head, Wonwoo behind Jihoon, Your mind goes fuzzy as Jihoon’s face contorts in pleasure as he pushes inside. 

Mingyu, before You, slides his cock into Soonyoung’s mouth at the same time. The two men pause inside You, buried to the hilt, and all You can do is cry out in pleasure, fingernails clawing at Mingyu’s back, forehead falling to his damp, sweaty skin. 

The five of you falling into one rhythm, one dance of nirvana, You can hear Soonyoung’s gurgled cries, Mingyu’s harsh breath, Jihoon’s whimpers, Wonwoo’s grunts. Overwhelming but not enough, so consumed by love, appreciating, You can’t help but verbalize it. 

“I–” Your head falls back onto Jihoon’s shoulder again, Wonwoo takes the opportunity to kiss Your forehead. “I love you.”

In unison they respond, like a mantra, they’re all Yours. 

Another orgasm rocks through You with force and it’s one they can all feel, Soonyoung’s strangled cry, his cock stiffening inside You, he fills You up before Mingyu finishes down his throat. 

Behind You, Wonwoo rocks Jihoon into You faster, harder, mumbling filth into his ears, “I’m not done with you yet, don’t you dare finish. Hold it.”

You double over to where Mingyu left You space, hands planting onto Soonyoung’s broad chest, fingers curling into his skin. He hasn’t pulled out yet– still whimpering, whining, tears falling down his cheeks from overstimulation, where Jihoon fucks into You he can feel. 

Another surprise, Wonwoo fucking Jihoon into submission, You supposed this fast had left your Thirteen broken. Your mind drifts back to Minghao– denying him pleasure because of his hunger, where now you fed the four. 

Somewhere in the Sanctuary you hear his moans, his whimpers, Junhui’s slaps against his skin. You’d properly reward him for his efforts later. 

“One more time,” Jihoon whimpers and Your gut curls at the sound, he pulls You back into him by Your hips, the same hand sliding to Your clit. Ignoring Your hiss of overstimulation, he praises, “I need to feel You cum around me once more, my beloved, my Prophet. Your pleasure is my absolution.” 

One of Your hands flew up to cup his wet cheek, “Yes, Jihoon, ah, yes.”

Wonwoo’s hand lands on Your other hip and You snap, “Cumming– Cumming!”

“Cum, Ji,” Wonwoo’s deep voice commands to the younger one and as You tighten around his length he spills inside You, forehead landing heavy on Your shoulder, and Wonwoo groans as he fills Jihoon up all the same. 

Dizzy. Fuzzy. Full of warmth. Full of their love… You’re transitioned into arms, solitude, a firm grasp wrapping around your waist, holding onto you tight. Mingyu returned to Wonwoo, the two curling up on lambswool together, Jihoon and Soonyoung taking their place as well, drying each others tears with swift brushes of their lips, Jeonghan and Seungcheol fucked back and forth like bunnies, and Chan… Chan wandered down the aisle of marble, hands tangled on his abdomen, dazed eyes darting back and forth, seeking companionship from lovers already paired off.

Blinking in the candlelight, gripping firm onto Seokmin’s shoulders as he sunk you down onto him, you pointed toward Chan, splaying yourself over your eighth’s chest. 

“He’s… He’s…”

Seokmin gulped. Hands gripping your curves, he fucked you onto him, moving your body for you. “He’s searching for his place.”

Head bobbing in delusional pleasure, your voice breaking, you touched Seokmin’s cheek and whispered, “He won’t find one, not now.”

He gazed at you, his eyes heavy with lust, love, respect. “He will eventually.”

“You don’t know how it feels, Seokmin,” Joshua spoke from behind you, his tone rough, different from his claim over You. His lover glared over your shoulder. “To come into a place where relationships are so obviously established. You became mine, did you not?”

Seokmin bit his bottom lip, fucking up into you. “I did.”

“When? When did you become mine?”

Your incoherent babbles went ignored. Glancing behind You, You reached for Joshua, but he only took Your hand in his, he didn’t dare touch You anywhere else. He’d already had his fill.

“After,” Seokmin groaned, gritting his teeth.

Joshua smiled. “After, when?”

“Initiaiton,” his lover spat.

“Ah,” he nodded, your third’s smirk growing as he glanced down to where Seokmin fucked you and you leaked around him, “Immediately after She accepted you. You became mine. My night? I came here with Seungcheol with Jeonghan clearly devoted to him, with no chance of either of them becoming someone else's. Jun arrived, I thought he’d be mine. And he was, for some time, until Soonyoung.”

Seokmin bared his teeth and dug them into your shoulder, his thrusts growing sloppier. “Mine, you keep saying it. Mine.”

Whining, unable to hold yourself up properly, you squeezed Joshua’s hand. “Jisoo. Control yourself. You are Seokmin’s. He is yours. He loves you. I love you.”

Joshua pulled his hand back, eyes searing into Your own, into Seokmin’s. Your third, the poor thing, having been thrown from one boy to another as the pairings took place, as they figured themselves out. He took it to heart, having been the one to be passed around– he’s had a taste of them all, and not in the way that he craved.

Parting his lips to say more, he didn’t. With a snap of his jaw he whirled himself around to barrel down the stairs, his hands reaching out for Chan, the boy’s eyes going wide as Joshua presented himself to him. 

Planting Your hands over Seokmin’s cheeks, you squished them with a moan, your body rocking against his. “Your lover, he’s-”

“Exceptional,” he sighed, dipping his chin toward you to kiss your lips.

From behind, body heat engulfed You, engulfed Seokmin. Hands slid down your arms, the nails on these slender hands painted, a careful design that took time. Patience. A lesson learned. Silent, he pressed his fingers into Your skin, pressed his lips to Your shoulder and slid himself inside of You, a cry ringing in the air as You took them both at once.

Jun appeared behind the chaise, behind Seokmin. Kneeling to the floor, his gaze peering over the velvet, he smiled at Minghao who clung to your back, rutting into you like it’d be the last thing he’d ever do. “Good boy,” he whispered.

“Fuck,” Seokmin groaned, pushing into you to the hilt, throwing his head back onto Jun’s arms as he released into You. 

Jun kneaded his fingers in your eighth’s dark, tousled hair. “I was talking to Hao.”

Seokmin’s lips twitched into a smile. “Was good enough for me.”

With a click of his tongue, Jun swatted at his head. “Out of the way.”

“No wonder he loved you,” he whispered before slipping out of Your heat. Giving You to Minghao, Your tenth pushing You chest first into the velvet, Seokmin rose to his feet and stumbled, eyes scouring the floor for Joshua who had ended up balls deep in Chan with the newest disciple pushed face first into lambs wool. “Prophet help me,” he mumbled, disappearing down the marble.

Jun’s gaze held Minghao’s, the boy desperately fucking into you, mumbling incoherently into your ear as his lover talked him through it. “Take from Her, receive forgiveness, fill Her womb with your gratitude… Cum, my love. You deserve it.”

On command, the two intertwined as one, Minghao, as fucked out as You, his all mighty saving grace, he swallowed Jun’s words and came inside of you, the sound obscene. Full, too full, yet not full enough, you leaked around him, onto him, a mess made, one lapped up immediately as Minghao slipped out of you, a tongue dragging between your folds.

Hands gripped your thighs, pushing them open, their warm tongue dipping inside of You, the disgusting slurp and smack of lips following– Two. Two tongues. One over your clit, the other inside of You.

Minghao wrapped himself around Jun, appearing before You, the two losing themselves in a heated kiss, leaving You to Your own pleasure and the last of Your disciples having found You after having indulged in one another more than once.

Their tongues lapped into your heat, and then they met another's, swapping spit, cum, arousal, before it’d be spat back onto You and drunk up once more. Mumbles of, “Delicious, so sweet, thank you, thank you, thank you,” heard between Your mewls, both Seungkwan and Hansol high on euphoria and Your taste, the taste of every disciple before them.

The youngest of Your Twelve now turned Thirteen, the night of Hansol’s initiation, Seungkwan became his. Your eleventh’s eyes ate him up where he stood patiently waiting beneath onyx lace, he claimed him before he’d even begun. 

But still, as the rest of the Thirteen, they remained Yours. 

“Mine,” You whispered, hands laced in hair, soft as silk, blonde or dark, you couldn’t tell. Both of them, between Your thighs, tongues dancing together, pleasuring You. Moans and whimpers bounced off Your skin from below as if You were touching them, as if they were inside You, to please You was pleasure enough to Your youngest.

Hands caressed Your skin, soft touches, the sweetest two of Your Thirteen taking their time to stake their claim, glorifying their worship over You, their almighty saviour. Always slower, Your youngest used less haste, as if their fast had not panged them unlike the rest of Your Thirteen. 

Hansol, hair like a chocolate mare’s mane, You recognized his clean cut, manicured nails clawed around Your right thigh where Seungkwan’s daintier, feminine hands held Your left open with soft pressure. Seungkwan’s hair, golden as the sun, peeked above the patch of deep hair above Your mound, they ate like they touched You, two sides of a coin. 

A soft sigh leaves Your parted lips, head falling back upon the red velvet chaise, lolling to the side to see Your Thirteen gathered at the base of Your cathedra. Knelt upon tile, Chan at the center, five men flanking him to his left, another on his right, eleven pairs of dilated eyes stared upon You, at the two men devouring You, what was left of themselves inside You.

Your hands found Your chest when they began speaking, the final prayer of the night, for Your last orgasm. Brows knitting together, You kept each one of their eyes as they spoke: “Prophet of all goodness and grace, receive the gifts we offer and grant that our whole life may give You glory and praise.”

Hips bucking into the two between Your legs, one flicked his tongue over Your clit, the other curling inside You, bending around the spot on the front of Your walls. Your moans laid over their prayer like a blanket, as if You were accepting them immediately, answering them, performing a miracle in the heart of Your Sanctuary. 

“O Prophet, giver of life and source of freedom, all we have received is from Your hand. You call us to be stewards of Your abundance, the caretakers of all You have entrusted to us. Help us to always use Your gifts wisely and teach us to share them generously. May our faithful stewardship bear witness to the love of The Prophet in our lives.”

Seungkwan and Hansol’s rhythm paced quicker, harsher, knowing movements, putting You at the cusp of yet another orgasm. A fire pooling in Your belly, head shooting backward, chest heaving, Your bones locked at the finishing word of their prayer, the word enough to push You over the edge.

“Amen.”

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“You three are so loud,” you snarl as your penny loafers click to a stop before the three chairs huddled in a triangle, a deep, black table in the center, holding thick books and chalices of god knows what. With a hand on your hip, the other arm holding books pressed to your chest, you keep your voice quiet but sharp, “This room is for studying, you know.”

San makes a show of looking around him, at the lack of people occupying the lounge. Almost ten, maybe fifteen chairs took up space, five tables amongst them, maybe three people occupying them. You let your eyes dance over the almost empty room before landing back on San, his slicked back hair, the black robe hanging over his shoulders, the yellow illuminating the breadth. 

You stand your ground, “Just because it’s not busy in here doesn’t mean you need to be obnoxious.”

“We weren’t even loud,” Wooyoung argues, the blue in his robe bringing out the chocolate of his eyes, the red undertone in his black hair that nearly lays over his lashes. His mouth twitches upward in a smirk, “We were just laughing. You should try it sometime.”

You slide your scowl to Yeosang, whose eyes dance between the three of you, but he doesn’t interject. He never interjects, not when Wooyoung makes one of his infamous remarks towards you, nor when he encourages San into teasing you, too. Yeosang, quiet, timid and kind until it killed him, you wondered how you were both in the same House. Sometimes you wondered if you were tutoring him to bring out the bravery buried inside him, too. 

“Whatever,” you huff, rolling your eyes. You turn your body to Yeosang, hands clutching your books to your chest a little harder, “Are you ready? It’s past three.” 

Yeosang nods, black hair tied tightly behind his head, tendrils framing his face that curved just beneath his jaw. Both hands grip the armrests of the chair to help him stand, then he grabs his books from the table, his goblet, you had the same routine every other day. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, the days you meet Yeosang here at three o’clock sharp to tutor him in everything. History of Magic, Herbology, Transfigurations, Potions, you remember the day your professor assigned Yeosang to you in hopes that you’d get him to at least pass. 

“Good luck,” Wooyoung teases, a song in his tone, eyes trapped in crescents with how wide his grin spreads. He reaches into his pockets, “Hold on, don’t forget this.”

“I’m not taking that,” Yeosang huffs, “You shouldn’t even have that.”

“What is it?” You ask, eyeing the iridescent liquid in the small glass vial. It doesn’t look like any potion you’ve seen before. 

“Liquid Luck,” Yeosang answers too quickly, waving his hands in front of Wooyoung who tips his head back in loud laughter. Your eyebrows furrow, you know the color of Liquid Luck, a molten gold that looks as lucky as it makes you, but you’ve never seen such a pearly, almost rainbow substance. Your curiosity makes you take a step forward, hand reaching out to touch it.

Yeosang lurches forward to snap the potion from between Wooyoung’s fingers before you get the chance, “You’re beyond help. Beyond saving, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung just laughs louder, crinkles beside his uneven eyes, “You- You should try it out, man. Just see what happens, I’m curious.”

“You use it,” Yeosang stuffs the glass in his robe pocket, the red interior bustling outward at the movement, a bite in his tone you’ve never heard before. You’re standing frozen, eyes wide, confusion and surprise written all over your face. 

“I’m not as lucky as you,” Wooyoung is smirking again, his eyes sliding to you right before he winks, long, dark lashes almost reaching his cheek as he does so. “I like ‘em to have a little attitude.”

Your top lip curls in disgust, “Ew, Jung Wooyoung. Never speak to me again.” You turn on your heel, penny loafers heading toward the private study room you and Yeosang always used. Turning your head behind you to Yeosang who had leaned towards Wooyoung, no doubt whispering words you didn’t want to hear, you called, “Let’s go, Yeosang.”

He straightens on command, following behind you to the study room. The room smelled faintly of morning mist leftover from the window that had most likely been cracked earlier in the day, paired with the same smell of magic and ancientness that wrapped around the school like a hug. You laid your books down on the wooden table, a long slab of oak that ate up half the space, benches lined on either side, a tall, full bookshelf against the wall. A lonely bar-cart sat in the corner, water and potions glittering the space for focus, listening, learning, golden goblets and tall jars atop a used, golden slate.

“I’m sorry about him,” Yeosang mutters quietly as the heavy door groans closed, the small metal lock latching louder than his voice. 

You take your normal spot, and the bench cries as Yeosang sits down beside you. You give him a quick shake of your head, “Nothing I’m not used to.”

“You shouldn’t be used to it,” Yeosang’s voice is quiet, small, almost sheepish. 

Your head turns, taking in the shape of his jaw, the slope of his nose. So beautiful he’d appear feminine if it wasn’t for the masculinity he bore in his chest, his shoulders, everywhere from the neck down. You open your Potions book to the page that you left off last on Wednesday, somewhere in the middle, a wit-sharpening draft Yeosang couldn’t memorize for shit. The same draft charmed to keep itself filled kept in the corner of the study rooms.

You huff, “It is what it is.” Spreading your hands on each page, covering the contents of the book, you turned to him again, “You studied?”

Yeosang’s lips curled at the corner, “...Somewhat.”

“The exam is on Monday, Yeo,” you slant your eyebrows, pointing your gaze. “That whole time you were giggling with San and Wooyoung you could have been memorizing.”

“I’m sorry,” he frowns, a crease forming between his brows, “I looked over it last night.”

“You swear?” You ask, pulling the book towards you, not waiting for his answer. “Recite it to me then.”

His cheeks heat a pretty pink color, kissing the high points, spreading wide over his nose. His voice is quiet, uneasy, slightly high-pitched as he counts on his fingers, “Water, ginger…”

“And?” You raise your brows, “There’s only four ingredients, Yeosang.”

“Something with beetles…” He makes a disgruntled face, features morphing together. “...Armadillo.”

Your lips curl into a grin, “So close.”

He meets your eye with nothing but uncertainty swirling in deep brown, “Scab beetles.”

“Scarab beetles.”

“Right, right. Armadillo…”

“Bile.”

“Yes!”

“I’ll actually accept that,” your eyebrows raise, mouth bending to show how impressed you were. Usually Yeosang didn’t remember anything past water. “Now tell me how to brew it.”

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, and the word falling from his lips so shamelessly makes you choke on your spit, a laugh tumbling form your chest. 

“I don’t think that’s a step,” you giggle, then attempt to look serious again, “Don’t curse, it’s foul.”

“I’m sorry,” his lips are still bent, humor and amusement in his eyes. “Simmer the water, add the… Scarab beetles, stir three times–”

“Five times,” you correct. 

“Five times,” he nods, “Clockwise.”

“Counter-clockwise.”

He furrows his brows, “Clockwise.”

You tilt your head, lips smacking, “Counter-clockwise.”

“Check the book,” his eyes drop to the book you held to your chest and you peel it from your red-colored robes, eyes scanning the page. Right there, in clean cut handwriting, it says Clockwise.

You purse your lips, “I’m sorry, my fault. It’s clockwise.”

His smile is proud like he wants to pat himself on the back– the sight makes you giggle. You don’t get to see that look on him very often. With heat in your cheeks, you shake your head quickly, “Keep going.”

“Five times clockwise,” he nods his head as he speaks as if he’s committing the information to memory, searching for more inside his head, “Simmer five minutes. Add ginger, don’t stir, simmer again.”

“For how long?” You cock a brow. 

“...Twenty minutes?” His eyes widened, looking to you for confirmation. When you nod, he smiles all teeth, and continues. “Let it cool, stir seven times every three minutes, clockwise and counter-clockwise. When it’s not hot anymore–”

“How do you check?”

“With a hand over the pot. Add the armadillo bile then, and let it sit for eight minutes.” 

“Wow,” you breathe, “That was all, like, perfectly correct. I’m surprised and impressed.”

He claps his hands together ceremoniously, lips stuck together, curled at the edges and pursed in the center. You lean in closer, smelling the woody, black pepper, tea-leaf scent that was purely Yeosang, “Now tell me how to make it taste better.”

“Peppermint leaf on the tongue, not in the potion,” he nods, then meets your eye, pride evident in his features. You clap your hands together, wide smile on your face, cheering for him like he had just won a world record. It was a huge deal to have a study session go so smoothly, so effortlessly– Usually studying was like pulling teeth with Yeosang. 

“Temperature is key for this one,” you say after a minute of cheering, “You need to be vigilant with the fire while brewing, to keep it at a simmer. You don’t want it boiling.”

He nods with every word, letting them sink in, and you place the Potions book atop the wooden table again, hands landing just beside it, letting the cold, almost damp-feeling oak settle into your skin. A knock sounds at the door a moment later, and your necks snap to Wooyoung creaking the door open, a sly grin on his cheeks. 

“Apologies, study-birds,” he teases, peeking his head around the slab of oak, “Can I get that vial of Desiderium back?”

Your jaw drops to the wood beneath your skull. You repeat, with eyebrows in your hairline, “Desiderium?!” 

Yeosang huffs, an irritated breath, digging into his pockets for the glass. You choke on a laugh, “How the hell did you get your hands on Desiderium? You could get expelled for that, Jung Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes and holds his hands out for Yeosang to toss the vial to him. He catches it swiftly between deft fingers, shooting Yeosang a nod of appreciation before his rebuttal, “Who cares.”

You stand, palms planted on the damp wood as Wooyoung makes his way over to the study bar, carelessness in his steps. You keep your voice quiet but harsh, “Wooyoung, Desiderium is banned, like banned banned. You could get somebody hurt, you could hurt yourself, that isn’t a toy or Viagra.”

He whips his head around, a nasty smirk on his lips, “You know what Viagra is?” 

Your cheeks flush, back straightening, fingers curling before your robes. Voice smaller now, not as quiet or confident, you say, “Yes I know what Viagra is, I’m not a child.”

He pours himself a goblet of the wit-sharpening potion, taking a deep drink from the scratched golden chalice, you watch how his bumped nose dips into the cup, how his Adam’s apple expands with each gulp. He lets out a massive, verbal breath when the cup is drained, slamming the goblet back on the slate. 

“Go to the bathroom and drain that vial, Woo.” 

He raises his brows, “Do you know how much it took to even get this? Hell no.”

You crane your neck to look down at Yeosang who appears utterly thoughtless. With a strain in your voice, you try, “Yeosang, do something.”

“What am I supposed to do?” He asks, his voice genuine. “He did go through a lot to get it.”

You release a sound of disbelief, a sharp breath from your lungs. “Yeosang!” You whisper-yell, then turn back to Wooyoung who leans against the bar cart, “I can’t just let you carry that around with no consequence.” 

“Who are you gonna tell?” Wooyoung raises his brows in amusement, “A professor? Head Girl?”

You sputter, “I- I’ll–” 

The truth was, you didn’t want to tell anyone. You eyed his pocket, the crinkle of weight in the black robe, curiosity lighting up your mind. Desiderium was a banned potion across the wizard world, a worse love potion than Amortentia, it wasn’t even considered a love potion. It was an… Arousal potion of sorts, you’ve only heard stories of it, but you knew it wasn’t safe. If taken in large quantities it was toxic, resulting in a stomach-pumping spell or in worse cases, death. If taken in small quantities, it makes the consumer unbelievably horny, insatiable for hours, so aroused and consumed by lust they lose themselves completely.

You wondered, despite knowing it was banned. If that really was Desiderium, if it really does what it’s supposed to, what it feels like to be under the spell. You don’t have much experience in the sex area, or really in the arousal area entirely. Your life has always been centered around academics and competition, and your small group of friends that were more like you than someone like Wooyoung. You’d never had a boyfriend, or someone to pull that velvety feeling from your gut, you’ve never felt the feeling of losing yourself that you’ve overheard Wooyoung talk about when debriefing his hook-ups with San and Yeosang.

“You’ll what?” Wooyoung tilts his head in amusement. 

“It’s fine,” Yeosang finally interjects, “He won’t do anything with it, he has no problem getting… no problem in that area.” 

“Yeosang, that’s–”

He glances up at you, eyes clear, certain. You swallow down your disdain, your clear discomfort, the heated curiosity nipping at your cheeks. You sit down slowly, back in your place next to Yeosang, and Wooyoung giggles like a child. 

“Have fun studying,” he winks again, and then he’s out the door in a flash. 

You huff a breath when he’s no longer in sight, irritation biting at your skin, heating you beneath your robes. Pushing your hair behind your ears and flattening your skirt, you huff, “I’m just gonna pretend like that didn’t happen.” 

“That’s best to do with most things concerning Wooyoung.” 

“Well, do you think it’s right?” You’re facing him now, eyebrows back in your hairline, “He could do whatever he wants with Desiderium, he could give it to whoever he wants. That’s sick.” 

“He’s not a bad guy,” he’s shaking his head fervently, his hands coming up to his chest in defense, “He’d never use it on someone without their knowledge or anything like that.”

“Then what’s the point of having it?” You argue, jaw tight, eyes focused. 

“Well,” Yeosang cranes his neck slowly, a tilt to his head that means he doesn’t want to finish his sentence, “There’s this one girl, and he… They, you know. A lot. And there’s stuff he wants to try, and—”

“Okay,” you turn away, cheeks growing hot at the words leaving his mouth. For a moment you wonder if Yeosang has ever been with anyone like that, if he’s taken a sip of the Desiderium, if he ever thinks of getting that kind of… boost. 

You shake your head to hopefully rid yourself of the thought, “I get it. But if he uses it on anyone,” you shoot him a sideways glance, “I can’t let that slide. I won’t be a bystander. You have to tell me.” 

Yeosang nods what seems like a thousand times in a millisecond, “I will, I promise.” 

You push out a heavy breath, forcing your eyes back on your book, you had three more potions to get through for his exam on Monday. Blinking at the page, brain drifting back to the Desiderium… No. 

“What’s next?” His voice is soft, as if he’s gracefully pulling you out of your mind, as if he could read it. You swallow. 

“Sleeping draft,” your voice is so low it’s basically a whisper, turning the page, trying to ignore how the energy in the room feels different. Charged. Maybe two curious brains instead of one. You don’t look up, “Ingredients?” 

He leans onto the table, two elbows pressed to the wood, his chin buried between them. He tilts his head to the side, giving you a view of his pretty cheekbones, the side of his face that didn’t have the birthmark. You glue your eyes to the book. Yeosang is barely even your friend, just a guy you tutor– But you wonder if his thoughts mirrored yours at all, even if you shouldn’t think of him that way at all. 

“Water,” he’s mumbling, his tone half bored, “Um, Lavender.”

“This one’s a breeze,” you try to push some encouragement into your tone, “One more ingredient, and then tell me how it’s brewed.”

A small breath passes through his lips, “Uh,” he closes his eyes for a moment, “Mint.”

His lips are so shiny– wet, like he’d just swiped his tongue over them. The loose pieces of hair hanging out of his ponytail lay over his creamy skin, the rich color a contrast to the pink on his cheeks still present. 

“No, chamomile.” 

Shit. You didn’t even hear him get it wrong. 

“Hey,” he picks his head up, eyeing you from the table, “I thought you said cursing is foul.”

You said that out loud? “It is,” your chuckle is nervous, “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he smiles, the S in sorry slurred by his slight lisp. The sound brings an unfamiliar warmth to your chest, a smile on your cheeks. In a rush, you turn your head back to the book. 

“Okay,” you heave a breath in an attempt to push the weird air away from the two of you, “Water, lavender, chamomile. Tell me how it’s brewed.”

Yeosang groans, sitting up straight, “I can’t focus.”

“Fill your cup,” you jut your chin in the direction of the mind-sharpening potion in the corner of the room, “Actually, can you pour me one, too?” 

He nods, untangling himself from the bench to walk over to the bar-cart, and you suck in a deep breath that isn’t full of Yeosang’s air. You don’t know what’s going on in your chest, or why the mention of Desiderium has you both feeling weird, or maybe it was just you that was weird. It was always just you, the untouched one who has no experience that feels weird when anything sex-related is brought up. Yeosang is probably fine. 

Your eyes pick up to his fingers wrapped around the handle of the jar, watching how the veins that climb up his forearm like vines strain while he fills two goblets. You’ve always known Yeosang is attractive, anyone with eyes could see it. He’s popular amongst the girls in your year, your house, other houses, even. He’s kind, genuine, soft, but you’ve never really thought about him that way, never had anything to add to the conversation, because you know him as the timid dumbass you tutor in every single subject. 

“Do you want any mint?” He asks from the cart, and you nod your head, mumbling your thanks. 

Always kind, with his deep voice and the muted rose colored kiss mark on his temple, funny in the way that has you shaking your head because his humor was so silly it was almost childish. He always opens the door for you to the study room, pulls out the heavy bench if the last group to occupy the room pushed it in too far. Chivalrous. Sweet. Gorgeous. 

You’re taking it from his hand by the time he walks back to the bench and gulping down the cup in four massive swallows. You need to focus on tutoring him, not how pretty he looks when he’s smiling or how words fall off his lips like each one is a spell. 

When his empty goblet hits the oak you plant your hands on the wooden table before you, mind already feeling sharper. “Okay, seriously now, this one’s easy.” You shoot him another sideways glance. “Tell me how it’s brewed.”

“Bring the water to a slow boil,” you’re both nodding with his words, “Add lavender and stir twenty times.”

“Twenty-one,” you correct, and his smile blooms again. You shudder. 

“Add chamomile and let it simmer for twenty minutes.”

“Ah, that’s where twenty came from.”

“Add purslane for nightmares,” he hums, a low, ruddy sound, “Add ginger for some kick.”

“I’m proud of you,” you say matter-of-factly, “You even answered questions I didn’t ask yet.”

“I told you I studied!” He’s smiling wide and bright, “I know how you work now, how you ask questions. I know the question before it’s on your tongue.”

You think both of your eyes widen at the same time. An innocent statement, nothing behind it, but the word tongue… Right now… Why is there a heat blooming in the pit of your stomach?

He must feel it too, with the way his eyes dart for his lap, fingers twisting together above his slacks. You swallow again, robes feeling heavy on your skin, the air of the room feeling hotter. 

“The next is, um,” you’re blinking rapidly as you flip the page, “Uh, deflating draft. Antidote for the… Swelling solution, it reduces… Um, swelling… And size.”

You can feel the sheen of sweat on your forehead growing rapidly. You’re twisting your neck in discomfort, your clothes too fucking hot, you shimmy off your robe, letting it fall over back of the bench. 

There’s an intake of breath on your left, and your head turns to Yeosang who’s already staring at you, his pupils blown. Eyes wider. Nostrils flared in a way that told you he was on alert. 

“Ingredients?” You squeak, swallowing down the spit that keeps forming in your mouth. What the fuck is going on right now?

“Water, wood sorrel,” his voice is monotonous, as if he was reading a script, mind somewhere else, but his eyes are still locked on you. His voice deepens, a low hum, “Sagebrush, aloe, powdered galangal.” 

Your thighs tighten. Has he always sounded that way? Sultry? Sexy?

You clear your throat as his fingers stop twisting together on his lap, he crosses his leg over his knee and throws his robe over his slacks. Your jaw locks, the movement shoving his smell into your space, and the scent becomes a feeling. A low rumbling in your gut, a blooming heat turned to sparks ignited. 

“How- Um, How do you brew it? The potion?” You’re obvious. You’re internally smacking the shit out of yourself because it’s so fucking obvious you’re horny, it might as well be written on your forehead. 

Yeosang looses a shaky breath, you can hear how it staggers, you can feel how it reaches your hair, moving it across your blouse. Still in that sultry, alluring tone, he says, “Boil the water, and– fuck, add the woodsorrel and sagebrush.”

You don’t scold him for the curse. He continues, “Don’t stir, make sure they’re submer- ah, under water, under the water completely. Submerged, yeah.” 

Your ears are red-hot, body tingling, you can feel the stickiness growing between your legs like it did when you’re ovulating. And his voice, his voice, your shoulders slouch listening to him, getting lost in how clear he sounds in the depth of his words. Breathily, you say, “Keep going.”

He groans. Groans. Your eyes squeeze shut, head dipped down, hair creating a veil so he can’t see you. It feels unbearable– the fire burning so brightly in your gut, your body felt like a livewire, if he so much as brushed his skin against you, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to hold back. 

“Lower the temp to a simmer, add the aloe,” your eyes slide to where his fists curl around his robe, knuckles white. In a low grumble, he says, “Fuck Wooyoung.”

Your head perks up, eyes widening as you face him, and as soon as he sees your face his eyes close immediately, lips curling together. “Shit, I can’t even look at you right now.”

“Why?” You ask, barely noticing how heavy your breath has gotten. You were nearly panting now, lips wet and swollen, “Why fuck Wooyoung? What did he do?” 

He looked flushed, his cheeks bright pink, his ears tipped red, his birthmark was so dark. You wanted to kiss it, lick it, his eyelashes so beautiful, you wanted to see them closer–

“He used it,” he cracks an eye open, “The Desiderium.”

You blink, eyes sliding to the pair of empty goblets on the table, then back to him. “Like, on us?”

Both of his eyes are open now, but they dance around the room, never landing on you. “Yes, on us, we drank it. I don’t– I don’t know how much, but it was in the potion jar on the cart, we- we drank it.” 

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, but somehow the air filling your lungs feels good, “Oh shit.” 

Panic doesn’t seem to find you. You’d left yourself entirely, entering a bubble of lust and arousal, feeling the burn inside your body with nothing to fucking smother it. Your eyes drop to his robe, the breadth of his shoulders, the veins dancing on his wrists while his fists still curl around the fabric. 

“What do we do?” He asks you, eyebrows shot up, “What’s the anecdote?!”

“Don’t know,” you mumble dreamily as your eyes catch onto his jaw, his tongue that pokes between his lips as he speaks. He’s so pretty, so big and so muscular but so beautiful, you wonder if he tastes as sweet as he looks. 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath and it sounds like a compliment. 

You smile, head tilting, hand reaching forward to play with one of the hairs that frame his face. His eyes widen when you take it between your fingers, twirling it, knuckles brushing against his face. The millisecond of contact, of skin on skin, you can feel it like you’d just stuck your hand between your legs. 

He moans. 

He moans, and your entire world is flipped upside down. 

Your eyes lock together, a question neither of you want to ask, have to ask. 

Pride was a thing of the past by the time you climbed into Yeosang’s lap, legs splintered by his hips, mouths messily tangling together as if you were trying to swallow each other whole. You could feel him pressed up against you— hard chest, hard abdomen, hard cock— every inch of you was touched by him, consumed by him, burning, steaming, you were sure when you lifted your heads the windows would be fogged over. 

Panting into each other’s mouths like dogs, his tongue dragged across yours hastily, harshly, his lips bruising yours with blatant force. Your hands held onto his nape, fingertips tangled in the slick of his ponytail, pulling stray hairs out every time your fingers twitched. 

“Shit—” he breathed, somewhere between a moan and a gasp, a nasty, brutal sound. You moaned at the sound of his voice, shameless and completely involuntary, head dropping at how it rumbled from his chest. 

“We,” he tilted his head back as your lips moved to his jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses down his throat, tongue lapping at every inch of skin as if you’d taste his very soul. His hands land on your hips, heavy and rough, “I can’t—”

“I need it,” you sound breathless, murmuring into his skin, “I need you to do something, need you to touch me, Yeosang.” 

He moans again at how his name falls off your lips, high-pitched, eyes screwed tight with his hips bucking up at how gone you sound. Your hips grind into him, panties pressed against his slacks, skirt blanketing over where your hips met. 

“We’re not in our,” his groan is breathy, strained, as if he was fighting it off, “Right minds. We shouldn’t be doing this here.” 

“I don’t care,” your hands slide to his cheeks, feeling the heat beneath them, hips still working their dirty, slow grind, meeting his eye. “You want it, don’t you? You do, right?” 

He’s nodding before you finish the question, “I want it, I want you, in this skirt, your face, fuck—”

Your lips curl, parting, leaning forward to attack his again, tongue slipping into his mouth like its made a home there. This heat, this urgency, you didn’t care how you looked, how you sounded, if you were doing this right, it was incredible. Empowering. It was a fleeting thought, how you’ve never done this before, how you’ve gone so long without doing this. 

His hands find your top while your lips stay locked, fingers nimble, making haste as they undo the tiny buttons lining your chest and abdomen. He pushes the cotton off your shoulders, throwing it to the floor, face lighting up when he sees the baby pink bra adorning your chest.  

“Are you sure?” He mumbles as he pulls back, eyes zeroed in on your chest, as if he couldn’t force himself to meet your eye if he tried. You wonder how he still has so much self control, yours was gone the moment the goblet touched your lips. “I need, need you to say yes, I—”

“Please, yes, do something.” 

A hand slides under your ass, lifting you at the same time as the backs of his knees push the bench out from behind him. One hand clears the table while the other keeps you close, and then your ass is pressed to the bare wood, his palms pressing your shoulders back until you feel the steam of the wet slab of wood meet your burning skin. 

“Yeosang!” You squeal, the cold a shock, but a comfort. He grunts in response, pulling his wand from his pants, quickly charming the door locked, the room soundproof, two spells you’d taught him to master two weeks ago. 

“I’m sorry,” he growls and it doesn’t sound like an apology at all, especially not when he peels his robe from his shoulders, pulling his sweater vest over his head, more stray hairs framing his face. His voice is dazed now, low, here but far as he starts to unbutton his own shirt, “I can’t risk someone hearing or coming in, I need you, I need to do whatever, everything, I need all of you.” 

Your body tightens at his words, at how desperate he sounds, the only thing you want right now is for him to take all of you. You want him shameless, you want him impolite, you want him so far from kind he isn’t Yeosang at all anymore. 

You spread your knees, bare thighs pressed to the wood, skirt hiked up to your hips. He gasps when he bends while pulling his pants down, eye to eye with your heat atop the table, a low groan rips from his chest again. 

“You’re soaked,” still dazed, eyes locked again, he spoke to himself more than to you. “I want— can I taste you?” 

“Stop asking,” you mutter, anticipation carbonating your very blood, “Do everything like you promised.” 

He’s on his knees then, fingers hooked into the elastic of your baby pink panties, tugging them down your legs. He pulls your hips to the end of the table and the back of your head meets the wood, sighing in relief when the thick air meets your core, gasping again when you feel cool breath pushed into your glistening folds. 

He wastes no time licking a stripe up your center, moaning so loud when his tongue slides between your folds, and the noise, the pleasure makes your back arch. It's barely a thought in your mind that no one’s seen you there, that no one’s had their mouth there— you didn’t care, you needed it. You needed more. 

Your hands fly to his hair, fingertips sliding into his tightly bound ponytail, nails clawing at his scalp, sounds of pleasure ripping from your chest one after another. It felt so good, so wet, you’ve never experienced anything like it, this burn in your core, how every nerve ending in your body seemed to ignite. 

When the tip of one of his fingers prod at your entrance your body locks, thighs squeezing against his head, it felt foreign and weird but good and confusing. He hums against your clit, lips wrapped around it, lightly sucking as he slips inside slowly, groaning into you when he gets past his first knuckle. 

He pulls back, “You’re tight.” 

You can’t see him, but you moan in response, words escaping you before you can think about them, “Stretch me out then.” 

With more force he curls his finger inside and your back lifts from the wood, an elbow sliding behind you, holding yourself up as a wrecked, ragged, guttural moan escapes you. “Keep doing that,” you breathe, “Oh my god, Yeosang, do that again.” 

His eyes flick up to yours and they’re so dark, his pupils so wide, with his hair so messy and his features so deep he almost seemed menacing. He shakes his head, fingers pulling from your core, mouth detaching from your folds, you feel empty.

He doesn’t sound like himself anymore, raw, restless, “Can’t, can’t take it anymore.” 

Your back meets the wood again as he tugs his deep red briefs down to his thighs, rock hard and leaking cock slapping up between veiny hips, his chin tucked to his chest. He grips himself, knuckles white around the base of his cock as he stares at your core, still glistening, pulsing for him. 

“Inside,” you nearly cry, knees bending upward, spreading yourself wide. His eyes meet yours and there’s no uncertainty, no pause, no patience. 

He lines himself up, mushroom tip poking at your entrance that’s never felt more than his finger, your breath hitched in your throat. Your face tightens as he slips himself inside, a cry leaving your lips once the fat tip pushes past your folds, a relieving yet strangled sigh when he sheathes himself fully. 

“You have to— I’m not gonna,” his eyes are screwed shut, mouth hanging open, lips glossy and wet, hands planted on either side of the table. He’s moaning now, higher in pitch and you’re trying to calm your breathing, locked in on how he feels like he’s splintering your stomach. 

Overwhelming but everything, he’s huge, everything about him. Your eyes flutter, open and closed, watching how his curved shoulders flex, how the veins on his arms swim up to his biceps, the chiseled abs on his torso, stuck in a time-warp of constant enduring how he splits you open. 

“I gotta move,” he’s panting all over again, “Open up for me, baby.” 

Your breath hitches at the pet name, pulsing around him, clenching around his length. A muddled groan leaves his lips as everything freezes, his fingers on the table, his abdomen, his eyes, you feel warm. Full. He curses through an ear-piercing moan, pulling out halfway, chest heaving, and then he mutters, “Shit, I just came.” 

You lean up on your elbows, eyeing him through wet lashes, “What?” 

But then he’s grabbing you, a strong, sticky forearm wrapping around your torso, pulling you into him, his mouth sloppy against yours once more. He whines into your lips as he starts thrusting inside you again and you’re speechless, frozen, drool spilling down your unmoving lips as his cock curves upward, hitting that same spot from before. 

“Gods, baby, you gotta open up or I’m gonna cum again,” he says through a ragged breath, hips quickening their pace, the slick inside you letting him move so easily. 

“I can’t,” you whimper, chin tipping back, hands braced on the table behind you. “It feels so good, Yeo,” you snap your head back down, “I didn’t- I didn’t know it felt so good.” 

His eyes flicker to yours, a question on his tongue he didn’t need to ask, he didn’t want to stop. Selfishly he fucks into you faster, harder, hands planted on your hips as he drinks up every moan and cry that leaves your lips. 

His head hangs low, sweat dripping past his collarbones, down his abdomen, your legs hook around his waist, knee socks and penny loafers slamming into his too-hot skin. 

“I need,” you shake your head, throat dry, the pleasure was too much. Too overwhelming. “Sit down, sit, sit sit sit.” 

In one quick motion he’s scooping you up, sitting back on the bench, your knees landing on either side of him with your hands planted on his shoulders. 

You bounce as soon as you gain leverage, ignoring the immediate burn in your thighs as your forehead falls to his shoulder, lips pressed to his skin with sounds of pleasure stringing together in a continuous song. He’s somehow deeper, the pleasure more intense, a pit of blazing heat that grows stronger, you can’t keep yourself upright. 

His grip on your hips is steady, grounding in the swirl of sweat and spit and lust, bouncing you effortlessly, keeping you moving in rhythm. His voice is low and strained again, “Want you to cum around my cock, baby.” 

You cry, hips twitching against him, the pit in your stomach growing hotter, stronger. His lips press against your burning skin and you moan, his tongue is heavy and sopping wet as he licks up the sweat along your jaw, whispering, “Rub your clit for me, baby, please.”

Your nails claw into his shoulders harder, stomach clenching, a cry leaving your lips after the words leave his mouth, your orgasm was right there, right on the brink. You clench around him, hips stuttering when a low groan leaves Yeosang’s lips, so low and rumbled it makes the rubber band snap. 

Your moans slur together you cum around his length, his firm hands on your hips fucking you through it as if you were weightless, nothing but a fucktoy for him to use. His huff of a laugh is in amusement and disbelief, “You came? Just like that?” 

Winded, cheeks hot and body stinging, you nod, head tipping back, needing the air of the room on your skin. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, “I need to cum again, need to fill this pussy one more time.” 

His arm wraps around your waist one more time and you’ve submitted to the fact that you could be just a toy for him to use forever. You’re on the floor in a flash, knees pressed to hardwood, your palms braced before you, on all fours. 

He slips back in and you fold, chest pressed to the hardwood, cheek hot against the floor, elbows bent with your palms still braced on either side of you. He fucks into you ruthlessly, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room, his hands heavy and hot against you. 

You’re jelly, body moving with his, muscles barely holding you up anymore. You’re sure drool is puddled beside your mouth, sounds leaving you that you couldn’t hear, a mess of overwhelming, blinding pleasure. 

“Want you to cum again,” he says from behind you and all you can do is cry. Tears fill your waterline and spill down your cheeks, into your mouth, mixing with the drool on the floor. 

He’s so fucking deep you swear he’s in your throat, his rhythm sloppy but merciless, cockhead kissing your cervix. He slips a hand around your front, two fingers pressed against your clit, rubbing quick circles as he leans down, panting against your back. 

“T-Too much,” you cry, nails clawing into the hardwood, shoulders shaking with each sob. 

“You can,” he’s straining like he’s on the brink of his own orgasm, “Come on, baby. Cum with me, c’mon.” 

You focus on his hand between your legs, his cock drilling into you, the pit in your stomach filling with pressure again. You choke, on your breath or your tears or your spit you weren’t sure, breath getting caught in your lungs as he pushes you closer, your orgasm so close to could taste it. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you choke out, voice utterly raw, words slurred and muffled. 

“Yes,” he moans, “Mm, fuck, yes, so good for me, cum around my cock.” 

Your body locks, joints tightening at his words, orgasm rushing over you like a tidal wave. His grip on your hip is blinding, he’s focusing on fucking you through it, keeping his rhythm precise, his angle perfect, “Yes, that’s it, baby. So tight— fuck, you’re so— fuck.” 

He’s spilling into you again, filling you with that sticky warmth, that fullness you felt before. You moan together, shameless and debauched as his thrusts slow down, then he’s pausing, fully sheathed, the only sounds in the room being your heaving breaths. 

“Oh my gods,” he takes a deep, shuddering breath, heavy hands running over your shaking, hot skin. Down your back, landing on your hips, he pulls you backward as he sits on his heels. 

You land over his chest, cock still buried inside you, head flopping back over his shoulder. He moves your hair from your face, thumb swiping below your lips, cleaning off the drool. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, panic in his tone. 

You nod, still pulling breath into your lungs, eyes softly closed. “I didn’t know, I didn’t know,” you repeat with a shake of your head, “That sex felt so good, Yeosang.” 

You crack an eye and he’s beet red, half his hair pulled out of his ponytail, framing his face like a mural. He’s so fucking beautiful. 

“I didn’t know that you haven’t had sex before,” his voice is quiet, tone raw, you both needed water. “I’m going to kill Wooyoung.” 

“No,” you shake your head, dry swallowing, “No, thank him.” 

“Thank him?” Yeosang repeats, eyebrows raised. 

Your smile is lazy, tired, a slow chuckle tumbling off your tongue, “I don’t think the Desiderium wore off yet.” 

His cock twitches inside you, still rock fucking hard, he blushes even deeper, “You wanna go again?” 

“It’s a form of studying,” you shrug, breaths finally slowing, “You can tell Wooyoung exactly how it works.” 

Clinging to her sweatshirt, both of your hoods up, you shrugged and hopped over a puddle, taking her with you. “Nope. He usually does, if he’s got work or something, but he disappeared. Didn’t even stop at the corner of Wattz and Fallon’s.”

Pouting, she gave you a glance, her glittery eyeshadow gleaming in the warm glow of the ancient street lights. “He always stops.”

Copying her face, you mumbled, “I know. He always stops.”

“Maybe,” she sang, swinging your arm around, skipping a few times, “He’s surprising you.”

A gentle roll of your eyes made her giggle. “Cute, but he’s not surprising me,” you said, looking up at the grey, almost black sky. “Something’s up.”

Yuna’s curious eyes followed yours, squinting at the abyss that lived above you. “Like what, has he been okay?”

“I think so,” you sighed, scouring the sky. Letting go of her, you spun around and walked backwards, eyes pointed up. “He would tell me, though. He’s always told me.”

Burying her hands in the pocket on her front, she asked, “Told you what?”

Furrowing your brows, you shook your head and turned around, hooking your arms together again. “Nothing. It’s nothing, he’s fine, he’ll call me.”

A gentle smile bled onto her cheeks. “He’ll call,” her voice lilted, a cutesy song, “He likes you.”

Groaning aloud, dramatically, you knocked into her side, nearly pushing her into the constant flood of water that flushed down the curbs of Jiangshi. “Let it go,” you muttered, “He said it once. We said it once.”

Yuna wiggled her brows, leaning into you, her lips almost grazing your cheek. “And you guys have been ignoring it since!” She jumped on her feet. “Get to it!”

Scoffing, you shot her a glare. “There is nothing to get to, Yuna. It’s… complicated.”

“How?” Bouncing her knees once, dragging her feet, she droned on, “You guys have known each other for so long, you’ve been friends for so long, you’ve both had feelings for so, so, so long, you should’ve never been just friends in the first place.”

“We’re just better this way,” you said quietly, looking back up into the clouds. 

She blinked at you, then tipped her chin backward. “What the hell are you looking at? It’s Jiangshi, it always looks the same. Dark, raining, miserable.” 

Tugging her closer to you, for warmth, for comfort, you averted your glare to the ground and shrugged loosely. “Nothing, just… looking for the moon.”

Pushing your apartment door open with your sneaker, you stepped in, flicked on the yellow lights that buzzed to life and flickered occasionally, and stripped yourself of your wet clothes. Shoes first, you kicked them off by the door, leaving them there to dry next to the other three pairs in your rotation of Jiangshi weather safe shoes. Pulling your hoodie off from the bottom, you turned the corner into your smaller bedroom and threw it in the hamper next to the bathroom door, doing the same to your jeans, slipping yourself into sweats to shield you from the Jiangshi cold. 

Pulling your hair back, your socked feet took you into the kitchen that ate up half of the space with the living room. Yanking open cabinets you pulled down a mug and some kind of tea your aunt sent you to the city with. She told you it helped ward off colds and different sicknesses one could catch from the dreary weather. It tasted good, though an acquired taste at first, cinnamoney, some peppermint, a bit of warm and cool all at once, a type of sensation that began to help you sleep after you became accustomed to it. It would knock you out all night, nothing could wake you up.

Turning the water on the stove, you leaned against the counter and folded your arms over your chest. Pictures lined your cabinets, polaroids, strips from photobooths, photos on printer paper, all full of friends, a few of you and your aunt, most of them you and Chris…

His wide, real, genuine smile, brighter than anything you’ve ever seen. The sunshine in Jiangshi. Your sunshine. You couldn’t help but smile too, every time he would. Even looking at the photos, you felt it in your cheeks. Comfort. A constant in your life that moved all the way out here with you, two people not knowing where the hell they were going in life, but knowing that they needed to do it together.

Jiangshi’s been good to you both, school rocked, you fell in love with your classes, your professors, but for Chris, it changed his life entirely. 

You knew him, deep down to his core, he’s never belonged anywhere more than he has in Jiangshi. Up in Iloa, a dry city full of stuck up assholes, you both found a place you belong here, but Chris, he found family. 

It was hard to not feel jealous, a lot of his time he used to spend with you, he now gave it to the friends he’s made, the family he’s found, and as much as you understood, as much as you knew he needed it, it hurt. 

Your constant became an every now and again. A ‘maybe I can, let me just see what Minho is doing…’. You became a filler in his life, someone he’d come to when everyone else was busy. 

You’ve met his friends, seven of them all with the same sharpness in their features, the puppy in their eyes, the literal warmth radiating off of their bodies– God, you’d hate to be stuck in close quarters with all of eight of them at once, testosterone aside, the body heat, you’d suffocate. You can hardly handle sitting too close to Chris on the couch.

They were a great group of guys, Chris has told how they’ve taken him in, how much they’ve taught him, the confidence they’ve fed him… He found his place. He found his pack. 

But, that used to be you.

You were his pack. Words spoken to you back home in Iloa under a new moon, embracing the utter calm before the storm.

The feelings were new, though they’ve been buried within both of you for years. Neither of you expressed feeling more until a month ago. In his car, parked down an alleyway in the rain, housing a pizza while the CD he burnt for you played on repeat in the background of your giggles and endless chatter. Somehow the pizza box ended up on the floor of the backseat, somehow you crawled over the console, somehow you wound up in his lap, and somehow, someway, he had kissed you.

It’s been weird since then.

That night, one that made you feel things you’ve never felt before, the look in his eyes, the flash of gold brand new to either of you, something he’s never done, or been able to do, something shifted.

Something changed.

And though he hasn’t been avoiding you, that night hasn’t ever been talked about since it happened, but he wasn’t exactly making an effort to see you.

Pouring the boiling water into a mug, tea leaves swirling in the ceramic before settling to the bottom, you hooked the handle around your fingers and started for the couch, tiptoeing, being oh, so careful to not spill a drop on the floor–

BAM! BAM! BAM!

You spilled more than a drop.

Leaping backward, tea splattering over the floor, body taking a screenshot, you nearly tossed the mug onto the counter, spilling even more tea over the linoleum. 

“What the fuck,” you grumbled, wiping your hands on your sweats, checking them for burns, unable to process what had just happened.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Spinning around, eyes wide, your door shook with the force it was banged upon.

Doors didn’t open in Jiangshi, not after you were already inside. Once inside, you stayed inside. Anyone who came with you stayed inside as well, no strays allowed. 

“It’s me, let me in!” Except one. “Please,” his voice broke, his accent thicker than ever, and… was he slurring his words? “Fuck, I can’t…” The sound of him moved away from the door, the shuffling of his feet heard on the wood of the landing outside.

Stepping closer, you shouted, “Chris?”, and heard him gasp.

Then, the hair on your arms sprung straight up, a chill shot down your spine, and your ears were pierced by the disgusting sound of sharp nails on metal. Dragging. Digging. Carving their way into the doorframe. 

Covering your ears until he deemed himself satisfied, you grabbed onto the doorknob and held it tight, peering out of the viewer you could only see the top of his head. Wet, stringy blonde hair pushed backward, his head hanging forward, down, his shoulders rising and falling significantly, heaving air through his lungs. He looked like himself, just tired. And soaked.

Both hands were pressed to either side of the door, waiting. 

Patient.

And when he lifted his head, a shock shot through your nervous system.

Bright, burning golden eyes glowed in the dark of night, his sharp canines extended in both rows of gorgeous teeth, his lips parted, brows pulled together, distraught, somewhat hurt… Actually hurt. A gash on his bottom lip greeted you after his tongue swiped over it, red staining his teeth. On his arms, scratches upon scratches, not deep enough to worry, but enough to discipline. 

Your heart squeezed between your lungs. This has happened before, a fight with one of the guys, one he cowered away from after learning his place, where he stood, and he came to you, and you patched him up. You took care of him, and he slept on your couch, and he sipped that special tea.

That night his eyes didn’t glow. That night his canines weren’t growing, and retracting, and growing again, nor did he have the need to dig his nails into absolutely anything, they never even made an appearance even after his moans and groans in protest of the sting of you cleaning his wounds. 

“I can’t let you in,” you said softly, keeping your voice steady. 

Tilting his head sideways, squeezing his eyes shut, nose scrunching, he muttered a fast and quiet, “Yes-you-can.”

Glancing at the locks on your door, one on the handle and two security hooks inches above it, you moved slowly and latched them both, doing your utmost best to not make a sound. His nails creased the metal of the doorframe and your whole body cringed. Peering out at him, he tipped his head back and whined. More animal than anything. 

“Don’t, don’t,” he breathed, pushing from the door, digging his hands in his hair. His elbows were just as scuffed as the rest of him. His black t-shirt, filthy. His dark ripped denim jeans, filthy. “Don’t use those locks, let me in, please.”

“Chris, I can’t, you know that,” you said, your tone gentle.

His head tilted again, the other way, a sharp movement that made his eyes shut once more, like the sound of your voice triggered him. Watching him stagger backward, you can see that he’s more bulky than his usual form, his muscles bulged in his sleeves, his chest threatening to rip through the fabric. The curve in his back, the slightest hunch, the bend in his knees, ever so small, but there.

“What is happening, the moon isn’t full,” you said, and he winced, teeth baring, teetering forward, not in control of himself, slamming against the door, his claws digging into it. Jumping away at the force, you withheld the yelp in your throat, knowing that if he heard you, and you were scared, he’d never forgive himself. Leaning back into it, laying a hand over your chest, you peered through the viewer. “Where did you come from?”

He lifted his head. The glow of his eyes had gone back to normal, sweet caramel chocolate swirl a relief to see. Gasping for air, his teeth having not retracted just yet, he shook his head. “Minho’s,” he mumbled.

“Why did he hurt you?”

Chris clenched his jaw and swallowed, tightening his brow, humming to himself as gold began to course through his irises. “Mmm’he didn’t,” he mumbled, loosing a breath, some sort of smile gracing his pretty lips, a flash of Chris, your Chris. “I hurt him,” he admitted, trying to laugh, “I can’t… control this right now.”

Throat tightening, you took a breath. Minho. “So, he what? Set you free? Fought back, lost, set you loose on the city? Great leader you’ve got there.”

He growled.

Oops.

Teeth shooting out, eyes flashing red for all of two seconds, he threw both fists at the door and shouted. “Keep his name out of your mouth!”

“Chris!” Raising your voice although it shook, you shifted your hands to your belly, holding onto yourself tight.

A whine ripped through him, a pathetic gasp to follow. Face contorting in anguish, he collapsed onto the door, laying his cheek to it. “M’sorry,” he whispered, “I didn’t mean that, I can’t- I can’t-”

Pressing yourself to the door, you sighed. “Can’t control it, I know, it’s okay, Chris.”

Moving faster than humanly possible, he shot straight up, eyes aglow with gold. You heard his hands, his palms brush over the door, no nails to follow. Gaze darting around, searching, his brain logging things impossible to you, his nose scrunched and he groaned. 

“He sent me here.”

Your eyes went wide. “W-Who did? Minho?”

Chris swallowed, eyes narrowing, nose twitching with a frown of his lips. “Yeah,” he whispered, and you heard his hands move around the door. “There was nothing he could do for me.”

Appalled, you scoffed and tapped your fingers on the door. “And, there’s something here I can do for you?”

He looked directly at the viewer, startling you. “Yes,” he whispered. He blinked, the gold dimming. Slamming his palms on the door, he walked backward a few steps and shook his head. “No, what the fuck,” he mumbled to himself, dragging his hands through his hair and over his face. “No, no, no. Tell me to leave,” he said, walking back up to the door, “Tell me to leave, right now.”

“Chris, you’re hurt, and you’re not okay, I can’t just-”

He slammed his hands to the door, harder than ever, the vibrations moving through the metal, moving through you. “Tell me to leave! Now!” His scream, it should’ve scared you, should’ve been the red flag, but the gold of his eyes, the gold you saw that night in his car, on his lap, his hands on your waist, little space between you, between kisses…

You put the tip of your finger on one of the locks.

One little slide and it would come undone.

Chris tightened his jaw. “What are you doing?”

Incredible how you made no sound, yet he could hear you.

Golden eyes glanced into the viewer, glanced at you.

Pushing with your finger, you let the chain clang against the doorframe, and watched him berate with himself once more. Somewhere between man and wolf, his consciousness fist fighting for control and losing miserably. 

“Don’t. Don’t, please, don't," he mumbled as your finger moved on top of the second lock. “If I can smell you through the door, I won’t be able to… Don’t do it. Tell me to leave.”

Your whisper made him moan. “You won’t hurt me.”

His fists hit the metal. “That was before…”

“Before, what?” You slid the second lock open, and he sighed, his teeth sharpening, his eyes burning brighter, the sounds he made growing louder. 

“Don’t open the door,” he begged, “Please, I can’t… I won’t be able to stop. I know I said let me in, don’t listen to me. Do-not-listen-to-me.”

The last lock ticked, and he snapped. Eyes pointed at the handle, body on alert. So still it was as if anyone could walk by and not see him. 

You’ve never felt more like prey in your life.

But, why did it feel… good?

Twisting the handle, he didn’t move. He didn’t move until you pulled the door all the way open. He barely got a look at you before he curled into himself, pressing his hands to his face, over his eyes, over his nose. Collapsing backward, he fell against the doorframe and groaned so loud it rang in your ears.

“Chris,” you whispered, and he shot you a glare, clawing his hands at his sides, no nails in sight.

Eyes burning gold, he scrunched his nose and took a step into your apartment, slamming the door behind him. Large, bulky, strong. Much, much bigger than you. Though he looked himself, he most certainly was not himself. With one heavy step toward you, almost a charge, you leapt back some and he hurled himself into the kitchen. The dramatics. Throwing himself over a counter, burying his head in his hands, he groaned, body and muscles twitching, trying to move, his consciousness holding his own.

“...alone, leave it alone, can’t, can’t, can’t…not right…why’d he make me do this…smell, the smell…” 

You made out every other word of his grumbles. 

“Smell?” you questioned. “That’s the second time you’ve said that.”

Snapping his neck, he glared at you. Pure wolf. “You smell.”

Blinking, lips parted with an afterthought, you scoffed. “Excuse me?” Taking a hand to your hoodie, you lifted it to your nose. Soft lavender. “I changed when I got home. If anyone smells, it’s you, wet dog.”

He tried a smile, still bent over the counter. “That’s what you smell?” Rolling your eyes, you nodded. “Keep it that way,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“...Because.”

“Because, why?”

“Because I said so.”

“Because you said so?”

He pounded his fists into the counter, standing up to full height, shoulders rolling back, asserting every bit of dominance. “Just listen to me.”

Every muscle in your body that had tensed since he first knocked on the door had seemed to relax. “Okay,” you whispered, and he whined, collapsing back over the counter. “Chris, what’s happening?”

His nails sprung out, hands grasping the linoleum for stability. “Tell me… to leave,” he muttered into his beefy bicep, voice low, gravely.

“No, Chris, what the fuck, I am not telling you to leave, there is something wrong and I’d rather you be here with me, then out there-”

Pushing himself off the counter, he stumbled backward into the stove, clawing at his t-shirt. Breath ragged, he shook his head with vigor, his brows pleading with you in a language you didn’t understand. “You don’t have any idea what’s happening,” he grumbled. 

Glancing around your apartment, you held out your hands and let them fall to your thighs. “Do I look like I know?”

In three quick paces he was in front of you, looking down at you, centimeters from your face, body heat wrapping around your throat, your lungs, your middle, your core. Breathing through his nose, his golden eyes fluttered shut and he sighed, shakily, jaw squaring, body stiffening, throat contracting…

Turning away from you, he hurried a step into the living room and folded himself in half over your couch, more unintelligible moans and groans falling from his lips. 

“Chris,” you opened your hands once more, following behind him. Whirling around, he grabbed your wrists and yanked you into him, wedging you between him and the sofa. Towering above you, his thighs pressing into yours, broad chest impenetrable– you were stuck. “Chris.”

Taking your trembling voice for what it was, he rolled his eyes and huffed, leaning into you, lips brushing over the shell of your ear. “Your body,” he whispered, chills erupting down your arms, your legs, “Begs to be bred.”

Gasping, wriggling in his grasp, you cursed your legs for how they pressed together, for how your body seemed to react. He moved slow, pulling his lips, his hot breath from your ear and the expanse of your neck, looking down at you with warm glowing eyes. Alluring. 

Gazing up at him, his sharp features, you whispered, “I-I’m… I’m…”

 “Ovulating,” he spat through his teeth. His voice, broken, gritty. “Fertile.”

Sucking in a breath, a warmth spreading under your skin that had his chest heaving, you whispered, “And, you can, you can-”

He curled his lip, leaning into you. “Smell it.”

“Right,” you breathed, and he parted his lips to drink it in, a soft growl on his tongue, his eyes dropping to your mouth, “And… because you can… You want to-”

His eyes flickered to yours. “Fuck you.”

A barely there whimper fell out of you, and he started to smirk. “You’re in heat,” you stated, and he ran his tongue over his teeth, his canines, his consciousness slipping further and further away the longer he stood this close to you. Gulping, your own consciousness telling you to run from this, the pull of his gaze and the warmth of his body and the strength in his grip and the promise of receiving a piece of him you’ve wanted for oh, so long now…

“That’s why Minho sent you here,” you whispered. He didn’t bother to listen now, hearing you’ve got it all figured out, he stared at you, sized you up, a plan in his head he set in stone long ago written on his smug face. “You told him that-” “That I love you,” he whispered, a peek of him coming through, “Yeah, I did.”

“You lo…” The words cut off with a breath, your own breathing on manual now, and not because of the beast that was about to make you his dinner. Going limp in his hold, body weight falling onto his chest, you shook your head in tiny. “Chris… We said we’d go slow.”

He tilted his head to the side, a minute movement. You weren’t sure who spoke, or who you were speaking to, or if he could hear you clearly, if he could think clearly. “Can’t.”

His body wrapped around you, the heat, the persuasion of his eyes, everything else melted away.

“You don’t speak to me for like a month, and now you-”

Strong hands wrapped around your jaw, tipping you back. A flash of gold washed over you just before he brushed his nose over yours, his gaze falling to your lips. Warm air trickled from between his lips, down your neck, the blaze burning over your skin, down your chest, over your arms, your middle, between your legs, a brazen forest fire, uncontainable, one that twisted every thought with a devilish whisper of you want this…

Barely pursing his lips, he kissed you gently. A miniscule roll of his lips onto yours, entirely chaste, and you kissed him back just the same, a barely there push of lips against his. Inhaling deeply, a flutter in your heart, you took in the scent of something sweet, a soft flower, nothing too sharp like lavender, or poignant like rose, just, soft. 

Comfort. 

Allowing it to put your mind at ease, reminding yourself that this was Chris, the boy who spilled his feelings to you in a jumbled mess of words that half made sense, the boy who has always smelled this soft, the boy who has shown you his other side countless times and has never once ever hurt you… You stretched your arms over his chest, looping them around his neck, parting your lips to deepen what he’d been afraid of, sliding your tongue over his bottom lip– He ripped himself away from you.

All of your weight rested on him, when he jumped across the living room you had to catch yourself on the couch he’d been pressing you to. Sucking down air, startled by how he moved, breathless from how long he’d been kissing you, you whirled around and threw your hands out at your side. 

“No,” he snarled, resting his back against the wall across from where you stood. Digging his fingers through his hair, he couldn’t look at you. His body tried to charge for you, though. “No, it’s not happening.”

Resting your hands on the cushions, you pressed your fingers into them. Gulping, you drug your eyes up and down his form, over every bulging muscle, every heave of his chest as his mind and body went to war, the ragged breaths tearing through his full, plump pink lips delectable as ever, the obvious bulge in his jeans he couldn’t deny if he tried.

Every sigh made your skin crawl.

Every twitch of his hips pooled saliva over your tongue.

Every flash of gold he beguiled your eyes with soaked your panties.

He moved far from you, but you could still smell him.

Soft, fresh clean laundry, a clear spring day, the first gust of air stepping into an ice cream shoppe.

Your muscles tensed.

Squeezing your legs together, bending at the knees, you furrowed your brows and clawed at the couch cushions, the sound triggering him to snap his neck in your direction, eyes focused, ears pointed at the sound. From your fingers to your lustrous gaze he studied. He stood up straight, head cocking to the side ever so slightly. Curious.

Body on absolute fire, the need wedged within your thighs unbearable, humiliating, you clenched your jaw and watched as he attempted to retract his claws, his teeth.

But, his eyes, burning as bright as the need coursing through your veins, like your feelings fueled their glow, gave birth to their very existence, they knew you were empty.

You’ve never felt it more than in this very moment, unable to recall the last time you ever did feel it. 

Chris whispered with a scrunch of his nose, “I can smell you from here.”

“I can smell you, too,” you whispered back, and he raised a brow.

“No, you can’t.”

“Yes, I can.”

He took a steady breath. “Wet dog?”

Biting on your bottom lip, you blinked and gave him a smile. “Delicious.”

“Shit,” he sneered, spinning around, pressing his hands to his face. Prowling around the couch, tiptoeing behind him though he could hear every move you made, you smoothed your hands over the expanse of his back and trembled at the knees, something resembled a quiet whine slipping through your lips. “Don’t look at me anymore,” he said, then whispered, “Why did he tell me to come here?”

“Because I need you to fill me,” you breathed, and he shot straight up, hands pressing to the wall. 

Scent thicker behind him like this, every thought of what if dissipated, the only one left behind is that of a thought you kept for yourself late at night, what it would feel like to have your legs wrapped around his waist as he slipped inside of you. 

The sweetness grew tenfold. 

“Chris,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his middle, clinging to his back, a mere koala hanging off of him.  

More than a want, more than a need, your body craved him.

Taking a hand from the wall, he placed it over yours on his chest. Heavy, hot, strong.  “It’s different,” he grumbled, shaking his head, letting it hang. “It won’t be me.”

“Yes, it will be,” you begged, pushing yourself against him. 

Holding onto your hands, he turned and pressed his backside to the wall, tugging you into him. Nose to nose, he thinned his lips and shook his head. “You’re already close to halfway gone. Do you hear yourself? This isn’t you, it’s the-” 

Gold pulsed in his irises as you clenched around nothing, his voice tickling your skin.

Snapping his mouth shut, he groaned to himself, attempting a deep breath. Leaning into you, his lips close to yours that you tried to catch and he wouldn’t let you, he whispered, “If I start, I won’t be able to stop.”

“That’s fine, that’s-”

He spat, “At all. Until I’m done, until my body is satisfied, until it knows you’re…”

The breath that pushed through your lips made him break his gaze, glaring elsewhere in the room. 

“Bred,” you whispered. His breathing grew heavier, every exhale waltzing with a soft grunt that made you want to shove your hand in your pants. “This never happened before, why now?”

Chris’s throat tightened, his hands tensing around you. Shrugging, he mustered up the courage to look at you with a heavy sigh, “Because, it clicked. We’re it.”

Lips tipping up, you slid your hands down his front. “No shit, I can feel it.”

Catching your wrists before they slid too far, he groaned and pulled them up to his chest. “I can tell.”

“And now you have to give me a baby,” you whispered.

Throwing his head back, he just about roared, his groan echoing against your walls, gold eyes shining brighter than they have all night. Gripping your wrists with a vengeance, he peered down at you, gold like a siren song luring you into bed. “You tell me to leave, we can get through this. Let me go, and we’ll-”

“No.”

He flashed you all of his teeth, his canines, and glared at you. “No?” 

Narrowing your eyes, lowering your brows, trying to hold onto him as tightly as he held onto you, you said it again with a snap of your jaw. “No!”

Grunting, he pushed off of the wall and towered over you, walking you backward through your living room. “Did you hear me? What I said?” Excitement flooded your senses, sugary sweets lingered in the air, his heat fogged your windows. He paused in the doorway of your bedroom. “If I start… I won’t be able to stop.”

You wanted him everywhere, his size, his teeth, his strength. Sideways, in your bed, over the back of your sofa, on the kitchen counter, naked, sweaty and making a mess of each other, unable to get enough, utterly famished, and you needed him to pump you full, milking himself dry, as many times as it’d take, you were his to ruin, to claim. 

Your body gave you away, it was as if he could read every thought.

“You don’t know what you’re asking me to do,” he whispered, voice quiet. He knew he’d lost. 

You needed him inside of you yesterday. Pressing your thighs together, smiling as his nose twitched, you rose to your tiptoes and brushed your lips over his cheek. “But, you do.”

Wrenching his eyes shut, he grasped the doorframe. Breathless, he admitted, “I don’t wanna hurt you.” 

“You won’t,” you whispered, kissing his cheek, dancing a hand over his chest and thundering heart. “You could never hurt me. I know you won’t. I want you.” He opened his golden eyes to your innocent smile. “Please?”

Arms engulfing you, he picked you up effortlessly, tossing you back onto your bed made with a plush grey comforter and about a hundred pillows. Through a laugh, you bounced on the mattress and sat up on your elbows, reaching one hand out for him to grab, but he opted for your ankles. In the dark, his eyes burned bright, his expression turning from one you knew to one that pierced through you, into you, deep.

Pulling you toward him by the ankles, you giggled and hummed as your hips met, circling yours against him, grinding into him. He laid over you, his feet firm on the floor, taking your forearms in his, laying you backward on the bed, pinning you down. Jaw clenched tight, he stared at you, his breath shallow and quiet. Nose just grazing your skin, he moved with caution, sizing you up, gaze eating you alive and examining you like he wasn’t sure you were good enough.

Breath tickled your neck, his nose and his chin nudging you gently, a predator stalking his prey. 

In the quiet of your bedroom his soft grunts of contentment rendered your brain dizzy, every release like he pushed a finger inside of you, bringing you closer to the edge without even touching you. His tongue drug up the side of your neck, the faintest touch, tasting you, his groan melting into one of your own, a heavy breath caught between your bodies. Aside from his hands, his hips pressing into yours, he didn’t touch you, but his teeth did, soon after his tongue teased beneath your ear.

Arching into his chest, sucking in a breath, the tips of his canines drug over your neck, Chris pressing them into your skin below your chin, his entire jaw almost locking around your throat. If he finished shifting, he’d fit your neck between his teeth easily, too easily. Even now he’d be able to rip into it, his fangs seemed to grow sharper the longer he toyed with you.

Your shaky breath startled him, the push of air making him cower backward, his head dropping and his shoulders rising, his hands pressing yours further into the mattress. His shoulders had widened some, his form larger, every muscle bulkier, thicker, veinier. You could feel the claws on his fingers digging into your arms, just as sharp as his teeth that now poked out over his pink lip.

The final form before the last.

Exhaling through his nose, the breath heavy and hot, his glowing eyes stared into yours. 

He didn’t blink. 

He didn’t move.

An apex predator.

One as smart as he was strong, as beautiful as he was rough.

He could kill you, right now, and he’d make it quick, a simple task for a monster of his size, his intelligence, but as his golden eyes finally blinked, and cotton candy wafted through the air, the sturdy jaw that’s clamped down and ripped through a plethora of nothings you care to remember, it softened. His lips parted, and both sets of teeth poked through, a gentle growl sneaking out of the depths of him.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath shook with every sigh, your hips desperately ground against his. Lifting your head, coming nose to nose, you whispered, “Chris?”

Grizzly breath poured over you, your man now more creature than ever. Voice rough, scratchy, so deep that it vibrated inside of you, he forced the words out of himself. “M’still here.”

“Good,” you whispered, brushing your nose side to side over his. “I’m-”

He pushed down on your arms, knocking you back on bed. Throwing his head down to your chest, his back curved and he groaned, loud, you’re certain you heard a crack. 

Gasping, you squeezed your eyes shut and turned your head away. 

This was it.

Panting, a whine escaping with every breath, you attempted to melt into the mattress, unable to even contemplate how you were going to get out of here. “No,” you whispered, listening to him groan, listening to him try to fight it. You’ve been through this before, you’ve both tried everything, there was no fighting it. “Don’t, Christopher, please,” you babbled, shaking your head, “Don’t. It’s me… it’s me. You won’t hurt me, you won’t, you love me. I love you, you can’t…”

He’d stopped moving. When, you weren’t sure. 

Shutting yourself up, you held your breath and opened your eyes, looking down at him. Back still curved, eyes still golden, teeth pointed, he stared at you through his lashes, laying over your belly, watching you. You didn’t dare to say more, nor did you think to move. His glare had softened, his breathing evened out, the shift was incomplete physically, still somewhat man, but the way his eyes darted back and forth between yours, to your lips, back to your eyes…

He’d gone feral mentally.

And he moved with the pace and strength of an animal.

Letting go of your arms, he grabbed the waist of your sweats and pulled, ripping them to shreds and throwing them to the floor. Holding your breath as he climbed onto the bed and crawled over you, two sizes too big, you laid flat on the mattress, eyes wide as he grabbed the collar of your hoodie and pulled, lifting you with it, ripping the cotton off your body like he was shredding mere paper. 

Letting you flop back on your comforter, he crawled a little higher, his thighs straddling your shoulders. Reaching between his legs, he hooked his hands under your arms and pulled you up to your pillows, his thighs now caging yours to the bed. Like a ragdoll he moved you, you were certain he could move mountains in this state. 

Quiet sounds left him, ones mixing with the power of your breaths with each of his movements, his purrs curious, and satisfied thus far with himself. Wrapping a hand around your throat, he didn’t press, but he tipped your chin upward, meeting your eyes with a small smile, sitting on top of you tall, too big, intimidating. 

You wanted him to crush you.

If everything else got bigger…

“You wanted to get fucked,” he grumbled, tilting your head side to side. “Naked under all that?”

A quiet whine slipped from your throat, making him wince. “I-I was home for the night, I didn’t…”

He pushed your chin back further with the back of his hand, his fingertips pressing to the sides, dizzying your head further. “I don’t wanna hear it. You were aroused when I showed up,” he growled, dropping down on top of you, his lips ghosting yours, “Were you gonna touch yourself tonight?”

Trying to breath, your airflow restricted, gazing up into his golden glow, you whined, and nodded.

He smirked. “You do almost every night, don’t you?” Dipping his tongue out, he licked the seam of your lips, huffing as you nodded again, trembling under his grasp. “I know you do,” he whispered, and your eyes went wide, your brows flipping over. “So cute,” he grumbled, fingers squeezing your neck. “You forget I can smell you, when you’re horny, when you’re ovulating, when you’re bleeding, when you’re desperate for someone to take care of you, don’t think I don’t know what you think about when you’re making yourself cum on your fingers.”

Writhing beneath him, you whispered, “You.”

Chris grinned, dimples blessing his cheeks, canines pressing into his lips. “Acting all innocent when you meet me in the morning like you weren’t imagining me on top of you while you were three knuckles deep the night before.” He nodded behind you. “Moaning my name into these pillows? Huh?” He smirked and drug his tongue over your jaw. “Can’t let the neighbors hear you, yeah?” 

“Chris, I-”

He didn’t let you finish. Straightening his brow, he released your neck and reached between his legs for your hips, pulling you out from under him. Sitting on his knees, he scooped his hands under yours and pushed you backward before he gripped your thighs and lifted you onto him. Gripping the sheets, nearly shouting his name, you looked up at him from the pillows and whimpered. He had you bent in half with your feet locked behind his neck over his wide shoulders and his head between your legs, holding you up with his body. 

Fingers pressing into the curve of your thigh, the dip of your hips, the round of your ass, he fluttered his eyes shut and took a long breath, an inhale of pleasure and a warm exhale of power over your slick, your body shaking in his hold. 

Tightening around nothing, a plea, a beg for him to give you something, you pushed your head backward, grabbed fistfuls of sheets, screwed your eyes shut and shouted, barely recognizing yourself, “Chris, please, give it to me!”

You’re met with gold for but a second before his tongue dips into you and your eyes roll back, your toes curling. 

Finally.

Whining as his warm muscle drug through your arousal, you gasped as he clamped you down to his chest and abused your clit. Tongue swirling, flicking, teasing, lips smacking, pulling, sucking, teeth nudging, never hurting– he moaned into you, golden eyes admiring you falling apart at his mercy, his cock growing harder with every cry of his name. Plunging his tongue into your entrance, he took one thumb to your clit and pressed, and twisted, and pressed again, tongue fucking you, every smack, every squelch, disgusting… It brought you closer. You’ve never been sprung so close to orgasm so fast, ever.

Sappy sweet wrapped around you, warped your mind, furthered the ecstasy pulsing through you, the heat searing through and out of your body. Chris, nothing but Chris, you couldn’t think of anything else, the world washed away with the rain pelting your windows, you couldn’t hear any of it, the wind, the howls outside, all that was left– Chris, his whimpers of pleasure, his thrusts against your back, his cock, heavy and full of cum that you needed inside of you…

His to use, his to fill, his to breed.

You were his. The gold in his eyes spoke to you, telling you exactly that. You were his. You’d never need anyone else ever again, he was yours. 

Thrashing against him, impetuous wails filling the air, wracking the walls, this wasn’t supposed to feel this good. You could stay here forever, bent upward, pinned to his chest while his tongue made love to your pussy and his cock speared you in the back.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, reaching to grab onto his thighs, your nails digging into his muscle. “Chris, god, please, don’t stop, M’gonna cum!” 

Circling your hips, grinding on his tongue, he growled and your body went still. Blinking up at him, he wrapped both arms around your thighs and pulled you tighter to him, baring his teeth, eyes pointed. Tongue pressing to your clit, he leaned over you, pushing you into the mattress as he furthered his assault, working faster, quicker, moaning louder, listening to you, and then, one of his hands dropped to your throat.

Fingers squeezing the sides, you went silent, lips parting, a breath caught in your lungs. Going dizzy, every thought fuzzy, the only whispered mantra falling from your lips Chris, chris, chris… Hips pressing up against him, vision searing white, you arched off of his chest and cried. Thighs closing him in, you shook violently, and he kept going.

Reaching up for him, fingers tangling in his hair, you tried to push him off, but the glare he shot down to you sent you retreating. Trembling, your entire body vibrating, the sounds that came out of you were pathetic, embarrassing, you couldn’t take it, it was too much, he needed to stop, your walls were tightening, your second orgasm stared you in the face, and he needed to get inside of you.

You said it all out loud, a mess of words strung together in some form of incoherent babbles that made him snicker. 

“You don’t even know what you want,” he grumbled, holding onto your thighs as he moved backward and dropped you down to the mattress. He reached behind him for the collar of his shirt and pulled it off of himself, his hair a mess on top of his head. Crawling backward on top of the pillows, you pulled your knees into your chest and watched him, your bottom lip lodging between your teeth.

Shaking, aftershocks like waves washing through you, you tried to take deep breaths.

For what, you weren’t sure.

Chris unfasted his pants and pushed them down his hips, tight boxers escaping as well, his thick, long, eager cock springing up, tempting you. Lips parting, you ogled his leaking tip and licked at the corners of your mouth. Heart thundering, your breathing shallow, you gulped and looked up at him, smug as ever.

Tongue dragging over his bottom teeth, pressing to his cheek, he lowered his chin. “Come here.” His golden eyes had gone dark, burning deeper, persuading you utterly submissive. With a meek shake of your head, the size of him intimidating, he narrowed his eyes and growled. “Gonna make me say it fucking twice,” he raised his voice, lunging for one of your ankles, dragging you in front of him quick with a yelp, “I said, come here.”

Palms pressing to your thighs, he spread you open and laid over you, his lips locking with yours, the taste of you still on his tongue. Moaning into his mouth as he pressed his tip to your entrance, the sheer difference in size making you both shudder, you threw your arms around his neck and closed your eyes.

“Tiny thing,” he muttered in shared air, dropping his head to peer between your bodies. Nudging your hole, he bared his teeth with a snarl feeling you close up. Taking his lips to your ear, he kissed your lobe and whispered, “Relax.” Holding onto him tighter, you could only whimper. Brushing his lips across your cheek to kiss you slowly, he hummed against your lips and whispered, “Let me in.” 

“Chris.”

“Shhh,” he soothed, touching his nose to yours, “Look at me,” and when you listened, he smiled, and the gold calmed you. 

A blanket of comfort. 

Warmth. 

Chris. 

A gentle waft of the earth after it rained passed through the air. Your legs spread backward as you gazed up at him, lifting your chin to give him a kiss, taking an involuntary long deep breath as your eyes fluttered shut and a pressure grew between your legs. His head dropped to your shoulder with an erotic whimper, and as the smell of rain dissipated and the facade of the gold broke apart, you clamped yourself around him and cried out.

He had sunken into you entirely, the stretch so unbearable it felt good. Big, bigger than anything you’ve ever had, bigger than what you were even expecting, god, you couldn’t breath, you couldn’t think, you couldn’t do anything but try to breathe, but even then, he thrust into you and knocked it right out of your lungs. 

He was splitting you right in two. 

And with how he writhed and grunted against your neck, he wasn’t giving you any time to attempt to adjust.

Pistoling into you, drinking up every string of moans that flew from your lips, he wore a pinched brow, his teeth clenched, his pink lips curling. Pressing his forehead to your cheek, to your neck, to your chest, he nuzzled his head against you, his hair, his chin, and when he wasn’t spreading his scent, he was dragging his tongue over your neck, over your lips. 

His own pathetic grunts washed over you, the look in his eye not a lick conscious, not a care in the world for how he gripped onto you so tight that his fingerprints were branded into your skin, or for where his teeth went and how hard they dug into your shoulder, or for the press of his nails, in your hips, your belly, your thighs, your ankles…

The bed creaked, moving faster with each thrust, he folded you backward, clawing at the mattress beside your head. Golden eyes glowing brighter, his hips snapped and snapped, the sound of your skin smacking almost as loud as your wails, your cries for more, your cries for him.

He invaded every sense, took over every little signal in your brain, became the one and only thing you needed, the one and only thing you wanted–

“Cum inside me,” you choked out, dragging your nails over the expanse of his back, not doing nearly as much damage as he’d done to you. He growled into your neck, thrusting even faster, so you cried out, voice broken, disgustingly desperate, “I need it, Chris, I’m so empty, wanna be full of you, fuck it into me, breed me, baby, please!”

He roared, pushing into you to the hilt, folding you in half, his legs stretching behind him. Pulsing into you, he moaned so loud the walls shook, and you felt it.

You felt it.

You never can feel it.

You’re not supposed to.

That’s not something that happens, you don’t feel it.

He pumped you full, and you felt it, and he kept cumming, twitching inside of you, soft, weak whimpers hiding in the back of his throat. A sticky warmth he spurted up into you, your belly growing hot, a buzzing within you, calming you. Your body shook, and you tightened around him.

Laid on top of you, a sweaty, panting mess, Chris stirred, propping himself up on his elbows, his head laid in your neck. Groaning with a lazy thrust of his hips, he lifted his head, and you sighed.

He was still hard.

His eyes were still gold. 

His teeth were still pointed.

He released a breath and whined. “M’sorry.”

Before you could get out a word, he moved in a flash, pushing himself off you, grabbing onto your waist, flipping you over face down without slipping out of you. Holding onto your hips, he pushed one hand to your back and arched you into the mattress, letting his hand slide down further to grab onto your hair, yanking your head back. 

Without warning, he picked up where he left off, quick, short snaps of his hips, harder and harder. “Thought you’d get away with one,” he grumbled, splaying his palm across your asscheek with a slap before he dug his nails into your skin. Laughing as you yelped, keeping you in place with a tug on your hair, he shook his head. “Need at least three to get a bitch fucking pregnant.”

Squeezing him tight, eyes rolling backward, his words spurred you on, your second orgasm impending, seconds from snapping. 

“Look at what you’ve fucking done to me,” he groaned. The bed frame wracked against the wall. “You’re nothing but a hole to fuck, a womb to fill, walking around like you have no fucking idea what I have to go through every fucking month, did you know that?”

Through babbled moans, you managed, “No.”

He bent himself in half, his lips brushing your ear, his cock curving up into you. “Better fucking learn. A pretty fucking face with a tight fucking pussy, fuck. How pretty you’ll be full me? This one’ll stick, yeah? You want that?”

Tongue pressing to your bottom lip, entirely fucked out and dumb, you moaned out, “I want it.”

His teeth grazed your neck, his voice spiraled you straight over the edge. “Then take my fucking cum.” Arching back into him, your head pressing to his neck, body writhing, splaying out on the mattress, you cried out his name and he smiled. “Good fucking girl,” he growled with feral thrusts of his hips, pressing hot kisses to your shoulders, “Baby likes getting fucked dumb, huh?”

“Yes,” you whispered, breathless, limbs unable to hold yourself up anymore.

Chris took his arms under you and lifted you up, laying you over his chest, the way he fucked into you– immpossible.  Sliding one hand down your middle, he toyed with your clit and snickered as you thrashed. “More,” he moaned, sliding his tongue over your neck, “You’re so fucking wet, I want more, make a mess.” 

The sheets under you were ruined. Leaking around him, his cock, his hips, covered. Your thighs, adorned by the mix he fucked you full of… Any more and you’d have to rid of the mattress.

The twist of his fingers and the snap of his hips pushed you over again, for the third time, a silent scream forcing its way out of you, all control you had on your body entirely lost. Limp in his arms, he praised you and laid you down headfirst, his bodyweight on top of you. Clinging to you, desperate grunts in your ear, he thrust into you twice and pushed. Like he wanted to split you in half, spurting into you, warmth filling you, everything going fuzzy.

He kept cumming.

He couldn’t stop. 

Pressing chaste kisses to your cheek, to your shoulder, to your back, he shook, and he kept cumming. Whimpers of your name fell from his lips, a sweet song keeping you somewhat grounded, but then you were moved, and you were under him again, and he had you flipped wrong ways down on the bed, and he tried to kiss you, and his teeth were digging into your shoulder, and he pinned your wrists above your head, and he brought you to orgasm again, one that hit you like you’d been plunged under water, drowning in ecstasy, and he wouldn’t stop, and he couldn’t stop, and you made him cum again, your belly so bloated, so full, so good for him…

“...back to me, baby,” you heard him whisper.

Blinking, still in the darkness of your bedroom, you swallowed, or tried to, your throat like sandpaper. Sitting up, every muscle in your body groaned, and a pair of warm hands wrapped around you, pulling you back into their lap.

“Lay down,” he whispered, lips pressing to your temple. 

Turning your chin, blinking away the blur in your eyes, you looked up at him and his soft smile and felt your throat tighten. “Chris,” you whispered.

“Hi,” he breathed, smoothing his hands down your arms, over your thighs. He had dressed you, you were in new sweats and a big tee. He’d thrown on a grey pair he kept over here in a random drawer. “You feel okay?” His brown eyes were laced with worry, his brows pulled into the center of his forehead.

No teeth.

No impossibly wide shoulders.

No golden glow.

Just Chris.

Sliding a hand over your belly, you lowered your brows and mumbled, “I feel…”

He sighed, dropping his head, his forehead on yours. “I know.”

His pointless shame made you smile. “How many times did you…”

“Five,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

A laugh caught on your lips. Gazing up at him, you scoffed, and he twisted his brow, confused.

“What?”

“Five times,” you laughed, “I thought I was fertile, it took five times!?”

Chris rocked backward, gasping, half a laugh escaping him. “That’s what you’re worried about right now?”

Laying a hand to his bare chest and his beating heart, his body heat enough to make you sweat, you took a deep breath. “Guess not,” you giggled. Silence wrapped around the two of you for a moment, your gazes saying everything that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. Breaking the quiet, you smiled. “You love me.”

He rolled his eyes and tipped his chin back, dragging his tongue over his teeth before it pushed into his cheek. “Yeah, well, you love me, so what are we gonna do about it?”

Blushing, you took your hand to his cheek and gave his dimple a pinch. “What are we gonna do about what we just did?” He took a breath and nodded, grabbing a hold of your hand, giving your wrist a gentle kiss where marks from his nails were evident. “We can’t have a baby right now, Chris.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “You have more of that tea your aunt gave you?”

“In the kitchen cabinet next to the stove,” you whispered. “That’ll fix it?” With a simple nod he moved out from under you. Rolling onto your side, your body unhappy, you watched him start for the door. “How do you know that?”

He licked his lips and shrugged, the quietest, “Minho,” coming out of him.

You wheezed, falling into hysterics, and he cowered with a grin. “You bastards!”

He hurried out of your bedroom with a shout. “I love you!”

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Always a smile on your face, dressed to the nines whenever he was home, lunches packed for him daily, his work clothes steamed and pressed, everything chosen for him so he didn’t need to think about it. You’d already morphed yourself into the perfect wife, shrinking yourself into dark corners so he always felt like was shining, you haven’t had one singular need from him in months. 

It was tiring. Changing everything about yourself and him not noticing, making his life a thousand times easier and him not caring. Him not appreciating. Him not fucking loving you anymore. 

“Need a refill, sweetheart?” You finally picked up your gaze to the woman behind the counter, electric orange and dark chocolate braids wrapped up into a bun atop her head, the sweetest smile on her high resting cheekbones. You gave her a nod, sliding your half-filled mug toward her, keeping your hands around the ceramic to feel the sting of the boiling coffee as it fills the cup. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, sliding it back to you, letting the steam that drifts toward you prick your face. The same routine, Jeno fucking up, you disappearing for twenty-four hours, then clawing back to your front door because there was no other option. You had made your bed on your wedding day, even then you knew what you were marrying into, who your husband was. It was a pipe dream, thinking the certificate and the ring would suddenly make Jeno a proper lover, you can no longer blame it on the fact that you were young and naive. Older now, years deep in a shitty marriage, the only options you had now were to leave or endure. 

For some reason, leaving feels like the worst thing you could ever do. Leaving feels like failing. Leaving feels like proving every family member, every friend you had right. Was your pride really worth the misery?

“You’ll burn your hands,” you lifted your head for the second time to the voice on your left, saccharine sweet, dripped in honey. Your lips part at the sight of him, sandy blonde hair, the clearest skin, deep chocolate eyes, a smile that was to die for. Perfectly straight teeth, plump pink lips curled at the corners, he smiled at you like he knew you. 

A knowing chuckle falls from those beautiful lips as he sits on the stool beside yours, a tight cotton tee stuck to his body, his torso, his biceps. A beautiful face and a toned body, it was unfair how utterly gorgeous he was. Jeno would flip every stool in this room if he knew a man this beautiful was beside you. 

He reaches forward, soft palms wrapping around your hands, uncurling your fingers from the mug. Still smiling, he says, “There we go.” Your eyes follow his hands as he takes your palms into his, flipping them upward, showing you your own skin that now burned bright red. He lifts his eyes to yours, eyebrows raised, “Another minute and you would have blisters.” 

You blink at him, lips still parted, racking your mind for something to say. It’s been ages since another man has touched you, any man. Your voice comes out frail, stuttered and lacking any joy, “It’s– um, it’s okay.” 

He turns your palms over, tongue smoothing over his top lip as he stares at your french tipped fingernails, the unmissable rock on your ring finger. “Pretty nails,” he smiles to himself, “Even prettier ring.”

You steal your hands back from his grip, settling them in your lap, eyes glued to where your fingers tangled above your thighs. With an even smaller voice, you say, “Thanks.”

“Didn’t think I’d see such a beautiful woman here,” he settles back in his stool, elbows on the counter in front of him, head turned to look at you. “I never see anyone here except truckers and single, wrinkled women.” 

“I am a wrinkled woman,” you respond simply, eyes slightly pointed in his direction. Jeno would flip if he knew this man was here, beside you, if he found out he could possibly be hitting on you? “There’s plenty of other seats open, you know.”

His eyes turn feline, “And yet here I am, sitting next to you.”

Your cheeks heat at his words, at his face, at his broad fucking shoulders. You take a deep breath down to the base of your ribs, pushing it through your lips slowly. He leans a little closer, “Afraid of your husband finding out you’re talking to someone like me?” 

Your neck snaps to your left, the teasing behind his voice, the truth he speaks without knowing you or your life. The man laughs, a sweet sound falling from his lips, it was as if he was a siren, luring you into his trap. Was it all of your pent-up feelings, the hatred you were currently feeling for your husband, that made him seem so desirable? 

“Hit it right on the mark, didn’t I?” He’s looking at you through his peripherals as the waitress comes by again, her cheekbones sharp as she greets him with a smile, filling up his mug with coffee. He thanks her with a nod of his head, sliding the mug towards him by the handle. Quietly, he says, “This is how you hold a mug of coffee, by the way.” 

That makes the corner of your lips curl in a smile. You didn’t even have an explanation for how you allowed the steaming liquid to burn your palms, you couldn’t tell him you deserved it for how shitty your life had become. No random man in a random diner on the edge of town would want to listen to your sob story. 

So instead, you tease, “Thank you for the tutorial.”

“Seems like you needed it, beautiful.”

You shake your head at the compliment, at how sultry the word sounded falling off his lips. You couldn’t remember the last time Jeno called you beautiful. It makes a warmth bloom in your chest, meeting your cheeks that had already flushed, the tips of your ears that had been burning since he sat down. 

“You’re a shy little thing,” he pulls the mug to his lips, taking a slow, small sip, then he hisses. “Hot.”

“At least I didn’t burn my tongue,” you lean onto the counter, elbow planted on the laminate, palm holding up your chin. “You might be able to hold the mug, but you don’t know when to drink the coffee.”

“Maybe you can give me a tutorial, too,” he winks, licking his lips, “If your husband will allow it.”

You roll your eyes, your feelings just simmering beneath the surface, “Who cares.”

“Ah,” his grin widens, his entire body turning to face you, “So there is a husband.”

You hold up your left hand, ring finger dancing beneath the warmth of dust-caked lights, the diamond turning canary yellow, “No shit there’s a husband.”

His tongue runs over his top row of teeth, eyes lowering under perfectly groomed brows, “Tell me about him.”

You laugh, an empty thing, legs crossing beneath the counter. You shake your head, eyes dancing over him, sliding your head so your palm holds you by the temple. “There’s not much to tell.”

“There’s plenty to tell,” he seems excited now, body still turned, eyes sparkling and wide. “What’s his name? How long have you been married? Is he why you’re alone in this dump of a diner at one in the morning?” 

You choke out a laugh, “You ask a lot of questions for someone I just met. What’s your name?” 

His smile drops a fraction, “I’m a curious guy. It’s Mark.” 

“Hi Mark,” you smile, introducing yourself, the thought crossing your mind that his name doesn’t suit him. “My husband’s name is Jeno.” 

“Jeno,” he repeats with a nod, “Strong name.”

“Strong name for a strong-willed guy who has strong opinions,” you nod along, thinking of the massive muscle of a man your husband is, forcing your eyes to stay in place. Jeno’s physical strength is just a shred of the muscle he possesses, opinions and morals and feelings are where his true strength is. You haven’t breached the surface of a mindset you once had, Jeno’s own so intense it’s marred your personality entirely.

“You don’t sound happy about it,” Mark pops a brow, “Is he why you’re here, alone, so late at night?” 

You take a pause, feeling how your lungs stretch with an intake of breath, wondering if you should answer his question, or even get into this topic of conversation with a man you just met. You figure there’s no harm, you most likely won’t see him ever again after tonight, anyhow. 

“Unfortunately,” is all you respond, stretching your arms to take a sip of your coffee. Still hot but drinkable now, you let the warmth comfort you, ease settling over you. It will feel good to talk about Jeno with someone that isn’t your family or friends, someone who isn’t biased. Someone who doesn’t already know your personality, your shortcomings. 

“You know you want to talk about it,” he’s still smiling, and it’s all too alluring, the grin, his eyes, the breadth of his shoulders, “Spill.”

Your lips fold into a line, but the look on your face in this man’s eyes must read success, because his body leans in closer. “Four years,” the sigh you let out is terrifying and relieving all at once, “We’ve been married four years.”

Mark listens intently from start to finish. Nodding where he needs to, taking sips of his coffee between sentences, his eyes never leaving yours. Here and there his gaze would drop to your lips, watching how the words leave your mouth, but they were back on your eyes before you could make a comment, so you brushed it off as him swallowing all of your words. Your whole story. 

It’s when the last word leaves your lips that the waitress stops just in front of where the two of you sat, her back pressed to the counter, TV remote in hand. She turns up the volume of the news broadcast with her free hand on her hip, her head tilted in focus. 

“...Na Jaemin, the suspect is twenty-five years old, standing at a height of five-foot-ten. One victim that has escaped him claims he has a ‘handsome face and an addictive smile.’ Reports made that the suspect has blonde hair, brown eyes, and a muscular, lean build. Mainly targets married women that are alone in bars, parking lots, restaurants. If you think you’ve seen Na Jaemin, give us a call at…”

“Scary world we live in,” Mark is staring up at the TV, coffee mug pressed to his lips, blonde hair messily sprawled across his forehead. 

You nod your head in agreement, “Hopefully I won’t be married much longer,” your laugh runs flat as you turn to Mark, “Then I won’t be considered a target anymore.”

He breathes a laugh through his nose as he swallows the coffee, placing the mug back down on the counter. His voice is nearly under his breath as he says, “You most certainly won’t be.” 

Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline, “So you think I should leave him?” 

His head slowly turns to you, a sardonic smile playing on his lips, giving you a good look at him. It’s then that you put the pieces together, sandy blonde hair, set jawline, muscular build, criminally beautiful face and a smile that could kill. His name isn’t Mark. 

“…Six victims now found in alleyways, dumpsters, the side of the road, all pronounced dead at the scene, due to asphyxiation. It is assumed that he’s on the run, his victims leading a trail out of town, into another state…”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes going wide. His grin widens, a lopsided smirk, something like excitement flashing in his eyes– He knows that you know. He knows you’ve figured it out. He knows.

You need to run. 

“I should get back to Jeno,” your smile is fake, sheepish, you’re grabbing for your purse hung just below the countertop. 

His hand lands heavily on your wrist, eyes bouncing around the diner before they settle on yours again. He uses his other hand to press against his shirt, the shape just beneath the cotton stealing the breath from your lungs entirely. Throat tightening, tears in your waterline, you look up at him with nothing but fear in your eyes. 

His smile that once made your cheeks warm now makes the hair on the back of your neck stand tall. He leans in close to your ear, “I’m gonna pay, then you’re going to quietly follow me outside, so no one else has to die. Understood?” 

You’re nodding before he finishes the word. No one else. 

No one else. 

He throws cash on the counter and you slip off your stool, keeping your head down as tears stream down your cheeks, your bottom lip stuck between your teeth as you hear the ring of the door when you step outside, right behind Jaemin. You just wanted to get away from Jeno for a few hours. You just wanted to be fucking loved, and since you couldn’t have that, you were going to die for it. You were going to die. 

You didn’t want to die. Not without feeling true, genuine love. Not without being cared for, without being shown that there was something worth loving inside you. You didn’t want to die without having children, without coming home to the same face everyday, someone smiling when you walk through the door because they’re excited to see you. You don’t want to die without someone knowing the little things, loving every single one of them, not seeing you as work, or a thing to care for. You want to die as a human, after ninety something years of life, with kids and grandkids and a fucking legacy to leave behind. 

“Get in the car,” he unlocks the old Chevy and with a jut of his chin you open the passenger door, climbing inside, smelling leather and iron and death. 

He slips in the driver’s seat, looking utterly bored, like he wasn’t a serial killer and you weren’t his latest victim. He turns to you, “Wanna know why I target married women?”

You stay silent, frozen. He scowls. “Because all married women do is brag. How good their love life is, how great their husband is in bed, their kids did this, did that, creating some kind of stupid fucking competition, gloating about something they deem unobtainable while the unmarried, single people have to sit there and smile like they understand. Like they give a flying fuck that their kid was potty trained by fifteen months or whatever the fuck.”

You don’t answer. His voice is rough and his words come out rash, like it’s something he’s been keeping inside for too long. He turns the key in the ignition with force, “I’m sick and fucking tired hearing about how fantastic everybody else’s life is. I’m tired of all of you, with your pretty, shiny rings, and your husbands that can do no wrong. Do you realize how fucking exhausting that is?” 

You find a voice somewhere deep in your soul, “Yes, I do.”

He laughs as his hand flies to the back of your headrest, chest puffed out, veins pulsing in his neck as he backs out of the parking space, “You and your husband had a little fight. I’m sure you would’ve been back to normal tomorrow, with you waiting on your knees when he walks through the front door like some kind of housemaid.” He puts the car in drive, speeding out of the parking lot, onto the main road outside of the city. “It’s pathetic, you know? Husbands can treat their wives like dogshit and still stay married. They’ll be forgiven time and time again, like you’re going to do with your precious little Jeno.”

You shake your head, tears hot against your cheeks, voice shaky. “I told you, I’m done. He’ll never treat me that way again.” 

Jaemin’s grin returns as he side-eyes you, “There’s not going to be a wife for him to cheat on anymore. He just might marry the assistant when I make him a widower.” 

The first sob that racks through you is harsh, it’s edged with an anger you can’t control. The hot tears on your cheeks do nothing but add fuel to the fire, your fingers in your lap curling into fists. “So I have to endure a shit fucking marriage, and not only do you beg me to tell you about it, but I have to fucking die because of it? Do you hear how fucking stupid you sound right now?” 

He lifts a brow in your direction while keeping his eyes on the road, “I feel like making me angry is probably the last thing you should do right now. Weapon in my waistband and all.” 

“I don’t give a fuck!” You yell, arms flying, the seatbelt locked over your torso keeping you stuck in place. “It’s not my fault you’re single and angry, it’s not my fault that you have a bunch of married friends, Na Jaemin. Maybe you should kill all of them! Not me, I just want to be fucking happy, and have a husband who loves me and not his twenty-three year old assistant.”

His face turns toward you ever so slightly, “Well, maybe you should kill Jeno.”

“Maybe I would,” each syllable is laced with harsh anger, a bite that you could see in the spit that flies from your lips, “But a sociopath fucking kidnapped me, and is now going to murder me and leave me on the side of the road like fucking roadkill!”

He laughs. 

His head tips back, fists smooth on the steering wheel, Adam’s apple poking out of his throat, he laughs like you just told the joke of the century. 

“What the fuck are you laughing at!?”

“You,” he says simply, turning his head to really look at you, “I’m realizing that we’re similar.”

Your face morphs into something bizarre, baffled at the words that left his lips. “We are nothing alike, Na Jaemin.”

“You just want to be loved,” he shrugs, eyes back on the road, “I just want to be loved, too.”

You swallow, sinking back into the cushioned seat, heart beating out of your chest. Your hair meets the headrest, a sigh leaving your lips, voice smaller now, “I wouldn’t kill for it.”

“I don’t kill for love,” he shakes his head, “I kill because I wasn’t built for it. Monogamy, children, the normal, simple life. That’s never been me, and I’m tired of society making me feel like that’s the only thing worth looking forward to.”

“What do you see in your future, then?” You turn your head to look at him, and he tilts his own as he stares out at the dark road ahead of him, the streetlights illuminating the hood, reflecting into the car, making his features seem softer. 

“A career,” it’s a small smile on his cheeks, “Love everywhere, from everyone, from everything.”

“So, you want to be famous?”

He laughs again, and then he nods. “Basically, yeah. I had gotten pretty far, too.”

“Well, you’re definitely famous now. Can’t say it’s all love, though.”

“That’s alright,” he pushes a breath through his lips, “I gave up on it awhile ago. Started running a little coffee shop in town, that’s when I started hearing the stories of wives and mothers, whispers of drama and gossip about their husbands, their families, other moms and wives. I started thinking I could treat them all so well, if all of them loved me instead.” 

The cogs are turning in your mind as he speaks, delving out information so easily. You aren’t exactly sure when the tears stopped, when your heart calmed in your chest. “I could love you, Jaemin.”

He swallows, the small smile on his cheeks quickly bending to a frown. He shakes his head, “I’m unlovable.”

“No you’re not,” you lean in closer to him, placing your palm on his thigh, “I could love you. I could make you breakfast in the mornings, press your clothes, pack your lunches with a cute little note inside.” All the things you do for Jeno. All the things gone unappreciated. “I could love you, Jaemin, if you could love me, too. We could be loved, by everyone, by everything.”

A single tear falls from his eye, and then he’s rearing off to the left, a parking lot of an abandoned gas station. You yelp when he parks the car haphazardly, sideways in its spot, the tires screeching and brakes locking when he throws the transmission into park. 

He faces you, body free, he’d never buckled the seatbelt. “You can’t love me if you’re dead.”

“Then don’t kill me,” you whisper, hand still pressed to his thigh, forcing your eyes bigger, eyebrows slightly furrowed. “We can kill Jeno together, if you want. We can kill every single shitty husband.”

“You’d do that with me?” His eyebrows softly raise, lip quivering, as if you were holding his world in his hands. 

You smile softly, fingers squeezing his denim clad skin, “I’d do anything for you, Jaem.”

He grabs your jaw with one hand, fingers tight on the bone of your chin, his eyes darker now, colder. He leans in close, searching you for lies, for the truth behind the words that fell from your lips so easily. You hold his gaze, breath caught in your chest. You feel like he can see you, as if his chocolate brown eyes can look straight through your skin, down into the depths of your soul. 

He forces his lips onto yours and you all but fight back, sinking into his touch, into the pretty, plump pink lips you’d been staring at all night. He growls when he feels your lack of apprehension, how you melted into him, how your lips moved in tandem with his. His hands move to your cheeks, holding you close as you unbuckle your seatbelt, hands flying to his thighs, sneaking your tongue past his lips when they parted. 

“You’re serious,” he mumbles between kisses, palms soft on your face. 

You nod in his hold, “I’m serious, Jaemin. I can show you.”

“You can’t handle it,” he shakes his head quickly, voice raising in pitch, “I-I I’m always on the run, I can’t stop killing, I- You don’t know what I’ve done.”

Your body moves before you can think, crawling over the center console, thighs swallowing his in the driver’s seat. “I can handle it,” you keep your face close to his, centimeters apart, “I don’t care what you’ve done, I’ll dirty my hands for you if it means I can love you.”

A small noise leaves his lips, a whimper, a semblance of a cry. Your arms lay over his shoulders, crotch pressed to his, “I’ll go wherever you go, and I’ll love every part of you. I’ll love every terrible, awful thing you’ve ever done.”

“Will you do it with me?” His voice smaller now, “Will you shed blood for me?” 

You nod, grinding your hips against him, feeling the length of him pressing up against you. Your mind fuzzy but clear, you whisper, “Whatever you want. Whatever you need.” 

He growls again, attaching your lips once more, and it’s hungrier this time, lips and teeth and tongue, as if he wanted to taste the truth on your skin. You give it all to him freely, hands sliding to curl your fingers in his hair, hips grinding into him with force, it’s been so long since you’ve been touched. Jeno had been giving it all to his assistant, every last drop, leaving you with your hands when your cycle turned the ovulation corner. 

He’s bucking his hips up into you and you’re panting into his mouth, soft moans and whimpers leaving your lips one after another, torso continuously sliding against the weapon in his waistband. You break the kiss for a moment, “Is it loaded?” 

He tilts back, arching himself to put space between you, lifting his shirt to grab the piece in his pants. You gasp when you see the chiseled abdomen, how even in this position he was perfect. He tosses it into the passenger seat, grabbing your neck with his other hand, “The safety is on.”

You moan into his lips, hands flying to the waistband of his shirt, tugging it upward. He pulls it over his head, breathless, “Get in the back.” 

You blink at him once before you’re crawling into the backseat, back pressed to the leather as he climbs on top of you, attaching your lips again, his hands sliding under your top, pulling it over your bra. He leans back for a moment, reaching behind you to unclasp it, then takes off your bra and top in one quick motion. He stays locked in on you as your back hits the seats again, eyes blown, deep and crazed. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

“Yeah?” You pull him back down by the neck, lips just touching his as he presses his hips into yours, “And you were gonna kill me.”

He moans, hips bucking into yours, lips attaching to your neck, hands massaging into your chest. You whine, a hand curled into his hair, “Is that what you wanted, Jaem? Wanted to kill me? When you could have me, fuck me, whenever you want?” 

He groans, hands sliding down to your zipper, “Need to feel you, need you.”

“Yeah, you need me,” you breathe, mind dazed, words slipping from your lips before you have time to think about them. He undoes your button, zipper, shimmying your jeans and your panties down your legs. You help him kick them off, smile playing on your lips, “Tell me. Tell me what you were gonna do to me.” 

His lips part when he gets a good look at your center, eyes widening when he sees how fucking wet you are. He licks his lips, mind wandering, “I was…”

“Focus, Jaem,” you close your legs, “Tell me.”

He uses both hands on your knees to spread them again, using one hand to spread your folds, the other to slip his fingers up and down your slit, spreading your wetness. You try to hold in your mewls, whines, cries for something more.

“I was gonna drive to the bridge,” he breathes, eyes locked in on your core, using his thumb to spread your wetness around your clit, adding pressure. “There’s a… There’s a place underneath. The fence is split open- I- I was gonna take you down there, choke you out.”

“Say it,” your chest is heaving, hips bucking into his hands, your fingers toying with your nipples. “Say what you were gonna do.”

“I was gonna kill you,” he says through one breath, slipping two fingers inside, and you both moan. He starts pumping his fingers inside you, curling them upward, “Fuck, so tight, fuck.”

You smile, eyes low-lidded, mind going numb, “Mm, keep going, Jaem. Keep talking.”

He meets your eyes through his brows, lips still parted, slick with split. It’s then he understands what point you were at when he found you, how you just might be crazier than he is. He smiles.

“I’d press you up against the wall below the bridge,” his other hand finds your clit, rubbing quick circles, “Put my hands around your throat, keep them there while you fought, while you kicked, tried to get them off you.”

Your moans grew louder, the pit inside your belly turning hot, your orgasm in sight. He keeps his pace, “I’d keep going until you stopped fighting, ‘til you went limp in my arms.” Your mouth opened, limbs locking, toes curling beside his arms. “Then I’d keep going, to make sure the job was done.”

Your orgasm racks through you, a song of pleasure filling the car as he rocks you through it, fingers keeping their pace inside you, on your clit until your body shakes from overstimulation. 

“Shit,” you mutter, voice breathy and hazed on the comedown, “You’re good at that.”

He pulls his fingers out, licking them, his eyes flashing something dark, “You got off on that?”

Your smile matches the same one he’s been giving you all night, “You tell me. Sit back.” 

He shifts, unbuckling his belt, tugging his jeans and boxers down his legs before he sits in the middle seat. You swing a leg over his lap, sitting on his thighs, his cock pressed against your abdomen. You take him by the base, one hand on his shoulder, meeting his eye, then looking down to where he sits just above your belly button. His brows are furrowed now, mouth hanging open in pleasure and anticipation. 

“You wanna fill me up?” You stroke him slowly, “Look at how deep you’ll be. You wanna be that deep?” 

He whimpers, nodding, and you grip him tighter. “Words, Jaem. Tell me.”

“Want my cock inside you,” he says through a quick, strained breath, “Want you to feel me in your belly. Please, please, sit on it, baby.” 

Your smile is cheshire, head tilting, you grip him harder. “Not good enough.”

“Want to feel your pussy around my cock,” he whines, hips bucking into your hands, “So warm and tight, need to feel it around my cock. Fuck, please, I love it, please.”

You moan, leaning forward to catch his lips, tongue slipping between them, licking into his mouth, massaging his tongue with yours. His hands find your hips, guiding you upward, lining himself up with your core and you sink down, so fucking slowly he cries into your mouth. 

“So warm,” his lips break from yours, head tipping back, and you press your open mouth to his throat, licking up his skin. “You feel so good, mm- fuck, oh my God.”

You bottom out, eyebrows furrowed at the stretch, how well he fills you up. You feel every vein, the mushroom tip as you start bouncing slowly, wanting to burn the feeling to memory. 

“So big, Jaem,” you whisper, “Didn’t think you’d have such a big cock. Almost as big as Jeno’s.”

You lean back as his eyes widen, his fingers tightening on your hips. You start bouncing on him faster, a laugh falling from your lips as his jaw drops, high pitched moans escaping him. 

“You liked that?” You tilt your head, both hands on his shoulders, thighs already burning at the rhythm you set. “Like knowing you're almost as big as my husband’s cock?” 

“Don’t say that shit,” he spits, his voice strangled, fingers clawing at your hips. 

Your mouth curls into a smirk, “Why not? Don’t wanna remember I have a husband?”

“You’re playing with fire,” he mumbles, and you can tell it’s an effort to keep his voice strong, powerful. “You’re forgetting who I am.”

“Na Jaemin, serial killer,” you whisper, your own voice turning hazy, the pleasure tantalizing, “Na Jaemin, kidnapped me because he wanted to kill me. Wanted to take me to the bridge and choke me out.” 

He moans, high pitched, his face scrunching together in pleasure. You laugh, slowing down your strokes, hips falling into a dirty grind against his cock. You lean in, teeth biting at his earlobe before you whisper, “Do it, Jaem. Choke me.” 

He whines, fingers sliding to your waist, squeezing your skin. You keep your pace, clit catching against his pelvis, a broken moan passing through your lips, “Do it, Jaemin. Now.”

“Fuck,” he grunts, a hand flying up to catch around your throat, fingers pressing into the sides. Your eyes roll back at the loss of air, a smile on your lips, hips picking up their pace again. “Shiiiit,” he groans again, and his feet plant onto the floor, bucking his hips up to fuck into you. Your arms fall from his shoulders, fingers pulling at his hand around your throat, all while your hips fuck back onto him. 

Dirty, nasty, wrong, you were on the cusp of another orgasm. It’s then that you catch his eyes, the sparkle, and the stretch of skin between his thumb and pointer finger presses against your windpipe. You choke, eyes widening, fingers actually pulling at his hand now, trying to muster strength to get him off you. 

“You wanted this,” he’s staring, gaze locked, watching you struggle against him, marveling at how your hips still fuck back. He smiles when he feels you clench around him, at the sounds of you not being able to breathe, he moans when you finally squeeze him the same way you squeezed his fingers, how your eyes flutter closed and your entire body locks. 

He lets go after your orgasm washes over you and laughs when you suck air all the way down to your lungs, a hand falling into your hair, holding it tight. “You’re sick,” he spits, eyes wide and sparkling, smile on his lips, “Fucking disgusting, can’t believe you just came again. Bet I could put my gun in your mouth and you’d suck on it.” 

When you moan, he moves on command. He pushes you on your back, reaching into the front seat, grabbing his weapon, unloading it and making sure the safety’s on before he’s lining himself up once again. He slides into your heat while he pushes the gun past your lips, moaning when he feels you sucking him in, how far he can push the barrel down your throat. 

“That’s it, baby, take it,” he stares at you like a predator, as if you’re his last meal. It feels heavy on your tongue, tasting like ash and steel, but you can barely register the taste with how he fills you, cock reaching far past your cervix, finger on the trigger while he fucks into you harshly. 

You’re a moaning, crying mess, the pleasure too good, the feeling of being full pushing you into a state of permanent haze. His other hand reaches for your throat again and you’re crying now, tears pushing past your waterline, your sobs gagged around the barrel. 

He’s smiling, laughing, groaning, the sounds blend together as his cock ruts into you, deep and harsh. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the car, fogging the windows, shaking the vehicle entirely. Your head hits the car door but the pain is vague, far, somewhere else, maybe it’s not even yours. 

He pulls the gun from between your lips, throwing it somewhere on the floor, his hands landing beside your head. He leans down, his mouth reaching yours, so messy and nasty his spit is sliding between your lips, you could drink it if you wanted. He’s a whining mess, voice strained and high pitched, “Say you love me.”

Your eyes open, you don’t know when they closed. His skin is pink, drenched in a sheen of sweat, the streetlights from outside illuminating his features, he’s so beautiful. His lip quivers, “Please, baby, say you love me. Please.”

“I love you, Jaem,” you cry, hands coming up to cup his cheeks, so fucking soft and beautiful. “I love you so much Jaem, cum inside me, baby.” 

He whimpers, hips stuttering, he slides a hand between your legs, two fingers rubbing at your clit. “Cum first, cum again, baby fuck, I love you, I- I need it, cum.”

Your hips fuck back into him, orgasm on the cusp, somehow his words push you closer to the edge. Your fingers find his hair, pulling him back down to your lips, moaning into his open mouth, “Gonna cum, Jaem. Gonna cum around your cock.”

He moans, loud and shameless, “Yes, baby, need it. Need you. Need you to love me. Say it again, baby please.”

“I love you,” your words are broken in moans, body locking around him again, hips rocking against his cock, his fingers, spasming beneath him as your orgasm pulls you under. 

You realize he’s crying, hot tears spilling onto your face, you kiss him again as his hips stagger against yours, he fills you up in three deep strokes, cock finally stilling at the deepest point inside you. You moan together, your ankles locking around his back, head falling limp against the leather, chest heaving. 

He slumps on top of you, body heavy and sweaty, shoulders rocking as he cries against your shoulder. Your fingers fall into his hair, scratching his scalp, playing with the silky, sandy blonde locks as his cries quiet down. 

“Need to move, Jaem,” you whisper, “Need water.” 

He nods, getting up slowly, sitting upright in the middle seat. You lean over the passenger seat, eyeing the water bottle you saw on the floor earlier, but your eyes lock on the cartridge full of bullets haphazardly thrown on the carseat.

In full post-nut clarity, you lean over, grabbing the water bottle, fingers snatching the cartridge on your way back up. 

After taking a long sip from the water bottle, you hand it over to Jaemin, and in the few seconds it takes for him to take a long gulp of water, the cartridge is already back in the chamber, action closed, safety off. 

He stares at you wide-eyed, jaw clenching, eyes already darkening. He whispers, “You lied.”

“You were gonna kill me,” your back is pressed to the car door, two hands on the gun, a finger on the trigger, barrel pressed to his forehead. 

His bottom lip quivers, sweaty, sandy hair stuck to his forehead, his eyes run glossy again, “But I didn’t, I didn’t- I- You- You said you loved me.”

You push a steadying breath through your lips, “I do.”

Always a smile on your face, dressed to the nines whenever he was home, lunches packed for him daily, his work clothes steamed and pressed, everything chosen for him so he didn’t need to think about it. You’d already morphed yourself into the perfect wife, shrinking yourself into dark corners so he always felt like was shining, you haven’t had one singular need from him in months. 

It was tiring. Changing everything about yourself and him not noticing, making his life a thousand times easier and him not caring. Him not appreciating. Him not fucking loving you anymore. 

“Need a refill, sweetheart?” You finally picked up your gaze to the woman behind the counter, electric orange and dark chocolate braids wrapped up into a bun atop her head, the sweetest smile on her high resting cheekbones. You gave her a nod, sliding your half-filled mug toward her, keeping your hands around the ceramic to feel the sting of the boiling coffee as it fills the cup. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, sliding it back to you, letting the steam that drifts toward you prick your face. The same routine, Jeno fucking up, you disappearing for twenty-four hours, then clawing back to your front door because there was no other option. You had made your bed on your wedding day, even then you knew what you were marrying into, who your husband was. It was a pipe dream, thinking the certificate and the ring would suddenly make Jeno a proper lover, you can no longer blame it on the fact that you were young and naive. Older now, years deep in a shitty marriage, the only options you had now were to leave or endure. 

For some reason, leaving feels like the worst thing you could ever do. Leaving feels like failing. Leaving feels like proving every family member, every friend you had right. Was your pride really worth the misery?

“You’ll burn your hands,” you lifted your head for the second time to the voice on your left, saccharine sweet, dripped in honey. Your lips part at the sight of him, sandy blonde hair, the clearest skin, deep chocolate eyes, a smile that was to die for. Perfectly straight teeth, plump pink lips curled at the corners, he smiled at you like he knew you. 

A knowing chuckle falls from those beautiful lips as he sits on the stool beside yours, a tight cotton tee stuck to his body, his torso, his biceps. A beautiful face and a toned body, it was unfair how utterly gorgeous he was. Jeno would flip every stool in this room if he knew a man this beautiful was beside you. 

He reaches forward, soft palms wrapping around your hands, uncurling your fingers from the mug. Still smiling, he says, “There we go.” Your eyes follow his hands as he takes your palms into his, flipping them upward, showing you your own skin that now burned bright red. He lifts his eyes to yours, eyebrows raised, “Another minute and you would have blisters.” 

You blink at him, lips still parted, racking your mind for something to say. It’s been ages since another man has touched you, any man. Your voice comes out frail, stuttered and lacking any joy, “It’s– um, it’s okay.” 

He turns your palms over, tongue smoothing over his top lip as he stares at your french tipped fingernails, the unmissable rock on your ring finger. “Pretty nails,” he smiles to himself, “Even prettier ring.”

You steal your hands back from his grip, settling them in your lap, eyes glued to where your fingers tangled above your thighs. With an even smaller voice, you say, “Thanks.”

“Didn’t think I’d see such a beautiful woman here,” he settles back in his stool, elbows on the counter in front of him, head turned to look at you. “I never see anyone here except truckers and single, wrinkled women.” 

“I am a wrinkled woman,” you respond simply, eyes slightly pointed in his direction. Jeno would flip if he knew this man was here, beside you, if he found out he could possibly be hitting on you? “There’s plenty of other seats open, you know.”

His eyes turn feline, “And yet here I am, sitting next to you.”

Your cheeks heat at his words, at his face, at his broad fucking shoulders. You take a deep breath down to the base of your ribs, pushing it through your lips slowly. He leans a little closer, “Afraid of your husband finding out you’re talking to someone like me?” 

Your neck snaps to your left, the teasing behind his voice, the truth he speaks without knowing you or your life. The man laughs, a sweet sound falling from his lips, it was as if he was a siren, luring you into his trap. Was it all of your pent-up feelings, the hatred you were currently feeling for your husband, that made him seem so desirable? 

“Hit it right on the mark, didn’t I?” He’s looking at you through his peripherals as the waitress comes by again, her cheekbones sharp as she greets him with a smile, filling up his mug with coffee. He thanks her with a nod of his head, sliding the mug towards him by the handle. Quietly, he says, “This is how you hold a mug of coffee, by the way.” 

That makes the corner of your lips curl in a smile. You didn’t even have an explanation for how you allowed the steaming liquid to burn your palms, you couldn’t tell him you deserved it for how shitty your life had become. No random man in a random diner on the edge of town would want to listen to your sob story. 

So instead, you tease, “Thank you for the tutorial.”

“Seems like you needed it, beautiful.”

You shake your head at the compliment, at how sultry the word sounded falling off his lips. You couldn’t remember the last time Jeno called you beautiful. It makes a warmth bloom in your chest, meeting your cheeks that had already flushed, the tips of your ears that had been burning since he sat down. 

“You’re a shy little thing,” he pulls the mug to his lips, taking a slow, small sip, then he hisses. “Hot.”

“At least I didn’t burn my tongue,” you lean onto the counter, elbow planted on the laminate, palm holding up your chin. “You might be able to hold the mug, but you don’t know when to drink the coffee.”

“Maybe you can give me a tutorial, too,” he winks, licking his lips, “If your husband will allow it.”

You roll your eyes, your feelings just simmering beneath the surface, “Who cares.”

“Ah,” his grin widens, his entire body turning to face you, “So there is a husband.”

You hold up your left hand, ring finger dancing beneath the warmth of dust-caked lights, the diamond turning canary yellow, “No shit there’s a husband.”

His tongue runs over his top row of teeth, eyes lowering under perfectly groomed brows, “Tell me about him.”

You laugh, an empty thing, legs crossing beneath the counter. You shake your head, eyes dancing over him, sliding your head so your palm holds you by the temple. “There’s not much to tell.”

“There’s plenty to tell,” he seems excited now, body still turned, eyes sparkling and wide. “What’s his name? How long have you been married? Is he why you’re alone in this dump of a diner at one in the morning?” 

You choke out a laugh, “You ask a lot of questions for someone I just met. What’s your name?” 

His smile drops a fraction, “I’m a curious guy. It’s Mark.” 

“Hi Mark,” you smile, introducing yourself, the thought crossing your mind that his name doesn’t suit him. “My husband’s name is Jeno.” 

“Jeno,” he repeats with a nod, “Strong name.”

“Strong name for a strong-willed guy who has strong opinions,” you nod along, thinking of the massive muscle of a man your husband is, forcing your eyes to stay in place. Jeno’s physical strength is just a shred of the muscle he possesses, opinions and morals and feelings are where his true strength is. You haven’t breached the surface of a mindset you once had, Jeno’s own so intense it’s marred your personality entirely.

“You don’t sound happy about it,” Mark pops a brow, “Is he why you’re here, alone, so late at night?” 

You take a pause, feeling how your lungs stretch with an intake of breath, wondering if you should answer his question, or even get into this topic of conversation with a man you just met. You figure there’s no harm, you most likely won’t see him ever again after tonight, anyhow. 

“Unfortunately,” is all you respond, stretching your arms to take a sip of your coffee. Still hot but drinkable now, you let the warmth comfort you, ease settling over you. It will feel good to talk about Jeno with someone that isn’t your family or friends, someone who isn’t biased. Someone who doesn’t already know your personality, your shortcomings. 

“You know you want to talk about it,” he’s still smiling, and it’s all too alluring, the grin, his eyes, the breadth of his shoulders, “Spill.”

Your lips fold into a line, but the look on your face in this man’s eyes must read success, because his body leans in closer. “Four years,” the sigh you let out is terrifying and relieving all at once, “We’ve been married four years.”

Mark listens intently from start to finish. Nodding where he needs to, taking sips of his coffee between sentences, his eyes never leaving yours. Here and there his gaze would drop to your lips, watching how the words leave your mouth, but they were back on your eyes before you could make a comment, so you brushed it off as him swallowing all of your words. Your whole story. 

It’s when the last word leaves your lips that the waitress stops just in front of where the two of you sat, her back pressed to the counter, TV remote in hand. She turns up the volume of the news broadcast with her free hand on her hip, her head tilted in focus. 

“...Na Jaemin, the suspect is twenty-five years old, standing at a height of five-foot-ten. One victim that has escaped him claims he has a ‘handsome face and an addictive smile.’ Reports made that the suspect has blonde hair, brown eyes, and a muscular, lean build. Mainly targets married women that are alone in bars, parking lots, restaurants. If you think you’ve seen Na Jaemin, give us a call at…”

“Scary world we live in,” Mark is staring up at the TV, coffee mug pressed to his lips, blonde hair messily sprawled across his forehead. 

You nod your head in agreement, “Hopefully I won’t be married much longer,” your laugh runs flat as you turn to Mark, “Then I won’t be considered a target anymore.”

He breathes a laugh through his nose as he swallows the coffee, placing the mug back down on the counter. His voice is nearly under his breath as he says, “You most certainly won’t be.” 

Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline, “So you think I should leave him?” 

His head slowly turns to you, a sardonic smile playing on his lips, giving you a good look at him. It’s then that you put the pieces together, sandy blonde hair, set jawline, muscular build, criminally beautiful face and a smile that could kill. His name isn’t Mark. 

“…Six victims now found in alleyways, dumpsters, the side of the road, all pronounced dead at the scene, due to asphyxiation. It is assumed that he’s on the run, his victims leading a trail out of town, into another state…”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes going wide. His grin widens, a lopsided smirk, something like excitement flashing in his eyes– He knows that you know. He knows you’ve figured it out. He knows.

You need to run. 

“I should get back to Jeno,” your smile is fake, sheepish, you’re grabbing for your purse hung just below the countertop. 

His hand lands heavily on your wrist, eyes bouncing around the diner before they settle on yours again. He uses his other hand to press against his shirt, the shape just beneath the cotton stealing the breath from your lungs entirely. Throat tightening, tears in your waterline, you look up at him with nothing but fear in your eyes. 

His smile that once made your cheeks warm now makes the hair on the back of your neck stand tall. He leans in close to your ear, “I’m gonna pay, then you’re going to quietly follow me outside, so no one else has to die. Understood?” 

You’re nodding before he finishes the word. No one else. 

No one else. 

He throws cash on the counter and you slip off your stool, keeping your head down as tears stream down your cheeks, your bottom lip stuck between your teeth as you hear the ring of the door when you step outside, right behind Jaemin. You just wanted to get away from Jeno for a few hours. You just wanted to be fucking loved, and since you couldn’t have that, you were going to die for it. You were going to die. 

You didn’t want to die. Not without feeling true, genuine love. Not without being cared for, without being shown that there was something worth loving inside you. You didn’t want to die without having children, without coming home to the same face everyday, someone smiling when you walk through the door because they’re excited to see you. You don’t want to die without someone knowing the little things, loving every single one of them, not seeing you as work, or a thing to care for. You want to die as a human, after ninety something years of life, with kids and grandkids and a fucking legacy to leave behind. 

“Get in the car,” he unlocks the old Chevy and with a jut of his chin you open the passenger door, climbing inside, smelling leather and iron and death. 

He slips in the driver’s seat, looking utterly bored, like he wasn’t a serial killer and you weren’t his latest victim. He turns to you, “Wanna know why I target married women?”

You stay silent, frozen. He scowls. “Because all married women do is brag. How good their love life is, how great their husband is in bed, their kids did this, did that, creating some kind of stupid fucking competition, gloating about something they deem unobtainable while the unmarried, single people have to sit there and smile like they understand. Like they give a flying fuck that their kid was potty trained by fifteen months or whatever the fuck.”

You don’t answer. His voice is rough and his words come out rash, like it’s something he’s been keeping inside for too long. He turns the key in the ignition with force, “I’m sick and fucking tired hearing about how fantastic everybody else’s life is. I’m tired of all of you, with your pretty, shiny rings, and your husbands that can do no wrong. Do you realize how fucking exhausting that is?” 

You find a voice somewhere deep in your soul, “Yes, I do.”

He laughs as his hand flies to the back of your headrest, chest puffed out, veins pulsing in his neck as he backs out of the parking space, “You and your husband had a little fight. I’m sure you would’ve been back to normal tomorrow, with you waiting on your knees when he walks through the front door like some kind of housemaid.” He puts the car in drive, speeding out of the parking lot, onto the main road outside of the city. “It’s pathetic, you know? Husbands can treat their wives like dogshit and still stay married. They’ll be forgiven time and time again, like you’re going to do with your precious little Jeno.”

You shake your head, tears hot against your cheeks, voice shaky. “I told you, I’m done. He’ll never treat me that way again.” 

Jaemin’s grin returns as he side-eyes you, “There’s not going to be a wife for him to cheat on anymore. He just might marry the assistant when I make him a widower.” 

The first sob that racks through you is harsh, it’s edged with an anger you can’t control. The hot tears on your cheeks do nothing but add fuel to the fire, your fingers in your lap curling into fists. “So I have to endure a shit fucking marriage, and not only do you beg me to tell you about it, but I have to fucking die because of it? Do you hear how fucking stupid you sound right now?” 

He lifts a brow in your direction while keeping his eyes on the road, “I feel like making me angry is probably the last thing you should do right now. Weapon in my waistband and all.” 

“I don’t give a fuck!” You yell, arms flying, the seatbelt locked over your torso keeping you stuck in place. “It’s not my fault you’re single and angry, it’s not my fault that you have a bunch of married friends, Na Jaemin. Maybe you should kill all of them! Not me, I just want to be fucking happy, and have a husband who loves me and not his twenty-three year old assistant.”

His face turns toward you ever so slightly, “Well, maybe you should kill Jeno.”

“Maybe I would,” each syllable is laced with harsh anger, a bite that you could see in the spit that flies from your lips, “But a sociopath fucking kidnapped me, and is now going to murder me and leave me on the side of the road like fucking roadkill!”

He laughs. 

His head tips back, fists smooth on the steering wheel, Adam’s apple poking out of his throat, he laughs like you just told the joke of the century. 

“What the fuck are you laughing at!?”

“You,” he says simply, turning his head to really look at you, “I’m realizing that we’re similar.”

Your face morphs into something bizarre, baffled at the words that left his lips. “We are nothing alike, Na Jaemin.”

“You just want to be loved,” he shrugs, eyes back on the road, “I just want to be loved, too.”

You swallow, sinking back into the cushioned seat, heart beating out of your chest. Your hair meets the headrest, a sigh leaving your lips, voice smaller now, “I wouldn’t kill for it.”

“I don’t kill for love,” he shakes his head, “I kill because I wasn’t built for it. Monogamy, children, the normal, simple life. That’s never been me, and I’m tired of society making me feel like that’s the only thing worth looking forward to.”

“What do you see in your future, then?” You turn your head to look at him, and he tilts his own as he stares out at the dark road ahead of him, the streetlights illuminating the hood, reflecting into the car, making his features seem softer. 

“A career,” it’s a small smile on his cheeks, “Love everywhere, from everyone, from everything.”

“So, you want to be famous?”

He laughs again, and then he nods. “Basically, yeah. I had gotten pretty far, too.”

“Well, you’re definitely famous now. Can’t say it’s all love, though.”

“That’s alright,” he pushes a breath through his lips, “I gave up on it awhile ago. Started running a little coffee shop in town, that’s when I started hearing the stories of wives and mothers, whispers of drama and gossip about their husbands, their families, other moms and wives. I started thinking I could treat them all so well, if all of them loved me instead.” 

The cogs are turning in your mind as he speaks, delving out information so easily. You aren’t exactly sure when the tears stopped, when your heart calmed in your chest. “I could love you, Jaemin.”

He swallows, the small smile on his cheeks quickly bending to a frown. He shakes his head, “I’m unlovable.”

“No you’re not,” you lean in closer to him, placing your palm on his thigh, “I could love you. I could make you breakfast in the mornings, press your clothes, pack your lunches with a cute little note inside.” All the things you do for Jeno. All the things gone unappreciated. “I could love you, Jaemin, if you could love me, too. We could be loved, by everyone, by everything.”

A single tear falls from his eye, and then he’s rearing off to the left, a parking lot of an abandoned gas station. You yelp when he parks the car haphazardly, sideways in its spot, the tires screeching and brakes locking when he throws the transmission into park. 

He faces you, body free, he’d never buckled the seatbelt. “You can’t love me if you’re dead.”

“Then don’t kill me,” you whisper, hand still pressed to his thigh, forcing your eyes bigger, eyebrows slightly furrowed. “We can kill Jeno together, if you want. We can kill every single shitty husband.”

“You’d do that with me?” His eyebrows softly raise, lip quivering, as if you were holding his world in his hands. 

You smile softly, fingers squeezing his denim clad skin, “I’d do anything for you, Jaem.”

He grabs your jaw with one hand, fingers tight on the bone of your chin, his eyes darker now, colder. He leans in close, searching you for lies, for the truth behind the words that fell from your lips so easily. You hold his gaze, breath caught in your chest. You feel like he can see you, as if his chocolate brown eyes can look straight through your skin, down into the depths of your soul. 

He forces his lips onto yours and you all but fight back, sinking into his touch, into the pretty, plump pink lips you’d been staring at all night. He growls when he feels your lack of apprehension, how you melted into him, how your lips moved in tandem with his. His hands move to your cheeks, holding you close as you unbuckle your seatbelt, hands flying to his thighs, sneaking your tongue past his lips when they parted. 

“You’re serious,” he mumbles between kisses, palms soft on your face. 

You nod in his hold, “I’m serious, Jaemin. I can show you.”

“You can’t handle it,” he shakes his head quickly, voice raising in pitch, “I-I I’m always on the run, I can’t stop killing, I- You don’t know what I’ve done.”

Your body moves before you can think, crawling over the center console, thighs swallowing his in the driver’s seat. “I can handle it,” you keep your face close to his, centimeters apart, “I don’t care what you’ve done, I’ll dirty my hands for you if it means I can love you.”

A small noise leaves his lips, a whimper, a semblance of a cry. Your arms lay over his shoulders, crotch pressed to his, “I’ll go wherever you go, and I’ll love every part of you. I’ll love every terrible, awful thing you’ve ever done.”

“Will you do it with me?” His voice smaller now, “Will you shed blood for me?” 

You nod, grinding your hips against him, feeling the length of him pressing up against you. Your mind fuzzy but clear, you whisper, “Whatever you want. Whatever you need.” 

He growls again, attaching your lips once more, and it’s hungrier this time, lips and teeth and tongue, as if he wanted to taste the truth on your skin. You give it all to him freely, hands sliding to curl your fingers in his hair, hips grinding into him with force, it’s been so long since you’ve been touched. Jeno had been giving it all to his assistant, every last drop, leaving you with your hands when your cycle turned the ovulation corner. 

He’s bucking his hips up into you and you’re panting into his mouth, soft moans and whimpers leaving your lips one after another, torso continuously sliding against the weapon in his waistband. You break the kiss for a moment, “Is it loaded?” 

He tilts back, arching himself to put space between you, lifting his shirt to grab the piece in his pants. You gasp when you see the chiseled abdomen, how even in this position he was perfect. He tosses it into the passenger seat, grabbing your neck with his other hand, “The safety is on.”

You moan into his lips, hands flying to the waistband of his shirt, tugging it upward. He pulls it over his head, breathless, “Get in the back.” 

You blink at him once before you’re crawling into the backseat, back pressed to the leather as he climbs on top of you, attaching your lips again, his hands sliding under your top, pulling it over your bra. He leans back for a moment, reaching behind you to unclasp it, then takes off your bra and top in one quick motion. He stays locked in on you as your back hits the seats again, eyes blown, deep and crazed. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

“Yeah?” You pull him back down by the neck, lips just touching his as he presses his hips into yours, “And you were gonna kill me.”

He moans, hips bucking into yours, lips attaching to your neck, hands massaging into your chest. You whine, a hand curled into his hair, “Is that what you wanted, Jaem? Wanted to kill me? When you could have me, fuck me, whenever you want?” 

He groans, hands sliding down to your zipper, “Need to feel you, need you.”

“Yeah, you need me,” you breathe, mind dazed, words slipping from your lips before you have time to think about them. He undoes your button, zipper, shimmying your jeans and your panties down your legs. You help him kick them off, smile playing on your lips, “Tell me. Tell me what you were gonna do to me.” 

His lips part when he gets a good look at your center, eyes widening when he sees how fucking wet you are. He licks his lips, mind wandering, “I was…”

“Focus, Jaem,” you close your legs, “Tell me.”

He uses both hands on your knees to spread them again, using one hand to spread your folds, the other to slip his fingers up and down your slit, spreading your wetness. You try to hold in your mewls, whines, cries for something more.

“I was gonna drive to the bridge,” he breathes, eyes locked in on your core, using his thumb to spread your wetness around your clit, adding pressure. “There’s a… There’s a place underneath. The fence is split open- I- I was gonna take you down there, choke you out.”

“Say it,” your chest is heaving, hips bucking into his hands, your fingers toying with your nipples. “Say what you were gonna do.”

“I was gonna kill you,” he says through one breath, slipping two fingers inside, and you both moan. He starts pumping his fingers inside you, curling them upward, “Fuck, so tight, fuck.”

You smile, eyes low-lidded, mind going numb, “Mm, keep going, Jaem. Keep talking.”

He meets your eyes through his brows, lips still parted, slick with split. It’s then he understands what point you were at when he found you, how you just might be crazier than he is. He smiles.

“I’d press you up against the wall below the bridge,” his other hand finds your clit, rubbing quick circles, “Put my hands around your throat, keep them there while you fought, while you kicked, tried to get them off you.”

Your moans grew louder, the pit inside your belly turning hot, your orgasm in sight. He keeps his pace, “I’d keep going until you stopped fighting, ‘til you went limp in my arms.” Your mouth opened, limbs locking, toes curling beside his arms. “Then I’d keep going, to make sure the job was done.”

Your orgasm racks through you, a song of pleasure filling the car as he rocks you through it, fingers keeping their pace inside you, on your clit until your body shakes from overstimulation. 

“Shit,” you mutter, voice breathy and hazed on the comedown, “You’re good at that.”

He pulls his fingers out, licking them, his eyes flashing something dark, “You got off on that?”

Your smile matches the same one he’s been giving you all night, “You tell me. Sit back.” 

He shifts, unbuckling his belt, tugging his jeans and boxers down his legs before he sits in the middle seat. You swing a leg over his lap, sitting on his thighs, his cock pressed against your abdomen. You take him by the base, one hand on his shoulder, meeting his eye, then looking down to where he sits just above your belly button. His brows are furrowed now, mouth hanging open in pleasure and anticipation. 

“You wanna fill me up?” You stroke him slowly, “Look at how deep you’ll be. You wanna be that deep?” 

He whimpers, nodding, and you grip him tighter. “Words, Jaem. Tell me.”

“Want my cock inside you,” he says through a quick, strained breath, “Want you to feel me in your belly. Please, please, sit on it, baby.” 

Your smile is cheshire, head tilting, you grip him harder. “Not good enough.”

“Want to feel your pussy around my cock,” he whines, hips bucking into your hands, “So warm and tight, need to feel it around my cock. Fuck, please, I love it, please.”

You moan, leaning forward to catch his lips, tongue slipping between them, licking into his mouth, massaging his tongue with yours. His hands find your hips, guiding you upward, lining himself up with your core and you sink down, so fucking slowly he cries into your mouth. 

“So warm,” his lips break from yours, head tipping back, and you press your open mouth to his throat, licking up his skin. “You feel so good, mm- fuck, oh my God.”

You bottom out, eyebrows furrowed at the stretch, how well he fills you up. You feel every vein, the mushroom tip as you start bouncing slowly, wanting to burn the feeling to memory. 

“So big, Jaem,” you whisper, “Didn’t think you’d have such a big cock. Almost as big as Jeno’s.”

You lean back as his eyes widen, his fingers tightening on your hips. You start bouncing on him faster, a laugh falling from your lips as his jaw drops, high pitched moans escaping him. 

“You liked that?” You tilt your head, both hands on his shoulders, thighs already burning at the rhythm you set. “Like knowing you're almost as big as my husband’s cock?” 

“Don’t say that shit,” he spits, his voice strangled, fingers clawing at your hips. 

Your mouth curls into a smirk, “Why not? Don’t wanna remember I have a husband?”

“You’re playing with fire,” he mumbles, and you can tell it’s an effort to keep his voice strong, powerful. “You’re forgetting who I am.”

“Na Jaemin, serial killer,” you whisper, your own voice turning hazy, the pleasure tantalizing, “Na Jaemin, kidnapped me because he wanted to kill me. Wanted to take me to the bridge and choke me out.” 

He moans, high pitched, his face scrunching together in pleasure. You laugh, slowing down your strokes, hips falling into a dirty grind against his cock. You lean in, teeth biting at his earlobe before you whisper, “Do it, Jaem. Choke me.” 

He whines, fingers sliding to your waist, squeezing your skin. You keep your pace, clit catching against his pelvis, a broken moan passing through your lips, “Do it, Jaemin. Now.”

“Fuck,” he grunts, a hand flying up to catch around your throat, fingers pressing into the sides. Your eyes roll back at the loss of air, a smile on your lips, hips picking up their pace again. “Shiiiit,” he groans again, and his feet plant onto the floor, bucking his hips up to fuck into you. Your arms fall from his shoulders, fingers pulling at his hand around your throat, all while your hips fuck back onto him. 

Dirty, nasty, wrong, you were on the cusp of another orgasm. It’s then that you catch his eyes, the sparkle, and the stretch of skin between his thumb and pointer finger presses against your windpipe. You choke, eyes widening, fingers actually pulling at his hand now, trying to muster strength to get him off you. 

“You wanted this,” he’s staring, gaze locked, watching you struggle against him, marveling at how your hips still fuck back. He smiles when he feels you clench around him, at the sounds of you not being able to breathe, he moans when you finally squeeze him the same way you squeezed his fingers, how your eyes flutter closed and your entire body locks. 

He lets go after your orgasm washes over you and laughs when you suck air all the way down to your lungs, a hand falling into your hair, holding it tight. “You’re sick,” he spits, eyes wide and sparkling, smile on his lips, “Fucking disgusting, can’t believe you just came again. Bet I could put my gun in your mouth and you’d suck on it.” 

When you moan, he moves on command. He pushes you on your back, reaching into the front seat, grabbing his weapon, unloading it and making sure the safety’s on before he’s lining himself up once again. He slides into your heat while he pushes the gun past your lips, moaning when he feels you sucking him in, how far he can push the barrel down your throat. 

“That’s it, baby, take it,” he stares at you like a predator, as if you’re his last meal. It feels heavy on your tongue, tasting like ash and steel, but you can barely register the taste with how he fills you, cock reaching far past your cervix, finger on the trigger while he fucks into you harshly. 

You’re a moaning, crying mess, the pleasure too good, the feeling of being full pushing you into a state of permanent haze. His other hand reaches for your throat again and you’re crying now, tears pushing past your waterline, your sobs gagged around the barrel. 

He’s smiling, laughing, groaning, the sounds blend together as his cock ruts into you, deep and harsh. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the car, fogging the windows, shaking the vehicle entirely. Your head hits the car door but the pain is vague, far, somewhere else, maybe it’s not even yours. 

He pulls the gun from between your lips, throwing it somewhere on the floor, his hands landing beside your head. He leans down, his mouth reaching yours, so messy and nasty his spit is sliding between your lips, you could drink it if you wanted. He’s a whining mess, voice strained and high pitched, “Say you love me.”

Your eyes open, you don’t know when they closed. His skin is pink, drenched in a sheen of sweat, the streetlights from outside illuminating his features, he’s so beautiful. His lip quivers, “Please, baby, say you love me. Please.”

“I love you, Jaem,” you cry, hands coming up to cup his cheeks, so fucking soft and beautiful. “I love you so much Jaem, cum inside me, baby.” 

He whimpers, hips stuttering, he slides a hand between your legs, two fingers rubbing at your clit. “Cum first, cum again, baby fuck, I love you, I- I need it, cum.”

Your hips fuck back into him, orgasm on the cusp, somehow his words push you closer to the edge. Your fingers find his hair, pulling him back down to your lips, moaning into his open mouth, “Gonna cum, Jaem. Gonna cum around your cock.”

He moans, loud and shameless, “Yes, baby, need it. Need you. Need you to love me. Say it again, baby please.”

“I love you,” your words are broken in moans, body locking around him again, hips rocking against his cock, his fingers, spasming beneath him as your orgasm pulls you under. 

You realize he’s crying, hot tears spilling onto your face, you kiss him again as his hips stagger against yours, he fills you up in three deep strokes, cock finally stilling at the deepest point inside you. You moan together, your ankles locking around his back, head falling limp against the leather, chest heaving. 

He slumps on top of you, body heavy and sweaty, shoulders rocking as he cries against your shoulder. Your fingers fall into his hair, scratching his scalp, playing with the silky, sandy blonde locks as his cries quiet down. 

“Need to move, Jaem,” you whisper, “Need water.” 

He nods, getting up slowly, sitting upright in the middle seat. You lean over the passenger seat, eyeing the water bottle you saw on the floor earlier, but your eyes lock on the cartridge full of bullets haphazardly thrown on the carseat.

In full post-nut clarity, you lean over, grabbing the water bottle, fingers snatching the cartridge on your way back up. 

After taking a long sip from the water bottle, you hand it over to Jaemin, and in the few seconds it takes for him to take a long gulp of water, the cartridge is already back in the chamber, action closed, safety off. 

He stares at you wide-eyed, jaw clenching, eyes already darkening. He whispers, “You lied.”

“You were gonna kill me,” your back is pressed to the car door, two hands on the gun, a finger on the trigger, barrel pressed to his forehead. 

His bottom lip quivers, sweaty, sandy hair stuck to his forehead, his eyes run glossy again, “But I didn’t, I didn’t- I- You- You said you loved me.”

You push a steadying breath through your lips, “I do.”

Whirling around the nurses station, bumping hips with a shorter, plumper, older woman whose name you positively cannot remember, you slipped three sheets of paper covered with unreadable code from between the pages in your notebook and slapped them to the stark white counter in front of her.

Rows of mismatched binders stood against the half wall, piles of looseleaf paper decorated in intelligible scribbles sprawled over the surface, computers tapped at, beeping every few seconds, it was what you signed up for. Cluttered beyond belief, how anyone got any work done or kept anything organized was beyond you.

“Doctor,” the woman smiled at you, her cheeks rosy and glittering with a blush three shades darker than it should be. Glancing from your chipped manicure and the papers beneath them to your pointed eyes, she asked, “Heading into your meeting?”

“I am,” you uttered quietly, nodding toward the papers. “I need these filed and stored by tonight.” The nurse reached for them, but couldn’t pull them out from under your grip. The tips of your fingers changed color, you pressed them into the counter. “By tonight.”

Her smile wiped away in a flash. Blinking, she removed her hand and nodded. “Of course, by tonight.”

“Thank you.” Pulling your hand back, rolling your shoulders into place, you hadn’t realized you towered over her, casting her in a shadow of frustration only the depths of you could begin to understand. Standing up straight, smushing your red stained lips together, you gave a measly glance to the other appalled nurses behind the counter. “Apologies for interrupting, ladies.”

Pressing the balls of your feet into the tile, you twisted on your toes, tossed yesterday's styled hair over your shoulders, and left them behind. Not fast enough though, you listened in on their whispers that had begun a few weeks ago.

Your red lips curled into a smile.

“I’m telling you, Monica, she’s changed.”

“That is not the girl who started here three months ago.”

“No one believed me when I said she felt different!”

“You better file those papers now, Janice, I don’t want to know what happens if you…”

Out of ear shot.

Turning a corner, dodging a cart with a body on it pushed by a nurse in faded scrubs, she jumped, you didn’t give her the time of day.

Lights flickered from above in the waterstained ceiling tiles, the further you strut through these halls the more dilapidated they became. Clicking your way through the ICU, labor and delivery, oncology, cardiology, at the end of the maze full of eyes that watched your back, the elevator waited for you.

Quiet, this part of the hospital, secluded and blocked off to unauthorized beings. The keycard attached to your hip allowed you access, the picture of the you three months ago who accepted this job let you in. Smiling bright, black rimmed glasses on the tip of her nose, her hair slicked back in a tight bun, not a lick of makeup on her face… 

She had no clue what she had done to herself, taking the case an ample amount of colleagues told her to turn away. Sitting in her apartment, sipping on white wine, flipping through the pages in the file sent to you by secure mail…

Dastardly.

Narcissistic.

Psychotic.

Three words to describe him.

Brutal.

Methodical.

Sadistic.

Three words to describe his ways.

You had laughed. Curled up on your couch in sweatpants while the TV hummed the theme of a decade old show, you read over the pages, hundreds of them, and laughed.

It’d be too easy. This Heath Ledger’s Joker inspired killer took every stereotype in the book and put it to use. Another case of monkey see monkey do, like all of the Jack the Ripper wannabes the world has seen, the Zodiac Killer copycats.

Even the psych books on your shelves laughed, the degree’s hanging on your wall above the TV, they roared, it would be too easy, you almost didn’t take the case because it appeared to be a breeze. You wanted a challenge, wanted to be tested. Having left your psychiatrist position in a small town office, one you grew up in, you moved to the city for experience. The big leagues. To prove to yourself you were more than just a shell other human beings spewed their problems upon, that what you worked for all those years meant something, that you were worth something.

Reaching the end of the file, eyes scanning over useless information on the subject, how manipulative he is, a hedonistic creature of habit, you took a sip of wine, flipped to his picture, and almost choked.

Throwing yourself forward, glass launching from your hand to the carpet, you coughed, gasping for air, clinging to the manila folder sitting on your lap, pages threatening to spill to the floor in disorder. Sucking air into your lungs, wiping your fingers over your lips, on the edge of the couch, you sighed, and you looked at him again.

Pure, porcelain skin, the deepest brown eyes that bordered on onyx, cheekbones carved by an angel, pink lips curved in a way that coiled your stomach— Perfection personified. Masculinity making love with a femininity so soft it tickled your spine. His hair, long, pitch black, framed his cheeks, his chin, unstyled, pushed back, a little frizzy, raw, real.

Shadows lived beneath his eyes, not exhaustion, but smudges of charcoal left behind in an attempt to expose his face for the mugshot, the gash in his bottom lip bleeding, a smear of it across the lower half of his face. 

“Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darkness of other people.”

The elevator dinged. Out of tune.

Down three floors into the basement. One unkempt, original flooring, original furniture, original machinery, an incredible amount of years old. Peeling wallpaper plastered with layers of substances unknown to you, dirt, scuffed up by time and neglect. Cobwebs hung in corners, mice burrowed in the woodwork, water leaked, dripping from the stretch of pipes extending over the ceiling around the dim lightbulbs hanging from individual creaking fixtures.

The very first time you came down here you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. How the city could condemn these people to filthy conditions like vermin on the street, as if they were less then, as if they weren’t people at all, human beings who need help.

In slacks, a loose jacket, and ballet flats, even you weren’t fit to work in these halls.

That’s when your disdain for this entire operation began to fester. 

Small at first, disguised as disappointment.

That was Day One.

You tiptoed through the corridor, wide eyes flickering about the rooms built with floor length windows, patients either curled up on their beds inside, or sitting on the floor, speaking to nothing, the glass, the walls, you as you passed by. Many paced the tile along the windows, lions caged, marking their prey, unable to pounce. 

Schizophrenia, mania induced psychosis, severe obsessive compulsive disorder.

One by one, you diagnosed them with a mere glance into their rooms, not letting your eyes linger long out of respect, though you yearned to open the door and sit with them. Speak to them. Study them. Help them.

A major, major fault. Thrown in your face all your years at school, your fault, the very thing that’d eventually guarantee your future cohabitation in a cell beside one of them.

Your need to help. To fix. To tire yourself to the point of insanity to figure out solutions for the impossible.

To believe there was a cure, you were the only one.

There had to be a breakthrough, one you weren’t seeing, one overlooked, laced within the eighty-seven days worth of notes only your eyes have read again, and again.

Day eighty-seven.

About twelve and a half weeks.

Almost three months.

“The world will ask you who you are, and if you do not know, the world will tell you.”

Bounding down the hall, Louboutin's wracking against the cracked tile, the ding of the elevator announcing your arrival, the dormant corridor resting with the gentle buzz of mumbles, humming, and soft tapping sprung to life.

Shouting followed you, whistles, calls of your name, the banging of fists on glass built to bend with the force applied to it. Patients in gowns, patients in tissue soft clothing, patients who have come to know you, to know who you came here to work with, they wanted you.

Day eighty-seven.

About twelve and a half weeks.

Almost three months.

In the time spent with him, you took the inbetween moments, the minutes hurrying down the hall to meet the patients locked up down here, shunned to the basement. 

They knew you.

You knew them.

“He’s waiting for you…”

“Tell him we want OUT!”

“Stop… Stop! Come see ME! Come into MY room!”

“Doctor, please, doctor, help me… I need you more… I need you…”

You never responded.

Yanking your keycard from your hip, you slapped it to the scanner on the ten inch thick metal door at the very back end of the curve of hallway. The shouts echoed this way, but you disappeared from their sight entirely.

Isolation.

Cinderblock walls thicker than the door that opened up to a circular room about half a mile wide with a plain mattress on a metal frame pushed to one side, a smoothed over toilet and sink attached to the other, a table structured into the floor in the middle of it all, with two chairs pushed into either end.

One occupied.

Facing you, head snapping up as the door moaned its way shut, his devilish smile grew at the sight of you. Pale, colorless from his days literally chained to walls in this room, his soft, gentle beauty seemed to accentuate. Barely three meals a day ingested, his cheeks hollowed out. 

Sickly.

It hurt you.

The cuffs on his wrists jingled, the chains connected to the walls clanged as he jumped to his feet, eyes alight and tearing into your form as you approached the table with a grimace.

“The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.”

“Sit,” you spat. Taking his bottom lip between his teeth, his smile sharpened, and he listened. Tossing your notebook onto the table, he glanced at it, then drew his eyes over the hunk of diamond sitting on your neck. “What’ll it be today?”

He didn’t move, only his darkened gaze flickered up to hold yours.

Folding your arms over your chest, you sighed. “You have hit me with a Carl Jung quote every single day, Jeonghan, don’t tell me you’ve run out.”

His tongue dipped out over his bottom lip, the tip slowly dragging over the lush tint of pink. “Is it done?” His voice, ragged, rough, desperate, it caressed you.

A laugh escaped you. You leaned over the table, palms flat to the metal, his eyes dipping three inches below your necklace. “Quote,” you whispered, pushing your arms together. His tongue circled to his top lip, his jaw clenching. “Eyes up here.”

He snapped his gaze to yours. Swallowing, putting his tongue back in his mouth, he parted his lips, and sang, “The pendulum of the mind oscillates between sense and nonsense, not between right and wrong.”

His voice like a siren, his mind impressive, full of uncommon knowledge, educated. Your thighs pressed together, your stomach clenched.

He noticed.

He smirked.

Unmoving always, still, unless needed.

“Fitting,” you rolled your eyes, pushing off of the table. Placing your hands on your hips, you released a breath and began pacing the tile. Jeonghan’s eyes are attached to your form, only his greedy gaze following your movement, taking you in head to toe. “You know I couldn’t believe it when I heard the first one,” you said, giving him a look, “Carl Jung’s words leaving a mouth like yours.”

His hands clenched into fists, the chains dinging against the metal of the table. “Is it done?”

“How you even knew I spent years studying his teachings,” you snickered, turning to face him, “Outstandingly absurd.”

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes, dipping his chin. “You reek of mediocre Swiss psychology, I could smell it before you walked in the door. Freud would have a field day.”

You scoffed. “In what sense?” 

“Obsession,” he whispered. “Is it done?”

Placing a hand to the table, you tapped a nail three times.

He took a deep breath.

“Obsession,” you considered, nodding your head. “I don’t think I believe you, I think-“

“Please,” he growled, chains rattling from the walls as he threw a hand toward you and slammed one onto the table, “Look at you. You’re his wet fucking dream, Doctor. Mirroring his theory, you are the very thing he spent years proclaiming, analytical psychology.”

You tapped your nail three times.

He took a deep breath.

“Someone’s angry today.” The snark in your tone nicked his skin like the graze of a bullet. 

He pulled on the chains, body lurching forward, an attempt to throw himself at you. “Is it done?”

Sitting in the chair across from him you laid your palm over your notebook and smiled. “Tell me more about Jung fucking me in my dreams, or whatever it is you said?”

His groan echoed throughout the room, contained, the noise for your ears only. His chest pressed into metal in front of him. “The only one fucking you in your dreams is me, sweetheart.”

Crossing your legs, knowing he had the absolute capability to smell you, you tapped your nail three times and he took a deep breath. “Tell me.”

His grin turned wicked. “You still think you have one up on me in here.”

“Why do you say that?”

His hand on the table that had curled into a fist relaxed. He tapped his finger three times and laughed as your lips parted. Cocking his chin toward you, he eyed the diamond. “I like the necklace. Good choice.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you whispered.

Looking up at you, his tongue drew along his lips. “Oh, you always have a choice, sweetheart.” Pouting his lips, he whispered, “You know that.”

Gulping, you shifted in your seat, voice trembling. “I didn’t want it.”

“Why?” His tone stung.

Lifting the leg you crossed, you brushed the toe of your high heel over his knee. “The shoes were enough.”

Jeonghan parted his knees, allowing you to dance your foot higher. “You didn’t want the necklace?”

“No,” you gasped, brows cinching in the middle. You couldn’t get a read on him, stonefaced. “I told you, I don’t need these things, you told me it would stop.”

He turned his chin a centimeter to the left. “You don’t… I’m doing these things… For you.”

Leaning over the table, the tips of your fingers brushing over his, your lip crinkled. “Hannie,” your whisper breathless, exasperated, “They showed up at my door, they put a gun to my head, threatening me to take it, they know where I live.”

Jeonghan blinked, his jaw going slack. “They know where you live,” he raised his voice, “Because I know where you live, baby, you think I would deliberately put you in danger?” He grabbed onto your hands, fingers ice cold, grip harsh and tight. Pulling you toward him, table gutting you in half with a yelp, he swung his elbows under the chains and threw them over your arms, wrapping them around your wrists. Standing up, folding over the top of the surface, nose inches from where you laid, chained to the table, he growled, through his teeth, “Is. It. Done.”

Hands shaking, voice trembling, tears imminent, your shining eyes bore into the anger within his. “Hannie let me go,” you whispered, pleading, “It hurts, let me go.”

His heavy breath tormented you, the warmth grazing your neck as he pressed his lips to your ear. “You had one fucking job. The easiest of them all, actually. You’re a very smart girl, sweetheart, I know you did not fuck this up, but so help me God if you did, Cheol will do more than press the barrel of a gun to this pretty face.”

Your body betrayed you. Arms chained together, held down to the table, the promise of a worser fate with the knowledge of knowing he’d never let anything happen to you… You whimpered, and he grinned. 

“Tell me, you bitch!” he shouted, cackling as your body jolted, the power of his voice chilling your spine, curling your toes. 

He’s done worse.

He’s said worse.

You knew what he was doing, and you let it happen.

From Day One, that first quote danced through the air, music to your ears, melting you into a puddle at his feet.

Familiarity.

He caught onto it, you weren’t dumb, and neither was he.

For eighty-seven days, hours on end dedicated to devouring his psyche, delving deeper into his mind, unravelling his inner workings— He wore you down.

He took every belief, every sweet thought in your head, and he used it against you. Matching your wit, showing you the light for the first time in your life, a human being who agrees with you, who holds the same values…

“It’s done,” you whispered, barely, a mere breath hitting his porcelain skin.

Silence.

Pressing his forehead to yours, he bit onto his bottom lip and huffed a laugh. Maniacal eyes locked onto yours, black as ever in the shadows of the basement. “You did it,” he breathed. A tear slid down your cheek as you nodded. Pouting his lips he kissed it away. “No, no, no. No. Don’t cry, baby, you did it, I’m so proud of you. So proud of you.”

Tears spilled, and he kissed each one away. “They’ll be filed by tonight.”

The chains no longer hurt.

Jeonghan’s lips drug down your neck, heavy open mouthed kisses, teeth nipping, sucking, hungry. “Fuck, so good,” he whispered, lifting his head to kiss your lips, “On time. It’s perfect. You’re incredible, sweetheart, you know that?”

Your heart fluttered, relishing in his praise, a comfort settling within you as his lips met yours and his pride cradled you. 

Day eighty-seven.

About twelve and a half weeks.

Almost three months.

That’s how long it took for you to fall in love with Yoon Jeonghan.

“Get them out,” you whispered against his lips. “Help them.”

His soft groan shot straight through you, his tongue pressing between your lips to curl with yours. “More than that, more than them,” he mumbled, nipping at your lip, “You don’t know what you just did for us.” He pulled at your chained hands. “Come here,” he moaned.

Kicking the chair backward with a heel, keeping your lips locked with his, you clung to his hands, his wrists, gripping onto him for stability as your knees hit the table, crawling across the metal toward him. Unhooking your wrists from the chains, he grabbed you by the back of the knees and sat you on the edge, wedging himself between your thighs, digging his fingertips into your curves, shameless hands taking what he wanted. 

Very little space he had to move his hands, to hold onto you, he tried to slide them around your waist, but the cuffs prevented it. Groaning into your mouth, pressing himself into your thigh, already hard, already needy, he tried three more times to break them apart, to force the metal to warp. 

He couldn’t.

Your fingers, tangled in his hair, you tugged, you pulled, you worked him against you, you drug them down his front, slipping them beneath the cotton shirt he was forced to wear. A sturdy chest, one not thick, but toned, strong. A laugh escaped you as his hands attempted to wrap around you again, your fingers dancing down into his pants, tugging them to this knees.

“It’s funny, huh?” His whisper made you arch into him. Trailing his lips down your neck, biting into you, he muttered, “Just imagine what I’m gonna do to you once I’m out of here. You like to play games, I’ll show you fucking games.”

With a gentle roll of your eyes, the satisfaction of his glinting darker washed over you. “And if I don’t want to play games?”

Jeonghan huffed, he groaned, he snapped. With endless bangs his chains hit the walls, hit the table as he climbed over top of you, pushing you backward over the metal by your shoulders, laying you out, hair splayed behind you, cheeks stained with drying tears. Placing his hands on either side of your neck, the links between his cuffs laid over your throat, pressure. Gasping for air, just enough room left for you to suck it down ‘cause your life depended on it, Jeonghan dipped his head down and smirked.

“First it’s the shoes,” he whispered, lobbing out his tongue to lick at the smudged red stain on your lips, “Then it’s the necklace,” he pouted, parting his lips, suffocating the diamond where it laid on your chest, teeth pressing into your skin, over your heart. He tipped his head back with a smack, his own lips colored red, and not from your lipstick. You were bleeding, and you don’t know from where, or when it happened, or how long he’d looked like that, it could’ve even been his own. Delicately kissing your lips, the tang of blood slipping over your own tongue, you moaned, and he returned it. “Now my baby doesn’t want to play with me,” he whispered, licking into your mouth, grinding down on top of you.

Sucking in a breath when he pulled away, you managed a whimper. “I do,” you forced out, “I do, I d-do…”

Jeonghan studied you, face blank, eyes onyx and pointed. 

“Hannie,” you whispered, the pressure of the chain on your throat making you writhe beneath him.

His lips curled. Leaning into you, lips brushing the tip of your nose, he snickered. “Afraid of what’ll happen if you say no?”

“No,” you heaved, audibly taking in a breath, “I want it. Please. I want you. I need you. I always need you.” 

You visualized three nights ago. The gun pressed to your temple. The face of the man standing in your doorway. The threat on his lips. 

A promise.

“You can’t hurt me, you won’t hurt me,” you gasped, wriggling under him, blinking up into emotionless eyes, “You’ll never admit it, but you love me, too. Otherwise he would’ve shot me. You don’t even know what I said to him, what made him pull the gun on me.” Jeonghan narrowed his eyes. Reaching between you, you pushed your skirt from your hips, kicking it off. “I saw it on him, I knew what he would do. I wanted him to do it. I told you three weeks ago that I love you, I’ve fallen in love with you, and you haven’t said it back. I see it in your fucking eyes, Hannie, I’ve been working a weakness out of you for months now. It was a test, Cheol works for you. With my mouth, he should’ve shot me. But, he didn’t. You say I keep trying to have the one up on you in here,” you shook your head and wrapped your legs around him, “I do.”

He smiled, embodying Lucifer, the fallen angel himself. “Where love rules, there is no will to power,” he quoted, pushing himself into you all at once. Your body wrapped around him, arms clinging around his back, nails digging into his skin. Laying over top of you, he continued, “And where power predominates… love is lacking,” he sighed with a snap of his hips. Ghosting his lips over yours, sipping on your whines, focused eyes pooling with lust, one last quote on his tongue to destroy you, he whispered, “Nothing is possible without love. For love puts one in a mood to risk everything.”

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The mini van comes to a stop on the corner of the block the bar crawl was hosted on, the street blocked off by barricades, you glanced down at the wristband tightly secured around your forearm, reassuring yourself it was still there. You thanked the driver before hopping out, wobbling on tipsy legs, a grin spread wide on your cheeks as you tossed your purse over your shoulder. 

Sana bumps her hips against yours as she meets your side, the girls spreading out around you, “You ready, birthday girl?” 

You face the crowd beyond the barricade, hundreds of people huddled together between the walls of buildings, clubs, small bars cluttering the sidewalks, food trucks, there were people fucking everywhere. 

Jeongyeon meets your other side, “Where to first?” 

“I don’t know,” your eyes are still locked in on the crowd, a giant fucking party waiting for you. Your birthday. You suck in a heavy breath through a smile, “I don’t care, let’s go in already.”

You followed where Jihyo and Chaeyoung led your group inside the barricade, all ten of you showing the bouncer at the entrance your wristbands, then you were in. 

It was like a block party, music from all the clubs bleeding into the streets, different songs blending together the further you walked into the crowd, groups of people laughing, singing along, taking pictures. You keep your chin up, following your group of friends through the crowd with a dazed smile that seemed to be glued on your face. 

Jihyo led you all into the first club, showing your wristbands to the bouncer, only Mina got her costume props taken at the front door. She pouted all the way to the bar, three bamboo katanas far from forgotten, her whine could be heard across the buzzing, crowded room. 

“Do you think everyone will still know I’m Zoro?” Her hand fell on your arm, eyebrows creased, lips jutting out. You look her up and down, green spray painted hair, eyeliner painted scars across her eye and chest, a green kimono on her shoulders. 

You chuckle and nod, “I think you’re very clearly Zoro, Meens, katanas or not.”

“Okay,” she pouts, then leans forward, tapping Jihyo on the shoulder while she orders a round of drinks for your group, “Add on shots in remembrance of my katanas!”

“What?” Jihyo whips her head around for a split second, mid-sentence with the bartender, before she turns back around to keep ordering, “And, fuck, ten green tea shots, please.”

Her hand meets her forehead when she realizes what just left her lips. You giggle, not wanting to know what that receipt will look like, and she’s scowling once the bartender dressed in leather and chains turns on his heel. She points her dark eyes at Mina once she turns around, “You’re splitting this with me. Venmo me right now.”

Mina’s smile is sheepish as she pulls out her phone, tapping on the blue app on her phone screen while the group erupts into giggles, patting her on the back. Once you had a beer in one hand and a shot in the other, all ten of you toasted to your birthday, took the shots back, and then you were off. 

The club was dark– Garage doors hung open in lieu of doors, keeping the front section illuminated and aired out, but just behind the bar and up a flight of steps, it was darkness and neon lights and muggy, sweaty air. Your nose crinkled as you slipped between bodies, sipping from the dark brown bottle of beer, Dahyun and Tzuyu followed behind you, a vampire leading two fairies. 

Into the dance floor in the center, bass pounding in your blood, rattling the ribs inside your chest, you found an open circle in the center and immediately fell into rhythm with Dahyun and Tzuyu. 

“You look so hot!” Tzuyu yelled over the music, her hips swinging with Dahyun’s, “See anyone you like?” 

You roll your eyes with a smile, but then you actually look around. The smell of sweat and outside had put a heavy pair of shades over your eyes, almost forgetting you were on the prowl tonight, but Tzuyu had reminded you the birthday girl needed to get twenty-one kisses tonight. 

A promise made days ago, all of you huddled around the couches in the living room of your college house, a joint lit somewhere between the ten of you. Sana’s idea that had turned into a promise, you might as well start early. Six clubs and twenty-one kisses, you could do this. Easy. 

You took the metaphorical shades off as your eyes danced over the crowd, firefighters, Nintendo characters, werewolves and Hugh Hefners surrounded you. You raised your top lip in aversion, no one looked appetizing, and you wanted to sink your teeth into someone tonight. 

“He’s hot,” Dahyun nudged you as a mustache with a trucker hat on passed by, you shook your head with haste, eyes wild and questioning. 

You leaned towards her, “Are you blind?” 

“I forgot you’re picky,” Tzuyu laughed, “Twenty-one kisses might have been a long shot.”

“One kiss will be good enough for me,” you smiled dreamily, body still swaying to the bass, “One body next to me in that queen-sized bed tonight.”

When your dancing went from a sway to forgotten head nods, you nodded to the two to follow you throughout the club to find your friends. This music, this vibe, these men– you were glad you had five more clubs to go to. 

Just on the outside of the dance floor you found Sana and Mina in conversation with what looked like Morticia and Gomez Addams, the couple tall and dressed in black, you bid them your apologies as you stole your friends back. One by one, throughout the club you grabbed each one of your girls, minus Momo and Chaeyoung who both had their tongues down the mouths of two guys from Top Gun. 

Eight of you back on the crowded street, you ducked between bodies until you were in the mouth of the second club, the music playing through the speakers a little more pop. Back to another bar, Nayeon ordered your second round of beers, and you were separated and on the prowl again. 

Now with Jeongyeon, dressed as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, the two of you hung around the bar while the rest of the girls dispersed. You wanted to people watch, to see who walked inside the door, to see who might come up to the two of you at the bar. 

“You look so scary,” Jeongyeon giggled, running a finger over where blood was beginning to dampen again along your arm, “This looks real.”

“No it doesn’t,” you stuck your tongue out, sipping your beer. Glancing down at her feet where ruby red heels clung to white lacy socks, you asked, “Do your feet hurt?”

“These are comfy,” she kicked her heels together, “But by the end of the night I’m sure I’ll be saying There’s no place like home.”

Both of you erupted into a fit of giggles, grabbing onto each other’s arms around the bar. It was then that a presence loomed beside you, Jeongyeon’s eyes slid behind you just as he spoke. 

“Can I get a beer?” Voice velvety soft, a depth to it that exuded control, he sounded sexy. You raised your eyebrows in question at your friend, and she nodded rapidly, an excited smile on her face. You pulled your purse off your shoulder, whipping your phone out, checking your reflection in the camera app. Eyelashes still on, eyeshadow still blended, lipstick still smudged exactly where you smudged it. You smiled, throwing your purse back over your shoulder, then turned on your heel. 

To no one beside you. 

You gasped, turning to Jeongyeon, “Why didn’t you tell me he was leaving?” 

“So he could hear me?” Her eyes lifted into her hairline, “Girl, he was sexy too. Walking sex with thick eyebrows.” 

Your hand hits your forehead, a groan slipping from your lips, “Fuck.”

“Let’s go find him,” Jeongyeon said, “He couldn’t have gone far, he just ordered a drink.” 

You nodded, and the two of you were off, black stilettos and ruby red slippers stomping through a crowd of bright white strobe lights, the pop music turning heavy EDM the further into the club you went. Bodies turn into shadows with each blink of the lights, Jeongyeon grabs you by your shoulder, screaming as she points ahead, “Him!”

You see him in a second of white, creamy skin, a sculpted jawline, a white button down, a black tie beneath his collar. Red dribbled down the front of him, out of the corners of his mouth, eyebrows thick and heavy and oh my god he just met your eye. Your feet bring you forward a step before you can think about it, half-drank beer clasped between your fingers falling to your side as you sink into the trap, he’s gorgeous. He looks familiar. He looks like exactly what you need tonight. 

In the next blink of white, he’s gone. You whip your head side to side, searching between shadows, seconds of light giving you barely any vision, he’s gone. He’s gone. 

You turn, and Jeongyeon is nowhere to be found. “Jeongyeon?” You call into thin air, the music too loud, spiking your blood, rattling your chest. Speaking, calling, yelling into the heavy bass was futile. Bodies push into you, making you unsteady in your heels, you shake your head, the music and the lights too overwhelming, the loss of him questioningly heavy, you needed out. You need the bar. 

You make your way to the edge of the crowd and catch your breath, sucking the rest of your beer back before heading back out towards the bar, without Jeongyeon. Without your friends. You could wait for them here. Your elbow pushed up onto the bar, you bought yourself a shot and threw it back with ease.

 Damn, you needed to move on to the next club– But none of your friends are with you. You pout, shifting your weight to the other foot, fingers gripping onto the bar for leverage.

Damn, you were drunk. 

Just as you were about to order another beer, you saw streaks of red on a crisp white shirt out of your peripherals, and your neck snapped. You watch his short, cropped hair as he walks out of the club, seemingly alone, the way he carried himself was alluring alone. Shoulders back, standing tall, you could almost see the dips and curves through the shirt. 

Your feet were moving before you could think about it, mind effortlessly thoughtless. 

Following him outside, the air cooler than it was inside, you suck a deep breath into your lungs and trap all of it inside as you watch him slip into the crowd. You push yourself through, following hot on his tail, you didn’t know his name, you couldn’t stop him. He crosses to the other side of the street, into a darker club, and the bouncer doesn’t even look at him as he walks through the threshold. 

You show the burly man your wristband and skip in after him, eyebrows raised, eyes wide and on alert. You felt like a dog on a trail, sniffing your way to your prey. Your eyes dance around shades of blue, navy shadowed bodies surrounding the building, mushed together on the dance floor. You push a heavy breath through your lips. What was the plan here? Did you need one? You need him. 

Your feet make it to the bar and you flag down the bartender for another beer, basically throwing your card out on the laminate. What if he knows you followed him? Your lips purse together, knees bending into the bar, elbows planted as your eyes get lost in liquor bottles. Maybe you should pretend that you came here of your own volition and stop looking for him, he saw you already, if he wants you, he’ll find you again. You thank the bartender for the beer and take a swig, letting the cool liquid ice out the burn in your veins, the sweat on your skin. 

Your eyes lead out to the dance floor. You didn't have any of your friends with you. 

Maybe being here, alone, could be fun. Maybe they’d somehow meet you here. 

Then you’re off into shades of blue and sweaty bodies, a cold beer and sticky, blood inked skin your partners in crime, this music is good, the bass not too heavy. This blue is calming. You could be here, alone. You just turned twenty-one, you’re on top of the fucking world, it’s your birthday for God’s sake. 

A smile creeps its way onto your face as you slip between bodies, inching your way to the center of the dance floor, body sliding into pockets of people as if they parted for you. It didn’t take long before you were feeling lighter, blurred, the beer in your hand taking hold of your subconscious and begging you to let go. You obeyed, head tipping back on the dance floor, body swaying along to the beat that pounded through the club, your blood thrumming to the same tune beneath your skin. 

Bodies danced beside you on the lit up dance floor, a pretty neon blue under your feet, lighting everyone’s face from beneath. It added to the costumes, you thought, everyone’s faces hidden, some masked, but now the backlit shadows had morphed them into something else, too. 

“Another vampire,” you would have jumped if the alcohol hadn’t dampened your senses, “Nice to know someone else wasn’t feeling original tonight.” 

You whipped your head around to the familiar voice in your ear to be met with your prey for the night— Dark hair sprawled across his forehead, messy yet precisely styled, a chiseled face with strong features, full lips bent in a smile that showed off the elongated fangs hanging over his bottom row. His looked different from the plastic that was glued onto your canines, longer, stronger, real, almost. 

He found you.

You leaned in closer, worries gone as your eyebrows furrowed in focus, your eyes locked in on his teeth, “I wish my fangs looked like that, yours look legit.” 

“They are,” he said simply, letting his body move into rhythm with yours, you didn’t realize you never stopped dancing. You welcomed it, though, you’d take whatever he gave you tonight.

“I’m sure they are,” you tilted your head, batting your lashes, his lips baiting you, so full and inviting and soft. “You thirsty?” 

“Depends what for,” he bared his teeth again, tongue running over his teeth, eyes dropping to your chest, your torso, your legs. Maybe hunger would've been the better question. 

You giggled, so innocent, letting your eyes graze over him too, it was only fair. A blood-streaked white button up, the top three unbuttoned, tie hanging over his chest, leaving his pearly chest coated in an electric blue. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, dress pants on his legs that looked tailored to his body, the dark patches of fake blood appeared to have rained on him, dripping from the corners of his pretty lips down to his belt, he looked the part just as much as you, if not better. 

“Aren't we a pair,” you thought out loud, then took another sip of your beer, which turned into downing the rest of it. Maybe he’d buy you another.

He took a step closer, the front of him almost pressed against you, a dizzying smell of liquor and something sour. Iron, copper, a twinge of metal combined with alcohol and whatever cologne he donned. It was a strangely delicious combination, one that had you closing the distance. 

“Are you alone?” He purred the words in your ear, his voice sensual and deep, layered with experience, with steady calculation. You didn’t notice a drink in his hand, nor did you see him leave the last club with anyone. Alone and sober, a combination that would have left a red flag in your mind if you were sober.

You let an arm swing over his shoulder, hips still keeping his leading rhythm, “My friends are somewhere, but they know my intentions tonight.” 

“Intentions,” he repeated, voice deepening yet another octave as he contemplated the word. His eyes found yours, lidded and glazed, you could see the ring of something lighter, opalescent, circling the depth of whatever color they might be, the blue light masked the true hue. “What might those be?” 

“You'll have to find out,” your lips lifted in a smirk, holding his gaze which darkened impossibly further in the dim light. A smirk grew on his own face, his hands sliding around your waist, palms heavy as he guided you before him. 

“Immortal girl, you’re supposed to have some wisdom at your age,” he taunts, jokes, eyes zeroing on the necklace around your neck. A silver chain with a cross pendant in the center, he huffed a laugh at the irony. He lifted his eyes back to yours, “Trying to take a stranger home tonight?” 

You leaned in, lips centimeters from his ear, voice husky and low, “Maybe if I find the right one.”

He let a deep groan leave his lips, short but heavy, nothing short of animalistic. You smiled proudly, knowing you’d hooked him, the realization of him being yours for the night. Another body in your queen-sized bed.

As your lips parted from his ear, putting space between you, your eyes catching his again, in the split second of loss of blue light from the bodies on the dance floor you caught a glimpse of the opalescence you saw in his eyes before. Dark as night, a beautiful ring of milky iridescent circled his pupils, it made you pause your movements, squint your eyes in focus. 

“Your… eyes,” it slips out of your lips, a thought yet a statement, a question but an answer. They were entrancing, mesmerizing, you’d never seen anything like them before, never seen a pattern like that before. 

Sunghoon. You knew him. The hairs on your arms stand.

You took a step back, your arm falling from his shoulder, back to your side. “Do I know you?” you asked, shock and confusion clouding your mind, feeling more sober yet dizzier than you were before. 

Your eyes met his again and you felt it— the warping, the bending, you were here, in your body but now lied another. He smiled, closing the distance again, tilting your chin up with a bent finger, “You know me. Happy Birthday.” 

“I do,” you nod quickly at first, until your head slows as realization creeps in, voice smaller, “Thank you, Sunghoon.” 

“I saw you, following me around like a fly on the wall,” he chuckles lowly, seemingly reading your thoughts now, maybe he was cuddled up right beside you in your mind. He leans in closer, “If you want me, you could have just asked.” 

Shame heats your body, a pit in your gut you certainly didn’t like. But then he meets your eye again and the feeling is drained from your blood entirely, replaced by a heat of lust, of arousal, of everything you were feeling just minutes ago. 

He laughs again, cockier this time, almost mocking as his fingers wrapped around your waist, traveling up your body. The weight of them comforting, you leaned into his touch, your own arms wrapping around his shoulders again. With a lazy grin he said, “Dance with me.” 

So you did— you danced and danced, let your hair hang wild behind you, swaying in your movement. Your bones felt like water, fluid and ongoing, never ending, your body waiting for its next direction, begging for it, antsy to obey it. He turned you around, heavy palms still sitting on your hips, pulling them flush against him, letting you feel his want for you. It felt so good, like a rush, dopamine and oxytocin and serotonin, Sunghoon shared them all with you like a present, in your mind you knew he gave them to you. 

Head thrown back on his shoulder, eyes closed and chest heaving, you felt breathless out of pleasure and arousal now melting you to a puddle in your panties, “Sunghoon.” 

He was playing with you now, feeding you thoughts that you weren’t sure were your own, feelings and sensations consuming every inch of you, every fucking atom of your being. Sunghoon was all over, his body pressed against yours physically but also inside you, he invaded your mind like it was nothing but a wall made of paper, ripping it to shreds and making a home for himself. He was having fun toying with you, at least you thought so from the lazy smirk beneath lidded eyes that wouldn’t leave his face. 

You couldn’t be happier being his game, you think you might have been born for this reason, for him. Pictures and glimpses like a slideshow crossed your mind, images of you together, of him kissing down your body, of his fangs sinking into your flesh and drinking your blood as if it were the finest, aged wine. 

You moaned, right hand flying up to fist his roots, his head buried in the pocket where your neck met your shoulder. You felt it, then— The warm, sticky fluid rushing down your collarbone, onto the hem of your dress. Not a stain to be seen, the midnight color of your dress only deepening, wet with blood. Your blood. You could see it now, it wasn’t in your mind, it was happening—

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice strained, thighs tightening, it felt euphoric, having a part of him inside you, fangs sunken in your flesh, engorging himself on you. Your stomach clenched in the pleasure, eyebrows knitting, lips parting, repeating, chanting thank you thank you thank you like a spell. 

When his head tipped back and your blood ebbed down his chin every instinct in your body told you to try it. Try it, taste yourself, see what about your taste has his pants so tight. You were turned in an instant, a hand wrapped around his chin, pulling him down to crash your lips onto his like Sunghoon was a means to detonation. 

And he was, he was, ruby red lips that tasted like iron and control and ancientness— Oh, he was old, experienced, an opiate. You'd never get enough of this, you’d never had anything like it. He groaned into you, a knee split between your thighs, music thumping in your chest alongside your heart thumping for him, you’d give it to him, if he asked. Even if he didn’t. 

“I need more,” he said onto your lips, now smeared with blood you hadn’t felt the loss of quite yet. 

“Take it all,” you pulled him against you again, tongue licking into his mouth, pricking against the isosceles fang, rewarding yourself with a gift you spit right back into his mouth. Your voice hoarse and breathless, eyes lidded and glazed and unable to see anything but him, “Drain me, if you want.” 

He growled with a wicked smile, tongue attaching itself to your neck, leaving broken skin and droplets in his wake, pooling where he opened you up just below. You gave him a feast, you bled so easily, so much, all for him, everything for him, you’d let him take until you were nothing but a husk in his arms. Until he was satisfied, full. 

That’d be too easy, though, and there was so much time left in the night. He pulled back from your chest, lips swollen like he’d just left a hickey, a horny couple getting dirty on the dance floor. His eyes took in the sight of you, the state of you, messy and wet and intoxicated, less on the alcohol and more of the rush he’d just given you. Hunger warped his vision, his thoughts, plagued him like he hadn’t survived one already, he needed you out of this place. 

He cupped your cheeks with cold hands, your body a furnace between his fingers, opalescent eyes staring into your own with purpose. “We’re going to leave,” he announced as a fact, but your fingers were already tugging at his wrists, nodding before he finished his sentence. He smiled, bloody fangs and red soaked teeth bared, then he was grabbing your hand and walking through the club with a gait that could only be described as immortal casualness. 

You were bouncing behind him, bloodied smile on your lips, barely feeling the dizziness that might hit you the moment adrenaline outran its course. Making your way out to the bar, you spotted Sana and Mina encased in shadows of blue, Nami and Zoro talking with a stray Luffy they must have picked up on the way. 

“We’ve been looking for you!” They said in unison, bright smiles on their faces as they made their way toward you, eyes widening when they saw Sunghoon behind you. 

Mina giggles, “Oh, you found another vampire, huh? What number is he?” 

“One,” you licked your lips, copper on your tongue, eyes wild and hungry. “And only.” 

You could feel the pride oozing off of him, it sent a wave of pleasure washing over you. You hummed, masking your arousal, “Don’t come back to our place for a while.” 

Sana covered her mouth with her hand, and Mina giggled, winking. “We won’t,” Mina shakes her head, “We’ll let the rest of the girls know. Have fun, birthday girl.” 

Your smile brightens impossibly brighter and then you're beside him again, a place you could be for the rest of your life, body buzzing and whirling with arousal that was beginning to feel like shackles. The Airbnb was too far away. 

“Easy,” Sunghoon’s grip on your wrist grows tighter when you step out into open air, you feel it then, how the breeze dances along the holes in your neck, the dampness of your dress running cold against your chest. You stumble a little and he’s a rock beside you, “Take a deep breath, birthday girl.” 

Your smile is lazy, eyes half-lidded when you look up at him, and he knows he’s running out of time. He mutters a curse, an arm holding you up as he walks you away from the crowd, appearing as a boyfriend walking his too-drunk girlfriend home. He makes sure no one sees him as he walks down two blocks with a steady speed, your feet barely touching the ground with how tight his grip is holding you up. 

“I can’t wait,” your head is lolled into his shirt, “Please fuck me, drink me, do something. Wanna feel good, wanna feel you.” 

He sucks in a sharp breath, cock jumping in his pants and then he’s tugging you into an alleyway, pressing you up against the brick of an unknown building, your gasped sound of relief lets him know your minds are still linked. 

“Look at me,” he breathes, and your low-lidded eyes perk up, staring right into breathtaking opalescence, you swear your adrenaline picks back up at the sight, at the feeling of cold brick pressed to your back. 

Your lips are on his before you can form another thought, iron and tequila mixing in a salivating cocktail, arms like pins-and-needles as they swing around his shoulders, pulling him closer. His tongue slots into your mouth again, groaning when he can taste the still-lingering blood, a fire erupting beneath his icy skin when he realizes his self-control isn’t as strong as it usually was. 

“Inside,” you mumble, head lolling backwards until it slams against the brick, your chin tipped upward. “Fuck me, please Sunghoon.”

He lifts you then, your core pressed against his torso for leverage while his hands fly to the zipper of his slacks, tugging them down just enough to get his cock out. Your breathing is staggered, slow, head still lazily tipped backward, eyes glazed over. Sunghoon was positive you didn’t even know your name, only his. 

He reaches between your legs, both hands tugging at your panties where they laid snug over your hip, snapping them so they laid over one thigh, completely shredded. “Hey,” you pout, words slurred, “Ilikedthose.”

“You don’t need them anymore,” he replies, too fast, brisk– it’d be alerting if you could form a thought. 

His hands sink into your thighs, pushing them up to hold you up against the wall, lining himself up without hands, cursing when he sinks into your warmth so easily. Your moan is loud, lewd, too alarming for the alleyway you were in, people could walk by at any second. He sheathes himself in one quick motion to get your thighs back over his torso, freeing his hands so he could put one over your mouth. 

“Look at me,” he repeats, voice low, “You won’t speak anymore, you won’t make one noise until I’m done. Do you understand me?” 

You nod, eyes still low-lidded, and Sunghoon smiles.  All he can hear is your breath as he feels the excruciating pleasure of your warm, wet walls pulsing around his cock, a feeling almost as addicting as sinking his teeth into new flesh. 

Your head tips back again, jaw slack, only heavy breaths leaving your lips as he builds up a rhythm, his skin quietly slapping against yours as he fucks up into you. “Fuck,” he groans when you clench around him just right, “You’re so tight, baby. You don’t get fucked enough, huh?”

You don’t answer, instead you stare at him through heavy brows, a lazy grin on your cheeks. Sunghoon smiles, he almost forgot he charmed you into silence, a vow you couldn’t break. His head drops, mumbling under his breath, “So much better when they’re quiet, fuck.”

If you could speak, you’d tell him to fuck you harder, that you needed him deeper. That even though his cock was hitting your cervix, you needed more, you needed his teeth in your skin, you needed him just as full as you were. 

Slinging your arms around his neck again, you pulled him closer until his mouth hovered over your neck. He licked where your blood had half-dried, another groan pouring from his pretty lips, his cock twitching inside you. “You’re dirty,” his canines graze the holes he’d already left in you, “You want me to suck every drop out of you, huh? Want me to suck you dry and fill you up all over again?”

Your hands fly to his hair, tugging at his roots with all the strength you can muster, hips jerking against him, pussy fluttering around his cock. All you can think is yes, yes, yes, a mantra, a chant. You needed all of him. 

“Okay, fuck, I hear you, fuck,” he fills you fully when his teeth sink into your neck, a new spot, right over your carotid. He hears the back of your head meeting the brick, he can see your eyes rolled back without even having to look at you, the way your walls squeeze him tells him enough. 

Your fingers drop to claw into his shoulders and he’s fucking up into you again, the only sounds in the dark alleyway skin slapping skin and the gurgles of your blood sinking down his throat. It was more pleasurable this way somehow, your head going fuzzy, fingertips growing cold as his cock carved into you. You weren’t sure if you were on the edge of an orgasm or something greater, you felt nothing but mind-numbing pleasure, short, choppy breaths leaving you as Sunghoon took everything.

He can feel the way you clench, hear how short your breaths have gotten, how your fingers lose their grip on him, he can feel it but he can’t stop. Mixing business and pleasure, a meal and a fuck, it was too much, he didn’t feel like himself anymore, no more than a rabid animal. You tasted like nothing he’s ever had before, so sweet, an indulgence, he needed to stop–

You clenched around him, hard. A small squeak left your throat, followed by a heavy, heaved sigh, he knew you came hard, too hard, your arms fell limp to your sides. He broke off your neck with a smack, blood pouring down his chin, two more thrusts and he was emptying himself inside you, a cock that had nothing more to spare after all these years. Empty orgasm, a feeling and nothing more, Sunghoon was on fire with triumph, pleasure, for a moment he almost remembered what it was like to be human. 

He felt your head fall heavy on his shoulder. Looking down, your legs sagged around him, arms hanging limp, body a deadweight in his hold. 

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, blinking away his euphoria to carefully slip out of you, lowering you down to the cold asphalt beneath him, he tucked himself back in his pants swiftly. With his hands on his hips, he pursed his lips, staring down at you, and frowned.

“I did it again.”

Lila, your oldest daughter, decked out in her Chucky the doll costume, bounced on her feet and clapped her hands together. Eyes glued to the table in front of you, she inspected it like she was aiming to give you a score. The creepy makeup around her cheeks made your six year old appear more hyper focused than usual.

“Come here!” you shouted, gesturing a hand toward the table. Lila’s wide eyes pointed to yours as her grin widened, amplifying the Chucky.

Two hands pushed on the glass door, leaving behind prints that would get wiped away in a week. With two mini’s barely higher than your hip, it wasn’t worth cleaning daily.

The bottoms of her shoes scraped on the concrete as she hurried to your side, her arms flailing in the air as she roared a maniacal laugh. Jumping into place by your side, she took a dramatic deep breath, heaving forward as she released it. Falling into your side, she attached herself to your leg.

“Watcha think, babe?” you asked her, though judging by her reaction you knew she was happy.

Lila’s chin turned up on your thigh, big eyes peering up at you, the color warm in the glow of the setting sun. She flashed you a smile, one that’s missing a couple teeth, and sighed.

“Perfect, Mama. It’s perfect,” she said, nuzzling her cheek against your jeans.

“Don’t ruin your makeup, Aunt Jihyo worked hard on that face!”

Lila released your leg and bounced backward on her feet with a small shout, still giving you a goofy little smile. She loved to play dress up, her favorite after school activity. The girls' playroom had been stocked with dresses and costumes, but it was rare for her to get her hair and makeup done. Your sister was the makeup queen- as Lila and Aspen would call her. Every Halloween she’d come around and help the three of you get done up. Aspen’s been getting sparkles on her cheeks since her first Halloween, and today she sat totally still on the kitchen counter while Jihyo turned her into a butterfly-fairy-princess. 

Aspen’s orders.

Your ex-husband despised makeup. He and Jihyo never got along, which should’ve been the first red flag, but with the wind, he’s gone, out of the picture, probably moved into his side chick's house in the valley, leaving you to have an all girl party. For the most part. 

“Lila!” Jihyo called from the door, holding it open to shout across the lawn. Your six year old spun around on her toes, hair whipping over her other shoulder. Jihyo held a can of hairspray up, one that made Lila squeal and bolt for the porch.

Squinting your eyes you can see that the label on the can isn’t a normal label, it’s a rainbow label. Clearly a colored hairspray, and since Lila was dressed as Chucky you could only assume what color the spray would be.

“What’s that?” you questioned your sister with a snark in your tone, giving her a slight smile. She knew you didn’t care, otherwise she would have discussed it with you first.

At the same exact time, both Lila and Jihyo sang, “Nothing!”

“Yeah, sure, nothing!” you laughed, copying their high pitched tone.

Once Lila’s shoes hit the porch and she pushed by Jihyo to get inside the house, Aspen appeared behind her, sitting down on her tush to get down the step onto the concrete.

One look at her and your heart is mush. Her little legs weren’t going to get her very far very fast, and you didn’t want to risk her trying to run down the driveway, so you met her halfway, scooping her up in your arms when you reached her.

“Hello my sweet angel,” you cooed, pressing a dozen kisses to her cheek, making her giggle. A tiny hand clamped over your lips, pushing you away.

“Not angel,” Aspen said with a smile, tapping her chest twice, “Butter-fy, fairy, princess.”

A couple of loud shouts came from the house across the street, stealing her attention.

Nodding your head you pressed another kiss to her cheek and said, “My butterfly fairy princess.” 

“A butterfly fairy princess?!”

The deep voice caught you off guard. 

Turning toward it you're met with a view that you’ve come to know and… somewhat love.

Three college boys lived across the street from you, for two years now.

Yeonjun, Beomgyu and Kai.

Three seniors living off campus in a house in a town they didn’t originally belong to.

The girls adored each one of them, Lila loved having them around, three built in Uncles across the street she could bug to play with if you were working or busy with Aspen. In the summer months they’ve been around for they’d wander over and make their way into the backyard where the girls splashed in their pool, ran around the yard, or kicked a ball around, the heat making them spawn into your yard sweaty and shirtless.

Lila knew them by first and last name.

Aspen took a liking to Beomgyu.

All three boys were great with the girls, attentive, caring, they spoke to them like they were actual people and not some random neighbors kids. Endearing, really, to watch three twenty-something year old boys care about helping out a single mother with her kids.

A lie you told yourself until Jihyo got in your head.

She tried to tell you again and again that the boys weren’t coming over to play with the girls, that they weren’t getting a thrill out of peek-a-boo and seeing who could draw the best rainbow in sidewalk chalk. They were doing it to see you, to be with you, to hang around you– And you were so painfully oblivious, wrapped up in mom life and responsibilities to see the way they would flirt shamelessly with you in your own damn front yard.

You wanted to defend them, and you tried, you knew Yeonjun had a girlfriend, and you didn’t want your sister painting a picture of him, let alone the three of them that way. They did a lot for you. They helped you with yard work, they looked after your house if you were away for a weekend, they entertained the girls while you made dinner… It wasn’t until after Jihyo started making the comments that you began to slowly realize what was happening.

It started with the three of them. They all had pairs of wandering eyes, shamelessly checking out your curves whenever they pleased, an act that seemed to get worse once they realized you finally noticed. 

However, over time, two out of three had stopped, leaving you with one pursuer.

Kai had eyes like daggers dripped in honey, piercing right into yours after you perked a curious brow. He was the most shameless of the bunch, he’d meet your eyes, slip them down your body and back up again, darting his tongue delicately over his lips in the process.

He was twenty one. 

Twenty one.

He should not be shaking you up or getting you flustered while you buckled your toddler into her carseat, meeting his gaze across the street on accident while he got in his own car to leave for class.

It was kinda fun when it was the three of them. Something innocent, something that made you feel good for a little while. But, now that it’s come down to one of them, and one of them only, your attention sticking to him and his broad chest, his curly black hair, and how big he is…  

You did not have a crush on Kai.

He was the one walking across the street now with a smile painted on his plush lips, dressed in a pair of jeans and a simple t-shirt. A pair of earrings dangled from his lobes that were nearly hidden by his hair that hung low on his forehead. He had to tilt his chin back a bit to see beneath it.

“Kai!” Aspen cheered, throwing her arms in the air. Copying her surprised face, Kai tossed his arms out to the side and laughed.

“Did I hear you say butterfly fairy princess?” he asked your daughter, stopping his stroll a mere three feet from you. The scent of his musky vanilla cologne wafted toward you, comfort. He truly was a warm presence, just his energy alone brought you peace, and you’re sure his friends felt the same way. 

At least you hoped that they would.

Aspen’s head bobbed up and down a couple of times making you giggle, peering between her and Kai.

“That is so cool,” Kai said, crossing his arms over his chest, biceps rippling. “I think you look really pretty.”

Aspen pressed both of her hands to her bashful cheeks. Leaning in your arms a bit she tried to look behind Kai, pointing toward his house. Following the direction of her stubby finger, you and Kai laughed. Beomgyu was standing on his driveway with his back pressed against the trunk of his car, watching the scene before him. Yeonjun was on the phone wandering amongst their side yard.

“Gyu?” she questioned, putting both hands on her cheeks again as Beomgyu gave her a wave.

“Gyu looks like he’s getting ready to leave,” you said to her, tapping her back gently as she pulled her lips into a pout.

“Oh, come on, don’t break the kid's heart,” Kai frowned, flashing you some serious puppy dog eyes. Before they have a chance to stifle your breath he’s whipping himself around, calling Beomgyu over.

“Gyu, gyu,” Aspen chanted, bouncing in your hold. Setting her down on her feet, she wobbled a bit, then took off for the sidewalk, jumping into Beomgyu’s arms the second he hit the curb.

Spinning her around twice, her pink dress whizzing in a blur, little flecks of glitter flew about.

“Beomgyu, you’re gonna be covered in pink glitter, I’m just warning you,” you said, shoving your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. The boy with the straight brown bangs shrugged and pretended to toss your daughter in the air, making her shriek with joy.

“That’s fine, maybe it’ll keep the slu- ‘oppies away from me tonight,” he fumbled his words and sent a funny look toward you and Kai while Aspen toyed with his hair.

“Party tonight?” you asked Kai who shrugged, lifting a hand to twirl his curls around a finger while the other arm stayed put across his chest. When you met his eyes you found his a few inches lower than they should be.

“Our friends are in a frat, they have a Halloween party every year,” he doesn’t give off much excitement, it only shifted when he asked about Lila and who she was dressed as.

Watching Beomgyu and Aspen talk to one another, you smiled and said, “Chucky.”

“Chucky!?” Kai exclaimed. Aspen poked at one of Beomgyu’s earrings, asking him what it was.

Nodding your head you muttered, “I have one creepy kid, and one princess kid. One’s wearing a murderous doll costume, and the other is wearing a makeshift ball gown covered in-”

“What’s Mommy gonna wear?”

You pray he can’t hear the way your breath hitches in your throat. Cheeks warming, blinking a trillion times, your insides flooding with shame… No, shock… No, it was arousal. You cleared your throat and tilted your head toward him.

An innocent question. Parents, and friends of parents, refer to each other as that all the time, especially around the children, because that’s what the children addressed them as.

However, one of your kids was inside with her cool aunt, and the other was in the arms of a neighbor at the end of your driveway. 

Neither were in earshot, and Kai’s eyes were eating you alive.

He watched you through his lashes, deep brown irises melting into yours with a curiosity so deep you start to believe you can hear exactly what he’s thinking. Nibbling on one of his nails as if to satisfy some sort of need as he gazed at you, he gave you a small smirk.

“You know,” you cleared your throat, rolling your shoulders back to stand up straight. “I would say you could find out later, but if you’re gonna be at a party all night…” 

A thousand different emotions flashed over his face, not knowing which way to take your words. He clamped both arms across his chest and shifted his weight on his feet.

“What goes on here?” he asked, gesturing toward your setup at the end of the driveway beside Beomgyu and Aspen. “Trick or treating? You and the girls? What are you doing?” He’s suddenly a bit antsy.

“Table duty for me,” you said, not breaking eye contact. Once you started to play his games right back to him, the entire dynamic shifted.

For a couple days now it’s been a volley of sly comments, seeing who will be the first one to crack in this unspoken game of chicken.

You didn’t want it to be you. Being older than Kai, you didn’t want to be the first to crack, so you had to play his own game. If he was serious…

“Lila and Aspen will be trick or treating with Jihyo,” you said. Kai froze and tilted his head.

“So you’ll be here alone?” he asked, half concerned. You nod in response. “You wanna do this alone?” His brows twisted up, his concern more apparent.

“I’ve done a lot of things alone, Kai,” you smiled. He glanced away with a sigh. “I’ll be fine! I love this day, this is my favorite day, I’ll be happy no matter what.”

Looking back at you, he’s actually pouting this time. “So you don’t wanna hang out with me?” The widened sappy puppy eyes are back, and this time they stick.

Laughing to mask your nerves, you said, “Go to your party, why would you wanna sit on my driveway and hand out candy to kids all night? I’ve got cheesy Halloween playlists, you don’t wanna hear that.”

His eyes bore into yours. “What if I do?” he whispered.

Butterflies fill your belly.

“Can I see my sister please?” Jihyo shouted from the door. Breaking your neck, you tore your gaze away from Kai and met her glare. Lila danced out onto the driveway, barrelling right into Kai’s legs. She threw her arms around them and gave him a creepy laugh before she asked him if he liked her orange hair. 

He did.

Your feet were quick, taking you into your home filled with decorations on every wall, hanging in every doorway, wrapped around every railing. Breathing in the scent of cinnamon apple, your favorite candle, Jihyo grabbed your wrist and tugged you into your kitchen wearing a scowl.

“What are you doing?!” she seethed, steam pouring out of her ears. Looking down to where she held her death grip on your arm, her fingers were stained orange, and now your wrist was too. You really didn’t want to look at the walls in your bathroom.

“What are you talking about?” you asked to make her snicker in disbelief. 

“Oh, no no, don’t give me that,” she shook her head. “I saw you out on that driveway, Miss. If somebody didn’t cut you two off I guarantee you'd both be catching a charge.”

Rolling your eyes, you sighed, “No, we wouldn’t, Jihyo, we-”

“Need to get to it,” she shouted. “He wants you! You want him! Where’s the harm?”

Your eyes would’ve bugged out of your head if they could. “Jihyo. He’s twenty-one.”

“Okay, and?” She shrugged, shaking her shoulder length brown hair around. “I’m thirty and I slept with my fifty-two year old boss last week. What’s the difference?”

“Jihyo, we just…” you paused. “Wait, you what!? John? John Korbozol? Silver fox? Gave Lila a lollipop that she talks about whenever we drive by your office? John with the wife!?”

Jihyo waved a hand between you. “They’ve been separated.”

“Jihyo!”

“We’re not talking about me,” your sister took hold of your shoulders, giving you a shake. A wake up call. A once in a lifetime chance to do something you’ve never done. “They all graduate soon. All of them. And when they do, they move. I know it’s gonna hurt the girls, but I know it’ll hurt you more. You know what you want. You know what he wants.”

Nibbling your bottom lip, you nodded. Looking down at yourself in your jeans and an old high school football t-shirt that probably had Aspens breakfast from yesterday morning on the sleeve, you exhaled in exhaustion. “He doesn’t want this.”

Jihyo narrowed her eyes. “Yes. He does. When was the last time you actually looked at yourself. Aspen is three, and that shirt still fits you like you’re eighteen.” She glanced down for a moment, then smirked. “It fits you better than when you were eighteen actually.”

Knowing exactly what Kai had been eyeing up, it made you feel good, it made you feel sexy. A feeling you hadn’t had in a long time. It kinda made you wanna crawl into bed and hide under the covers. 

Sure, Aspen was three, but you divorced your husband when she was one. It’d been a long time for you, and you’re sure Kai is used to frisky party girls. You had zero game. Your game was nonexistent, it wasn’t even a question.

“So, what do I…” you gulped. “I… fuck him?” Your question ended with a whisper. Mommy mode was always on. Add that to the list of why you had no game. 

“Yes,” Jihyo said slowly. “Get yours. He’s a beautiful man who might move away forever, and then you’ll never have to see him again. No strings right in front of your face. A man who doesn’t care that you have kids. A man who doesn’t care that you have kids, who actually helps you with your kids. A man who loves your kids.” 

A deep breath erupted within your lungs. “Chill out. Not looking for a step-daddy.”

Jihyo smiled. “You need this. Just have fun.”

You're quiet for thirty seconds. Then, you nodded. “What do I do?”

“Oh my god,” Jihyo laughed, digging her fingers into your shoulders. “You invite him to stay. You forget about the candy on the driveway, you let me take the girls around the neighborhood twice.”

You furrowed your brows. “Only twice?”

Jihyo shrugged. “You haven’t had sex in, like, two years, and he’s twenty-one. This isn’t going to take hours.” Silence fell over the two of you before you broke out in giggles.

“Okay, but if I’m not outside when you guys get back from the second round, go for a third.” 

Jihyo pressed her lips together and bobbed her head. “I wish the same fate upon you, my love.”

Taking Jihyo’s advice, up in your bedroom after you’ve slipped into your costume that Aspen had chosen for you, you check yourself out in the full length mirror leaning against the wall next to your closet. Teal, sparkling green fabric clung to your hips and chest, leaving your midriff exposed to the air.

Princess Jasmine. Your baby wanted you to be a princess for Halloween, and you couldn’t say no. She was on an Aladdin kick regardless. She’s been obsessed with the live action film, it’s the only thing anyone is allowed to watch on Disney+. Knowing the script by heart and having the songs stuck in your head daily was worth getting to hear her squeal ‘Gyu’ whenever Aladdin popped onto the screen.

The boys shared no resemblance whatsoever. But, if Gyu was her prince, he was her prince.

Dragging your hands over your hips, you took a deep breath. They were definitely a little wider than they once were. Taking your fingers to your stomach, you drug them over your exposed skin and bit down on your lip. The skin wasn’t as tight as it used to be, and the little light squiggles, courtesy of Aspen, were three years old. 

Twisting to the side, you catch a glimpse of your backside, rounder now that you’re about to be thirty, and as your hands slide over your breasts, squeezing the silky fabric that revealed too much of you for liking, you suppose your sister was right.

Curvier, thicker, this was still sexy. 

And apparently Kai wanted it.

Warmth pooled in the depths of your stomach as your hands danced over your body. Toying with the waistband of the flowing pants, you couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have Kai slip them off of you. Slip you out of them. Undress you like you were wearing this promiscuous getup just for him.

Putting your hair up in a high ponytail, you scolded your breasts for how they nearly rolled out of the top when you lifted your arms. If you were eight years younger, if this were two kids ago, you wouldn’t be having this problem. This costume would fit you perfectly.

But, you were too woman for the fabric to handle.

You prayed you weren’t for the boy on the driveway.

You only wished you could’ve heard what he muttered to Beomgyu when you stepped out of the house in your golden strapped sandals.

“Jasmine!” Aspen squealed, jumping up and down, throwing her hands in the air. Lila whirled around and cheered, both girls giving you a standing ovation as you made your way down the porch and onto the pavement by the table.

Jihyo sat in one of the chairs with her eyes on Kai, humored beyond belief.

“Well?” You held out your arms and did a small spin, soaking in the approval from your girls still babbling over your get-up, waiting for the boys to say something. 

Anything.

Trick or Treaters were prowling the sidewalks already, the time had come to get the girls out of here, and your sister was ready. She just needed you to say the word.

Or, Beomgyu, who elbowed Kai in the back with a scoff. “You guys have fun,” he sang, ogling your chest, his eyes the last thing to leave you as he crossed the street, hopping in the car with Yeonjun.

Poking your tongue out between your lips, reaching down for Aspen who jumped at your side, you pulled her into your arms and gave Kai a smile. “You stayin’?”

Gulping, he took a deep breath and manually forced the words from his lips, “If you’ll have me.”

Yeonjun and Beomgyu pulled out of the driveway and flew down the street with a few obnoxious honks. Smirk growing, on both you and Kai, you whispered, “I guess you’re staying.”

“I guess I am,” he said softly, taking his bottom lip in his teeth.

Jihyo stood to her feet and sighed heavily, “Oh-kay,” she called out, holding her hands open for Aspen to slip into them. Lila bounced beside her, a lollipop in her mouth, one she swiped from the table. “Girls, it’s time, Trick or Treating, let’s go!” Her nieces shrieked, four little feet on the concrete, two tiny hands clutching plastic pumpkins ready to be full of the sweetest treats–

The three of them were off, leaving you behind with yours.

“So, how do we do this?” Kai asked, dragging a finger over the purple lace across the table.

Inhaling, you sighed, electricity sparking through your veins.

Wasn’t he supposed to know how to do this?

“Uh,” you stammered, “D-do what?”

Breaking into a smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners, he swooped around the table and pulled out one of the chairs for you. “Halloween,” he said smoothly over your shoulder, in your ear. Your stomach sank. “Tell me how to run the table.”

A group of children with two mothers approached your driveway, excited shouts echoing over the lawns, bouncing off your garage door, triggering neighbors' decorations to go off. 

Giving Kai a smile, you held up a finger, and the show began.

For half an hour, both you and Kai, you wandered about the table, brushed elbows leaning over to talk to the children who bounded up to the table, asking them who they were, guessing their costumes, you ran into each others paths countless times enough to the point of you grabbing him by the shoulders and sighing.

Children cleared the premise. 

Trick or Treaters seemed to slow.

The teenagers would be out and about soon, able to help themselves to a couple of candy bowls left on the table, surely you could step away for a minute…

Planting your hands on your hips after refilling a bowl of lollipops, you turned to Kai crouched down on the driveway who dropped a handful of candies into an Iron Man’s outstretched pillowcase.

“Happy Halloween,” he smiled softly, accepting the child's high five, waving to the parents as they moved onto the next house. Standing with the tiniest groan, he brushed his hands over his shirt and gave you a look. “That costume was legit,” he said with a small laugh, moving to your side, “I’ve seen that kid before, he lives on the street behind us I think, he’s crazy smart. His mom told me he’s, like, top of his class.”

Tapping him with your elbow, you asked, “You talk to a lot of moms?”

“Uh,” he stammered, blinking a few times, shaking his head, “No, it’s just, I was trying to, yanno, be polite, I wasn’t-”

Your smile softened. “Kai, I’m kidding,” you cooed, and he gulped.

His brows tweaked in the center of his forehead. Standing up completely straight, he slid his hands into his back pockets and shrugged. “Right, yeah. I just don’t want you to think that I’m, that I, like, do this for… Like, yanno.”

A middle schooler stepped in front of your table with a, “Trick or Treat!”

“Hi,” you grinned, taking in their costume of a character from a show your girls weren’t into yet, “I’m obsessed,” you shook your head, sighing, “You look incredible.” Reaching for a bowl, you dropped a handful of candy into their bag and giggled as they thanked you within a breath and darted for the next driveway. “It’s so cute, manners are erased tonight, replaced by Trick or Treat, and-”

Turning back to Kai, your breath hitches. He’d moved in closer. He was gazing at you in fact, a smile on his lips. He took a hand to your cheek, the tip of his middle finger grazing your skin, pulling a stray hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. 

Good god, why didn’t you know what to do… It had to be written all over your face, the shock, the surprise, the nerves, ‘cause Kai’s smile grew, lazily, his eyes drifting over every exposed part of your body, and you didn’t know what to do. 

You knew what you wanted. Throwing caution to the wind, you wanted him to put you through the mattress. You wondered how his lips tasted, if they were as sweet as they sounded. His hair tickling your neck, his broad, strong shoulders above you, pinning you down…

A beautiful, breathless laugh tumbled from him, as if he could hear every thought.

Snapping out of it, standing up completely straight instead of leaning toward him, you smiled and shook your head. “Do you want a drink?”

Kai nodded, eyes shutting tight. “Please.”

He followed you into the house, up the pavement, up the stairs, through the front door, hanging right behind you. You could feel his warmth, his shadow, he was so big. In the dim glow of the candles flickering on end tables and the kitchen counters, you led him to the fridge, pulling a mixer from the top shelf, handing it back to him. Taking it with two big hands and a smile, he whispered his thanks and you didn’t dare stare.

“I have vodka, tequila, whiskey if you’re up for it,” you spoke softly, the walls of your kitchen trapping you both in a tight bubble of unspoken lust that could be cut with a knife. Lingering behind you, Kai reached over your head for the liquor cabinet whose handle you wrapped your hand around. Fingers covering yours completely, you glanced over your shoulder to his smirk and sighed. 

Shadows framed his face, his features uniquely placed, stunningly. The gentle curve in his nose, the twist of his lips, the grit of his jaw, the point in his brows, the depth in his eyes. 

Cinnamon apple hung in the air, the sweet spice messing with your head. Kai towered over you, a whole head taller, his shoulders the perfect height to press your forehead to, to grab onto, to… hold onto.

The gentlest laugh, in the form of a breath, pushed through his lips. Pulling the cabinet open himself while you stared, he reached for the bottle of vodka. Dropping his gaze down to you and your curious eyes swallowing the width of his chest, he took your hand in his and placed it to your chest, just over your heart before he stepped away from you, his warmth moving with him.

“So, uh,” you cleared your throat, pressing your backside to the counters. “How’s school?”

Moving around your kitchen like he lived here, he opened another cabinet and pulled down two small glasses. Smirk stretching over his lips, he gave you a look. “You don’t care about that.”

You folded your arms over your chest, pushing up what had already been pushed up. Scoffing, you didn’t miss how his eyes dropped. “I so care about that.”

Kai rolled his shoulders back. Making it a point to gaze toward you longer, he turned his chin away and poured out two shots. “It’s… good.” 

Popping the bottle to the counter with a clang of the glass, he took both cups in his hands, his big hands, and took his time stepping closer to you. Shadow gulping you up once again, he stood toe to toe with you, tipping his head down. 

Taking the glass he slid into your palm, you gazed up at him and sighed. “Good,” you mumbled, nodding a thousand times, “That’s… good.”

Pressing the glass to his lips, you watched as he downed the shot he poured too much of, the liquor pouring down his throat like he did this every weekend. 

Because he did.

Tongue poking out between his lips, he placed his glass down and glanced at yours trembling in your fingers. Leaning toward you, he placed either hand on the counter behind you, caging you to the granite, his nose centimeters from yours. You felt so small.

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to,” he said softly, his voice a melody. 

Tearing your wide eyes away from the predator in his, you sucked in a deep breath and shrugged. “I-I don’t… I don’t really drink when the girls are around…”

Kai tilted his head, eyes glazing over your lips. “I know,” he whispered. “You don’t have to.”

Looking up at him, breath hitching in your throat, you burned. “But, uh, they’re not here right now.”

He smiled. “No, they’re not.”

“And, Jihyo’s here,” you said. 

Brown eyes twinkled, pink lips drank up your words.

He waited.

He was waiting.

Patient.

If he really was about to fold you in half…

Twisting the glass around in your fingers, you closed your eyes for a second, gave your head a shake, and downed the liquor.

He barely waited for the cup to hit the counter before he clasped his arms around your waist, the space between you going nonexistent, your heart leaping from your chest as he pressed himself to you entirely, dipping his chin down to catch your liquor soaked lips in a kiss far too heated for a first. A soft moan, one of surprise, came out of you and his fingertips pressed into your hips.

He kissed you. He was kissing you. You were kissing him, you were kissing Kai. And it was going somewhere, it was going to end up somewhere other than your kitchen counter, you were kissing him, and it was far from sweet. His lips moved with hunger, pent up desire, longing looks across the street, the discreet beg to hang out in your backyard, to carry your groceries in the house for you.

His patience, futile.

Sliding your hands up his chest, heavy breaths between heated kisses signifying content, you ran your fingers over every muscle, every broad piece of him. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, looping them around his neck, you pressed yourself to him, pushing off the granite into his arms, stepping up on top of his feet to get even closer.

His hands, greedy. Grabby, playful, delectable, big, he held onto you, he touched you, he let them roam over every curve he could reach, his hands on your ass for far longer than his eyes have ever been. Body moving like a gentle ocean wave against yours, his tongue came out to play and you folded. You pulled one leg around his waist and felt his parted lips smile on yours.

Your body pulsed. A fire coursing through your veins that only he had the power to put out. Pressure between your legs that’s been mediocrely satisfied by your fingers alone for two years now. 

You weren’t sure if it made it better or worse to know that he knew that too. 

Big hands curving over your ass, he held you to him and bent you backwards some, taking his lips to your cheek, your jaw, then below your ear, where he pulled at your earring with his teeth, and whispered, “What does mommy want?”

The sound that escaped you made his hands tighten. Scooping you up in one swift motion, you wrapped yourself around his front and rolled your hips into his, friction necessary. You’re certain the chiffon on your thighs was soaked through. Digging your fingers through his curls, you thrust his head backward. He blinked, lips glistening and parted, eyes sparkling and wide, brows soft and flipped over entirely.

Fuck.

“You,” sighing, you caught his lips in a kiss, mumbling against them, “I want you.”

He groaned, an erotic sound trapped his chest that sent a shock through your body. “Never thought I’d ever hear you say that.”

“Take me upstairs,” you whispered, kissing him once, smiling as his eyes fluttered shut.

He wasted little time, moving immediately, hooded eyes and messy kisses maneuvering himself and you in his arms through the hall and up the staircase, slowly, tongues prodding cheeks, bumping into walls, pausing there for a few distracted wet seconds before making it to the second floor and into your bedroom, kicking your door shut with his foot.

Sliding down his front to the floor, you slipped your sandals off and grabbed at the hem of his shirt, your lips parting for all of two seconds to slip it over his head, his curls going astray. Letting your hands take in his chest for all it was, your shock, your lust coming through your fingers that groped him, you sighed into his mouth and he sucked it in through clenched teeth. 

Dragging his tongue over your lips, he danced his hands around your back and unhooked the teal satin top keeping you from him. Taking it off gently, the brush of his fingers sending a chill down your spine, he backed you up toward your bed and sat you on the edge, nipping at your bottom lip as he slipped the satin down your arms. Cold air struck you, pebbling your nipples as he backed away from you and grabbed onto a dresser like it was his sanity.

He couldn’t not look at your tits, his chest heaving with breaths while his tongue sat on top his bottom lip, perched between his teeth. You couldn’t blame him. Resting your hands back on the mattress, your eyes lingered on his chest, the size of him, the mass of man that could crush you, snap you, break you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, ridding himself of his clothes. 

Belt clinging, shoes thumping into a wall, everything but the boxers hugging his hips. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until he wedged himself between your thighs, spreading them with his knees before he dropped down to them. Lips pressing to your skin, the valley between your breasts, he curled his fingers into the elastic of your chiffon bottoms and worked them over your hips. 

Eyes locked on him, reminding yourself to breathe, you took one hand to his curls and tugged, the sound that left him making every muscle in your body tense. 

Undressing you completely, tossing the clothes behind him, he brushed his lips over a nipple and gazed up at you. Pushing your thighs open, his hands on your knees, he flicked his tongue over the tight bud and smirked as you threw your head back and whined.

“You like it when I call you mommy?” he asked, voice husky, yet soft. Wrapping his lips around your nipple, his teeth grazed it and your jaw dropped open with a moan, arms tightening around him. Hands sliding up your thighs, spreading you further, he trailed his lips down your belly, over the soft strikes of lightning, taking his time to kiss every single one. “You’re so sexy,” he whispered, voice muffled by his lips on your skin, “Wanted this for so long…”

Falling backward to your elbows, head hanging, body curling toward him, letting him have his way with you, you managed to whisper, “Kai…”

And then your eyes popped open. 

And his lips pressed to the inside of your thigh, his tongue drawing a wet hot stripe on the inside of your hip, his big hands palming your tits, his thumbs rolling your nipples…

Kai did that.

This was Kai, the boy across the street, the twenty-one year old, the senior in college.

“Wait,” you breathed, sitting up, feeling him get closer to that spot between your thighs that desperately needed attention, “Wait.” Taking him by the cheeks, one in each hand, you sat forward and tipped his head back, taller than him, looking down at him. Surprised, he gulped, eyes wide and bright, shining, pleading, wondering where they went wrong.

Pressing your thumbs into his cheeks, you squished his parted lips and shook your head ever so slightly. “What are we doing?”

Kai blinked. His only answer. 

“Are we really doing this?” You released a breath, whispering down at him, on your floor, on his knees, his head between your legs, his tongue on his lips like it wanted nothing more than to bury itself in your warmth. He blinked again. Your grip tightened on his jaw, and he sighed. “Kai,” your tone went stern.

He whimpered, “Please, mommy.”

You tightened around nothing, and he smirked at how your jaw fell open, how your body reached for him, the breath that shot through you telling him everything he needed to know. 

“I knew it,” he whispered, moving quickly, tucking his hands under your arms, picking you up to throw you back onto your pillows. 

Falling with a whine, your legs parting instinctively for him as he crawled toward you, your voice shook, “Knew what?”

Kai pressed your legs open, lowering himself over you, his tongue teasing, barely touching you. With a devilish smile, he sang, “You’re filthy,” and drowned himself in your slick, tongue swirling over your clit with little mercy.

Crying out for him, the foreign pleasure shooting through you, you dug your fingers in his hair, at the root of his curls, and pulled, eliciting a moan out of him, amplifying the feel of the twist of his tongue. Arching off the bed, desperate for it all, desperate for him, you grind on his lips and feel him laugh. 

Releasing him, propping yourself up on your elbows, your body unable to stop moving with him, you watched him make out with your pussy, his amusement evident in his eyes as he looked at you. Reaching for a handful of curls, you pulled him off of you, a string of spit from his lips keeping the two of you connected. His smirk sparked something within you.

“What’s funny?” you asked after a deep breath that did nothing to soothe the buzzing beneath your skin. 

Kai licked his lips and drug the tip of his middle finger through your slit, his smile growing as you shook. “You’re a slut, aren't you?” 

“Excuse me,” you whispered, pulling him back further by his hair, the tug contorting his expression with ecstasy. A smile graced your lips. “I think the slut here is you.”

He moaned. Moaned. 

“I do like it when you call me mommy,” you tugged at his hair, the pleasure on his face spurring you on, “But, I think you like it more, don’t you, baby?”

His hips pushed into the mattress. “I do,” fell from his lips in a sigh, his hooded eyes gazing at you, his tongue resting on his bottom lip again. 

Tilting your head, pouting your lips, ignoring your own thrumming need for him to do something to you, you asked, “What do you want, babe?”

“To fuck you full,” he gasped, his blatant honesty making your toes curl. “Want you to make a mess of my cock,” he whispered, “Wanna fill you up, wanna make you want me like I want you-”

“I do want you,” you let him go and he crawled on top of you. His jaw squeezed shut, hovering over you he dipped down, brushing his nose against yours before dancing it over your cheek, settling his elbows on the bed above your shoulders. Smoothing your arms around his back, dragging your nails over his skin, your lips ghosted one another as you whispered, “Please.”

Through grit teeth, he groaned, “Please, what?”

You couldn’t believe he was on top of you, looking down at you, the taste of you still on his tongue. Spread open beneath him, your legs wrapping around his waist, clinging to him like you never wanted him to go, you swallowed tight and fluttered your lashes. 

“Fuck me, baby,” you whispered, rolling a gentle kiss to his lips, “Make me yours.”

A wicked smile flashed over his face. Pushing off of you, off of the mattress, he pulled your legs off of him and hooked his hands under your knees. Spreading his own thighs, he pressed your legs backward, your knees on your shoulders, Kai folding you in half. Pushing himself into you, sliding into your warmth with nothing other than a groan, he bit onto your bottom lip and drank in your whine, the stretch of him all too much, overwhelming, knocking you breathless. 

“So fucking tight,” he groaned with a snap of his hips, his fingers pressing into your skin. 

Grabbing onto him, somehow, someway, you gasped, “So big,” and he smirked. 

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he mumbled with steady thrusts into you. After a quick kiss and a shared gasp of air, he took his hands from behind your knees to your neck, letting your legs fall over the width of his shoulders. Every moan that slipped from your lips went right down his throat, his tongue dipping out to play with yours as his breaths grew short.

“Not surprised,” you whined, body arcing into his, nails digging into his back, little red lines engraved on the soft olive. 

His laugh, one derogatory. “Sounded pretty surprised,” he whispered, pressing his fingers to the sides of your neck, lips curling into a smile when you gasped. “What… ‘Cause I’m twenty-one it means I can’t have a big cock? Look at you.” He snapped into you harder, faster, laughing again as you arched and mewled. 

Smacking your hands to his skin, you shook your head, pressure building in your center. “No, no, don’t say that.”

Kai shifted on his knees, lifting you by your hips, every thrust getting harder, if that were even possible. “What?” He snickered, looking down at you. “That you’re a fucking mess already and I’ve barely fucked you?” His lips curled. You clenched around him before he even said it. “Or that I’m twenty-fucking-one, and you hate that it does something to you.”

You threw your head back with a moan that bounced off of the walls, one that made Kai’s delectable pace stutter. 

He moved again, quickly this time, grabbing onto your arms, pulling them off of him. Wrapping one hand around both wrists, he pinned them over your head, taking his other between your legs, thumb pressing to your swollen clit.

“You hate it,” he spat, the snap of his hips insatiable. Lips pressing to your cheek, the curve of his nose on your temple, his voice sent shockwaves of nirvana through you. “I see the way you look at me, I hear every thought, I know you’ve wanted this for as long as I have, but the way you torture yourself,” he sighed, grazing his teeth against your skin, “You think it’s wrong.”

The twist of his thumb drove you mad. You writhed beneath him like a woman unnerved, at his mercy, unable to tell your body to stop, to turn it off, to let it go, to accept it.

“I can feel it in you right now,” he groaned, “Feels so good, but you won’t let yourself have it,” gulping he tipped his chin back, screwed his brows together, and whimpered, “Feels so good, mommy.”

You almost came.

Your body shook, your back arched, and he laughed.

Brushing his lips over your ear, he whispered, “Let go. It’s fucking hot, you letting me take you like this, letting me fuck you like this. It’s not wrong, it’s so fucking right, feels so fucking good. Your body wants me, baby, let me have it.” Attempting to pull your hands free from his hold, he only held you down tighter. “No,” he muttered through his teeth, “You’re gonna cum first. Then, I’ll let you go.”

Wriggling again, he held you tighter, his nails digging into your wrists. 

“Want you to cum, too,” you whined breathlessly, “We can… go again.”

Kai’s eyes widened slightly, his grip faltering some. “Again,” he sighed, hips getting sloppy.

“Again,” you moaned, fucking yourself onto him with every thrust. “You’re twenty-one, you’ve got two more rounds in you.”

“Fuck,” he gasped, falling on top of you, freeing your hands from his. 

Grabbing onto him, clinging to him as he pistoled into you, bed creaking, moans, whimpers, and whines dancing together, sweat coating skin, bodies melting into each other, you whispered, “Fill me up and fuck me again.”

Kai breathed. “Fill you-”

You laced your fingers in his hair, the coil in your core seconds from snapping. “Inside,” you begged, “Want your cum inside me.”

He managed a smile, a degrading laugh meshed with knowing, with disbelief. “You are a slut.”

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Small island, smaller town, an even smaller neighborhood, the wide berth along the coast stood to remind you there was more out there. Things you haven’t seen, things you’ve heard of in stories, on the news, there was more to your life than consignment shops and family-owned restaurants. There were more people than your household, your four friends, the community where everyone knew each other, everything that happened behind closed doors. 

In your small town, in the quiet streets where close-knit homes lined the pavement, there was beauty in loneliness. You dreamt of busy streets, cars honking in traffic, people lining the sidewalks where they all kept their heads down because they didn’t care who crossed their path. Those places didn’t have insects singing in trees, they didn’t have midnight silence, they didn’t have countless stories of men walking beside you in skin that didn’t belong to them. 

In October, your small town’s folklore came alive. 

In October, anything was possible. 

Somewhere far away from here, with busy streets and loneliness that didn’t feel lonely at all, you wouldn’t have to second guess if the man who opened the door for you had a soul. You wouldn’t have to guess if there was blood pumping through their veins, if the wide grin of decades of unbrushed teeth was genuine. In big, populated areas, you could assume that everyone around you was human. 

But still, midnight solitude called to you. Heavier clothes, cheeks tinted red from windburn, you were only accompanied by the shrill screams deep in the woodlands you reminded yourself over and over to ignore. Head down, eyes focused on the pavement, the sound of your boots hitting asphalt was your only companion. Sometimes Hyunjin would join you, when his thoughts got the best of him and sleep was too far to chase, his boots would beat with yours until you sounded like a thundering pulse. 

Hyunjin was asleep tonight. 

Midnight in October still beckoned you outside. 

In your twenty minutes of focus trained by decades of practice, you almost missed a new sound. Soft whimpers, whines almost, your instincts told you to keep your head down, to not let your eyes wander, but your brain told you to Look. That it was urgent. That this wasn’t the same symphony of deception you heard when leaves turned brown, this was for You. 

To your left, across the street behind a black steel fence, was your small town’s cemetery. Everyone you’ve ever known that’s passed has been buried there, rows and rows of mossed over, gray stone, acreage of people six feet under, nothing but bones and dust. You didn’t want to look. You didn’t want to see what might follow you home tonight if you gave it any attention. 

You looked anyway. Small, orange, white underbelly, four legs of black-tipped feet. A fox. Its tail standing tall behind it, as if its orange fur was poorly dyed black, its eyes were pointed, nose tipped upward. 

Breath you could see escaped through parted lips as your boot-covered feet came to a stop across the cemetery. You don’t have foxes around here, this is the first time you’ve ever seen one, and it might be your last. 

“What are you doing here?” You whisper, keeping your voice low and eyes steady on the animal. It stared back, it seems, as if it heard you, as if it knew you, as if it wanted you closer. Its tail began to wag, dancing side to side in the brisk wind, its feet stepping in place to the freezing ground beneath.

You were frozen, in shock, in confusion. A fox shouldn’t be here. 

Just as your heel left the pavement, it turned on its hind legs, prancing away. Just like that, gone into October silence, amongst the darkness and the souls that walked along the living. You wondered if it made friends there. 

As if nothing ever happened, like fear wasn’t raising every hair on your body, you kept your head down as you walked home. Fast-paced, boots pounding like Hyunjin was beside you, your half a mile walk home was completed in record time. 

That night, you dreamt of orange. You dreamt of pointed eyes, dimpled cheeks, a smile that could kill, you dreamt of a man you’ve never seen before. 

“Come on,” you laugh, sitting across Seungmin’s childhood bedroom, coated in burnt orange tones and posters frayed at the edges, curling over the thumbtacks that held them in place. Twirling in his geometric-printed desk chair of muted greens and blues, Hyunjin, Jisung and Felix all sat close to each other on his abstractly designed bedspread. “There’s no way in Hell you guys believe that for real.” You stick your hand in the plastic, stained bowl filled with chips on his light wooden desk, palming a handful before shoving them in your mouth. 

Jisung, mid-laugh, waves his hands in front of his face, his chocolate brown curls dancing over his cheeks. “Out of all the stories we’ve heard over the years, you’re telling me that’s the one that finally makes you a believer?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe the others, they’re just not interesting,” Felix shrugs, pink dusting his freckled cheeks, blonde hair hanging messily over his temples. “You don’t feel anything knowing there’s a hot guy roaming the cemetery with an axe? You’re telling me you don’t want to go there to see if he’s everything the Elders say he is?”

“As hot as he sounds,” Hyunjin cranes his neck, stretching his muscles, blonde hair so short in that area you could barely see it, “I don’t really want to die here without seeing anything else the world has to offer.”

“We’re skipping over the part where Felix finally believes in the paranormal because he’s hot,” Seungmin lifts himself from the bed, dark wash denim flattening out as he crosses the room, stealing the bowl of chips back from his desk. “Hogger.”

“You left them here,” you shrug, then turn your attention back to the boys on the bed, Hyunjin and Felix beside each other with Jisung lounged across the foot, “Lix, you can get some from a guy who isn’t a ghost or a skinwalker.”

“I do,” he makes a face that says duh, his arm stretching out in reference to the buzzcut boy on his right, “He’s literally in the room. But he’s leaving in a few months, I need a back-up.”

Hyunjin lurches over to smack the bare skin of his arm that wasn’t covered by a graphic tee, offense clear in the knit of his brows, “Just because I’m leaving doesn’t mean I won’t still be with you, dumbass.”

“We aren’t even together, dumbass,” Felix sneers and it’s envying that even anger looks cute on him, “Too worried about what Daddy will say.”

“Alright,” Jisung grabs the orange-stained bowl of chips from Seungmin’s hand, shoving it between Hyunjin and Felix, “Back to the subject. Do you guys wanna go check it out?” 

All of your eyes land on Jisung, a silence laying over the room. He looks at each one of you with raised brows, “Well, there’s only one way to find out if it's all true, right? If there’s some dimpled, sexy guy with massive biceps that carries around an axe, lurking around a bunch’a graves?”

“The Elders say he only comes out on Halloween,” Seungmin argues, running a hand through his short, dark, choppy hair, “He won’t even be there tonight. There’s still a week until Halloween.” 

“The lining is weaker here,” you say quietly, mind immediately escaping back to the small orange and black animal. You wonder if it will be there again, you haven’t gone back to the cemetery since that night, you’ve been taking your walks on the opposite side of town, closer to the screams in the woodlands. You couldn’t decide which was worse. 

Picking your eyes back up, you realize they’re all staring at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue. You sputter, “I- Well, my mom says the island is… Different. The veil that separates the living from the dead is thinner. He might just be there if we’re lucky.”

“My mom’s told me that before,” Felix cracks a smile, “I always thought it was bullshit.”

“You’re a scaredy-cat,” Seungmin huffs, flopping onto his bed again, body folded up by the pillows. “We all see things, hear things, you just don’t want to believe it because it makes it all real.”

Felix curls his face up, but the way his ears tip red tells all of you Seungmin is spot-on. Hyunjin giggles, “Badass, fearless Felix. If you’re so sure it isn’t true, you won’t argue about going there tonight, right?”

“I might argue,” Jisung whispers, “I didn’t really think this all the way through.”

“It was your idea!” You argue, jaw dropped, sides of your lips curled in amusement. 

“I was the only believer in the first place!” Felix’s features are widened in surprise as he glances at Hyunjin, “How did we turn this into me being the non-believer?” 

“That’s just how the cookie crumbled,” Seungmin reaches forward, sticking his palm into the bowl of chips, “Non-believer.”

Hours later, minutes short of midnight, there were several heartbeats of boots pounding against pavement as you faced October silence together. No one had spoken since you met at the stop sign beside Seungmin’s split-level home, coming together with hands buried in your pockets, only a nod shared between the five of you. You had two on your left and two on your right, all five of you with your heads down, ears blocking out the unexplainable noise from the woodlands. The coast wheezes, chill slipping between the space of your necks and your hoods, forcing the five of you closer together. 

The second half of the year was faced better in numbers. 

With the four of them beside you, you should feel safer. You should feel protected, like October hasn’t stripped you bare, but even with four bodies only fingertips away from you, you still felt naked. Alone. 

Your boots came to a slow stop on the pavement across from the graveyard, the four of you stood in a line, hands still buried in fur pockets, heads too afraid to look up. You’ve heard the stories, all of you have, about what creeps around at night, what lurks in the darkness. You’ve been advised for so long not to do the very thing you were doing, but five kids in their early twenties, you all had a strong arrogant streak that lived just beside your spine. Like the things you’ve heard, the things you were taught, wouldn’t happen to you.

Stupid. 

“Alright,” Seungmin finally mutters, voice low, shaky. His breath spills out of his lips like a cloud of smoke, illuminated in skips by the flickering streetlight. He looks down the line at all of you and his head is still bowed, “Shall we?”

None of you move for what feels like forever. The fear was palpable in the air, you swore you could hear five pounding heartbeats, no boots to dull the noise. A sharp, shrill sound echoes through the darkness, from somewhere behind you, hopefully deep in the woodlands. Only the Gods know what could have made a noise like that, but you have a good idea, thanks to all the stories embedded in you since childhood. It gets your feet moving, though, five pairs of boots stepping forward, crossing the pavement. 

The cemetery feels damp. The grass, halfway brown already, was mush beneath your feet, boots sinking in with each step. Jisung’s voice has shriveled down into a shaky peep, “Will we even see him? It’s so dark.”

“We’ll see him,” Hyunjin responds, his own voice shaky, “I think a beefy guy carrying around an axe is kinda hard to miss.” 

“It’s so dark, it feels pointless,” Jisung’s chuckle is so nervous it makes your fingertips twitch in the fur of your pockets, “We should just turn back.”

You feel a heaviness in your gut at the idea, an instinct to say No. Felix cuts in first, “Hell no, we’re here already, and I want to see him if he’s real.”

“You shouldn’t say Hell no here, Felix,” Jisung’s whisper is sharp, scolding. Felix’s giggle is much too casual for your liking. 

You take your hands from your pockets as the five of you walk deeper into the cemetery, sucking deep, controlled breaths into your lungs. The heaviness in your gut turns to a stretch of warmth, comfort, a feeling you could barely pay attention to let alone find actual comfort in. Your ears perk up at every step the boys take, every sharp sound, every expanse of their lungs, the darkness barely illuminated by the flickering streetlamp makes you hyperaware of every noise that bounces off stone. 

“I think my grandma is buried somewhere around here,” Seungmin wanders into the rows of headstones, disappearing into the damp depth of night, his feet light on mushy ground, eyes on alert as his head turns between headstones, trying to make out words or numbers or both. 

“All of our ancestors are in here,” you respond, the four of you waiting in the pathway of pavement just behind him. “At least we have some protection.”

Felix snorts, “I’m not getting any protection from those homophobes. They’re sending the beasts after me.”

You hear Jisung and Hyunjin smack Felix from either side of him, and Felix gasps a curse. Jisung whines, “Stop saying stuff like that, Felix, I’m serious. Be respectful.”

“Am I wrong?” The blonde holds his arms out on either side of him in a shrug, “I’m not scared, what are they gonna do to me from six feet in the ground?”

Seungmin cries out a curse and you’re all jumping forward, racing toward him on slow feet. “Are you okay?” You ask, much too loud, eyes wide and alert as you silently pray for night vision. You find him farther than you’d thought he walked, crouched on the ground, holding his ankle. 

“I fucking tripped,” he groans, “They don’t mow the lawn and shit? Why are there branches all out in the open?”

“Seungmin!” Jisung breathes, “Watch your language, please.” He smacks Felix again, “This is your fault, look at what you did. Your grandma probably just tripped Seungmin.”

Your lips curl, and then the four of you stare at him for a moment before you break out into a chorus of laughter, Jisung standing silent with his arms crossed, still looking horrified. 

“I’m serious!” He whines again, then he’s looking down at Seungmin, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Seungmin mutters as he stands back up, wiping off the denim on his legs, “A branch can’t kill me, but axe-man can. Where is he? It’s fucking cold.”

“I’m giving up on you people,” Jisung wanders away, gloved hands thrown over his head, words growing quieter the farther he gets, “I’m gonna be the last man standing, have any of you ever seen a horror movie? I’m going home.”

You push out a steady breath after Jisung passes through the cemetery gates, turning back to the three men left standing, “You still wanna check out the rest?”

The three men nod, and you’re back on your feet again, boots crunching against the ground that grows colder. The deeper you get, the colder it feels in the air, heavier and damp with humidity, it’s creepy. You can hear them breathe, how their coats move with each movement of their arms, their sniffs when wind nips at their noses a little too hard. 

“Oh my God!” Hyunjin’s whisper is almost loud enough to be his normal speaking voice as he skips over to a tall tombstone, a woman wrapped in silk above a massive cement block, the distant moonlight highlighting every smooth curve. He reaches forward, paint-chipped fingernails caressing the carved stone, “It’s the Sleeping Woman.”

The three of you follow on his heel. You ask, “The Sleeping Woman?”

“Your parents never told you?” He’s smiling as he turns around, white teeth dazzling under the moonlight, his beanie pulled far over his ears. He leans back onto the cement block, sweatpants probably not shielding him from how cold it is, “She’s famous in history, she passed away in her sleep beside her sleeping husband. She didn’t want to die without him, so in the moments before her death, she killed him, too. Now her husband haunts the house they lived in, over on Blythe.”

Seungmin snorts, “If she passed in her sleep how did she kill her husband before she died?”

“I don’t know,” Hyunjin shrugs, still grinning, clearly excited. “That’s just what I was told. The Choi family lives in that house now, we should ask one of them if they’ve ever seen him.”

“I am not asking Beomgyu anything,” you shake your head, and the three of them wear grins because they already know what’s coming, “Nor am I asking Yeonjun. They’re still mad at me for sleeping with both of them.”

“I can ask Sannie,” Felix sings, sounding a little too mischievous. He leans in close to your ear, “I don’t think Jinnie likes me talking to him, though.”

“Stay away from Choi San,” Hyunjin pushes himself from the stone, taking a step towards Felix. “I have height, but he has muscle.”

You’d laugh if you didn’t catch orange from the corner of your eye. Whipping your head around, you can see the fluffy, black-tipped orange tail under the skipping streetlamp as it prances across the grass, disappearing behind a headstone. 

“I’ll be right back,” you mumble to your friends, Seungmin still laughing, Felix and Hyunjin still bickering. Neither of them spare you a glance as you turn on your heel, eyes zeroed in where the fox had slipped away from your gaze. 

Their voices quieted even if they were still too close for it to be this silent. You hear the crunch under your boots as the flickering streetlamp dims, seeming to finally give out entirely. Like a dog on a trail, your back is slightly hunched, taking in how the moonlight cascades over the ground, muted shades of green and brown, the headstones almost blending in with the October earth. 

Walking down a row of headstones too old for you to make out any lettering, you’re squinting now, head turning left and right in hopes of catching a lick of orange. The fox seems to be long gone, deep into the cemetery by now, taunting you by only giving you a glimpse, as if it wants you to follow. Your mind feels hazy but controlled, following after an animal that isn’t even supposed to be there in the first place, but you can’t place why your curiosity is so strong. 

You come to a long tomb, cement stretching for what you assume is about six feet, stones wedged within cracks sparkling under moonlight peering in through branches above your head. Your breath catches at the sight of it, eyes running over its length, the figure carved in the center. You step closer, uncurling your hands from your pockets to let your fingers touch the block, skin just barely meeting the cold surface, but the ice that radiates from it flows through your veins as if you were laying across the top of it. 

At the very top, above the figure’s head, words were carved deeply, roughly. “Yang Jeongin,” you whisper, fingers running over the dips, “Seventeen-oh-eight.”

Your hand falls down, over where his hair should be, now completely covered by moss and dirt. Your palm slides down to his cheek, fingers dipping into the dimples on his cheeks, over his lips still perfectly intact. Down his shoulders, over his chest, you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

You yelp in surprise when you feel a brush between your legs. You jump a little, cursing under your breath as you look down, a whirl of orange and black between your ankles. The fox. 

“Hey, you,” you mumble, a hand over your heart, willing it to calm down. A smile forms on your face, voice light with amusement, “You messin’ with me?”

It nuzzles against your boot-covered ankle, almost seeming to purr against you. It takes a step away, forward, brushing its body against the stone, sitting down on its butt, staring up at you. Deep, black beady eyes, fur so fluffy around its face, nose black and beard white as moonlight, it wore the orange like a hat.

Slowly, you crouch down. “Hey there,” you smile, hands slowly reaching forward, “You’re not supposed to be here, you know.”

It allows you to touch it after a good sniff, you pet it carefully, as if it’s made of glass. Its rough, orange fur coarse between your fingers, it nuzzles its head up into your palm, ears bending against your skin. A small, soft laugh leaves your lips, eyes pulled wide in awe. “You saw me the other night, right? You recognize me or something?”

It whines again, the smallest, softest whimper. Your grin spreads, heart calming in your chest, “You’re a sweet lil’ thing.” 

“What the hell are you doing?”

Seungmin’s voice scares you so bad you fall backwards, landing directly on your ass, a sharp yelp piercing the October silence as your legs kick out before you. You look behind you to where they stand in an arrow, all of their faces twisted up into confusion. You sputter, “I- There was a fox!”

Seungmin raises a brow, “A fox?”

“Girl,” Felix snorts a laugh, “There are no foxes here.”

“I swear!” Your voice is high-pitched, fear making your body feel cold. Maybe it was the frigid, damp earth beneath your sweats. You snap your gaze forward, blinking, and of course the fox is long gone. 

You pout, head tipping back to push a breath between your lips, fingers curling into the ground. “Whatever,” you sigh, then push yourself back up to your feet, knees cracking as you stand. 

“Let’s go,” Hyunjin says hurriedly, “The beasts are getting to you instead of Felix.” 

You try to scowl, but a smile tugs at the corners of your lips. It’s Felix’s turn to smack Hyunjin on the arm, “Not funny. Your beasts are waiting for you at home, you know.” 

Hyunjin rolls his eyes, and you fall into step with the three of them, dampness and darkness opening up like the gates of heaven when the street lamp lights up the pavement once more. 

“We didn’t see axe-man,” Seungmin complains, “Should we tell Ji we did, though? Maybe he’ll piss himself or something.” 

“He’ll go off for thirty minutes about how we summoned him by cursing,” Felix giggles, “I don’t think he’ll be all that scared. He’ll probably be pissed at us for the next few days for disrespecting the dead.” 

You sigh, still feeling the curves and dips of that tomb on your palms. You dig your hands into your pockets, head tilting in thought as you exit the gates, boots scuffing against the pavement. You wonder who was beneath the stone, six feet under, who would have gotten such an intricate grave— Were they famous? A political figure in your small town? A member of one of the wealthier families that lived on the island?

And that fox. You know it was there. You saw it, you touched it, you can feel the ghost of its fur against your ankles. 

You needed to go back there. 

Alone next time. 

It took a week to gain the courage. When you think back on that night, your heart pounds against your chest, was your brain so hazy that you made up an entire animal? Gaslighting yourself didn’t really work, mainly because you saw it twice. You felt it, the bend of its ears, its cold, damp nose when it sniffed your palm, fingers twining in its coarse fur. Your brain couldn’t make something like that up, you’ve never even seen a fox before. 

That tomb… Something about it called to you. The more you think about it, the more you think the fox led you there for a reason. But why would a fox take you to a random grave of someone born in the seventeen hundreds? You couldn’t figure it out. You couldn’t bring yourself to search up that name, either. 

Yang Jeongin. He had to be beautiful, with how his carved, stone body felt under your palm, you wonder how accurate the stone is. Did he really have those dimples? Those pretty, plump lips? Were men just made like that back then?

In the six nights that have passed, you’ve dreamt wildly, vividly, seeing flashes of orange, a tail dancing between your legs, dimples, hair black as night, teeth white as snow. You think it’s him in your dreams, wading between tombstones, an axe thrown over his shoulder, veiny hands curled around it. His biceps, massive, chiseled like the stone he lay beneath, beautiful. More beautiful than you could have ever imagined. Your mind was putting all the pieces together for you, but you still couldn’t accept it– It was just a scary night, a scary story told before you went to a scary place with your friends, your brain made up a false truth and terrorized you with it every time you closed your eyes. 

Until you snoozed last night, that dream was unlike the rest. You woke up in a cold sweat, a stickiness between your thighs, heart pounding against your chest. Bits and pieces remained, him bending you over the tombstone, his axe dangerously close to your skin… But those dimples, that smile, his biceps, his voice… You woke up this morning praying to the Gods he was real. Hoping that would happen to you if you went back there. 

Gods, you needed to get laid. Were you really going to go back to the cemetery on Halloween night in hopes of getting plowed by the ghost of an axe murderer? You pushed the thought far, far away, you were going to go back because you needed to know. Like an unsolved case, you needed to know if the fox was real, if he was real, if the stories rang true. Is he the man six feet below the earth? Your curiosity might just really be the death of you.

Your neighborhood gathered at the end of your block just a street over from Seungmin’s house, your small town did Halloween differently than the norm. A massive block party was held every year on October thirty-first, the whole community gathered to commemorate the history of your island, your ancestors buried all in the same place, their souls joining you in celebration. You loved Halloween, you loved the party, the offerings, dressing up, not in a costume but instead a pretty black dress, conservative, appropriate and dark enough to slip away unnoticed.

Which is exactly what you were about to do, if your friends would stop circling you like hawks. Standing beside the live band, a group of neighborhood kids dancing before the guitarist, Beomgyu, the bassist and drummer his two brothers, Yeonjun and San. You’d already put enough alcohol in Hyunjin’s system to give him the courage to ask the brothers if they’d seen the Sleeping Woman’s husband in their home, in which San replied Yes, and then proceeded to ask if Hyunjin was single. 

It was safe to say Felix was keeping Hyunjin far away from the Choi brothers for the rest of the night.

They laughed around you, Hyunjin’s tipsy, high-pitched giggle louder than the other three’s controlled cackles. You smiled into your cup, you’ve only had a sip or two, knowing your plans would soon commence. You needed a clear mind. 

“I’m gonna run home to use the bathroom,” anticipation eating you alive, it might have been too early to bid them goodnight, but maybe Hyunjin would keep them busy enough to not come searching for you.

Seungmin and Jisung nodded your way, and you swore you heard the jingle of your chains breaking free. As soon as you turned a smile broke out across your face, it was a fight not to sprint in the direction of the cemetery. As the music got quieter as you turned the corner, heading down the street the graveyard was on, the music grew quieter and quieter until there was nothing but a dull vibration of bass in the pavement. You realized how quiet it really was when you finally made it to the spot you’ve seemed to frequent often lately, no shrill screams coming from the woodlands, no wheezing breeze whirling in from the coast. You wondered if the commotion was at the celebration with your family and friends, you hoped the axe-man stuck around. 

Taking a deep breath, you summoned confidence into your veins– With a nod of your head, your platforms clunked against the platform as you crossed the pavement. Entering the cemetery gates, your hand laid on the icy column at the entrance, stone so cold it could be confused with ice. The chill runs through you in a shudder, shoulders shaking beneath the base of your neck, but it keeps your eyes wide, your senses sharp. 

You racked your hazy memory for the pathway to his tomb, Yang Jeongin’s tomb, heart picking up speed in your chest, breaths coming out shallow as your platforms sunk into the mushy ground beneath your feet, not quite cold enough yet to feel the familiar crunch. The air smelled wet, earthy, so inviting your legs moved on their own, as if your body knew the way already. 

The moonlight poured in through the branches, illuminating the six feet of gorgeous stone like she hung herself in the sky just to shine down on it. Your eyes moved in a slow blink, lashes barely touching your cheek, breath sucked out of your chest entirely when you saw the figure sitting on it. 

Hair black as night, shoulders wide, the muscles in his back flexed under his tank top… Axe thrown over his shoulder, barely indenting the skin. Wooden, rotted handle, dirty red blade, thick and menacing, you already knew he was beautiful from the sight of his posterior. He looked exactly like your dreams, he seemed like he felt exactly like the stone he sat on. Your heart dropped into your ass.

“Yang Jeongin,” you whispered, fingertips twitching at your sides.

When he turned around, you made yourself a believer that dreams really do come true. Moonlight highlighting his high cheekbones, shadows sucked into his deep dimples, thick eyebrows laying over his almond-shaped eyes that were dark as the October midnight surrounding you. He’s breathtaking.

You take a step forward, speaking first, realization dawning on you in the form of an accusation, “You’re the fox.”

His lips curl in a smile, baring perfect, white teeth, you have to dig your nails into your fingertips to make sure this isn’t another dream. He’s real. He’s real, he’s the fox, there’s an axe on his fucking shoulder. The fox is the axe-man. 

“You came,” his voice makes you melt, deep and sultry, it matched him perfectly. It was exactly how he sounded in your dreams, he’s everything you imagined him to be. 

You swallowed, voice shakier now, “Y-You were expecting me?”

He stands, lowering the axe until its head dragged on the earth beside him, giving you a view of his build. The expanse of his shoulders compared to the cinch in his waist, how his pants hung loose just below the V of his hips, the untied boots on his feet, your eyes dragged down his body slowly, taking in every inch, every detail. 

A huff of amusement escapes him, the sound utterly sweet, “You know the answer to that.”

“Why me?” You take a step back as he takes a step forward, “You’ve been in my dreams.”

“I know,” he stretches out his neck as he takes another step forward, axe dragging in the dirt and grass, harsh and unforgiving. “You’re different from the rest of them, you can see. They wouldn’t be able to, not like this, not as the fox, either.”

“Who’s they?” You nearly whisper as he gets closer.

“Your friends,” he cracks another smile, dimples still clear even after he steps out of the spotlight, “The bald one, the blonde one, the crybaby and the know-it-all.”

You pocket your amusement, you’ll share the adjectives with them later. Standing a little taller, you square your shoulders, “Why did you bring me here?” 

“I needed to see for myself,” his voice lowers as he gets closer, inches from you now. His skin seemed to gleam even when cast in shadows, as if October darkness couldn’t touch him, maybe he put the sun to sleep himself. 

He holds up an open palm in front of him, as if he’d wave at you with it. You notice the calluses first, how mutilated his palm is, blood-red and beaten up, raw. Your eyes meet his, so deep they get lost in the lack of moonlight, you can only make out the shape that was undeniably fox-like, mischievous but expectant. 

You look back and forth between his eyes and his palm, then lift your hand slowly, just ghosting your palm against his. You can feel him, your skin catches on the calluses, the heat of him radiates into you like a burning fire. 

You meet his eye again and he’s smiling. “I knew it,” he whispers, “What are you?” 

“What do you mean?” You immediately ask, “What are you?”

“Not sure,” he shrugs, pressing his palm harder against yours, eyes dancing along your connected skin, marveling at how you touched. “A ghost, perhaps? I slip inside on the same evening every year, when it’s quiet, when the Gods are looking the other way.” 

Your jaw clenches, the Elders were right. You watch him carefully, voice quiet, “Isn’t the barrier here basically nonexistent?”

“Thin,” he nods, his fingers dipping between yours, you fight the shudder that threatens to shake your shoulders as he feels the valleys between, rising to press his fingertips into your nails. “Not thin enough to pass through. Only thin enough for someone like you to see my other form.” 

You tilt your head, “The fox?” 

He nods, fingers landing between yours again, clamping down on your hand. He releases a shaky breath, “It’s been over three hundred years and I’ve never been able to touch someone.” 

Your mouth runs dry. Your eyes danced over his face again, his dimples, his shoulders, you couldn’t explain why you could. You didn’t have an answer for him. So instead you ask, “What’s with the axe?” 

He smiles, dimples sunken in, teeth shining through darkness as if night and day meant nothing to him, “You don’t know?” You shake your head and his hand squeezes yours a little tighter, eyes flashing mischief. “I suppose tales become lost after a few years.” 

He drops your hand and it falls limp to your side, your eyes follow him as he turns around, watching the axe as it leaves a ragged trail of earth in its wake while he makes for his tomb again. You follow after a moment of staring, platforms sinking into the ground, your footing off as you try to catch up to him. 

“Aren’t you going to tell me?” You’re under the spotlight of the moon too now, standing before him as he sits down on the stone again, axe tall between his knees with his beaten up hands folded on top of the rusted, wooden handle. “There’s a story, right? The Elders of the town haven’t really filled me in, you’re just the axe-man to me and my friends.”

“The axe-man?” The side of his lips curl, a slow chuckle falling from his lips, “What a title. Your Elders are far too young to remember.”

“Well, you’re here,” your hands are fiddling with the sides of your dress, words soft, uneasy, “Tell me my home’s history.”

“I’m a killer,” he shrugs as if it was no big deal, “That’s what they made me out to be.”

You pop a brow, “Made you out to be?”

“There was war,” he sighs, head tilting back to meet your eye, “And famine, no end in sight, everyone got mixed together. It was justice, not murder.”

You blink, “War?”

“Do you know nothing?” His brows raise, “You hear them lurking, don’t you? Their screams in the brush? You’ve heard the clawing on your walls at night, while you pretend you’re asleep. You hear their footsteps while they walk alongside you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, iciness prickling your skin, fear nipping up your spine. You give him a singular nod. He continues, “There was a time where you couldn’t tell them apart, the living from the dead. If you had a weapon and you were in your right mind, you fought.”

Your face twists up in confusion, head shaking as if it was all wrong. You knew nothing about this, not a singular detail of your twenty something years on this island. “I don’t understand, why were you branded a killer if you were on the right side?”

“Because I’m the only one who killed and survived,” his voice is quieter, as if that was an admission. “I couldn’t tell the difference and neither could they. I was the only person to blame for their family, friends and foes being dead.”

“But you did the right thing,” you say through an uneasy chuckle, “You’re a hero. Why don’t they talk about you?”

“Like I said,” the axe lays against his thighs, his hands leaning back on the stone, holding him up. “History gets lost through time, words become twisted, truth becomes folklore.”

His shoulders flex, muscles protruding through glittering, creamy skin, as if the moon wanted you to see his beauty clearly. Your tongue pokes out from between your teeth, wetting your lips. He’s beautiful, you’ve never seen anyone who looks like him. 

“I told you my story,” he nods, “Tell me yours. Who are you?”

You give him your name, but that’s all there is to say. You shrug, “I don’t know why I can see you, or what part I have in this, but… I’m glad I’m here.”

A brow lifts on his expressive, chiseled face, lips bent in a smile, head tilted in a way that felt teasing. “Yeah? Glad you’re here, huh?”

You look away, heat in your cheeks, eyes finding the trail the head of his axe had made. You force your mind to forget the dream you had just last night. Mumbling, you say, “I have a thing for… History.”

He stands then, swallowing the moonlight, encasing you in his shadow. You turn your head slowly, tilting your chin upward to see him, a halo of shining white light surrounding him, and that teasing smile he wore doubled in size. “It doesn’t scare you? Standing before a stone-cold killer?”

“You weren’t killing for enjoyment,” you whisper, “You were killing because you had to. There’s a difference.”

“What if I enjoyed it, too?” He takes a step forward, glittering skin inches from yours, “Would you be scared, then?” 

Your eyes widen, heart dropping, the pit in your stomach heavy. “You clearly didn’t enjoy it,” you’re battling your nerves as you speak, fighting to keep your voice clear, steady. “You wouldn’t return every year if you didn’t care about this place.”

“What makes you think you know why I’m here?” His right arm lifts, raising the axe until he surrenders his grip with a flick of his wrist, the weapon flipping in the air until he grabs it by the rusted handle again, laying it swiftly over his shoulder. He tilts his head, clearly humored by the way you flinch, pretending he doesn’t notice how your eyes catch on the muscles in his arm, the veins in his hand. He leans down, “You should be scared, little lady.”

Your eyes flicker back up to his, and you don’t know why there’s fight in you, a spark ignited, but your jaw squares. “Well, I’m not. I’ve seen you in my dreams, I know what you are, what you want.”

His face settles for just a moment before his features snap back into that teasing, troublesome smirk. His voice lowers, tone sultry, laced with purpose, “You think you know what I want?” 

“You’ve been dead for hundreds of years,” your eyes sink to his pretty, plump lips before they lift back to meet his gaze, “And you’ve never been able to touch someone, right?”

“Not until now,” he responds, his eyes falling to your lips, too. Meeting your gaze again, he whispers, “Didn’t think a human girl would want anything to do with me.”

“Who knows if I’m all that human,” your lips curl, head tilting, body leaning closer on its own, “No one else can see you, right? Maybe I… Was meant to be the one to see you.”

“Or maybe I orchestrated all of it myself.”

“I don’t think you’d go to those lengths just to get some.”

His brows raise at that, a genuine, humored, one-syllabled laugh puncturing the air between you. “Is that what you’re calling sex in this era? Get some?”

Hearing sex fall off his lips made it sound like a prize. Your eyes stay hard, strong, hoping he can see the beg within you even if your breath catches in your throat. He runs a hand over his face, fingers settling into the pockets of his eyes, an almost-silent breath of a laugh escaping him. 

When he opens eyes, he can see how you’re looking at him. The question that lay between you, and for some reason it makes him jumpy. He hasn’t experienced someone fearless of him, of what he’s done, in a long, long time. His grip tightens on the axe, and he watches how your eyes split to the action, how your pupils dilate. He eyes you carefully, “One swing and I’ll split you open.”

“I’m sure you will,” he can see a window of teeth in your lopsided, lazy grin. “But not with that.”

His lips part, a moment of surprise and you take the opportunity to lunge forward, swinging an arm around his neck, legs bouncing to hook platformed feet around his waist. He takes a step back in surprise, free arm snaking around your waist with a tight grip, eyes wide and jaw slack as your face grins centimeters from his. 

“You know you were in my dreams,” you whisper, the hand that wasn’t holding his neck cups his cheek, “You know exactly what you did to me, yet you didn’t expect me to come here in the dead of night, wanting just that?” 

His eyes bounce around every feature on your pretty face, searching for some kind of uncertainty, some fear. He’s met with truth, expectancy, arousal in the heat he can feel pressed against his torso. He hasn’t felt heat in a tercentenary. 

“They can see you,” he whispers, second-guessing himself now, his curated plans. “When they come back from the celebration to settle back into their slumber, they’ll see you, with me. Your ancestors, your friends’ ancestors...”

Felix’s words ring in your polluted, one-track mind, “What are they gonna do from six feet in the ground?”

He can’t fight his amusement, lips curling in a genuine smile, one that makes you grab him by the scruff and kiss him. You hear the heavy pang of the axe hitting the ground and his other hand scoops under your ass, the strength of him dizzying, the taste of him intoxicating. He’s hesitant at first, mouth moving slowly, tongue shyly slipping between your lips, as if he was expecting you to pull back and change your mind at any moment. 

Instead you pull him closer, fingers digging into his shaggy black hair, legs tightening around his waist, tongue pushing past his lips in a silent beg for more. He’s turning then, laying you down on the stone where the curves and dips of his sleeping body carved into it were now gone. A flat slab of freezing cold ice, as if he was resurrected from the sculpture, as if it never existed at all. 

He’s caging you in, forearms pressed to the stone on either side of your head, thighs straddling your frame that fits so snugly beneath him. His lips move steadily with yours as you keep your thighs bent over his, using the strength of him to lift yourself up, arching against his body which just might be made of stone, too. 

He grinds into you, a low rumble of a groan falling from his lips, “You’re so warm.”

“You’re so strong,” you whisper back, hands cupping his cheeks, keeping your lips pressed to his, “Please, Jeongin. I want you.”

“I want you too,” his head dips down, his eyes screwing shut, “Fuck, I want you too.”

You reach between your bodies, grabbing the hem of your dress and lifting it up over your chest until you’re bared beneath him in a black, lacy bra and satin black panties. You hear his breath catch in his throat as he pushes himself up on his palms, eyes dipping down to see you, taking in every detail of your body. He meets your eye again and somehow they’d grown impossibly darker, the deepest black you’d ever seen, entrancing almost. The same ones you’d seen in your dreams. 

“Please?” You ask sweetly, too sweetly, and Jeongin curses himself for making you feel like you had to beg. 

He leans back on his haunches, mutilated palms dragging down your body, your hips twitching when his calluses catch on your soft thighs. He looses a shaky breath, taking his bottom lip between his teeth as he stares at you. After a moment, he whispers, “You look just like her.”

A brow raises, “Like who?”

He leans forward, hooking his thumbs into your satin panties, dragging them down your legs, “Someone I knew a very long time ago.” Rearranging himself until he’s bent over the tomb, he tugs you by your legs until your ass is over the edge, “Fearless like her, too.”

You didn’t have a moment to argue before he was burying his face between your thighs, your eyes widened in surprise as a wanton moan rips from your throat, hands shooting down to lace your fingers into his hair, rough and coarse and dirty. Like the fox’s coat was atop his head. 

“Shit, Jeongin,” you whisper, hips already rutting into his face as he groans into your core, tongue lapping into your folds, his eyes softly closed like he was the one receiving pleasure.

Lips barely parting from your clit, eyes still closed, he says, “Haven’t touched anyone in decades, haven’t tasted someone in even longer, fuck.” 

“So good,” you cry out, voice lagged with arousal, “You’re– Ah, so good, Jeongin.” 

He moans into you so prettily you think he might be enjoying this more than you. He holds your thighs tighter, tugging you closer like he wanted to die all over again, right there, buried between your legs. His tongue makes quick work of your clit, building a steady rhythm, tongue pointed as it flicks over the nub over and over, fingers squeezing your thighs with lick. 

You don’t think anything’s ever felt so good before.  You’ve hooked up with plenty of people, had many faces between your thighs, one or two being your close friends, the Choi brothers, but no one’s ever worked you with such precision, as if he knew your body already. It was overwhelming, the pleasure igniting each nerve ending, the feeling in the pit of your belly tightening quicker than it ever has before. 

Maybe you’ve just wanted him more than you’ve ever wanted anyone else. It was a crime that he was over three hundred years old, a murderer, a ghost— the way he spoke, how his hands held you, his body pressed to yours, you’d give anything for him to stick around after tonight. 

Your moans heighten in pitch, fingers tangling tighter in his roots, toes curling in your platformed boots while your thighs caged him in. He wasn’t phased, keeping his rhythm, lips swirling around your clit, he wanted to make you cum, and he wasn’t stopping until he did. 

“Jeongin!” You gasp out, hips bucking into his face until he brings you to the edge. As your limbs began locking, breath catching in your throat, all you can mumble is, “Gonna—”

Your orgasm washes over you in heavy waves of tantalizing pleasure, you barely noticed how your bones ached against the tomb, how he had to lift himself to chase your hips to ride you through finishing. 

Chest heaving, jaw slacked, you opened your eyes to find him crawling back over you, pressing his lips to yours again. You kissed him fervently, hands flying to his tank, lifting it to sink your fingers beneath. Chiseled, sculpted, it was a masterpiece the way his abdomen clenched, showing off every muscled section above his belly button. There was nothing about him that wasn’t perfect. 

“I still got it,” his words are playful, smiling into your lips and you giggle, arching up into him, dedicating every dip and slope of his muscled body to memory. 

“After three hundred years,” your hands glide over his shoulders, settling around his neck carefully, “What a feat. Most men can’t do what you just did even if they tried everyday.” 

“Most men aren’t as hungry as I am,” his hands cup your cheeks, planting another kiss on your lips before he drags your thighs over his again, fingers fumbling with his zipper. 

“Hungry?” You tilt your head, smiling, teasing, “Starving.” 

Getting his pants down over his hips, he smiles back, “Most men haven’t wanted you as long as I have.” 

You pop a brow as he climbs back over you, one hand beside your head, the other gripping the base of his length. Your question comes out breathy, because the sight of him was dizzying, “How long?” 

Hard and leaking, pink-tipped cock that had to reach his belly button, his eyebrows twist in pleasure, in ache, in waiting, you weren’t sure. He lines himself up, voice low and broken, “Months. Fuck, maybe since the last thirty-first, maybe the one before, time becomes unreadable after this long.” 

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening, October silence filling the air between you at the confession. It could have been a moment or an hour, the time it took you to process that he’s wanted you for far longer than you thought. 

Cock meeting your entrance, you don’t give him an answer before he’s pushing inside, a low groan escaping him as your high-pitched whine pierces your own ears. 

“Gods, Jeongin,” you cry, “Is everything about you big?” 

His grin is somewhere between pride and agreement, his other hand falling to the other side of your head as he sheathes himself inside you. Your fingers curl into his shoulders with a deep shudder, the feeling of being so full, you’ve never experienced it before. 

His head snaps up, face growing serious while his eyes bounce around the cemetery behind him. He glances back down at you, “We don’t have a lot of time.” 

“Use it wisely then,” you whisper, limbs locking as you brace yourself, as if on command he starts rocking into you, cock filling you up deliciously, massaging your walls like you were born to take him. At this point, you think maybe you might have been. 

“You’re so small,” he groans, building a rhythm, a pace too brutal for the stone you lay on. “Feel like I’m gonna break you.” 

“Break me, then,” you arch upward, arms tight around his neck to keep your head from banging into his tomb, legs crossing around his back. “I need this, I need you.” 

He leans down, taking your lips between his, tongue slipping between your lips to taste the truth behind your words. You keep him close, even when your teeth clash, when his tongue swipes below your bottom lip, you don’t mind the mess, you want it. You want, need anything, everything he’d give you. 

“So pretty, so perfect,” he mumbles into your lips, “Don’t forget about me.” 

Your attempted chuckle was bent by a moan, “How could I?”

He fucks into you harder, his breath growing staggered, voice strained, “You have a life, you have time. I can only give you tonight.”

“I won’t forget you until I’m in the ground beside you,” you murmur, eyes screwing shut when his cock hits that mushy spot inside you, the one that makes all sense of consciousness fizzle from your mind. “I— fuck Jeongin, I need more.” 

He scoops you backward until he’s sitting upright on the stone, your legs straddling his, you ignore the crack in your knees as you brace them on stone. A choked cry leaves your lips when you sink down on him fully, taking him down to the last millimeter, “So deep.” 

He moans in response, hands gliding down your back until he reaches your ass, squeezing the skin once before sliding them to your hips, “Want you to cum on my cock, baby. Need you to cum.” 

He lifts you like you weighed nothing, your entire face morphs into pleasure at the feeling, fingers curling into his hair. You kiss him, gaining rhythm with his help, bouncing on him steadily as your lips devour him whole. You take one hand between your legs, fingers pressing to your clit, rubbing quick circles while his cock splits you open. 

Broken breaths and whines leave your lips and Jeongin drinks every one of them up, his hands sliding up to your chest, tucking your bra away to take your breasts into his hands, fingers toying with your nipples. 

The feeling makes you cry out with the most ridiculous sound you’ve ever heard yourself make, you couldn’t feel embarrassed with how much stimulation, how much pleasure you were feeling, bordering on too much. 

“There you go,” he encourages, head leaning forward to press his wet lips to your throat, his voice a vibration against your skin, “Come on, baby, cum for me. Let me feel it.” 

You lost it then, hips stuttering, fingers quickening their pace on your clit, your moan gets caught in your throat as your orgasm pulses through you like an earthquake. You wished you saw his proud smile while he praises you, “Yeah, my girl, look at you. So fucking beautiful cumming around my cock, shit, feels so good.” 

You rock against him slowly on the come down, head falling to his hard shoulder, hands hooking around his biceps as aftershocks make your body twitch against him. His fingers tighten on your hips, “Sorry baby, ‘M too close, haven’t felt an orgasm in years.” 

You whimper in response, head turning to nuzzle your lips into his neck while he fucks you on his own cock harshly, as if you were nothing but a toy. It's so hot, all of it, tears prick at your eyes when realization hits you only have tonight. 

“Feel so good, you’re so good for me,” he grunts, voice rough, the opposite of his words. “Gonna fill you up, gonna make you mine.” 

“‘M yours already,” you mumble and he whines, fingers tightening on your skin, cutting into you while he uses your body like a fleshlight. He finally brings your hips to a still, a low, slow groan leaving him as his head drops down to yours, a heavy exhale blowing into your hair. 

You don’t feel the familiar warmth of being full, messy, loaded. You don’t feel his orgasm at all, just the feeling of his length twitching inside you, your walls pulsing around him. 

You whisper, “Did you cum?” 

“Yeah,” his voice sounds raw, muddled. Distant. “It’s different now.” 

“Different bad?” 

“Not bad, just… You won't have to worry about being with-child, or anything of the sort.” 

You pull away from his neck, sitting in front of him, hands sliding up to cradle his dimpled cheeks as if it’d keep him in front of you for longer. You frown, tears swimming in your waterline, “I don’t want this to be just tonight, I want to know you.” 

He smiles weakly, lips thinned in a curved line as his hands reach up to cup your cheeks, too, “This is all I can give you.” 

“Will you be here again?” You ask, voice cracking, a tear slipping down your cheek. 

He tilts his head, “I don’t know, I’ll never know. Every day is unknown.” 

You pout, sniffing, “This isn’t enough time.” 

He looks at you sadly, “Life isn’t enough time, baby. Three hundred years still feels too short, savor all of it, every second.”

You lean forward, pressing your lips against his, and it’s more passionate than all the kisses you’d shared under the moonlight so far. It’s filled with memory, a promise of a future, of coming back to the same place, on the same night, every year. 

Standing in your closet up to your ankles in clothes thrown to the floor, in your underwear, you held the little black skirt up to your waist again and batted your lashes. “I just think you’d pull it off, that’s all.”

Not one part of him was amused. “In what world,” he grumbled, leaning back against your bed post, kicking his knees up to press the pad to. 

Narrowing your eyes at how he focused down on his work, your smirk grew. “Jinnie?”

“Hm,” he hummed, not giving you a glance, pencil working over time. 

Dropping the black skirt to the floor along with everything you’ve shown him since he stretched over your bedroom carpet, you took your hands behind your back and unclasped your bra, tiptoeing toward him. Slipping it off your shoulders, you tossed it in his lap, over his drawing. 

He blinked. Taking it in his hand, he glanced up at you and sighed, stretching both legs out in front of him. “What are you-”

Sliding your hands into the lace of your panties, you slipped them down your hips and over your knees, letting them fall to your ankles. Stepping one foot out, you let the other flick the lace against his chest, panties falling to his lap, on top of your bra in his hand. Dropping everything, jaw hanging open, pushing it all to the floor, he sat forward and reached for you, but you spun on your toes and waltzed away, back toward your closet. 

“Now,” you said definitively, “I just think,” you bent over, snatching the black skirt from the floor, peering at him around your knees, holding in a giggle at how he had rolled over onto his knees with both of his hands on the floor, “This would look really cute on you.” Slipping it behind your back to cover your ass, you glanced over your shoulder and smiled.

Crawling toward you, licking his lips, he nodded. “Mhm.”

Perking a brow, you spun around and held up the skirt on one finger. “So, you agree? You think it’d look really cute on you?” Looking down at him, Hyunjin now at your feet, a gasp ripped through you as his hands grabbed onto your thighs and slid higher to your hips. His lips pressed to your skin, tongue leading in gentle flicks as he neared your center, teeth grazing over the soft plush of your thighs.

“I’ll wear the damn skirt, baby,” he mumbled, prying your legs apart, “Now let me have you.”

Music vibrated the walls, foggy smoke filled the air, bodies smushed into every possible corner— The party entirely packed with people you didn’t know, people who traveled far for this, people who went to school here. Monsters prowled the halls, vampires, witches, slutty mice, creepy masks and hoods, fake blood everywhere, even if you weren’t four drinks deep you wouldn’t be able to make out faces.

Except one.

Pushing through a pack of half dressed Cheetah Girls with two drinks in your hands, you step over a couple sitting on the floor in front of the sofa your group of friends took up. Both Felix and Changbin had their eyes fixated on his legs while Seungmin stood behind him and messed with his wavy hair. Your boyfriend, in that black skirt and a tight unbuttoned white top with a mesh tank beneath it, sat back and let his friends have their fun.

Hair tucked behind his ears, he flashed the silver hoops dangling from his lobes, matching the silver necklaces he wore, pairing well with the bracelets that jangled on his wrists. Appearing beside him in loose slacks, a lace bra, and one of his suit jackets too big for you, you danced the drink in front of his face and smiled when he looked up at you, tearing his eyes off of Felix. 

“I can’t get over this,” Seungmin shouted over the music. His pathetic excuse for a Halloween costume– a Dodgers jersey and a matching backwards cap. “You got him to wear a skirt!”

Squinting at him, you said, “He wanted to wear the skirt.”

“Are all the clothes yours?” Changbin asked you, gaze fighting to see through the black fabric that barely brushed the middle of Hyunjin’s thighs. Pure muscle on display for the entire party.

Smushing your lips together proud, eyeing your boyfriend as he sipped his drink, he winked at you and you melted. “All mine,” you sang, “Down to the hot pink panties underneath.”

Felix’s eyes bulged out of his head. “You’re lying,” he mumbled.

Hyunjin forced a finger under the waist of the skirt that squeezed him. Hooking his thumb out, blazing pink lace came with it, and Seungmin and Changbin lost their minds. Felix’s lips popped open, he hadn’t moved.

“Like what you see, Lixie?” you teased, sitting down on Hyunjin’s lap, one of his arms wrapping around your waist.

Clamping his jaw shut, he gulped and finally ripped his gaze from his friends legs he’s never seen so much of. “Yeah,” fell from his lips without a thought.

Pushing further into Hyunjin’s chest, sipping your drink, you shared a look with your boyfriend and hummed. Both of you thinking the same thing.

“Good to know,” you gave Felix a smile and pressed a kiss to Hyunjin’s cheek. “Oh, wait,” you mumbled, glancing at his lips. Reaching out a thumb, you licked the tip and smeared it below his bottom lip, touching up the deep red stain he painted on before leaving your bedroom. “There you go.”

He blinked up at you, deep chocolate igniting a fire in your chest. “Thank you,” he whispered, the liquor rendering it whining. “Did I do a good job?”

Nodding, you smiled. “Yeah, thanks for doing it.”

Lips parting, he breathed through them, gaze flickering back and forth from your lips, to your neck, to your eyes. “Did I really?” he asked again, brows flipping over ever so slightly.

“Yes, Jinnie,” you said, more sure this time, hoping to appease him.

His tongue dipped out over his lipstick. “Tell me.”

The whine.

Your stomach flipped. Your heart rate, it skyrocketed, your veins burning as you watched his typical steady, collected eyes go entirely blurry, soft, dazed. As if the scent of you alone turned his brain off.

“Y-You… You did a good job, Hyunjin,” you whispered to him and he gulped. 

“So you’re dressed up as each other?” Changbin asked, sipping his drink, leaning on Felix’s shoulder. 

Snapping you out of whatever Hyunjin was doing to you, you smiled, ruffling your boyfriend's long hair. “Kinda,” you said, “Something like that, right?” Looking back down at Hyunjin, you released the rest of your breath and narrowed your eyes.

He stared at you. Short breaths in through his nose and out through his barely parted pouting lips. “You tell them,” he mumbled, fixated on your face.

“Um,” you stammered, tearing your eyes off of him. Sucking in a deep breath, you shook your head and said, “I’m his, uh, boyfriend.” He nodded, small, gaze dropping to your lips, his wedging between his teeth. “And, he’s my…” 

The corners of his stained lips perked up. You swore he fluttered his mascara coated lashes, longer than ever. “I’m your girl,” he cooed, and you huffed a laugh, blinking a billion times, shaking your head at your friends.

“My girlfriend,” you said, definitively. Changbin hid his smile behind his cup, Felix still stared like he wanted a bite of his thighs. “It’s a joke, sort of.”

Seungmin slapped the top of the couch and nodded toward Changbin. “I need a drink.”

Catching his not subtle need for an exit, because what the hell was Hyunjin doing, Changbin raised his red cup. “I’m with you,” he sighed, slipping a hand under Felix’s arm, lifting him up with minimal effort, dragging him along to the kitchen like a ragdoll. Passing by you, eyeing your boyfriend, he whispered to you, “Sort of?”

Twisting into Hyunjin wearing a lazy smile, you muttered, “What are you doing?”

He poked his tongue between his lips. “What do you mean?” Shifting on the couch, lowering himself a bit, you felt his halfhard length press into your thigh. Gasping to yourself, he caught your widening eyes and giggled.

“Calm down, you’re in a skirt,” you whispered.

Tipping his head back a bit, you swore you heard him groan over the music. “I know.”

“You’ve never been into public shit, what is going on?”

He laid his back on the cushion and actually pouted this time. “I don’t know,” he whined quietly, shining eyes gazing up at you, the makeup feminizing his features, softening them. 

He was only supposed to wear the skirt. It really was supposed to be a joke, a boyfriend and girlfriend swapping clothes, and on anyone else it appeared hysterical. Until he pulled the skirt over his thighs and you couldn’t believe he didn’t look terrible. 

And he agreed. He spun around in the mirror twice, and then took his time picking out a top to match.

You offered up your lipstick as a joke.

He insisted on adding more.

Smoothing a hand over your chin, you took a deep breath.

You can’t believe you didn’t see this before.

Tucking a hand behind his head, toying with his hair, you picked him up off the cushion and brushed the tips of your lips over his. “Jinnie,” you whispered. His breath shook. “Are you my pretty girl?”

He whined. His eyes rolled back, they shut, and he whined.

“You are so getting off on this,” you muttered, and he cranked his eyes open, scared.

“No,” he gasped, shaking his head. “No, I’m not. Promise. I’m not.”

Your smile grew as his lips babbled, his voice broken and desperate, like he couldn’t catch his breath. “Yes the fuck you are. Look at you. You didn’t wanna wear the damn skirt in the first place, and now that you’ve got it on, you feel pretty.”

Mid-breath, he hushed, “Is that bad?”, while he sunk further down on the couch. 

You reached for his hair, tucking it behind his ear, tapping your finger on the earrings dangling from his lobe. Pursing your lips, you said, “Just funny… That’s all.”

He gulped, body jumping beneath you. “Funny, why?”

Pressing your hand to his cheek, you smoothed a thumb under his charcoal lashes and clicked your tongue. “Relax,” you sang, dipping your nose down to nudge his, “Just didn’t expect this, that’s all.”

He jolted under you again, trying to adjust himself or pull away from you. He spoke a mile a minute, “I don’t know why… I don’t know, okay? I’m sorry, I just, I can’t… You wanted me to wear it, it’s your fault, you did this, I didn’t want to-”

“Hyunjin,” you raised your voice, hand moving below his chin to grab his jaw that snapped shut. Submission swam in his irises. A new type of control burned beneath your skin. “Good girls speak when spoken to.”

Pushing a breath through his lips, he whimpered, “But, you-”

Giving his jaw a gentle shake, digging your fingers into his cheeks, he wrenched his lips closed. Searching his eyes and the pout of his lips for any indication that he did not want to do anything further, that he did not want to talk about this anymore, or acknowledge the fact that being called a good girl made his dick completely hard, you found nothing. 

One gentle grind over his thigh signified that you needed him too, that you needed to see what else he could do, what else he could say, how desperate he really felt, and if you could get him utterly pathetic.

Party carrying on around you, you’ve really only been here for over an hour. Whoever they had on drink duty in the kitchen poured heavy, without a doubt half the reason why Hyunjin tried to hold himself back from dry humping your thigh. There was no way you were getting behind the wheel of his car, nor would you allow him to do so either, especially not now that it seemed the only thought in his head was ‘Get dick wet, get dick wet, get dick wet…’

Pressing a soft kiss to his lips, squishing his cheeks some more, you whispered, “What do you want?”

Through a breath, he lost himself entirely, “To fuck you.”

“To fuck me?” Perking a brow, your stomach tightened at how he smiled. Lazy, proud. Dumb.

“Yeah,” he whispered, sucking in a deep breath, chest heaving, “To fuck you.”

“Such dirty words from such pretty lips,” you spoke softly, “Not very lady-like, huh?”

He popped his tongue out, licking the edge of his lips. Shaking his head, he said, “S’that wrong?”

Every exasperated breath to leave him thundered your heart along, the whine in his voice pooling heat between your legs like never before. 

You firmed your grip on his jaw. “Makes you a bad girl, Jinnie.”

He whimpered.

Your jaw went slack.

Watching his brows flip over, you maintained your composure, because if you broke it meant that he might too, and you were not about to lose this.

“You say you’re gonna fuck me,” you said, shifting on his lap, pressing your thigh between his legs, snickering as a moan caught in his throat. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

He sighed through parted, slick lips, eyes glistening. A smile teased his lips. “I am gonna fuck you.”

Narrowing your eyes, you said, “No you’re not.”

He smirked. “Yes, I am.”

Dropping your hand, making note that he looked disappointed, you spat through your teeth, “No, you’re not.”

Hyunjin sat forward, his tongue catching between his teeth. “Yes the fuck I am.”

“Oh,” you breathed, brows raising at once. He paused, his smile dropping, his hands pressing into the sofa under him. “I get it,” you whispered, and he gulped. “Pretty girl’s a fucking brat.”

Giving him no time to think, no time to even react, you grabbed him by the necklace hanging around his neck and leapt off the couch. Chugging the rest of your drink, tossing the red cup to the floor somewhere with a plethora of others, you drug him through the house, past a game of pong not being played on a table, through clumps of people grinding on top of one another, and making out in corners and on couches. 

Feeling him stumbling over his own feet trying to keep up with you, the smile you wore gave you away to passersby who glanced your way. Your stretch of a boyfriend, like a baby deer on ice, one hand fumbling to cover his junk, the other picking stray hairs out of his lipstick, you wouldn’t be surprised if his ankles caught onto one another and he went down.

Forgetting whose house you were in, you wandered through the kitchen, brown cabinets with granite tops covered with asses, bowls of food, bottles of beer, handles of liquor, searching for just one– Ah.

He glanced up at Hyunjin behind you and huffed, cheeks puffing out as he poured a drink. “Where are you two going?”

“Where’s the bathroom, Hanji?” With a smile, you tilted your head, and he nodded toward the hallway, not looking up from his cup. 

“Down the hall, last door on the left. If it’s full, there’s one in my room across from it.” Minho swooped up behind him, whiskers drawn on his cheeks in eyeliner, a pink nose painted on with lipstick. He hovered over Jisung’s shoulder, breathing down his neck. “It’s coming. Patience!”

Minho smiled with only the corners of his lips. Giving you a look through his lashes, he nipped his teeth at Jisung’s jaw and hurried back off from wherever he came from.

Jisung shook his head, and you asked, “He belong to you?”

Finishing the drink off, twisting the cap back on the bottle, he rolled his eyes and laughed. “Something like that, tonight I own him.” 

“Fitting,” you nodded, and he popped his brows, eyes pointing back at Hyunjin.

“What’s his problem?”

Glancing backward over your shoulder, he had his lips pulled in a tight line, tucked sideways. Brows pulling up in the center, he only looked at you, a pout seconds from forming. Pulling at the necklace you still held onto, you actively watched him hold in a whimper as he leaned toward you involuntarily.

Smiling at Jisung with a narrow of your eyes, you mumbled, “Princess has to go potty.” 

Gulping, the chill of your words affecting both of them, Jisung blinked a few times, shot a look at Hyunjin, then let out a sigh. “Good luck,” was all he could mutter to your boyfriend before he scurried off to find Minho in the sea of bad hair and shitty masks.

Turning into Hyunjin, giving him a smile of innocence, you wrapped your arms around his neck and let him put his anywhere on you, if he dared. 

He didn't.

Wandering down the hallway and out of the hoards of people, you preyed on the fear in his eyes that twisted with excitement. Bumping into you, the hall going darker than the rest of the house, you pushed him up against a wall and pushed your thigh between his legs. Bucking against you without constraint, he finally grabbed you, trying to kiss you, trying to start something right here where anyone could see you.

“Who said you could touch me,” you said, snatching his wrists, fingertips brushing over the silver metal that hung there. Hyunjin tipped his chin back, body going limp, like he’d melt into the wall if he could. Hips moving on their own, rutting into you, his tongue pushing out between his lips as he gazed down at you, you scoffed and shook your head. Throwing his hands away, stepping back from him, you cocked your head at the open door. “Get in there, slut.”

Tripping over his shoes, moving like his limbs didn’t know where to go, like every step made him dizzy, he clung to the doorframe, backing himself into the bathroom with his eyes on you, his tongue pushing out further, tasting his lipstick. 

Following him in, arms folding across your chest, across the front of his jacket, you shut the door with your elbow, pressing it shut with the toe of your boot. Raising a brow, glancing about the space, a horrible green shade to the ceramic, shag carpets in front of the tub with a baby blue curtain hanging on it, a candle flickering on the cabinet hanging over the toilet, you decided to keep the lights off. The cinnamon apple gave you enough glow to work with, the warmth flickering in Hyunjin’s wide eyes as you approached him and his trembling frame pressed to the lime colored walls. 

Keeping your arms folded tight, you took a long breath, one that kept him on his toes. His being hanging onto every word that fell from your lips, his own a mess, smudged lipstick and smeared with spit. “What’d you tell Hanji?”

He shuddered, hips reaching out to grind into you. You took a step back and he sighed heavily, throwing his head backward. “Didn’t tell him… Anything.”

“Liar,” you whispered, taking a hand to the hem of his skirt. Pulling it up, looking between you, you snickered and shook your head. Eight inches strained within the hot pink lace he’d usually tug to the side and fuck you in, tip just as pink, swollen, leaking. “You are a slut, look at you,” you laughed. Taking your other hand to the strap of the panties, you hooked one in and pulled, letting the band snap against his belly. 

With a yelp, he whined, “I am?”

Raising a brow, you gave him a look. “Are you, baby?”

Candlelight casting shadows over his soft skin, his wide eyes blown open with lust, he took the shakiest breath and pouted his lips. “No.”

Looking from his twitching cock to his pleading gaze, you laughed. “Yes, you are. You’re a slut, Hyunjin. You’re wearing my panties, you’re about to cum in my panties, you’re turned on ‘cause you’re wearing my panties… You’re a slut.”

His pout worsened, he bounced on his knees once, a whimper trapped in his throat. “No, M’not,” he whispered, screwing his eyes shut. “Don’t call me that.”

Smiling, you stepped closer to him and brushed a hand over his length, his entire body convulsing. “Hyunjin… Look at me.” Opening his eyes slowly, shining more than they have all night, he swallowed and clenched his jaw. Rising to your tip toes, you whispered through your teeth, “You’re a fucking slut.”

Hips thrusting forward into your palm, he whimpered and threw his head back against the awful green paint. Lips pulling into a frown, his eyebrows twisting up into a mess, he heaved a breath and sucked one in immediately. 

Then, you saw it.

A tear, one illuminated by candlelight, slipping down his cheek.

Grip loosening, feet hitting the floor, air filling your lungs, you whispered, “Are you crying?”

Hyunjin’s jaw fell open. Audibly taking a breath, he peeked down at you, tears falling, and whispered, “Don’t stop.”

A fire ignited within you. A whimpering mess stood in front of you, cowering against a friend’s bathroom wall, one that looked and sounded exactly like your boyfriend who took pride in bending you in half and claiming you as his. He couldn’t break out of wherever his brain took him, wherever he enjoyed being right now, the dom completely dormant.

It filled you with purpose, letting him take you, allowing him to do as he pleased, to harness control, to fit you where he wanted you– But, now… He offered himself up to you.

You’ve never felt more empty.

Smoothing your hands over his chest, up over his shoulders, feeling him intake a breath, you pressed yourself against him and tipped his head down. Kissing his cheek, brushing your lips over his tears, salty on your tongue, you whispered, “What do you want?”

Like you had asked on the couch, where this all started.

His answer, To fuck you.

His new answer, warped in a whine, punctuated with a quiet cry. “Want you to touch me.” Fluttering your lashes, your lips twisted. “Where’s your manners, Jinnie?”

Breathless, he whispered, “Please,” then, he shivered, “Please, touch me, mommy, please.”

A chill ran down your spine. 

A button had been pushed.

Gritting your teeth, you took your hands down his front and slipped them under his skirt. Catching his lips in a soft kiss with no end, you whispered, “Good girl,” and he moaned down your throat. Yanking the lace to his knees, you parted from him and dropped to yours in front of him, making him hold the skirt up himself. Rock hard, begging to be touched, you looked up at him from the floor and thought he’d cum on the spot. 

Sticking out your tongue, opening your mouth like Hyunjin opened his, mimicking you, you danced it underneath his tip, up over his slit, licking him clean. Hips twitching as you slicked your lips and wrapped them around his length, you hummed and glared up at him. A clear no.

His hands clawed at the fabric he held up. Staring down at you, short pants and a jumble of whines tumbling out of his mouth, utter nonsense, he let the skirt fall and grabbed your hair, thrusting himself further into your mouth. Filling you entirely, the weight of him on your tongue, in your mouth, against your cheeks, tip edging your throat, you moaned, eyes fluttering shut, but then grabbed onto his waist and pushed him back, his hips hitting the wall with a thud.

Spit dribbling down your chin, you blinked upward, met with pure joy, tears a thing of the past apparently… Until you stood up and grabbed him by his hair. 

“You think you’re funny?” Scoffing, you pulled him into you, nose to nose.

Hyunjin’s smile wiped clean off his face. Tucking his hands behind his back, he shook his head quickly. “No. No, not funny. M’sorry.”

“I give you what you want, and you take advantage of it, is that it?” Moving backward, you turned him around over the tile and pushed him back, nearly toppling over him into the tub, the shower curtain straining on the rings it hung on. 

“No,” he breathed, eyes welling up, “I didn’t mean to, was an accident, I was only-”

“Acting like a slut,” you spat, letting him go, releasing your tight grip on his waves. 

It bothered him, the word. Slut. Triggering him quickly, slipping him right back under where you wanted him, you snickered and rolled your eyes, the act making him quiver.

Nodding to the floor, you muttered, “Sit.”

And he did, fast.

Cocking your chin backward, you said, “Against the tub.”

And he moved, pushing himself back against the ceramic, his long legs sprawled in front of him like the very night you asked him if he wanted to wear the skirt he sat before you in. 

“Pick up your skirt, Jinnie,” you smiled, and when he did, you took one look at his cock and shook your head. “Look at yourself,” you whispered, and when he did, pathetic, you asked, “What… are you?”

A slut, you thought to yourself.

He blinked. He gulped and he looked up at you, innocent as ever, every inhibition released as he whispered, “Your pretty girl.”

Fuck.

Hands flying to the button on your pants, you pushed them down your hips and stepped over his legs. Fabric around your ankles, you dropped onto your knees straddling his hips and kissed him nasty, leaning him backward over the tub, all tongue, all spit, all moans and curses. 

“Can I touch you,” he whispered through huffs of air, “Please?”

Reaching for his hands, you put them on yourself. “Yes,” you mumbled, “You did so good for me, baby.” Moaning, he clung onto you tighter, hands slipping up and down every curve he could grab. “Wearing this skirt like I asked,” you whispered, slipping a hand between your bodies, lining him up with you. Sitting on his tip, you both groaned, foreheads pressing together. “Make mommy cum, baby, that’s all I want, gonna let you fuck me, okay?”

Body trembling, he forced himself to not thrust up into you. “Okay,” he whispered, digging his fingertips into your hips, his eyes locked on yours as you sank onto him, slowly, inch by inch.

“So good, so, so good,” you whispered, lips parting with too big a breath taken in as you circled your hips to fit him inside of you. Grabbing onto him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you kissed him and rolled your hips, both of your moans muffled by lips. “God, you feel so good,” you muttered, bouncing on him slow, letting him slide one arm around your waist and the other up your back, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck, keeping you pressed to him.

“For you,” he breathed, his words barely full, all a gust of air.

“Hm?” Humming, you ghosted his lips, speeding up on top of him. “Say it again, baby.”

“For you,” he said, “Good… for you.”

Eyeing his slack jaw and his hooded eyes, you smized, and asked, “Is that so?” He nodded loosely, and you scoffed, reaching behind him to hold onto the bathtub, chest to chest. “‘Cause I think you’ve been a little whore,” you grit your teeth. Hyunjin gasped, his hands losing their grip around you. Bouncing on top of him faster, knees pushing into the tile of the floor, hands grasping onto the tub for leverage, you laughed and nudged his nose with yours.

“Letting everyone look at you, wearing this slutty little skirt, making yourself all pretty,” you scolded, voice bouncing off the walls along with the sound of your hips smacking against his, Hyunjin's whimpers wrapped all up in it. “Attention-fucking-whore,” you laughed, your core squeezing, belly twisting. “Put up a fight, didn’t wanna wear the skirt, and look at what you get, your dick fucking wet.”

“M’sorry,” he whispered, voice broken.

Looking down at him, you laughed again, lobbing your tongue between your lips to lick at his tears that streamed down his cheeks. “No, you’re not,” you mumbled, pressing your nose to his. He pressed up into you, fighting so hard, being so good. “You’re not sorry, don’t give me that, you know exactly what you’re doing. Wanna tell me what you told Hanji?” He tucked his lips between his teeth, hooded eyes staring at you, head rocking with every bounce. “No?”

Shaking his head, you wrapped a hand around his jaw and tilted his head backward. “Where’d my good girl go?”

Hyunjin’s eyes rolled back for all of two seconds. Taking a breath in through his nose, his hips bucking upward once more, he muttered, “Said… M’your pretty girl… not… a good girl.”

Putting more pressure on his jaw, your wrist grazing over his throat, you clenched your jaw. “Tell me what you fucking told him.”

His lips dared to curl into the smallest smile. “No,” he whispered.

Pulling yourself off of him, the sound obscene, you hovered over him and grinned as his confidence flushed out of him and he writhed beneath you. “I’m not playing a fucking game, Jinnie, what did you tell him?”

He tried to slip back into you, hips punching off the floor, tip kissing your slick, he tried, and he failed. Whimpering, he let you shake him by the jaw. “If you were into this it means that he has to try Minho’s cat thing,” he whispered, thrusting upward again. 

Minho’s cat thing… Jisung had to try…

“Oh god,” you groaned. “You had this fucking planned?”

Eyes shining, he smiled up at you, a fucked out mess with a stray tear slipping down his cheek onto your thumb. “I’m a bad girl,” he whispered.

Rolling your eyes, you sunk back onto him without warning, laughing as he lost himself, sounds you’ve never heard before leaving his throat. “You’re a slut, I was right,” you said, leveraging yourself to bounce on top of him for your own satisfaction. Grabbing onto you for sanity probably, he couldn’t make words. “A pretty, dumb, fucking slut. Thinking with your pussy, huh, pretty?”

Unable to breathe deeper than the gasps he inhaled, your words took him out, brain shutting down, every thought behind his eyes, gone.

“It’s too bad I can’t fill you up, force you to walk around the party with my cum dripping out of you, into your pretty panties, making a mess for me.” Your walls squeezed him, he whimpered, tears gracing his cheeks yet again. “You’d like it though, wouldn’t you? Feeling full, a fucking cumdump? Is that all you wanna be fucking good for?”

“Yes,” he cried out, and you tightened around him. Hands grabbing you, holding onto you, fingers pressing into your skin, he threw his head backward. “For you, only for you, a mess for you… Only good for you, wanna be good for you, I’m your good girl, I’m your good girl…”

Your thighs squeezed him, body blushing with a warmth growing all too fast. He wouldn’t shut up, he kept going, chants and whines about you using him, how he’s yours, how you can take him how you want, how he’s good for you, so, so good for you…

Gripping his shoulders, arching into his chest, body toppling on top of his, your orgasm ripped through you unannounced. Releasing a breath you’d been holding, building up your high with, you shook on top of him, letting him grab onto your hips, holding you up, fucking up into you.

“Thank you,” he whispered, babbling endlessly, sending you straight into overstim, “Wanted you to cum, made you cum, you feel so good, so wet, fuck, thank you for letting me fuck you, wanna cum, can I cum, please, please, can’t hold it, can I? Can I?”

Endless pants, endless whines.

Grabbing his jaw, you tipped him back and drug your tongue over his lips. “Cum.” 

“Thank you,” he gasped, pushing you down onto his cock at the same time as he pushed up into you, so deep you could feel him in your throat. The desperate satisfaction in his moan almost made you cum twice, so did the dazed look in his eye. “Thank you,” he said, breathless, body relaxing after he pumped you full.

“Hyunjin?” Pushing his hair from his eyes, cleaning up his smeared lipstick with your sleeve, he blinked up at you in question. Leaning down to kiss him gently, you whispered, “You are a pretty girl.”

His smile told you everything.

Nibbling your bottom lip, you asked, “So… Can I be the one to tell Hanji?”

Hyunjin giggled, engulfing you in his arms. “Meow.”

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You swallowed, pushing out a shaky breath, turning to take a quick scan around your room to see if there was anything laying around to defend yourself with. A hamper full of clothes in the corner, plushies next to your bed, trinkets atop your dresser, you sped over to your closet to grab a metal hanger off the rack. It won’t do much, but if it’s an intruder, maybe you could do your best to aim for their eyes. You took another deep breath, furrowing your brows in focus, you got this. 

You began tip toeing down the hallway again, eyes blinking, every sense on alert. The hairs at your nape stick straight up when you hear footsteps coming from the first floor of your house and you jump, swearing one of the framed pictures on your walls moved. You walk faster, socked feet taking you down your staircase, hanger held over your shoulder ready to be swung. 

You heave a relieved sigh when you see your boyfriend standing at one of your side tables, another one of your framed photos between his fingers. Deep, wine-red hair on his head, dark denim on his legs, a leather jacket over his shoulders, he hadn’t even taken his boots off yet. 

You frown. “Donghyuck, you scared the shit out of me.”

He turns toward you slowly, eyebrows slanted, jaw locked. Your brows furrow as you take a step closer, wired hanger dropping to your side, “What’s wrong?”

He tilts his head, eyebrows raising back to their place over his eyes, his jawline softer. In a low voice, he repeats, “Donghyuck.”

You walk closer, grabbing his wrist to hold up the picture in his hand. A photo of you two on your first date, a fair he’s taken you to time and time again the years you’ve been together, a stranger offered to take it, and since then it’s lived right on the side table pushed up against the wall in your living room. You smile, “God, I remember that day like it was yesterday. Feeling reminisce-y tonight, huh?” 

He stares at you for a second before the corner of his lips twist up in the smallest smile. He mumbles, voice flat, “Must be.”

“Well, don’t reminisce for too long,” you drop his wrist, holding the hanger between both your hands now, “Kids are gonna start ringing the doorbell soon. Did you pick up the extra bag of candy like I asked you to?” 

“Candy?” He asks, eyes following you into the kitchen. 

You trade the hanger for the bowl of candy you’d already prepared for tonight. There weren’t too many kids in your neighborhood, but you liked to be the house that had the pricey candy, big chocolate bars and bags full of the good stuff. Not the cheap shit they put outside for Halloween two doors down. 

“You forgot?” You whine, moving around your kitchen island to bring the bowl outside, “I asked you to remember one thing, Hyuck.”

He just blinks at you, still standing in front of the side table, framed photo still in his hand. Your face warps in frustration, “Hello? Are you even in there?” 

He turns, laying the framed photo face down on your side table, and walks away. Shoes still on. Jacket still snug on his shoulders. You shake your head rapidly, an annoyed chuckle rolling off your lips, muttering a whispered, “What the fuck?!”

You turn your porch light on, opening your front door to place the bowl of candy on the wooden chair that lived beside three pumpkins. Irritation is clear in all your harsh actions, the door slams behind you as you walk back through your house, fixing the framed photo, grabbing the hanger from the island to bring back upstairs. 

Your feet stomp up the steps, your boyfriend nowhere to be found as you rip your closet door open, placing the hanger back on your clothing rack. Turning back on your heel, the crease between your brows wrinkled at this point, your boyfriend is stood in the doorway to your shared bedroom. 

You jump a foot in the air, “Fuck, Hyuck, Jesus Christ. What is with you tonight?”

His eyes dance around the room like it's his first time seeing it. Ignoring you, he moves to your dresser, looking at his reflection in the mirror, then picking up the different bottles of cologne and perfume that sit on the surface. His movements are slow, experimental, as if he’s never seen any of it before. 

Your stomach fizzles into some form of nausea. You take a step closer to him, hands landing on the leather jacket on his shoulders, tugging at it to slip it off him. His hands find each side, keeping it tight over him as he eyes you through the mirror. 

You give him a warm smile, ignoring the unease in your gut, “Come on, baby, take it off. You had a long day?” 

He doesn’t answer, nor does his face change. But his fingers uncurl from the jacket, and you slip it off his shoulders slowly, laying it on the bed behind you. You turn back around, hands sliding around his waist, fingers knotting together in front of him, tucked at his belly button. Your voice is lower now, syrupy sweet, “Let’s get your shoes off, too. The day’s over, come on.” 

He looks down at the boots on his feet, staring before he kicks them off slowly, landing off to the side. You cringe, but you don’t show it, trying to assess whatever the fuck was going on with your boyfriend right now. You slip around his front, your ass pressed to the dresser as your arms hook around his back instead, chin pressed to his chest. Giving him your best doe eyes, an innocent look he usually can’t resist, you ask, “Wanna sit out front with me and hand out candy to all the kids? Secretly judge their costumes like we always do?” 

He doesn’t answer. His face doesn’t move, but his eyes dance over your features, landing on your lips before he meets your eye again. You crack a smile, the warmth of ease filling your veins, eyes falling to his plump, pink lips, voice dropping to something more sultry, “Let’s wait until after we hand out candy, you don’t look like you’re in the mood for a quickie.”

His hands land on your hips, pulling you flush to him. You gasp, face centimeters from him, eyes boring into his. Your voice is a warning, “Haechan.”

Then he smiles. It’s nothing sweet or cheerful, it’s full of deep, dark lust, a look you’ve never seen on him before. Your stomach drops all over again, hands unclasping from around his back, falling limp at your sides. 

Your boyfriend has always been a sweet lover. Flowers and chocolates, favors and tasks completed without being told, praises and compliments, he didn’t have a bone in his body that was anything but perfection. He kissed you when he walked through the door, before he left for work in the mornings, randomly mid-day when you were beside each other on the couch. 

Lee Donghyuck has never looked at you the way he was right now. Deep brown eyes dropped so low they neared onyx, smile reptilian, lips curled to the side in a way that screamed trouble. Fight or flight kicked in, eyes widening as you attempt a step back. 

He catches you first. 

Smile growing, he tilts his head to the side, eyes flaring mischief and genuine amusement as his thumbs tuck into the belt loops on your jeans. Your breath comes out staggered, shallowed, this was not your boyfriend. This was not Lee Donghyuck. 

“W-Who are you?” You manage, hands landing on his abdomen to allude to some kind of space between you, even if you knew in your veins it was futile. Whoever this is, you were cradled in his palms already. 

He pulls you closer, shifting on his heel, moving you with him. His face dips down, leaning into your ear, “What gave me away?” 

You whimper at the confirmation, head dipping down as a tightness blooms in your chest, tears filling your waterline quick. You should have trusted the feeling in your gut. You should have used that fucking wire hanger. 

One of his hands travels up your waist, sliding over your chest, up your neck to cup your face, then it falls into your hair at the nape of your neck. He forces your eyes on him with a sharp tug, his gaze brighter now, shining with success. His voice deepens, a bite to it as he says, “I asked you a question.” 

Your vision blurs with tears at the sting of pain at your scalp, at the body pressed to yours that was your boyfriend but not your boyfriend. You whisper, “You’re n-nothing like him.”

He laughs, a huff of an amusement really, air pushing through his nose as a light noise leaves his chest. He licks his lips as your tears spill down your cheeks, “He’s a pussy. I didn’t know he had such a prize waiting for him at home.” 

“Who are you?” You ask again, voice clearer now, more depth to it. Fully aware of your hands still on his abdomen, you keep the information in mind. 

He leans in, face reaching your neck, the tip of his nose just grazing your skin as he inhales. He groans, pushing his body into yours, using his hands on you to keep you close. 

You clear your throat, voice relaying nothing but strength, “Who the fuck are you?” 

Then his tongue slips between his pretty plump lips, licking a hot, wet stripe from your ear to your collarbone. Your lips part at the sensation, at the dirtiness of his action, of the intention behind it. Donghyuck would never. 

You ignore how your stomach drops, a pool of heat in the base of your belly, your skin erupting in flames. It felt good. Strangely good. But this wasn’t him. 

You use your hands pressed to his abdomen, pushing with all your strength to get him away. He stumbles back, hand falling from your hair, the other uncurling from your belt loop. You’re on your feet then, running out of your bedroom, pretending you don’t see how the framed pictures watch you sprint down your steps. 

You barely recognize your heart pounding in your chest or how you’re sucking air all the way down in your ribs as your feet take the steps two at a time, trying to ignore how you hear him behind you, hot on your tail, footsteps pounding on the floor to the same beat as yours. You release a sharp sound of fear when you reach the base of your staircase, a hand gripping the post at the edge of your railing to help you turn the corner, ripping your hand away when his falls heavy over yours. 

He’s too close, too close, he’ll catch you. 

You try to pick up your speed again, rounding the corner only slowing you down, and you shiver when a maniacal laugh rips from his lungs. His voice is too close. Your heart pounds against your chest, fear making your legs tap into overdrive as you reach your living room, not giving your brain a choice of where to run. 

Rounding around one couch to cross the living room to get to the foyer, your front door so close you can see it, you think maybe you can pull this off. You don’t dare look behind you, not when you hear the groan of the couch as Donghyuck climbs over it, a shortcut. You scream when you reach the foyer, realizing just as your fingers ghost the doorknob you were too fucking slow. 

His body collides with yours, pressing you flat against your deep brown, oak front door with force. You barely have time to register the pain before his lips are pressed to your ear, his hands heavy on your hips, “Thought you could get away from me?” 

Your cry is strangled against the door as his hands drift upward, over your waist, gripping your chest harshly over your bra. His voice is vile, low but soft and fuck it’s Haechan’s voice but it’s not, “Such a perfect little body, does he fuck your brains out?” 

You whimper as he wedges a hand between your legs, adding pressure to your core over your jeans, two fingers pressing directly on your clit over the denim. You arch involuntarily, cursing your body internally for responding. 

“Oh, he doesn’t,” he chuckles, breath hot in your ear, and you hate the way each syllable vibrates beneath your skin. This was your body responding, not you, not your consciousness. His other hand slides up your back into your hair again, you wail when he pulls harsher than he did before, your head craning backward, landing on his shoulder. 

His lips are wet, warm against your jaw as he says, “Does he fuck you slow? Say sweet words in your ear? Wash his hands after he fingers you?” 

Your breathing is heavy, eyes screwed shut, teeth clenched together at the pain, at his words, at the truth he speaks. Donghyuck does all of those things, he’s a kind man, humble, generous, he’d cross oceans for you if you asked. 

“I know what a bitch like you needs,” his voice drops an octave and your body drops heavier against his, “Damn, I haven’t felt a body like this in too long.” His other hand glides up your torso, exploratory, as if he was burning every inch to memory. “Your boyfriend is a moron, you know. Left himself wide open for the taking.”

You stiffen again as his hand drops to the button on your jeans. Trying to force an edge into your voice, you ask, “W-What do you mean?” 

Donghyuck wasn’t the brightest– forgetful, he’d leave the burners on at the stove after cooking himself ramen, he couldn’t memorize your anniversary for shit, sometimes he confused which direction was left and right. Occasionally he’ll forget his way home after work, needing the GPS after years of working there. You were pretty sure he couldn’t name all the continents on the Earth, but you love him. You love everything about him, and he loves you. 

“And he– he’s not a moron,” you add at the end before he has the chance to respond, reality checking yourself, struggling against him to move out of his grip. 

His hold grows harsher instead, keeping you closer instead. You can hear the cocky smile in his voice as he teases, “I just slipped right inside, no resistance at all. Does he even have any thoughts?”

Rage surges through you again. You struggle a little harder, and the laugh leaves your boyfriend’s mouth that is unlike anything you’ve ever heard, “Awh, look at you, getting all mad because I called your boyfriend a fucking idiot. I guess he isn’t all bad, look at the present he left me.”

Both of your heads crane forward when the doorbell rings. Your eyes widen, there are people on the other side of the door– trick or treaters, probably children, but hopefully accompanied by adults who can help you. Who can get you away from whoever the fuck this is. 

Before you’ve even inhaled enough to scream, his hand moves from your hair to cover your mouth and you scream against it, body lurching forward. He tucks his other arm around your torso, lifting you to drag you out of the foyer, into the living room. 

You’re sucking breath after breath through your nose, screeching into his palm, limbs thrashing against the strength of him as he drags you through the first floor of your house with ease. Up the stairs, into the bedroom, he kicks the door shut behind him as he throws you onto the bed again. 

You get about one second of screaming in before he’s over you, thighs straddling your waist, hands clamped over your mouth. 

“Shut the fuck up,” his voice is stern and harsh, seething. “Shut up before I give you something to really scream about. Look at the situation you’re in, you think anyone will hear you? You think anyone’s gonna burst in and fucking save you?”

You stop screaming, throat tightening again, tears welling up to the surface. To anyone else, to the entire neighborhood, this is your sweet loving boyfriend, the man who mows their lawns when they’re on vacation, who feeds their animals when they get holed up at work. The man who would never lay a hand on you, who would never fucking hurt you. 

The same deep cherry hair, the same sharp jawline, the same bronzy skin. 

Your body falls limp beneath him. He grins wide. 

“There you go,” he cooes, removing his hand from your lips softly, tucking your hair behind your ear. Hot tears slide down the sides of your head as you stare up at him, now fully aware of his weight on top of you. Fighting him is futile. 

He leans down and you smell him then, the scent of your angelic boyfriend, the man who would do anything for you. You let it comfort you, maybe if you pretended this was Donghyuck, if you pushed what just happened out of your mind, maybe… 

His mouth meets your temple, licking your salty tears from your ear back up to your eye. Tongue hot and heavy, you squirm beneath him, his weight, each movement that fueled the cursed arousal pooling within you. Maybe it’d be okay.

“Taste good,” his hands cup your cheeks, thumbs swiping under your eyes, wiping the last of the tears that had stopped falling. “I’d bet all of you tastes good. Does he eat you out? You like how his tongue feels on that sweet cunt?” 

Your lips part, sucking in a small breath between them, the words sounded so filthy coming from your boyfriend’s mouth. They warmed your skin, made your hips twitch. He feigns a pout, “Come on baby, you’re not gonna tell me? Gonna make me guess?” 

You whimper out an answer, “Y-Yes.”

“Used to being a little pillow princess, aren’t you?” He crawls off your torso, feet hitting hardwood with a loud thump, you squeal when he tugs you by your calves to the foot of the bed. His hands hit the mattress on either side of your head, his head tilted, “I don’t think you’ve ever gotten this pussy properly fucked. Have you?” 

Your thighs clench together beneath him, heat blistering in your cheeks. His eyes drop to the denim, a smirk crossing his lips, tone spitting fact, “You want it.”

“No,” you whisper with a shake of your head, fingers curling at the comforter beneath you. 

His voice lowers, “I know a slut when I see one. You’ll never look at him the same when I’m finished with you.” 

Your breath caught in your throat just before he ripped it from your lungs entirely, pressing his lips to yours, and the familiarity of it all makes your lips respond on command. He smiles into it immediately, tongue slipping into your mouth, dragging against yours so slowly and so fucking sensually your hands raise to his hair. 

A web of deep red silk between your fingers, you tell yourself that this is okay, that this is Donghyuck’s body on top of you, these are his lips you’re kissing. Just Donghyuck with a little more attitude. Just Donghyuck with a little more force. He crawls on top of you again, slipping bent knees beneath your thighs, never breaking the kiss. Just Donghyuck with a little more experience. 

You pull him closer, hips bucking up into him, your core just dragging over him and he grunts into your mouth, tugging your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down softly. You whimper as he lets go and he chuckles, voice teasing, “I bet it’s soaked, isn’t it?”

You tilt your chin up as if you didn’t just give into every inch of him, “No.”

“No?” He lifts a brow, “Still pretending like you don’t want me to split you open?”

His voice is velvet, soft and sultry, it licks up your spine. You stare into him, eyes hardened with persistence, with a control that was feigned from all angles. His own flare with amusement, with hunger, as if he was imagining every little thing he was about to do to you. You pretended like it didn’t ignite something too large to smother within you. He could smell it. 

He’s back on you in a moment, lips attacking yours, tongue licking into your mouth as if he was trying to taste all your sins. Hands meeting your jeans, he doesn’t stumble with the button, fingers gliding the zipper down before he’s tugging them off your hips, down your legs. You keep your tongue tangled with his as you sit up, kicking off your jeans, he sits back for you to wrap your legs around him. 

Sliding a hand between your legs, his knuckles stretch the fabric of your pink panties, a low, muddled groan leaving his lips when he feels the wetness pooling between your folds. “Fuck,” the word is harsh as it slips from his lips, “Been so long. Years since I’ve felt a pussy this wet.” 

You whine, hips bucking into his fingers that slid up and down your folds, touching without purpose just to feel. He chuckles, “Listen to you, and you tried to tell me you didn’t want it? That you weren’t getting wet for me? Good girls don’t lie.” 

A shaky breath pushes through your lips, your pupils blown, lids laying low over them. His hand felt heavy over your core, fingers thick and rough, Haechan’s but they’re not. Your boyfriend always touched you with care, savoring every inch of skin, praising it, bringing you to a slow, burning release. His palms have never bruised into you with such urgency, such need. It makes your heart pound against your chest, breath verbally catching in your lungs. 

Lost in comparison, you hadn’t noticed your panties meeting your jeans on the floor. With his lips still centimeters from yours, his fingers circle your center, your legs shamelessly spread wide, his voice comes out in a harsh command. 

“I want you to fuck yourself on my fingers.” 

Your heart lurches, sinking down to the base of your ribs, hips bucking into him. This is wrong. This isn’t Donghyuck, he’d never say these words, he’d never make you do that. 

But as his fingers slip inside your slick heat, curling upward so perfectly, a movement that took Donghyuck months to master, your hips fuck back onto him with a languid moan ripping from your throat. 

He bares his teeth in a smile, “I knew it, you’re a fucking slut.”

You whine, eyelids fluttering as your hips pick up their pace, angling them onto two thick fingers so they hook against your spongy spot, humping his hand like a bitch in heat. 

His head dips, lips pressing against your jaw, breath hot against your skin as he keeps fucking talking, “Nothing but a slut at your core. You want to be used, treated like a doll, nothing like how he treats you, huh?” 

You nod your head, bottom lip caught between your teeth, hips still rutting against his fingers like you were a teenager with a body pillow. He flattens out his palm, pressing it against your folds and your clit catches it just right with every grind of your hips. 

You’re moaning now, shameless and loud, eyes rolling to the back of your head. He chuckles, low and rumbled, teeth nibbling at your jaw. You hiss at the sting, moaning louder, hips fucking his fingers even faster. 

“He can see you, you know.” 

Your eyes open, lips parting, breaths shallow. You blink quickly, “H-He— Hyuck?” 

He nods slowly, then curls his fingers, tongue poking from his lips. “He can see every face you make, hear every moan. He’s in here, watching, smelling, wishing it was him making you this fucking slutty.” 

The pit in the base of your gut pools with pressure fast. You choke on a moan, hips twitching as they ride his fingers harder, and he laughs. “Oh, you’re putting on a show for him, then? Wanna show him what I can make you do? What he’ll have to compete with when I’m done with you?” 

“Yes, fuck,” you cry, hands coming up to claw at his shoulders, thighs trembling against the mattress. He starts meeting your hips with each thrust, fingers hooking against that spot, lips just hovering over yours so he can drink up every moan, every cry. 

“Shit, Hyuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whisper, brows furrowed, chin tipping back as the pressure in your core feels too overwhelming to blow. 

With two more drags of your clit over the hard edge of his palm you’re on the edge, about to tip over and he rips his fingers out of you quickly, steadily. 

You cry at the loss. Sharp and piercing, the sound consumes the room, but he doesn’t react. He sits back on his haunches, popping his fingers into his mouth, licking them clean. 

He raises his brows, eyes slicing into you, “I’m not Hyuck, don’t give him credit for the orgasms I let you have.” 

You sit up on your elbows, shaking your head with fervor, voice completely raw, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry— please come back, make me cum, let me have your fingers again, please—”

His lips curl, “God, you’re fucking pathetic. Do you cry this way for him?” 

Lips bent in a pout, you shake your head. His hands drop to the hem of his tee, pulling it swiftly over his head, eyes still more animal than human. “I know you don’t, baby. He doesn’t give you a reason to, does he?” 

You shake your head again, and his palm meets the side of your thigh in a harsh smack. “Words, let him fucking hear you.” 

“No!” You cry, sucking audible breaths between your teeth, “He doesn’t, he doesn’t. Only you.” 

You’ve seen Donghyuck smile a million times. You know the bend of his lips like the back of your hand, how his teeth poke out over his bottom lip, his smile is always sweet. Whether it’s mid-laugh or whenever he sees you, there’s always love in the dips of his cheeks, in the space between his jaw. 

It’s never with pointed eyes, or half-way curved with malicious intent. It’s never paired with a harsh, sarcastic chuckle, or hands that slither along your skin like he couldn’t wait to crush the glass beneath his palms. You didn’t know why the sight of it brought a curling heat to your core, you couldn’t explain why your sweet, angelic boyfriend, turned so nasty and fucking mean, made your pussy throb. 

“I know, baby,” he nods, tugging on the zipper of his jeans, “Only me. I’ll teach him how to fuck this sweet little pussy, alright?” 

You nod, bottom lip still bent, “T-Thank you.” 

Mid-zip, his head tilts back in a groan, “Damn, you’re fucking perfect. I got lucky this time.” 

You sit up, tugging your top over your head, unclamping your bra behind your back, throwing everything to the mountain of fabric you’ve made on the floor. He climbs over you, laying on his back, fingers pressing into your thighs to pull you over him. You land with palms pressed to his hard chest, bare center resting over his clothed, hard cock— you whimper as your thighs settle on either side of his hips. 

“Ride me,” he says simply. “Show me how much of a slut you can be, and maybe I’ll let you cum this time.” 

You blink at him, and he taps your hip with three long fingers. He nods his chin up, “Don’t make me wait. Give your boyfriend a show.” 

With shaky hands, two fingers dip into the black Calvin Klein briefs you bought for him a few months ago, tugging them down to his thighs. Your breath is staggered, lips quivering, nervous. Haechan is in there, stuck, watching you lose yourself like a two-dollar whore down the street. As nervous as you were, as anxious as it made you because this isn’t him you’re fucking, you ached to feel him inside you. 

You were excited to see what he could do to you. 

Cock hard and leaking, smacking up between his hips, you climbed on top of him again, one hand holding onto your thigh as the other one lined his length up with your core. 

Your moan lacked any sense of pride as you started to sink down, wet folds sucking him in, greedily accepting his tip past rings of muscle. He groaned, low eyes watching, hands light on your knees, the sound rolled out of his lips slowly. 

“Go ahead, baby,” his voice was low and breathy, the sound forced confidence into your veins. “Show me what you can do.” 

You started bouncing slowly, eyes squeezing shut as you felt every thick inch, every vein, the curve of his tip dragging against your walls. Your hands laid limp on your thighs as you used your legs to lift yourself up and down, savoring the stretch, the feeling of him filling you up so perfectly. It felt different, somehow, it was the same cock you’ve been fucking for years, but the way he twitched inside of you, the way your walls pulsed around him, felt brand new. 

“Don’t tease,” he hisses, tone low and harsh, hands gripping your hips harshly, “I want to see a slut, not the slow shit that gets your dullard fucking boyfriend off.” 

You whimper as your hips pick up speed, gaining rhythm, your ass bouncing at the same tempo as your heartbeat in your chest. Quick, unsteady, wild— moans began slipping from your lips straight from your gut, your hands flying to his chest as his grip onto your waist. 

“Yeah, there you go,” he rasped, “Fuck me like you mean it, like you’ve always wanted to.” 

You cry, head dipping down, face centimeters from his as your hips bounce on him with force. He groans into your mouth as you moan into his, a song of pleasure filling your bedroom, skin slapping skin breaking through your cries. 

“Fuck,” you moan out, voice high-pitched and sharp, “You feel so fucking good.” 

“Yeah?” You meet his eye and a playful, cocky smile is on his lips, “His cock never stretched you out like this, huh?” 

His feet plant onto the mattress, hips fucking into you and you fly forward, head in his shoulder, crying into his ear. “N-No,” you barely get the word out, “Filling me up so good, feels- feel like your slut, wanna be a good slut for you.” 

He drags out a Yeah, low and rumbled, hips slapping into you so hard you feel it in your throat. You choke on your moans, your cries, they pour from your lips that are stuck hanging open, your jaw pressed to his shoulder as he fucks into your cunt like a toy. 

“Don’t get lazy now,” he huffs, landing a harsh smack on your ass, “What’s the point if I do all the work? That's not being a good slut for me, is it?” 

You force yourself up with hands pushing on his chest, arching your back to bounce your hips harder, ass bouncing on his cock so fast it shakes the bed. 

He laughs, sarcastic and vile, “You’re so good, baby. Born to be a slut, a toy, nothing but a hole for my cock to fill. You like it that way, huh? Being a cocksleeve?”

Your teeth find your lip as your head nods profusely, “Your toy, y-yours! Fuck.” 

“All mine,” his hands come up to your chest, squeezing at your chest, just hard enough to make you moan sharply. “You hear that? You hear her? She’s mine now.” 

You barely register his words as his cock pistols into your soft spot, orgasm brewing, your limbs tightening up, core clenching around him tight. 

“Shit,” he curses, bottom lip between his teeth, feathers twisted, “Y’gonna cum?” The sharp cry you release, the nod paired with it, his eyes settle into something darker, something unreadable. “Y’gonna fucking ask me if you’re allowed?” 

Your face scrunched up, ass still bouncing, orgasm so close— you can barely form words, let alone ask a question. 

With one hand on your waist and the other below your thigh he flips you over, cock slipping out of you in the process, the second orgasm he’s denied you has tears pooling in your waterline. 

“No! Fuck, no, please— No,” you cry, nails clawing at his shoulders as he settles on top of you, hips bucking against him to chase an orgasm that’s long gone. 

“You cryin?” He smirks, teeth bared in a silent laugh, head tilted, “Again?” 

He lines himself up as your hands keep clawing at his shoulders, crescents lining the breadth of them, tears sliding down your temples as sobs rack from your chest. 

“Good,” he slides in just enough for his tip to push through, “You should fuckin’ cry. You don’t know how the fuck to be good, nothing but a useless, untrained slut.” 

You choke on your moan, somewhere between a cry of pleasure and frustration, hips bucking into his cock to get him deeper. Strong hands pin your hips down as he slips out, fucking just the tip of his cock into your cunt, smirk lifting the corner of his lips. 

“Please,” you sob, voice scratchy, “Please fuck me, please let me cum. I’ll be so good for you, I’ll do whatever you want, please—” 

“Whatever I want?” His eyes light up, flaring with mischief, then he slips his cock fully inside you with one quick motion. You scream out at the pleasure, at the curve, at the addicting feeling of being so full it hurts. “Watch what you say, baby. You don’t even know who I am.” 

“Don’t care,” you mumble, mind turning fuzzy, too gone inside the waves of pleasure. “Just wanna cum around your cock.” 

“Mm,” he moans, slipping out slowly, just to push himself back in harder. “My cock? Not your boyfriend’s cock?” 

You shake your head, “No, no. Yours, your cock, want you to fuck me dumb, need to cum, please.” 

He bares his teeth in a wide grin, hands sliding up your waist, over your shoulders to press his palms into the mattress on either side of your head. Your legs dangle around his hips and he leans down, pressing a kiss to your chin, “Be careful what you wish for, baby.” 

With that he starts a brutal pace, cock fucking into you so hard stars dance in your vision between patches of black and white. Your hands are on his abdomen, his chest, crawling into his shoulders, fisting at the roots of his hair, bringing your lips to his in a frozen kiss, mind so muddled and gone you needed to feel him everywhere, feel everything. 

You weren’t sure what sounds left your lips, what words were on your tongue, but he drank every one of them up, tongue licking into your mouth, his teeth biting at your bottom lip. 

“Yes, yes,” you chant when he angles his hips upward, cock hitting that spot again, and the pit in your tummy reignites on command. “Oh my god, oh my god, I’m gonna cum, please let me— please please, let me cum.” 

He groans into your open mouth, his spit might have dribbled past your lips, you weren’t sure. His voice breathy now, airy like he was losing his own patience, he asks, “What are you?” 

“A slut,” your chest arches into his, soft skin pressing to yours, words leaving your mouth in a quick mumble. “A whore, a toy, a cocksleeve. All yours, use me, use me.” 

He moans and it sounds so much like Donghyuck your eyes flutter open. You clench around him, orgasm so fucking close, squealing out, “Please!” 

“Cum,” he grunts, snapping his hips into yours, “Fuck, baby, cum around my cock, now.” 

You think it might be the best orgasm you’ve ever had. Your entire body tightens around him as it hits, pressure blowing in your veins, a cry leaving your lips so loud your neighbors would think you’re hosting a haunted house. 

“Fuck, so tight,” he growls, hips snapping against yours, fucking you so brutally you’d be sure to have bruises tomorrow. You shake around him, body trembling, the pleasure too much to bear, tears slipping down your cheeks in a constant stream. 

“Gonna fill you up so good,” you’ve never heard his voice so deep, so broken, “Wanna see it drip out. Wanna see how this pussy takes my load.” 

You whimper, body falling limp beneath him, “Cum inside, fill me up.” 

He growls so low your chest vibrates, his hips bucking into you, stuttering at your core, twitching as he pushes himself closer. Your eyes sink low to watch, “Yes, baby, c’mon, fill me up.” 

His moan when he fills you up is so beautiful you swore you might cum all over again. His load is heavy, hot, long, he fucks himself through his orgasm for what feels like forever, but not long enough. 

He pulls out immediately, pushing your knees to your chest, eyes zeroed in on your core. You’re still pulsing, clenching around nothing, feeling how his cum drips down your folds, tickling you as it sinks down to your ass. 

“This pussy is so pretty,” he marvels, eyes big and glossy, “Such a shame I had to ruin it.” 

You whimper, toes curling where they hang, head falling back onto the mattress as a heavy breath pushes through your lips. Your body jerks, limbs tightening up all over again as you feel his hot, heavy tongue on your core, wet lips making out with your folds, swirling around your swollen clit. 

You gasp, hands flying down into his hair as he moans into you, tongue lapping at your core, licking up his own cum. 

“S-Shit, no, too sensitive,” you buck away from him, but his hold on your thighs was too tight, keeping you open and steady for him. You cry in overstimulation as he growls into your cunt, feeling the sharp pain in your clit, vibrations of the sound pleasurable but not at all. 

His tongue flicks against your clit, and there’s only moments of overstimulation before it turns tolerable, before it becomes hot and heavy, blinding pleasure. 

Your knees come together, fingers tugging at his roots as your eyes fly backward, toes curling, calves stuck to your thighs. He pulls that same heat in your belly all over again, the pit igniting, core pulsing, he brings you to orgasm too quickly. 

“Can I cum?” You breathe, “Please, gonna—”

Your fingers tighten harshly at his roots and when he groans into your cunt again, you take it as a yes. Thighs tightening around his head your body locks up once more, convulsing around his face, second orgasm rendering you utterly mindless. Jelly, how your knees fall to the mattress, how your arms lay limp at your sides. 

He licks his lips when he breaks away from your core, his wine-red hair completely fucked up, bronzy skin kissed with pink, but that shit-eating grin remains. Chest heaving, he asks, “You want him back?” 

All you can answer is some kind of passive noise, a mumble passing through your lips. His brows raise, grin spreading wider, “I’m flattered at the lack of argument, but I got what I came for. Hope he can do a fraction of what I just did to you.” 

Your swollen eyelids watch as his eyes round out, how his cheekbones fall, how his lips have that familiar sweet curve to them again. 

Your Donghyuck. 

You force yourself to ignore the disappointment that pangs in your gut. 

Putting your hands on her shoulders, admiring the makeup she did herself, you smiled and said, “June, please.” Slipping the phone into the pocket of her jacket and the flashlight into the back pocket of her shorts, you brushed your hands off and propped them on your hips. “There, no carrying.”

She scoffed, rolling her head back with a whine. “But, I don’t wanna-”

“June,” you said, eyes going slightly wide. “I called Skye’s mom. You know I did, I talk to her everyday. I’m sorry they’re traveling,” you softened, giving her a gentle shake, snaking an arm around her shoulder, leading her into the living room where noise echoed. “It’s unpredictable for them, with what Skye’s dad does, they’re always up and around.”

Huffing, she folded her arms over her jacket. “I wish we could be up and around.”

A head popped up from behind the sofa, one smiling, one eyeing you with caution. He had one sneaker in his hand and a three-year olds foot in the other. The dusty brown hair on his head, grown longer on the top, cut shorter on the sides, had been pushed back off of his forehead, his skin aglow with the same get-the-kids-out-of-the-house sweat that yours was. 

“Ready to go?” he asked June, who shrugged. “You look awesome, Rumi.” Glancing down at her to watch her blush and hide her smile, you patted her on the back and joined Yunho on the floor in front of the couch. He let you take the sneaker from him, muttering, “Hey, I was doing that.”

Giving him a look, you smirked. “You handed it to me.”

Leaning into you, he narrowed his eyes. “You took it from me.”

Jutting your chin forward, slipping the shoe onto Yuri’s foot in seconds, you kissed Yunho at the same time. Scooping her up in your arms, you stood up and looked down at him, frozen, lips still pursed, gazing up at you. 

“Stop,” you giggled, taking Yuri dressed as a puppy around to the front door where June waited, tapping at the cell phone. Dropping her sister off at her side, you pressed a finger to the top of the phone and pushed it away from her face gently. Big, brown eyes looked at you. “You can take pictures, you can text Skye, you can call me and Dad. No Instagram, no TikTok, no Google Translate.”

“No Google-”

“No,” you laughed, fixing the ears on top of Yuri’s head, “Miss Murphy on the corner thinks you’re of African descent, June.” She giggled, as did you. “I appreciate you learning other languages, but stop confusing the elderly, please. I also need your eyes on your brother and sister. We’re letting you go alone like you asked.” 

Every neighbor had been notified a week ago that June would be on her own with the two littles.

She didn’t know that, though.

Smiling at her, you swiped a thumb under her eye to fix the eyeshadow fallout. “You’ve got a kickass costume, kid.”

“Bitchin’,” she said with a nod, and you grinned.

“Totally bitchin’,” you whispered.

Turning into the house to search for Aden, your six year old, the last of your crew to find, you left June and Yuri by the door, June setting them up to take a selfie on the cell phone you were giving her for the night. Peering into the living room, empty. The kitchen, empty. The bathroom on the first floor, empty. Footsteps pounded on the floor above you, racing for the stairsteps.

You braced yourself.

Standing at the end of the hall, eyes pointed at the steps, Yunho came down first, absolutely losing his mind. With a hand pressed to his mouth to hide this laughter, his curled brows gave him away.

“You’re gonna freak out,” he mumbled to you, warning you, “Please, don’t freak out, he’s so excited. I’ll deal with his shower when he gets home, I promise.”

Typical Yunho and Aden. Keeping things a secret from you and the girls until it happened. He could see it in your eyes, the disappointment that always leaned more towards curiosity. 

“Is he not an Oompa Loompa, Yo, he’s been begging for weeks,” you whispered. “He adores that old movie, I had those white overalls specially made for him.”

Yunho slid his hands over his front and bobbed his head. “Oh, he’s an Oompa Loompa.”

Your six year olds voice poured down the stairs with every step he took, singing. “Who can take a sunrise, sprinkle it with dew,” his little kid, kind of alright pitch made you smile. Yunho bit down on his lip and whirled around. “Cover it with chocolate and a miracle or two?” 

Giving each other a glance, you both said, “The Candy Man?”

Aden thundered down the rest of the stairs and jumped off the bottom one, bumping into the wall on his way down. “Oh, the Candy Man can!” He bounced on two feet and threw his arms in the air, expecting grand applause. 

He got it from his father, but you smacked a hand over your mouth.

What was supposed to be white overalls, a striped shirt and green hairspray had turned into orange body paint everywhere and a fluffy green wig. At least the overalls were clean.

Aden squinted his eyes at you. Dropping his pose, he marched by you like the Oompa Loompas in the movie, with his chin held high and his knees bouncing every so often. 

“You would’ve said no,” he whispered as he passed by you. He joined his sisters at the door, the girls screaming their excitement. 

Turning to Yunho, you smacked him on the chest and laughed aloud. “Are you kidding me? That’s hysterical!”

Smiling at you, it not reaching his eyes, he asked, “Would you have said no?”

“Probably,” you said immediately, and he laughed. “He’s gonna be stained orange for school tomorrow, but whatever, you know what he’ll say if we tell him that.”

“That’s theatre, baby,” you both said at the same time, falling toward one another in a fit of giggles. 

Slinging your arms around his neck, you stood up on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his lips, one slower this time. “Thanks for getting him ready,” you whispered, nuzzling your noses together, “He loves his daddy.”

Leaning in to kiss you again, you pulled away before he could catch your lips. Leaving him with a groan in his chest, he followed you toward the kids at the front of the house, snapping pictures of the three of them posing together. 

“You can go around as many times as you want, okay,” you said, sliding your phone in your sweatshirt pocket, reaching down to straighten Aden’s wig. “I’m obsessed, Mr. Wonka,” you said, and he smiled, missing one of his front teeth and another on the bottom. “You will be orange tomorrow though, you know that?”

Aden relaxed his face and winked. “That’s theatre, baby.”

You heard Yunho laugh behind you. Yuri teetered around her brother and stomped up to her father, holding her arms up. Scooping her up, popping a kiss on her cheek, he looked at you and softened his brows. Tilting his chin, asking you a question you couldn’t hear, you watched as his eyes peeked at Yuri, then back at you. 

“Puppy twins,” you cooed, and turned to June, hearing Yunho groan to himself again. “What happens if you get lost?”

June, clutching her pillowcase that would come back full of sweets, said, “I call you.”

Yunho set Yuri down and followed behind her as she wobbled toward Aden, showing off how their plastic pumpkins matched. “What do you do if you feel unsafe?”

June nodded. “I go to Miss Murphy’s house, or Miss Rin’s.”

“Good job, June-bug,” Yunho said softly, wrapping an arm around your back. Looking up at him, he returned your small smile. “Have fun,” he said, moving to push the front door open for the kids, June taking Yuri by the hand, Aden bouncing out of it, singing the Oompa Loompa song, “Be careful, call us if you need us, you know where to go.”

Tiptoeing behind them, giving Yuri a teeny wave as she looked back at you with a grin on her cheeks, her hand wrapped around June’s thumb, you pressed yourself up against the doorway and watched them bound down the driveway in the glow of the setting sun.

The moment they disappeared around the bushes of the neighbors house, Yunho let the door swing shut and engulfed you in his arms, nearly taking you out, the titan swallowing you whole. Smacking kisses to one cheek and over your nose to the other cheek, you threw your hands at his chest, an attempt to swat him away. 

“Enough,” you giggled, stumbling backward into the house with him, “Enough!”

“No,” he groaned, taking his hands to your chin, tilting you back. He kissed you, and said, “You’ve been ignoring me for two days, I can’t stand it.” 

Wrapping your arms around his back, holding onto your wrists, you furrowed your brows. “Ignoring you? What are you talking about?”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, two nights ago when we made dinner you barely looked at me.”

“I was helping Aden with his math homework at the same time, my mind was split,” you shrugged.

Pushing you up against the island counter in the kitchen, he placed his hands on the marble and tilted his head, his gaze lowering to your lips. “Last night you didn’t sit next to me while we watched Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.”

Sighing, you said, “The girls wanted to sit with me, they like it when we sing the songs together, you know Yuri and her toot sweets.”

Yunho tightened his brow and glanced behind you. “I gotta figure out a way to make them…”

“Well,” you smiled up at him and his adamance for pleasing his children, “You know who can?”

His eyes flickered to yours. “Who?”

Rising to your tiptoes, you kissed him and whispered, “The Candy Man can…”

Masking his growing smile with some sort of frustrated groan, he grabbed onto your waist and lifted you up onto the counter, wedging himself between your knees. Hands smoothing over your thighs, he shook his head. “Willy Wonka doesn’t turn me on.”

Tightening your arms around his neck, pressing your chest to his, you said, “The one with Johnny Depp does.”

He blew a raspberry on his lips. “And that’s why we never watch it.”

“Because of that time Mingi dressed up like him-”

“Stop!” 

“I’m sorry,” you laughed, giving him a soft kiss, hands massaging into his shoulders. “I’m also sorry I’ve been avoiding you…”

He threw his head backward and cackled loud. “I knew it!” Dropping your head to his chest, you kicked your feet and whined. “Look at me,” he said after a breath, “Please.” Lifting your head reluctantly, bottom lip sticking out, he laughed at it and pushed it in with his thumb. “It’s okay,” he mumbled. “It’s a lot, I know.” 

“It’s just… June starts high school next year, she’s going to be fourteen in March. Aden’s in full blown elementary now, and next year Yuri moves up to his school with him.”

He listened to you, nodding along, a gentle smile on his lips.

“Everyone will be in school full time, they’re getting older, they’re going to have more things going on, June’s dance classes are going to get serious, Aden will be able to audition for that camp once he’s seven, Yuri will want to do god knows what and that’ll drain our bank accounts dry…” Glancing down between your bodies, you slid a hand over his chest and let the beating of his heart ease yours. “And, we’ll be here all alone.”

Releasing a breath, he leaned into you and pressed his lips to your cheek.

“With nothing to do but work,” you said, rocking with the pressure of his kisses, “And clean. And there’ll be a teenager. And our youngest will be old.” He trailed his lips down your neck, his speed slowing, his lips parting. Sighing, your eyes fluttered shut. “And, we want four.”

His warm breath tickled your skin, goosebumps erupting down your arms, your back. Arching into him, his touch, his delicious kisses, a soft sound came out with your breath, and he smiled. “Let’s do it then,” he whispered.

Tangling your fingers in the hair that hung at the nape of his neck, you sucked in a gust of air and tried to shake your head.

Yunho nipped at your neck, he kissed up your jaw, he planted a heavy wet kiss to your lips and groaned, palming at your hips, fingers pressing into your thighs. “Yes,” he whispered, the sound muffled by your lips, his tongue. You rolled your hips against him, both of you moaning at the friction.

Through shared air you breathed, “I need you.”

Licking his tongue over yours, he sighed. “I miss you.”

“Been too long.”

He nipped at your bottom lip, “Let me fuck you.”

Clawing at his shirt, you sighed, “Give me a baby.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, head tipping backward, new territory for your teeth to devour, “You mean it?”

Tongue dragging over his throat, you palmed his cheeks and looked into his caramel sweet eyes. “I mean it.” Melting into you, he swallowed you with a kiss, hands rushing to pull at the fabric hugging your hips, hugging your thighs, working them down. Pulling him away by his jaw, lips parting with an obscene smack, you laughed, your surprise evident. “Here?”

Smirking, he lowered his brows and eyed you like you were insane. “Here.”

Helping him work you out of your yoga pants, you lifted yourself off the counter quickly just to pop back down on the cool marble with a gasp. “Like we’re twenty-two,” you teased. 

Gripping onto your thighs, long fingers digging into your curves, pushing them apart, he caught your lips in a slow kiss, and before he dropped to his knees he muttered, “We were kinkier than this at twenty-two, baby.”

Lacing your fingers in his hair, giving his thick strands a tug, you tipped your head back as his hot breath fawned over your core, every muscle in your body relaxing, responding to him, his touch, his energy. “The couch… fuck,” he spread you open with his thumbs, tongue delicately dragging straight up your middle, “In your living room.”

He breathed through a laugh against you, the vibrations shooting up through your center. “Couldn’t explain that to my mom.”

“You made a mess,” you sighed, eyes wrenching shut, grinding against his tongue.

His hands wrapped around the underside of your hips, fingers pressing into your thighs, pulling you closer to him, on the edge of the marble. “You made the mess,” he purred, lips wrapping around your clit, sucking harshly before looking up at you, “I’ll never fucking forget that,” he mumbled.

“We can’t,” you giggled, looking down at him and his flushed cheeks, “That’s how we got June.” 

Smoothing his hands over your skin, relishing in how you clung onto him, he dipped his nose into your center and smized at how you shuddered. “Your dad hated me,” he whispered.

Lungs full of air, you wiggled your hips and shook your head with a breathless whisper, “Wonder why.” Yunho’s eyes softened almost enough to set you off, tears buried somewhere he had no problem pulling them out of. “Not the time for a history lesson,” you tried to laugh, pulling at his hair.

Pursing his lips, blowing a stream of cool air over your heat, admiring how you shook once more, he whispered, “Wanna cum?”

“With you.”

He huffed, shifting on his knees, propping himself up a little higher. His hands escaped your thighs, disappearing between you. “We’ve tried that before.”

“Doesn’t work,” you whispered, tugging him closer.

Tongue dragging over your center, he hummed, two fingers slipping into you, curving just right. “Doesn’t work,” he muttered, eyes pointing up toward you, “Someone’s too fuckin’ easy.”

With a harsh tug of his hair, you almost splayed yourself back across the counter. “Am… not,” you gasped with little self control, your body spreading open for him, reaching for him. 

Your body rocking once more, he sprung from his knees and wrapped an arm around your back, tangling his fingers in your hair, yanking your head backward. Fingers deep inside of you, curving upward with every sticky wet thrust, his thumb pressed to your clit, tight neat circles rendering your brain thoughtless.

Erasing the space between you, he caught your parted lips in a kiss. “Are too,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes locked on yours, on your lips, on how your brows twisted with euphoria. “And you like it,” he breathed, the pace of his fingers pushing into you growing faster as your grip on him grew tighter. “Or, do I just know how to work you… Every right way to touch you, to make you feel good, to make you… sound like this.”

Clamping your jaw shut, pushing air through your nose, you popped your eyes open wide, not even realizing how loud you already were.

Yunho pursed his lips, clicking his tongue, his brows flipping over. “No, baby, keep going,” he whispered with a twist of his fingers, his tongue lobbing out with how you arched into him, “Sound so pretty, let me hear you, haven’t heard you in so long, tell me how good you feel…”

“So good,” you whined, head lulling backward into his hand, “So good… But-”

He pointed his brows, watching your eyes flutter shut. “But, what?”

Grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, the fabric bunching up, wrinkling in your sweaty palms, you whispered, “Want you, inside, want you.”

Smirking, he shook his head once, muttering, “Such a cockslut.”

You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders. “For you. For you.”

Letting go of your hair, he slid his arm around your neck completely, dropping you down into the nook of his elbow. Curving his hand around, he grabbed onto your throat and leaned over you, resting his elbow on the marble, trapping you on top of the counter. 

“So I’m right then,” he laughed, eyes narrowing, focused on your pleasure entirely, “You’re easy… For me. Can make you cum as many times as I want, and you’ll let me. Look at where you’re letting me have you, in the middle of the kitchen, door unlocked, windows open. What happens when the doorbell rings, huh?”

You shook your head, or tried to in his grip. 

His smirk grew, the snap of his fingers faster, and faster. He could feel it with how you tried to clamp yourself around him, muscles tightening, your walls fluttering around his fingers. Broken obscenities filled the air, the choked out moans coming out of you something unfamiliar as of late, the sound alone spurring you on, the pressure building in your center.

“Yunho,” you gasped, and his lips curled, his forehead resting to yours.

His fingers loosened around your throat as he whispered, “I know, baby.” Curling his fingers one more time, you thrashed with a cry. Screwing up his brows, he moaned, “Oh, I know. Take it. Let me give it to you, please. Let me make you cum, I want it. Doing so good for me, fuck. Cum for me and I promise I’ll fill you up, I promise, please.”

Vision searing white, arching into him, feeling him loosen his grip on you to allow you to cling to him freely, pulling him into you like his presence alone pushed you over the edge, your mouth dropped open in silence. Yunho’s groan slid down your throat, his lips pushed wet kisses to your cheek, he smiled as you trembled beneath him.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he mumbled, slipping his fingers out of you slowly. Barely giving you time to catch your breath, he had his arms around your waist, pulling you off the counter. Lips locking, he stumbled for the couch and flopped down, straddling you across his waist.

Fingers digging into his hair that had gone frizzy, you let out a soft whimper and shook your head. “I can’t,” you whispered, deadweight on top of him, the muscles in your hips, your thighs, done for. 

Nipping at your lips, catching them with a kiss, he pushed his pants off himself and growled, “You don’t have to.” Taking you by the hips, he lifted you up and pushed himself inside of you, letting you go, allowing you to sink down onto his hips at your own pace. 

The stretch of him, overwhelming.

Air pushing out of your lungs, you curled both arms around his neck and pressed your nose to his cheek. Squeezing him tight, he grabbed onto your hips and rocked you.

“Deep breath,” he whispered, lips brushing your cheek. He waited until you listened, a shaky gust of air taken in quickly through your nose, abruptly pushed through your lips. “I don’t have long,” he mumbled, and you smiled, pushing down on top of him.

“Don’t care,” you sighed, giving him a heavy kiss, “Make me a mommy.”

He thrust up into you with a quiet, “Fuck.” Grasping your waist, he flipped you over, pinning you to the cushions. Holding your legs open with his knees, he took his hands to your ankles and pushed you further back. “I would, every time, if you asked.”

Snapping his hips against yours, it took two thrusts for him to topple over you, letting go of your ankles, grabbing onto the back of the couch. Through groans, needy moans, a desperation filled the air, a patheticness hanging in the heat, the sweat, not needing to hide, no need to silence yourselves. 

“God,” his groan needy. Wrapping one hand around your jaw he clamped your head back, keeping your eyes locked, your lips bumping with every quick snap of his hips. “When’s the last time we fucked?” Babbling mindlessly, unable to form proper words to answer him, Yunho smiled, his short pants fanning over the gleam of your skin. “Gonna fill you up,” his voice low, tickling your skin, “Fuckin’ you so deep, shit, pussy so good, gonna cum inside.”

“I want it,” you gasped, eyes fluttering shut, body going lax. His hold on you, his body on top of you, your inability to move, his strength, every insatiable snap of his hips, his words. Whispers of the high that never left you, that he never gave you time to work through, came back, spiraling you headfirst into another.

Hissing as you squeezed him, as you begged him through whines to fill you, to claim you, to breed you, to make a mess of you, to promise to always ruin you, he pressed down on your throat and moaned, a desperate mess, sweat beading on his forehead, the couch creaking beneath you, sliding on the hardwood floor. No control left, he pushed into you to the hilt, stretching your hips open. Groaning through his teeth, he pressed his thumb to your clit, no mercy to spare, the speed at which he made you cum again unforgivable as he spilled into you. 

Parted lips ghosting his, writhing beneath him, every tiny thrust into you as he came plunged you into overstim. Broken grunts, pathetic whimpers, you folded into one another, bodies buzzing, any word either of you could ever say, an afterthought. 

You couldn’t move. 

You didn’t want to move. 

Even as he softened within you, as your breathing attempted to return to normal, you didn’t want to move. In this moment he was yours. You were his. 

Picking his head up, feeling his body shake, he kissed your temple, whispering, “I love you.”

Gazing up at him, the hair sticking to his forehead, his flushed cheeks, his fucked out eyes, you whispered, “I love you.”

Parting his lips to say something else, he was cut off by a cell phone, the ringtone unmistakeable. Body tensing, soreness erupting everywhere as you tried to spring up, Yunho pushed you back gently and kissed your forehead. He unfortunately slipped out of you and stood up. 

“Stay here,” he said softly, reaching for his pants, jumping into them as he stumbled through the living room. The source of the Huntr/x song, your phone that sat on the ottoman in front of the lounge chair. Picking it up, taking a deep breath, he answered, “Hi Junie… No, sweetie, we’re still here… It’s okay, you did the right thing, what happened?... They… They did?” 

He glanced at you, his brows flattening. Sitting up, you went to stand up and he pointed a finger at you, making you sink back on the cushion. 

“You’re not in trouble for yelling at them, you stood up for your brother, we’re proud of you. Is Aden okay?” He rolled his eyes with a laugh. “Of course he called them that… Okay, I’ll be right there… Keep walking… Don’t let Aden throw any punches… Bye, sweetie.”

He dropped your phone back on the chair and brushed a hand over his face.

“What happened?” you asked, eyes following him as he started for the kitchen.

Scooping your pants from the floor beneath the island, he tossed them over to you and sighed, making his way behind the couch. “Hongjoong’s boys,” he mumbled, leaning over to give you a kiss. “They’re making fun of Aden again.” 

Sliding the cotton up your legs, you tried to leap off the sofa, but he pinned you back down. “Those motherfuckers, I’ll fuck H up, I’ll-”

“Easy, mama bear,” he laughed, kissing you one more time. “I got this. Joong will hear from me. I promise.”

Twisting on the couch as he walked toward the front door, you shouted, “Promise?”

He shot you a grin. “He’ll feel your wrath,” he said, dramatically. Then, he nodded at the couch and gave you a look. “Lay down and put your feet up, baby.”

Your heart went warm. “Oh, he’s serious,” you wiggled your brows.

Stepping into his shoes, he shot you a silly glare. “So are you. When I come back, I’ll do it again.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

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Your stomach felt queasy. You glanced back up at Yunjin, Chaewon at her side, the two still wearing excited grins. Chaewon grabs the book from your grip, “Tonight we’ll read it, since it’s mischief night. Hallows’ Eve.” 

The two let their fingers dance in front of them, giggling as they whispered oooh to spook you. The air in your dorm room felt heavier, as if the book itself brought a presence, taking up more space than it seemed to in your shared, cramped bedroom. The room didn’t have much more space to spare. 

“You guys are really dragging this out,” you waved a hand, sitting back on your bed, trying to force the disturbing feelings out. “I’ll entertain it, since it’s spooky season.” 

“It’s Halloween tomorrow,” Yunjin corrects, taking the book from Chaewon and laying it on her desk beneath the window. The setting sun creeping in from outside seemed to miss the book entirely, the shade of brown never changing. “It’s not even spooky season, it’s the spookiest twenty-four hours in the whole year. The portal opens tonight at midnight, that’s when we’ll read it.” 

“The portal?” You choke out a laugh, brows in your hairline, “Oh, you’ve lost it, girl.” 

“Don’t ruin my fun,” Yunjin bites back, gaze pointed at you, brows slanted. “I like this stuff, Halloween isn’t just slutty costumes and jungle juice.” 

You raise your hands in defeat, smile still playing on your lips, “Your wish is my command. You’ve converted me to a believer.” 

Yunjin’s smile is bright, “Good. I’m gonna finish my essay, after dinner we can set up and start.” 

“Yay!” Chaewon adds excitedly, tucking herself into her own bed, “I’m gonna take a nap. Wake me up when it’s time.”

You sat back on your elbows, eyes sliding over to the book again as if it called for you. Your gaze lingered, mind thoughtless, whispers clawing at your ears, ones you pushed out with one shake of your head. Tucking yourself into your sheets and forcing your eyes closed, you reminded yourself that it was just a book they found at a Halloween store, they were just messing with you. You wouldn’t let them have that much fun. 

You woke up what felt like an eternity later to Yunjin and Chaewon shuffling about your living room. You sat up in shock, chest heaving, eyes wide, body encased in a sheen of sweat. Did you have a nightmare? 

“Finally,” Yunjin says from the far corner of the room, in front of the kitchen, arms full of candles. “We’ve been waiting for you to wake up.” 

A shiver racks down your spine at the sight of her. Black hair down to her hips, a dark tank on her torso, sweatpants hung on her hips, she looked paler than she usually looked. As if she was straight out of your nightmare— if it was a nightmare. Your thighs were clamped shut. 

Chaewon was in the midst of clearing the common space in front of the TV, sliding the coffee table over, making sure every trinket and knick-knack was out of the way. Even she, sunshine incarnate, looked drained. 

“It’s eleven forty five,” Chaewon has a hand on her hip, hair that seems to have lost all of its luster tucked behind her ear. 

“I slept for five hours?” Your eyes widen, surprise etched into all of your features. You look around the living room, eyebrows quickly etching together, “Didn’t I fall asleep in our room?” 

“No?” Yunjin’s confused face feels sinister as she sits on the floor before the couch you laid on, placing the candles down in a circle. You notice then that the book sits in the middle of the floor, with three cushions from your couch circling it, candles creating a wider circle around them. 

You release a shaky breath, eeriness licking down your spine. Your limbs felt heavy as you pulled the blanket off your body, and the cold air of your living room hitting your skin wasn’t refreshing in the slightest. Everything felt off. 

Chaewon uses a match to light each candle, crawling around the circle, the crackling of fire the only sound. 

“Come on,” Yunjin urges, “You get that seat.” 

She points to the one across from her, the book facing the cushion as if you’d be the one picking it up. You stand on shaky legs, trying to laugh off your discomfort, “You guys are really taking this seriously.” 

“Our school has history, you know,” Yunjin says as you take the seat across from her in the circle. The hair on your arms stands at the way her voice drops, slipping into something darker, “Legend says that our school had a demon.” 

“A demon?” A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, “Be serious.” 

“She is serious,” Chaewon says quietly, sitting beside you with her legs crossed. The candles illuminate her face a warm orange, her voice barely above a whisper, tone completely truthful. You swallow. 

“Red eyes and orange hair like fire,” Yunjin smiles, “He was known to prey on girls asleep in their dorms. Waking them up in the middle of night, hands on their bodies, pulling their clothes off…”

“A sex demon?!” You giggle, voice returning to disbelief, “You guys can’t seriously believe that.” 

“An incubus,” Yunjin corrects you, “And we’re gonna summon him.” 

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, alright. I’ll let you guys know if I see bloody eyes and fiery hair.” 

Yunjin and Chaewon share a look, something you can’t place, and the way they seem so serious makes your hands tremble. Chaewon clears her throat, “If you really don’t believe, then you read.” 

Shaky hands that don’t feel like yours reach in front of you, using all your strength to pick up the massive book, the heat from the candles making the sweat already lingering on your skin worse. The book sits heavy in your lap, the spine digging into your crossed legs, the weight and sting of pain feeling like a promise. 

Your hands lay over the cover, the leather soft with its years of use, and your palms tingle with each touch of skin to leather. You take a deep breath, letting the feeling sit within you instead of overwhelming you, then flip it open. 

Your arms don’t feel like yours anymore. Your hands feel… Other. The book opens somewhere in the middle, pages flipping past with symbols you couldn’t recognize if you tried, that same scent of honey and tobacco and ash entering your lungs. This wasn’t a fake book from Spirit Halloween. This wasn’t something they were using to prank you. 

You looked up at your two friends who were staring at you with beady eyes and parted lips, as if they’d start drooling soon if you didn’t hurry. You glanced back down at the book, shapes and words in another language, your eyes scanned the page, trying to make sense of what was in front of you, but you couldn’t. You didn’t know this language. 

“I can’t read it,” you glance up again, feeling like there was minimal breath in your lungs. As if the book sucked it all out. 

Yunjin nodded, “You can. Try.” 

One hand runs over the pages, top to bottom, feeling the words instead of reading them with hands that weren’t yours anymore. Your brain seemed to turn on, connecting the symbols to words, memories coming back that were never yours to begin with. 

Then you began reading. 

While your ears remained your own, they didn’t recognize what they heard. A dialect from long ago it seemed, you would only hear something like this in a TV show. Your voice sounded deeper, darker, laced with someone else, something else, your eyes stayed locked in on the book. 

Yunjin and Chaewon caught on quick, repeating what you were saying, their voices slipping into the same tone yours had. You weren’t speaking or repeating, you were chanting. 

The candles around you flickered. 

Your heart began to race with each sound that left your lips. 

Your chin tipped up, muscles and joints sacrificed, eyes tearing as they stared at your ceiling dark as night. The chanting began to hurt, throat feeling raw, stomach bubbling with nausea, your body rejecting it. 

You fought to breathe between words, sucking breath into lungs that weren’t yours, letting the tears fall. Whatever was fighting its way into your body, you wouldn’t let it. 

You willed your fingers to grip the book harder, blinking away your tears, tucking your chin back down to your chest. You tried to think the word No, you tried to replace the chant leaving your lips with No, you used every ounce of willpower you had left to fight with the word No. 

The room felt quieter, your voice singled out. You realized then that Yunjin and Chaewon had passed out, their bodies unconscious on the hardwood floor, and then the room went dark. Midnight dark, as if there were no windows allowing moonlight inside, the only smell in the room was burnt wax and tobacco. 

You heaved a breath, you didn’t know when you stopped speaking, blinking as if you were allowing your consciousness back inside your body. You threw the book off your lap, back in the center of the circle, body tingling. 

“Ouch,” a voice ripped you out of your mind, and you shrieked. “That book is heavy, you know. Don’t throw it at me.” 

You tilted your chin up slowly, hand clawing at your heart racing in your chest, eyes wide as they stared up at the being before you. 

Skin pale as cream, eyes red as blood, hair like a blazing wildfire— You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. 

“I’m not kidding you,” he bent down in front of you, clothes the color of coal, so tight to his beautiful body they looked painted on. He was fucking beautiful. “You summoned me with this.” 

He picks up the book with one hand as if it weighed nothing, a giggle leaving his lips, sounding sweet as candy. He looked sweet as candy. He smiles at you, dazzling white teeth, pointed canines, a smile that was to die for. Cheekbones high and sculpted, you couldn’t speak, too stunned by his beauty, the symmetry. 

“Do you speak?” He raises his brows, throwing the book back down. 

You swallow, breaths picking up, blinking rapidly. Your voice comes out small, shaky with fear, “Yes.” 

“Looks like I was too much for your friends here,” his eyes glanced at your friends passed out on the floor, then landed back on you, a sparkle in the deep red. “But not you.” 

You didn’t know what to say. You glanced back and forth between your friends and him, then to the front door just a few feet away, gauging how fast you had to be to run. 

“Don’t even think about it,” he stands, running a hand through his hair. Can he hear your thoughts?

 “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here, seen real humans. I’ve been locked up for too long.” 

“Locked up?” You ask, chin tipped up to see him, eyes still wide and glossy. 

“Locked up, sealed, same shit,” he shrugs, walking over to your couch, then sits where you were asleep just a little while ago. A smirk graces his lips, voice dripping in amusement, “Reeks of sex on this couch. What were you dreaming about?” 

Your cheeks burn. You stutter, “I-I had a nightmare.” 

“No you didn’t,” his smirk is venomous, vile, “That was me. Couldn’t do anything while you were in your bedroom with these weakling girls.” 

Your lips part, “I knew I fell asleep in my bed. What did you do to me?” 

“Nothing you didn’t enjoy. You taste sweet, you know,” he tilts his head, licking his teeth with a perfectly pink tongue, “Could only get a small taste because I wasn’t here. That's why you summoned me, right? For the real deal?” 

“No, I—” you shake your head, voice growing in pitch, “They told me to summon you. They showed me that book.”