Noon 20+

he told himself it was harmless at first. light pink cotton sitting on top of your laundry basket, the same panties you had worn all day. the same ones that your cunt had touched.

he told himself it was harmless at first. he was just a bit pent up, he had been to busy with dance practice to even consider getting laid. what was the harm in taking one pair? he wasn’t a pervert, absolutely not. at least thats what he told himself as he stuffed the thin lace fabric deep into his pocket and didn’t breathe properly until he was back home.

that night began a routine he would be unable to break. he locked his door, pulled the panties out, and bringing them up until the soft, slightly damp crotch pressed flush against his nose. he inhaled. greedy, desperate, perverted. even if he liked to deny he was a disgusting pervert. his actions screamed otherwise.

especially as his back fell against his headboard, legs spread, and freeing his aching length from his sweats. it sprang up, thick and flushed dark at the tip, already leaking a glossy bead of pre-cum that slid down the shaft. he stared down at himself, cock twitching visibly in the dim blue light of his room. he was painfully hard, harder than he’d ever been. his cock and its desperate, leaking need were physical proof of his perversion, undeniable evidence of how deeply he had fallen. but even as the guilt built up in his stomach, burning and twisting into molten shame. he couldn’t stop.

his hand finally wrapped around his throbbing cock, curling around the thick mass of his girth. fingers lingering to press against the weeping head of his cock. causing him to sigh, breathing in another whiff of the distant scent of your cunt.

he wasted no time gliding from base to leaking tip, spreading the glossy pre-cum until his entire length glistened under the dim light.

he buried his face into the panties harder, his nose pressing deeper into the crotch, inhaling in ragged, greedy pulls while his hips began to buck into his fist. needy and desperate.

he was so grateful his roommates weren’t home.

his strokes grew faster, more desperate, the wet, rhythmic sounds of skin on skin filling the room. the thrust of his hips relentless, almost as if he was a dog in heat. he held the panties to his mouth and nose, tongue darting out to taste the fabric where your pussy had pressed all day. salty and sweet, and most of all utterly addictive. panting words of desperation into the fabric.

“fuck… mmmph,” he whined, voice already hoarse with need. “smell so fucking good. wanna be inside you next time—eughh-“

fucking into his fist as he let his mind wander into places forbidden.

he imagined you there with him. thighs parted, panties pushed aside, letting him bury his face between your legs while you whined and panted. he knew what those noises sounded like, never thinking of them of anything but innocent. you getting upset at how he caused you both lose the final match, soft whines slipping from your mouth or when you go on runs with him and k, the sound of you panting lingering in his brain for moments like these.

the fantasy shattered him. the images in his head pushing him over the edge. the images of you falling apart for him.

his back arched violently off the headboard, a choked cry of your name spilling from his lips.

thick ropes of cum erupted from his pulsing cock, painting his toned stomach and chest in messy, pearlescent streaks.

but he didn’t stop. he kept thrusting through every shuddering pulse, milking himself dry while he breathed you in deeper, letting the mingled scents of your pussy and his own cum drown him completely.

taki kept thrusting into his fist through every shuddering pulse, milking himself dry with desperate, overstimulated strokes, hips jerking erratically while he pressed your ruined panties even tighter to his face.

“f-fuck… still cumming…” he whined brokenly, voice cracking into a high, needy whimper. “your smell… god it’s so good… i can’t stop— haa—!”

his cock twitched violently in his grip, spent and overworked, the sensitive head flushed dark and glistening with a mix of his cum and pre. every shallow thrust sending sparks of overstimulation to burst beneath his skin and bones, bordering on pain, yet he couldn’t pull away. not when your scent still flooded his lungs with every ragged breath. how it coated him in desperation, turning him into someone he could not recognize. a starving, hungry pantydrunk pervert.

“ha— ahh… it hurts… but, it feels so good,” he yips against the soaked fabric, drool seeping into the thin fabric. the cotton ruined, just as much as him.

“look what you do to me… i’m such a pathetic perv.. mmph- for you… humping my fist like a dog in heat just from smelling your dirty little panties…”

his strokes slowed but never fully stopped, lazy and trembling now, dragging out the last weak spurts of cum that dribbled down his shaft and over his knuckles. His legs shook, spread wide and trembling against the sheets, chest heaving as broken little whines kept spilling from his lips.

tears begin to fall. he questions if they from guilt or from the overstimulation. but he knows the answer as the words slip out of his mouth.

“gonna steal more… every pair you wear… gonna fuck my hand raw thinking about burying my cock inside you instead…” he gasped, voice hoarse and trembling with obsession. “god, you’re my best friend… but I want to ruin you so bad… want to fill this pretty cunt until you’re leaking me for days…till you’re all round and pretty..till your mine.. mmmmph! i’d make it stick.“

finally, when the overstimulation came too much even for his desperate mind, taki let his hand fall away. body spent and twitching, his now soft cock laying heavy against his stomach, twitching weakly, and glistening.

© smidare 2026 ❤︎ㅤ likes & reposts r appreciated!

and so here you were, coat pulled tight against the october chill, trailing beside renjun down the cobblestoned road toward the village. jack-o’-lanterns floated overhead, candlelight spilling across the dark. laughter bubbled from students darting between shops. it should have been festive. instead, the silence between you pressed heavier than the autumn air.

renjun broke it first. “could’ve been worse. at least it’s not jeno. he’d never stop talking.”

you snorted. “don’t flatter yourself. i’m not exactly thrilled either.”

he glanced sideways, quick as a spark, but didn’t argue.

⋆˙⟡ ⚯ ͛⋆˙⟡

the patrol was supposed to be simple—check the outskirts, make sure no one smuggled firewhiskey into the dorms—but renjun veered sharply from the path.

“where are you going?” you demanded.

“shortcut.” his lips curved, that familiar smirk that used to undo you. “what, scared of the shrieking shack?”

“i’m not scared,” you snapped, though goosebumps crept down your arms.

the shack loomed ahead, crooked and abandoned, its windows glowing faintly from within. students always dared each other to go near on halloween, but few ever did. renjun tugged his wand from his sleeve, muttered lumos, and ducked inside.

you followed, muttering under your breath, “great idea. spending halloween in a musty shack with my ex-boyfriend, this is just brilliant.”

“better than sulking in the three broomsticks,” he shot back, though his voice was tighter than usual.

the floorboards groaned under your boots. for a second, you remembered slipping down this same staircase years ago during a dare, renjun laughing so hard he had to grab your hand to steady you. the memory stung now.

then you heard it: a whisper. soft, like someone breathing your name.

⋆˙⟡⚯ ͛⋆˙⟡

lantern light flickered. shadows thickened. a figure shimmered into existence: a young witch, translucent and pale, eyes wide with sorrow.

“you shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.

you stumbled back, wand raised. renjun stepped forward without thinking, his arm out like he still had the right to protect you.

“who are you?” he asked.

“i cannot rest.” her voice cracked. “he left, and i waited, and halloween comes again and again, and still, i’m alone.”

her pain pressed at your chest, raw and too familiar. you and renjun exchanged a glance.

“unfinished business,” you murmured.

she nodded, trembling. “help me. find him.” and then she flickered out, leaving only the cold.

⋆˙⟡⚯ ͛⋆˙⟡

back in hogsmeade, the music and laughter felt too bright after what you’d seen. renjun stayed close, shoulder brushing yours when the crowd jostled.

“you heard her too,” he said.

“yes. i’m not hallucinating just because i’m stuck with you.”

he huffed a short laugh. “same sharp tongue.”

you shot him a look. “don’t act like you missed it.”

he didn’t answer.

instead, your mind flashed back: late spring in the library, the two of you bent over a potions essay, renjun teasing you for biting your quill until you flicked ink at him. he’d smiled then, soft and real, like no one else in the world existed.

you shoved the memory down as you and renjun pieced together the ghost’s identity. eliza muldoon, a witch from centuries ago, had fallen in love with a muggle boy. their secret meeting place was the shack before it was abandoned. he had promised to come back on halloween night.

“and he never did,” you murmured. “so she waited.”

renjun’s voice was soft. “except - i found something.” he held up a tattered book he’d coaxed from the village library. the entry was brief but devastating: eliza’s muggle lover had been struck by a carriage on his way to meet her. he hadn’t chosen to leave. he’d never made it.

your throat tightened. “so she thought he abandoned her. and she’s been stuck here for centuries, waiting for someone who died trying to keep his word.”

renjun nodded, his expression unreadable. “sometimes people don’t leave because they want to.”

for a moment you thought of summer - your argument, your quick retreat. the way his face had fallen when you told him it would be easier if you just stopped trying.

⋆˙⟡⚯ ͛⋆˙⟡

you returned to the shack at midnight. the ghost appeared again, trembling with that same hollow grief.

“he never came. why? was i not enough?”

renjun stepped closer, his voice steady. “he tried to come back. he wanted to. but there was an accident. he never made it. it wasn’t you. it was never you.”

her gaze shifted to you, hollow and searching. “and you?”

a memory rose unbidden: sitting under the astronomy tower, his hand warm over yours as he whispered, “don’t ever leave.” and you, too young and too scared, laughing it off.

you swallowed hard. “i thought leaving would hurt less. it didn’t.”

the ghost stilled. her sorrow softened into something gentler.

“truth,” she breathed. “that is all i needed.”

her figure glimmered, dissolved, and the air grew warm again.

⋆˙⟡⚯ ͛⋆˙⟡

the silence that followed was different now. not heavy. fragile. like glass waiting to be reshaped.

outside, fireworks burst over hogsmeade, orange and violet streaks painting the sky. renjun shoved his hands into his pockets, looking away.

“guess she finally let go.”

you nodded. “maybe we should too. or . . .” you hesitated, then forced the words out, “maybe we should try again.”

his head whipped toward you, eyes wide. then, softer: “i never stopped wanting to.”

you laughed shakily. “still terrible at scary dates.”

a grin curved across his face, warm and familiar. he reached for your hand, tentative but steady. “good thing i’m better at second chances.”

and under the halloween sky, with lanterns glowing and echoes of old ghosts fading into peace, you let him intertwine his fingers with yours again.

⋆˙⟡⚯ ͛⋆˙⟡

Glossary Changelings- a shapeshifting race of beings that are related to the fey Tiefling- a humanoid race with devilish ancestry. They are known for their large horns, extravagant appearance, and carefree attitude Halfling- A halfling isn't a half-breed in that sense. They are their own separate race. They're called halfling because they're about half the size of a human. Half-Elf- A race that has a mix of human and elf traits Half-Orc- A race that has a mix of human and orc traits Harengon- race of rabbit-like humanoids Half-Harengon- A race that has a mix of human and harengon traits

In a quaint, shadowy town, where cobblestones whispered secrets and fog clung to alleyways, the figure of the Pied Piper emerged like a ghost from the depths of folklore. Clad in a tattered cloak, his features were obscured by the dim light of the moon, but the shimmer in his brown eyes betrayed a glimmer of mischief. To the townsfolk, he was more legend than man; a cunning sorcerer with the rare gift of crafting melodies so mesmerizing that they can lure even the most elusive creatures from the depths of their dens.

But behind his charisma lay a tale steeped in darkness—a story of pain that turned sweet melodies into lethal harmonies. The legend goes that the Piper had once been a simple musician, beloved for his ability to summon the gentle creatures of the forest with a mere note. But after tragedy left him scarred, his music dulled into a haunting echo of vengeance. Now, he used it to lure unsuspecting victims to their brutal demise.

He made his way toward the shadows of the town, the air thick with the anticipation of a storm. His target tonight was none other than the famed wolf hunter, Little Red. Much like him, numerous tales whispered through the streets about this legendary wolf slayer. He didn’t care; all he knew was that someone wanted you dead and was willing to pay a pretty penny for it. With each step, he breathed in the electric air, a smirk playing on his lips, ready for the deadly dance that awaited. 

Once upon a time…

There was a girl raised with cruelty. Some say she was raised by wolves. She knew nothing but brutality and lies as she grew up. Her family was ruthless and cold.

At a young age, she didn’t grasp the true nature of their business, but she sensed it was far from safe. Whispers of peddling girls and dirty money surrounded her family’s name, wrapping around it like a dark shroud, leaving a bitter taste in the mouths of those who spoke of them.

That girl was you.

You would come to learn that your parents were merely puppets, with someone behind them pulling the strings of their misdeeds. Like a fool, you were a puppet's puppet. You ran their errands, cleaned up their messes, and shouldered their burdens, enduring their brutal beatings when something went wrong.

One day, everything changed. 

You came home to an empty house, silence swallowing you whole. They had abandoned you, cutting their strings and fleeing with their puppeteers' money, leaving you behind in a world that was already merciless enough.

It wasn’t long before your grandmother found you, just before the bruisers came looking for you and your parents. Your grandmother was harsh, but you always thought she loved you in her own way. The forest was your new playground, a wild expanse where you learned to fight, to survive, and to become something more than a victim. Her love was implicit in the hours she forced you to spend deep in the woods, stalking prey, learning to hunt, and discovering how to protect yourself. You braved the harshest weather and the most unforgiving conditions, and though she never spoke loving words, you told yourself that this was better than the life you had before. 

You grew stronger, sharper, and more cunning. Each scrape and bruise taught you resilience, and every moment of solitude in the forest became a lesson in self-reliance. In time, you transformed from a puppet to a predator in your own right.

But soon, new whispers would begin to follow you.

You grew older, you could stand on your own two feet and you didn't need anyone but yourself.

Working at the nearby tavern, you earned a meager living delivering food to families in the area. You tucked delicious meals into your picnic basket and pulled your red hood high over your head.

Your grandmother had insisted you wore a hood in the city—she always said, "Wolves never forget." It had been years since your parents had run off with their tainted money. The Wolf Gang, a notorious bandit group that terrorized the townsfolk and threatened the crown with their ruthless dealings. They had once pulled the strings of your parents, and now they were still searching for you and your family.

As the end of your shift neared, you gathered your cloak tightly around you, seeking warmth against the biting chill of the approaching evening. After finishing your last delivery, all you wanted was to sink into the comfort of your humble home.

You entered the crowded tavern, your red cloak immediately drawing attention. The tavern master, a burly man with a thick beard, called out from behind the bar, his jovial tone slicing through the lively atmosphere of clinking mugs and laughter. “Heading out, little Red?” he teased, a grin spreading across his face as patrons turned to see who had just come in.

“Don’t call me that,” you replied, making your way to the bar.

“Oh, come on, Red. You won’t even tell us your name. What else are we to call you?” a half-elf named Renjun chimed in, leaning against the bar with a playful smirk.

“Faye,” you offered back, your voice laced with indifference. “Or Edith. What about Celeste? Do any of those names suit me?”

The tavern master chuckled, shaking his head.

Another voice chimed in.  “Oh come on, Renjun, we all know she can’t give us her name 'cause the wolves are after her,” a drunken half-orc named Hendery piped up, slurring his words as laughter bubbled up around him.

“Our little Red? Yeah, maybe when the Great Oak grows wings,” your boss added, his laughter infectious. "I do hear whispers of The Wolf Gang creeping closer to town. Just be careful out there." His expression turned serious for a moment, eyes scanning the room to ensure no unwanted ears were listening.

“I can handle myself,” a knot of unease tightening in your stomach. You understood the truth that lurked too close to the surface, the gnarled roots of your past intertwining with your present. The jokes and jests may been harmless to them, but the threat was all too real for you—a shadow that loomed ever closer.

With a wave, you turned to leave, the laughter of the tavern fading behind you, each step taking you deeper into the night. The forest beckoned; it was a sanctuary you understood better than the city. This is where you resided with your grandmother; she had less influence over you now but she was still as cold as ice. 

As you approach your cottage your human eyes struggled to perceive much in the darkness, the moonlight offering only a faint glimmer of clarity about the situation before you. The window to your cottage lay shattered, and the door hung limply off its hinges. At first, an icy fear gripped you—had a pack of wild animals broken in? But as you stepped through the threshold and took in the scene, you realized you were only half right.

A wolf towers over your grandmother's body, her ragged breaths shuddering in her chest. Its long, gangly limbs covered in fur and its ferocious muzzle are coupled with an unsettlingly humanoid shape. It looks like a nightmarish wolf, standing unnaturally on bent back legs. It's a perverse mockery of both wolf and man. These wolves were changelings, creatures that often adopt grotesque forms. Changelings can transform into whatever they desire. In a bid to evoke fear throughout the town, their gang had chosen a form that is both terrifying and unnatural.

"Get away from her!" you cry out, drawing a long hunting knife from your cloak. It may not be the ideal throwing knife, but it’s all you have in this moment of desperation. With precision, you hurl it at the creature. The creature howled in pain, a guttural sound that echoed through the silence of the night. It staggered back, the blade lodged deep in its shoulder, before bolting through the back doorway and disappearing into the darkness beyond. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline surged through your veins.

You rush to your grandmother, a whirlwind of emotions crashing over you. A part of you still harbored resentment, but she was all you had left. Kneeling beside her still body, you fought to steady your breath.

“Don’t fret, child. All will be well soon,” she rasps.

“Save your breath; I’ll find help,” you insist, tearing off a strip from your ragged dress to staunch the flow of her blood.

“There’s no time. Just promise me this: you will seek revenge. He wont just forget he saw you here. You must slay him before he tells the pack.”

In her final moments, she doesn’t utter words of love or comfort, but instead urges you to finish the job. It feels as if the last remnants of your heart shrivel and die alongside her, leaving a hollow void.

You stand up, your resolve hardening as you retrieve your knives from the secret spot beneath the loose floorboard. With a determined breath, you slip out the back door, embracing the darkness of the night.

He was wounded. He didn't get far when you found him. You weren't a puppet anymore; you were a hunter, and that night you killed your first wolf.

Any hope for a normal life died that night. She had thrust this burden upon you, and you could almost hear her voice echoing through the darkness, pushing you into a path you never wanted to tread. You didn’t want to kill that wolf. You wanted to run, you knew they would chase you but you were tired of fighting.

When the weight of his lifeless body slipped from your grip and sank into the murky depths of the sea, a pang of regret twisted in your gut. Days later, the waves returned him to the shore, a grim reminder of your actions. You realized then that you couldn’t simply wash this away.

With each report of the recovery, the whispers in the village grew louder, the shadows seemed to close in on you, and you found yourself a target. You didn't want to have to go further into hiding and you definitely didn't want the bounty that was put on your head.

The red hood, once a cherished gift from your grandmother, had become a symbol of something far darker. It hung around your shoulders like a curse, a silent testament to the blood that stained your hands and followed your name like a whispered sin. 

Then why do it? You had no choice. It was her dying words.

In this world, dying words carry some of the strongest magic imbued within them. They possess the power to curse, bless, or even command. When someone hears the dying words of another, they are bound by an unbreakable pact—compelled to fulfill the deceased’s last wish or face dire consequences. So, not only did your grandmother use her final breath to send you on a path of violence, but she also wove a curse around your fate, ensuring that if you failed to see her wishes fulfilled, you would bear the weight of her wrath.

Three cheers for family.

Your life was never comfortable, but you had grown accustomed to it. Working at the tavern provided easy coin, and you were frequently rewarded with free meals that warmed your belly and warded off the chill. The camaraderie of the patrons offered a fleeting sense of belonging, a brief escape from the harshness of your reality. But now, you stay hidden deep in the woods, very rarely do you go into town.

With winter just around the corner, the familiar game you hunted had grown scarce as the animals retreated into their dens. You were forced to broaden your field. You became a shadow among shadows, relying on your nimble fingers and quick wits to steal and swindle whatever you could in the city to put food on the table.

Tonight you were on a small heist, targeting a goblin who operated a brothel in the seedy pleasure district. He was known for his shady dealings and had amassed enough enemies that you weren’t particularly concerned about the theft tracing back to you.

You slipped through the winding, dimly lit alleys when you heard it—a sound unlike anything you had ever heard. It wrapped around you like a warm embrace, soothing your frostbitten ears and igniting a spark of warmth in your chilled body. Mesmerized, you followed the music, feeling an overwhelming urge to shed your clothes and dance, to lose yourself in the heat of the melody.

Your mind was clouded as you pursued the sound, unsure of where you were headed until you rounded a corner and spotted a figure. There, perched atop a barrel in a dark alleyway near the port where the wolf’s body had washed ashore, sat a man.

“Come to me, bring me the one who spilled blood,” he whispered, his voice carried softly on the wind. At first, you almost missed it, caught up in the resonant tune still echoing in your head, but as you stepped closer, the music faded. Rooted in place, you could only stare at the man—or perhaps the creature—before you.

He seemed human enough, but you knew better than to assume. Some beings intentionally concealed their otherworldly traits, opting to project an image of weakness—patiently waiting for the moment they had the upper hand to unveil their true selves.

“Who are you?” You asked, your back ramrod straight, unable to relax even a single muscle.

“Most call me the Pied Piper; some call me Haechan. But those who do rarely live long enough to share the name.” 

The chill of his words seeped deep into your bones at the realization that the Pied Piper was after you. You had always thought of him as a mere childish legend—tales spun to keep children in line, cautionary fables whispered at bedtime. Yet here he was, very much real, standing before you and setting off every warning bell in your body. 

He hops down from his seated position, setting his flute down on the barrel where he once sat. As he steps into the moonlight, he looks breathtakingly beautiful. He appears no older than you, soft brown hair tousling in the breeze, and delicate features that he likely uses to make his enemies underestimate him. But you’re no fool; you see right through him, right to the wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

He smiles at you, a disingenuous smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, as he closes the distance between you. Leaning down until your faces are inches apart, he distracts you, ensuring that all you can see is his face—the last sight you might have before your demise. You catch a glimpse of his deft hand reaching into his cloak, expecting something deadly. But instead, you’re taken aback when he places a gentle kiss against your lips.

Kiss of death.

Your grunt is muffled against his lips as a sharp pain lances through your side. He had stabbed you, just as you thought he would.

In one fluid motion, he withdraws his knife from your flesh just as he pulls his lips away from yours. The sudden pain breaks whatever trance he has on you. You jolt into action; he clearly didn’t expect you to be a skilled fighter. Maybe he thought you’d simply lie down and bleed out. But whatever he anticipated, it certainly wasn’t the swift kick to his chest that sends him reeling backwards. 

Seizing the moment, you sprint away, adrenaline coursing through your veins, fueling your escape as you leave him momentarily off balance.

You clutch your wound and don’t look back, sprinting through the dimly lit streets until you find yourself standing before the only place you know that might offer some help. The tavern looms before you, its wooden sign creaking in the breeze, the faint flicker of lantern light spilling from the windows.

You slip through the back entrance. The tavern has closed for the night, but you knew that the staff often linger for a drink or two. The sounds of laughter and clinking mugs filter through the air, guiding you like a beacon. Stumbling toward the main room, you knock over a few pails and brooms in your haste, the noises echoing in the silence of the empty halls.

“Red?” your boss calls from the dimly lit main room.

The last thing you see before darkness overtakes you is the sight of everyone jumping to their feet, concern etched on their faces as they rush to your side.

When you regain consciousness, you find yourself sprawled across a large wooden table in the center of the tavern, the surface sticky from spilled mead. Your cloak has been pulled aside, revealing the bandages wrapped around your wounds. A soft glow of magic hovers just above the injuries as Mark, the town’s cleric, administers a healing touch.

“Leave it to you to abandon your work and come crawling back half-dead,” Ten, a tiefling who worked alongside you, grumbles with a sigh.

“You’re just mad you had to pick up her shifts,” Lia, the only other human in the tavern, replies with a playful smirk.

“Will you all quiet down?” your boss interjects, his voice firm. “These doors turn away no friend.” He meets your gaze with a comforting smile, and you wonder if this is what a father’s love feels like.

As Mark’s magic dims, he gently removes his hands from your body. “You’re healed, but you might still feel some minor discomfort in this area,” he says, clasping his hands together. He must have been summoned in the dead of night to tend to you. You want to express your gratitude, but all that escapes your lips is a low groan as you try to sit up.

“Easy, you’re still sore,” Doyoung, a half-harengon with rabbit ears standing alert in worry, cautions you. You’ve always appreciated Doyoung; his expressive ears always reveal his emotions, making him a refreshing constant in a town shrouded in secrecy. He’s likely the closest friend you have.

Lia brings you over a glass. "Drink this, I mixed in a potion that should have you feeling a little better"

Gratefully, you take the cup and down it in one go. The warmth of the potion flows through you, easing the aches as you exhale a sigh of relief.

“Sorry for the intrusion; I didn’t mean to bring any trouble. I should be going now,” you say, attempting to pull yourself to your feet.

“No trouble at all, my dear,” your boss replies, his tone warm. “I’m not sure what kind of mess you’ve gotten yourself into, but if you ever need sanctuary, these doors are always open.”

“A little heads-up would’ve been nice if you were just going to disappear,” Ten chimes in.

“He just misses you—ignore him,” Lia laughs, her voice lightening the mood.

You look at them, a genuine smile creeping onto your face. Maybe you weren’t so alone after all.

The Pied Piper was real, and you were on his hit list. Rumors and legends shrouded his name, leaving you unsure of what parts were true and what wasn't. The one thing you were certain of was that his music did possess the power to enchant. You needed to discover his weaknesses—was it the pipe that held the magic? Or perhaps it wasn’t the pipe at all; maybe the true magic lay in the breath he blew into the instrument. 

You had to find him; you couldn’t just wait for him to show up again and gain the upper hand. Once he had his sights set on you, there was no stopping him from finishing the job. He didn’t chase you that night; he didn’t have to. With just a simple call from his flute, he could lure you out whenever he wanted. He was the cat and you were the mouse. You figured he liked to play with his food.

You had to find him and get some answers. Rumors spread as easily as the plague through the cobblestone streets of this city, and it wasn’t long before his name surfaced again. Tracking his movements was difficult; you had to sift through rumors to find the truth. It was like chasing a ghost but soon you had a lead.

His dark cloak enveloped him like a cloud of smog, and his steps were light as you followed his figure into the woods. You weren’t nervous. This was your hunting ground. You stalked him like a silent panther tracking its prey. 

As you ventured further into the woods, you came upon a rundown cottage with a thick thatched roof. You hid behind a tree as he entered the dwelling. After a few moments, a soft, warm candlelight flickered to life inside, casting shadows as you observed his movements. Carefully, you circled around the house, determining that the best way in was through the back. 

You waited until he moved to the front of the cottage before making your move. Slipping a knife through the crack in the back door, you lifted the rusty latch used to secure it. You entered quietly and shut the door behind you, holding your breath as you listened for his footsteps. The house was eerily quiet. 

Slinking along the wall, you made your way through the dimly lit house. The back door had led you into a small, cluttered kitchen. The air thick with the smells of old spices and something sweet that had long since gone stale. Haphazardly stacked dishes piled in the sink, their surfaces dotted with remnants of food that had dried and congealed.

Peeking around the corner into the front room, you took in the scene: a large desk was strewn with crumpled papers and half-filled bottles of ink. In the corner sat an old chest, its surface marred with scratches and mysterious stains, hinting at secrets long kept. A simple chair and a cushioned bench offered a rare spot of comfort in the otherwise bare space.

The room felt almost empty, save for the creaking floorboards that echoed with your every step, but the atmosphere was charged with an unsettling tension. A single door across the room caught your eye, and you assumed it led to the bedroom.

Just as you were about to move toward that room, you felt a knife pressed against your throat.

“I should thank you for making my job a lot easier, you know,” he says.

You freeze in your tracks, the cool blade pressing against your skin. You try to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye. Raising your hands, you attempt to project confidence despite your precarious situation. “I always thought you were just a legend, but here you are. Tell me, who do I have to thank for sending a mere mice charmer to try to kill me?” You smirk, hoping to buy yourself some time and distract him just long enough to disarm him.

“A mice charmer? What are you, then, to have fallen into my trap?” he retorts.

Seizing the moment, you grip the arm that holds the knife and pull it down toward your chest, away from your throat. With a swift twist, you slip out of his hold. Maintaining your grip on his wrist, you twist it harder. The knife clatters loudly to the ground as you kick it away. Grabbing his shoulder, you pull him forward and drive your knee into his stomach. He doubles over in pain, and you quickly pin him down with a knee to his back.

You slip out your own blade and press it to the soft skin of his cheek. “Don’t move. Lay flat on the ground, and if you move even a muscle, I will hurt you.” You sense he isn’t quite the fighter he appears to be; he likely lets his magic do the heavy lifting for him.

He flattens his body against the rotten wood of the cottage and nods reluctantly. You slowly rise, keeping your knife steady, and make your way to the cloth you noticed earlier lying on the ground. You rip off a substantial piece and return to him, using it as a makeshift rope to bind his hands. 

With a swift motion, you pull him up and sit him in the chair in the corner of the room, making sure he can’t easily escape. 

“A mice charmer is nothing without his flute and enchantments, huh?” you sneer, looking him over with a mix of curiosity and derision.

“What do you want? Clearly, if you were going to kill me, you would have done it by now,” he retorts, glaring at you with a fierce intensity

You look at him under the flickering candlelight of the room. His cloak is missing, leaving him in little more than a simple white tunic and black breeches. A chain is tucked into the neckline of his shirt—probably a keepsake or a charm, something that hints at his connection to whatever magic he wields. You stride forward, seize the chain, and yank it, pulling him abruptly forward.

“Watch your tone, or did you forget I’m the one with the knife?” you warn, leaning in closer, your voice low and threatening.

His burning gaze doesn’t falter for a second, revealing the calm resolve of a man who isn’t new to the concept of death. His hands are probably as bloody as yours, if not more so. He’s been captured, but he’s not broken, and that only makes you angrier.

“Who sent you to kill me?” you demand, your patience thinning.

He chuckles darkly, the sound reverberating through the tension of the room. “With how you treat people in their own homes, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had more enemies than you could keep track of,” he replies, a cruel smile curling his lips. “But we both know who wants you dead.”

You push him back into his chair with force, and he grunts as his back collides with the wooden seat. “You better kill me, because if I get free, you’re dead,” he warns, his brows furrowing in a glare that could cut glass.

His confidence is infuriating, and you feel your grip tighten around the hilt of your knife. “You really think you can scare me with threats?” you say, your voice low and steady. "You're in no position to make demands."

He leans forward slightly, the chains around his neck jingling softly. “You may hold the knife, but you’re still desperate for answers,” he counters, a glint of malice in his eyes. 

You ignore his outburst, your thoughts racing as you assess your next move. You had suspected the wolves sent him, but confirming it wouldn’t hurt; you needed to know what you were truly up against. Weighing your options, you realize that killing him could lead to the same disastrous situation you found yourself in before. On the other hand, leaving him tied up while you made your escape was hardly a safe bet. How many times could you flirt with death before it inevitably caught up with you?

"You overestimate your importance," you say, stepping back from him. "I used to think you were some mythical creature that dragged children from their sleep with haunting melodies when they misbehaved. But you’re just a dim-witted knave with a flute." He bares his teeth and struggles against his restraints, but you remain unfazed. "You don’t frighten me, and slaying you would be a bore."

“If you leave me here, you will regret it,” he growls as you turn to leave.

“If I leave you here, you will owe me for sparing your life—don’t forget that,” you reply coolly before stepping out of the cottage.

Each night that has followed that encounter has been nothing but fitful bouts of sleep. You toss and turn, haunted by the shadows of uncertainty, constantly looking over your shoulder, and darting your gaze at every creak that disturbs the silence. Had he seen you? Would he come for you? You knew he would call your bluff if he could see you now, taunting you with the knowledge that you were not nearly as unfazed as you would have liked to pretend. 

You just needed a few more days to gather some coin and collect your belongings before making your escape. This was long overdue. There was nothing left in this town for you, and you had no desire to fight for a place that felt more like a trap than a home. The memories that lingered here were a weight upon your heart, but the thought of remaining any longer made your skin crawl with discomfort. 

If the wolves wanted this shithole, then they could have it, you had no intention of being among them when they claimed it.

It was your last night in this wretched town, and the anticipation of freedom coursed through your veins. You had already saddled the horse you had bartered for, packing all your belongings tightly—everything you could carry and nothing more. Now, all that remained was to wait for the first light of dawn to break over the horizon. 

Traveling under the cover of night felt far too risky; the shadows held too many unknowns, and you were no skilled rider. You knew you needed the gentle light of day to navigate the forest safely on horseback. The thought of losing your way or stumbling into danger sent a shiver down your spine. 

You were deep in sleep when a noise startled your horse outside. Exhausted from a long day of packing, you stirred slightly but let sleep pull you back under. 

You barely registered the creaking floorboards as someone entered your room. Your body was too tense and sluggish from the day’s work to react quickly. As you fumbled for your knife, a figure lunged at you, pressing a hand against your mouth and silencing you. 

A cold blade pressed against your throat, paralyzing you with fear. You lay stiff in bed, heart pounding, knowing no one would hear you scream in the darkness of the forest.

“I warned you, didn’t I? There’s a bounty on that pretty little head of yours that I have to collect,” he coos, his voice chillingly close as his body pins you to the mattress.

The knife presses deeper into your skin, a sharp reminder of your predicament. You mumble against his palm, and he lifts it slightly, allowing you to speak. “If it’s money you want, I can get it for you.”

“I don’t think you know just how much you’re worth,” he replies, chuckling as he grips your cheeks, squeezing them.

“The king of wolves is worth more,” you say, summoning as much confidence as you can.

His smile vanishes. “What a sweet talker you are. If you think I’m foolish enough to believe you could get the bounty from the king of wolves, you’re insane.”

“I can kill the king of wolves.”

“You’re a liar and a thief. Now give it back.”

The charm from his necklace—the very piece you had swiped the last time you were with him—was the key to his power. You had suspected that taking it would render him powerless, and now, faced with the reality of his desperation, you confirmed that he truly needed it to imbue magic into his flute. Without it, he was helpless. You only took it to buy yourself time; if he could lure you out with just a note again, you knew you would be doomed  from the start.

“Only if you agree to let me up. You won’t find it if you don’t let me get it for you.”

“You insolent little—”

“Ah ah,” you warn him with a smile, feeling the power shift in your favor. He steps back to the center of the room but keeps his knife pointed in your direction.

“Find it, now,” he growls.

“I can slay the king of wolves; grant me but a moment. This bounty is surely tenfold that of mine. The queen herself placed it upon his head; she would give us whatever we desire for his life,” you counter, your words dripping with allure.

“Charm, then we can discuss further,” he reminds you, his eyes narrowing.

You huff and roll your eyes, rising from the bed. The silk nightgown clings to your body, its delicate fabric highlighting your curves while the hem flutters just above your knees. The thin straps slide off your shoulders, exuding both elegance and vulnerability.

You notice a blush rising in his cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and something else. His gaze lingers on you longer than it should before he looks away, but not before you catch the flicker of desire in his eyes.

You slyly retrieve your hidden knife while he isn’t looking. Your heart races and as you pull out the charm from your brassiere, holding it up like bait. He takes a step closer, intrigue evident on his face, but you raise your weapon, warning him to stop.

“Stay where you are,” you command, brandishing the knife. The blade glints in the light, and the tension between you grows thick, hanging in the air like a charged storm.

“You shall not claim my life, for I possess a greater offer in exchange for it,” you declare, your tone resolute and laced with the bravado of a champion, your heart racing.

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “How do you figure you will kill the king of wolves?” 

“I’ve evaded you three times now, and you’re the ever-so-feared Pied Piper. Give me some credit,” you reply lightly, hoping to shift the mood.

He responds with a sly smile. “Impressive, I’ll grant you that, but it’s still not enough.”

“You're going to help me enchant him, and then I’ll take him down. Simple as that,” you say. Under different circumstances, you’d have dressed it up with more flair, but fatigue still linger.

“And why would I help you?” he asks, skepticism etched on his face.

“Because I know more about you than you think. My bounty won’t even cover half of what you need, but a wolf’s bounty…” you whistle, letting the weight of the impressive figure hang in the air, “that will cover everything and more.”

His expression hardens, and a flicker of unease crosses your mind. You wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake by bringing up his debt. 

“Careful where you tread,” he warns, his voice low and edged with threat. 

“You help me take down the king, and we both get what we want. Think about it.” 

He studies you for a long moment, weighing the risks against the potential reward, and you can almost see the gears turning in his mind. The tension thickens, but you know you’ve struck a chord.

“Two days. That’s all you get,” he says, his voice icy and firm. “I’ll be back tomorrow to go over the details. If you try to run, I’ll find you and kill you before you can even plead for your pathetic life.”

“Deal,” you reply, tossing him the charm. You assume he needs his flute to use it, and since you don’t see it on him, you figure it’s safe to hand it over.

With that, he vanishes like a wisp of smoke, a true phantom of the night.

The silence that follows fills the air like a heavy shroud, and you take a moment to steady your racing heart. The confrontation has left you on edge. You run your fingers through your hair, exhaling deeply. Two days. You have that long to devise a plan, gather what you need, and prepare for the next inevitable encounter. 

As the darkness settles around you, the weight of your situation becomes clearer. To kill the king of wolves, you’ll need more than just a tongue-in-cheek plan. You’ll need finesse, strategy, and perhaps a little bit of luck. 

And maybe, just maybe, a deeper understanding of the man you're working with.

This time, when he arrives, you're clad in your red hood and more prepared than before—but so is he. As he enters your cottage, you notice the flute strapped to his back and charm hanging around his neck.

“Neutral territory,” he states. “You’ll find I’m quite formidable with my magic,” he warns.

“Only a fool would think otherwise,” you reply with a smile.

You invite him to sit in your front room and make tea for both of you. He watches you take the first sip before drinking from his own cup.

“You know you're ruining my reputation, right?” he calls out, a teasing edge to his voice. “You're supposed to be dead and the wolves are impatient.”

“Don’t worry, I have a plan for that too,” you respond, your tone steady.

You pull off your red hood and hold it out to him. “With this, you'll claim my bounty, and that should be enough to keep your skin in the game.”

“You really want to kill the King of Wolves?” he asks, raising an arched brow over his cup of tea.

You let out a long sigh. “I could run, but wolves never forget. They will just track me down again. No more running.”

You lay out your plan in detail, and though he appears skeptical, he ultimately agrees to go along with it. A hush falls over the room as you both sit in the weight of your scheme, each of you reflecting on your respective roles in this dangerous game.

“Permission to ask a question?” you ask with a small smile.

He glares at you, annoyance clear in his eyes. “Somehow, whenever you start running your mouth, it pisses me off.”

“Is it true, the reason for your debt?” you ask anyway, intrigued.

He grips his teacup harder, his knuckles whitening. Not many people knew much about the Pied Piper; the legend loomed large, but even fewer knew the man behind the title—Haechan, with his soft features and heavy burdens.

“Yes, I went into debt to save my sick mother. As you can see It was all for nothing, given the fact that I'm here and she's not. I take on these jobs to earn money. Any other invasive questions, Red? How about I ask one—why are the wolves after you, and how do you get a silly name like Little Red Riding Hood?”

“My name isn’t Red; it’s Y/N,” you reply, bold in your assertion. You’ve never shared your real name with anyone before, but you figured it was time to even the playing field.

“And the wolves?” he presses further, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“My parents stole away with some of their money. They want revenge,” you say with a shrug. “They got it when they killed my grandma."

As the gravity of your shared burdens swirls in the air between you, you realize that beneath the legends and whispers, Haechan was just a man, and you were more than a mere tale woven into the fabric of the woods. The truth hung heavy, intertwining your fates tighter with each revelation.

“And then you killed one of theirs,” he finishes for you, piecing it all together. “So it looks like we both have had our fair share of tragedy. Now look at us.” He shakes his head, a mixture of disbelief and resignation in his tone.

You had never thought of it that way—how similar your paths had been. Maybe out of everyone, he would understand you the best. Looking at him was like gazing into a mirror that reflected not just your struggles but also the shadows of loss and revenge.

Haechan was handsome, his lips plump and cheeks soft, giving him an almost innocent appearance. Yet, his eyes—oh, those eyes were hard and cold; they spoke of the dark secrets he carried, secrets that were all too familiar to you.

“Tell me more about your mom,” you say, breaking the silence that hung heavy in the air.

Haechan's expression shifts; a warmth creeps into his features as he recounts memories of his mother. He speaks of her laughter, of the stories she told, of how she would comfort him during storms and the way her love enveloped him like a soft blanket. Each word is laced with nostalgia, and you can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the warmth these memories hold. He was loved.

“She sounds like someone who could light up the darkest paths.”

He meets your gaze, and for a fleeting moment, the facade of the Pied Piper slips away. In that instant, all that remains is Haechan, the boy behind the legend.

“Tell me about your grandma,” Haechan says, curiosity in his eyes.

You take a deep breath and recount your upbringing. Your words are cold and empty as you speak of her harshness, how she cursed you and left you no choice but to kill the wolf that started all of this. 

“She never cared about me,” you finish, feeling the weight of your memories.

Haechan’s brow furrows. “Sounds like she was trying to protect you. If that wolf had escaped, you would have been in danger either way.”

You consider his words, the soft glow of candlelight flickering around you. Maybe he’s right, but it doesn’t change how cruel she was. “It’s too late to redeem her,” you say. “Her protection crushed any chance I had at love or hope.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not defined by her actions.” 

“But am I not defined by her cruelty? To learn is to experience. How can I know love if I’ve never truly felt it? I might just perish tomorrow,” you say, a bitter laugh escaping.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” he replies gently, his gaze steady. “I still owe you for sparing my life back at my cottage. I can show you what love looks like.”

You narrow your eyes, skepticism creeping in. “And how would you do that if we don’t feel love for each other?”

He leans closer, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “We can pretend, just for this one night. I can show you how I would love you.”

A rush of emotions swirls within you—fear, curiosity, and a flicker of hope. “What do you mean?”

Haechan's voice is soft yet earnest. “Let’s create a moment together, something to hold onto, just in case tomorrow doesn’t come.” 

You hesitate, heart pounding, caught between the pain of your past and the promise of something new.

“Come,” he calls to you, as he stands. His hand outstretched, inviting yet unsettling. You’ve never felt this exposed with anyone before.

You know you’re being reckless, but what does it matter? Life could slip away from you at any moment—what have you to lose? You grasp his hand, and he leads you into your bedroom. 

He closes the door behind you, sealing off the world, and presses you against it, his arms creating a cage around you. 

“At any moment,” he says, his voice low and steady, “if you wish to stop, you have but to hit me.”

You manage a smile, trying to ease the tension coiling in your stomach. “That sounds quite tempting.”

His hands brush up against your cheek, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “Once you feel my hands on you, you won’t want to let go.”

Your cheeks flush at his promise, and your heart races. His touch is gentle, as if you were a delicate doll, something precious that he couldn't bear to break. 

He leans in and captures your lips in a soft kiss, a sensation even more tender than you had imagined. His fingers glide over your face before trailing down to your neck, drawing you closer and pressing your body against his. The warmth of him enveloping you is just like the music that filled the air the night you first met by the docks. A sound escapes you—a breathless gasp—one you had never made before.

You can feel Haechan's smile against your lips before he begins to shed the layers of your clothing. Naked and vulnerable, you stand before him, yet your mind races too fast to truly register your defenselessness. His lips find your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses and gentle nips, igniting a shiver of sensation. You moan softly, your body writhing under his tender yet possessive hold. You were completely at his mercy.

"Like music to my ears, my love," was a low murmur against your skin. His gaze clouded. His eyes swam with emotion you didn't recognize. A heady, intoxicating blend of longing and something else, something wilder. It was as if the taste of you, the sweetness of your mouth, had intoxicated him, leaving him drunk on desire alone. He trailed kisses down your neck, his lips leaving a trail of damp heat against your collarbone and shoulder blades. His hands roam over your body, mapping out every curve before they find their way to your breasts, soft mounds yielding under his touch. With a gentle yet firm grip, he kneads them, pinching and tugging softly, drawing out more moans that escape from your lips.

The old, wooden door groaned under your weight as you leaned against it, your breath catching in your throat. His lips, soft yet insistent, found their way to your nipple, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine. You felt yourself drowning in his touch, in the way he made you feel utterly adored.

His gaze, dark and intense, met yours, the kohl lining his eyes like a smudge of night against the tan canvas of his skin. His tongue flicked playfully, a teasing caress that sent a jolt of pleasure through you. Each movement was deliberate; each touch a whispered promise.

He shifted his attention to your other breast, his deft hands working in perfect harmony with his mouth. You couldn't help but arch your back, your body instinctively seeking more of the exquisite torture. The rough wood of the door dug into your skin, a stark contrast to the velvety softness of his lips and the warmth of his hands.

His touch was an orchestra of sensation, a dance of pleasure that stirred something deep within you. It was a raw, primal connection, a language spoken without words, understood in the depths of your soul. The world narrowed, fading into a blur of color and sound, leaving only the intoxicating presence of him, his touch, his gaze, and the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that threatened to consume you entirely.

“I want you to feel everything,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear, making you shudder with anticipation. 

He falls to his knees, a look of hunger in his dark eyes. With a swift movement, he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and presses his mouth against your most intimate parts. A jolt of heat surges through your body as you try to squirm away from his eager touch, but his grip tightens, keeping you firmly in place. Your mind races with desire as you yelp out, your hands instinctively reaching for his thick, dark brown locks, tangling in your grasp. The intensity of the moment overwhelms you as you give in to his fervent passion.

“Hae—Haechan!” you gasp, his name feeling foreign yet perfectly right against your tongue. Each syllable feels like a spell, causing a desperate moan to escape from him as he feverishly licks at you. His grip on your hips is tight and bruising, but you welcome the pain as it fuels your desire for him. You grind your hips against his tongue, unable to control yourself as he dominates you with his mouth. He pants against your heat, driven by pure impulse as he closes his eyes and savors every delicious taste of you.

His lips and tongue move with wild abandon as he sucks on you, filling the small cottage with shameful groans and wet smacking sounds. Your legs start to tremble, but he shows no signs of stopping. You cry out and your head falls back, hitting the door behind you as you convulse in his grasp. A powerful sensation washes over you, causing a tightness in your gut before it finally releases. Haechan eagerly licks you up, cleaning away the evidence that you left all over yourself and on his face.

Your breaths slow down and meld together, as if in perfect harmony. The gentle rise and fall of your chests echoes in the quiet room. "I lost myself for a moment," he says softly, with a hint of apology laced in his words. It's almost as if he didn't intend to take you on this journey to the 12th gate of heaven, but couldn't resist the pull either.

He sets your leg down gently, and  he helps you right yourself.  He guides you to the edge of the mattress, and as he lays you down, there’s a palpable shift in the air. You watch as he stands before you, the heavy cloak slipping away to reveal more of him, piece by piece. The sight of him in his white tunic and dark breeches sends your heart racing, and when he sheds those as well, leaving only his undergarments and the silver charm necklace you once stole from him, your breath catches in your throat. 

You instinctively look away, your cheeks flushing.  Your body betrays you, reacting in ways you never anticipated, aching for connection. There’s a pull within you, a desire to close the distance and feel the warmth of his skin against yours. 

This man who had once threatened your life now stands before you, igniting a raw, undeniable longing that makes your heart race. You grapple with the gravity of the moment, torn between fear and desire.

He used to be your prey, but as he leans down and crawls onto the mattress, you start to see him in a different light. He presses his lips against yours once more, humming a tune that sends shivers down your spine. Your body melts into relaxation, and your senses are heightened even more than before.

“It's not the flute, is it?” You struggle to speak between kisses.

"I don't think I want to reveal any more secrets to you tonight." he responds with a playful smirk.

You surrender to the sensation as it consumes you. He was right - you had never experienced anything like his touch before. Your eyes follow him as he removes his undergarments, and you become slick at the sight.

“This might hurt; just relax and focus on the melody,” he says with a soft caress of your face.

You nod, realizing now that you trust him more than you initially thought. He coats himself in you and you moan at the lewdness of the act. He was coated in your arousal and soon he was slipping inside of you. He hums a beautiful note, one imbued with magic, easing any discomfort.

“It's beautiful,” you say, captivated by the sound.

His eyes shine at the compliment, and he kisses you.  It was strange to think that this love was all an act, because if this is what pretend love felt like, you could only imagine the intensity of real love. 

His hips sway to a rhythm that you can't quite hear, but you feel it pulsating through your body. His movements are fluid, like the  waves in an ocean. The chain around his neck, swinging in time with his thrusts. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, clinging to him as if he were the only life raft in the midst of a raging storm. With every thrust, he fills you up with his love, overwhelming you with intense pleasure and making you feel alive. In that moment, it's as if you couldn't survive without him, and he knows it. He pours his love into you, determined to fill every empty space so that you never have to feel alone again.

His movements quicken, the rhythm growing more urgent as passion overtakes you both.  Haechan's eyes lock onto yours, dark and intense. 

"You're a symphony," he murmurs, voice rough with emotion. His fingers trace delicate patterns across your skin, leaving trails of tingling warmth in their wake. You arch into his touch, craving more. 

Moonlight streams through the window, bathing your entwined bodies in an ethereal glow. The air is thick with the scent of arousal and magic. 

You run your hands along the planes of Haechan back and you cling to him as your overtaken by that feeling again. The release makes your limbs weak and mind numb.

Your muscles clench and release around him in a tidal wave of pleasure, pulling him deeper into you with each thrust. He finally withdraws, his body trembling as he releases on your stomach, The air is thick with tension and the scent of sex, but as Haechan's magic fades, all that remains is the sound of your rapid breaths.

As he settles beside you, the silence encases you both, thick with unspoken words and emotions. Your mind races, trying to make sense of how the events had unfolded so drastically. 

You glance sideways at him, marveling at the stark contrast of your feelings—a sudden urge to survive, to revel in this newfound complexity. It was almost surreal: one moment you were in peril, and now, here you were, yearning for the warmth of his presence. 

Determination courses through your veins; you refuse to succumb to the fate that looms ahead. If this is what Haechan's love felt like—the intoxicating blend of danger and allure—then you would indeed fight tooth and nail for every moment you could grasp. 

Working alongside Haechan had become a bit awkward, but you pushed the tension aside as you both raced through the labyrinthine alleyways of the town. The urgency of the mission overshadowed any lingering emotions between you. You had received a promising lead on the elusive King of Wolves; a halfling informant had mentioned spotting him stumbling out of a tavern, drunk and vulnerable. 

The king was never without his entourage, a handful of ruffian wolves who surrounded him like shadows. Despite them believing you to be dead, you understood that you still needed to be cautious. The element of surprise was in your favor, but luring him out would require a careful strategy.

Everything was going according to plan so far. If the informant was correct, then Ten had successfully slipped something extra into the king's drink.

As you maneuvered through the narrow streets, your mind raced with possibilities. You would have to bait the king, drawing him away from his pack. That's where Haechan came in. Haechan kept pace with you, his presence a steady reminder that you weren't alone.

Haechan maintained a watchful eye on the pack from over your shoulder as you both tracked the wolves ahead. The night was quiet and chilly, with a biting wind that whipped through the alleyways, assaulting your exposed skin. You cursed yourself for having given away your hood.

You waited patiently, your heart racing as you scanned the scene for the right opportunity. Though Haechan remained silent, the melody of his flute echoed in your mind—a lullaby only the chosen victim could hear. He knew that timing was crucial; if anyone interrupted or stopped the target, the trance could easily be shattered. Every second felt like an eternity as you both prepared to strike when the moment was just right.

The pack was a grotesque sight, with elongated frames, snarling muzzles, and bent, crooked limbs. Their figures resembled a tall, slender man who had forced his way into the mouth of a wolf, wearing the creature’s body like a horrid costume. They looked sickly and unnatural, and it came as no surprise that they struck fear into the hearts of the townsfolk. 

While trolls, goblins, dwarves, and other creatures managed to coexist with humans, these beings were unlike any you had encountered before. They had made a conscious choice to adopt such a horrifying appearance. They were changelings—shapeshifters capable of assuming any form they desired. They had chosen to embrace the guise of ghouls and monsters that haunted the night.

As the pack slinked past an alleyway, the King stumbled in, his steps unsteady from drink and poison. He leaned against a cobblestone wall to steady himself, his gang too intoxicated and merry to notice him faltering behind as they continued forward. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Haechan lifted his flute to his lips and began to play a silent composition. Almost instantly, the King's body straightened, moving as if pulled by invisible strings, like a toy soldier suddenly animated. He began to march further  into the alleyway, drawn by the haunting melody, oblivious to the world around him.

You wait a few seconds, holding your breath as the pack continues down the road, their grotesque figures just out of sight. Haechan remains vigilant, his eyes locked on the pack, ready to act if they turn. You know that time is of the essence; you can’t afford to let them discover the King’s absence.

With a swift movement, you push yourself off the wall and follow the King into the alleyway. Haechan’s silent melody fills the air like a ghostly whisper, and you can feel the tension building as the King’s contorted form glides deeper into the darkness. Your knives are unsheathed, gleaming under the faint light, ready to strike. 

A few feet behind him, he suddenly halts. You hold your breath as you witness his body crumple, a howl of confusion escaping his lips. For a moment, it seems he’s still lost in the depths of the enchantment—but then he stumbles, regaining control. 

Realization dawns on you: Haechan must have shifted his focus to the pack once they noticed their missing king. Haechan's magic is now redirected, enchanting the pack that seeks out their leader—perhaps to coax them away from the alley and give you precious moments to act.

You watch as the King sways unsteadily, his eyes flickering with awareness. He glances around, scanning the alleyway for any sign of his gang, oblivious to the danger lurking just behind him. You know you can’t wait any longer; it’s time to make your move. 

He's drunk. He's an easy target. Take him out. The mantra echoes in your mind as you silently slip out of the shadows, your heart pounding in your chest.

With lightning speed, you dart forward, knives glinting in the low light as you approach the swaying figure of the King. He doesn’t see you coming; his bleary eyes are still scanning the alley, lost in confusion and intoxication. 

In one fluid motion, you bring your blades up, the metal shining with intent. Before he can react, before he can summon the last remnants of his senses, you strike with precision. The cut is clean; a swift arc of steel, and his head rolls away from his body, the wolfish features contorted in a final grimace of surprise.

You expect his body to crumple into a lifeless heap, but it doesn't. The headless form sways for a moment, arms reaching up as if searching for its lost head.

“Shit!”

You manage to slip away while he’s still floundering in his confusion. You sprint, heart racing, hoping that Haechan can hold off the other cronies for as long as possible. You may have lost him for now, but you know he has your scent and will find you soon. Your feet carry you through back alleyways and down dark streets until you're bursting into the crowded tavern. You’re met with laughter and cheers that erupt around you as you stumble inside.

“Aye, look, it’s Red!” the patrons call out in greeting. You have no time for pleasantries. Ten gives you a startled look from behind the counter, aware that something has gone awry. You send him a quick, urgent glance and head toward the back of the house. Ten excuses himself and pulls a bewildered Doyoung along with him.

“Well? What happened?” Ten whispers, barely able to contain his surprise.

“I killed him. Well, I thought I did. I cut off his head, but he’s not dead,” you reply, arms crossed and brow furrowed in confusion. “We don’t have much time. I need your help.”

“No way! I already poisoned him on your behalf,” Ten exclaims, raising his hands in exasperation.

“You poisoned the King of Wolves!” Doyoung gasps, his rabbit ears flattening against his head in fright.

“Keep it down!” you hiss, casting a wary glance around. You regretted not filling Doyoung in on your plan earlier, but you didn’t want him caught up in this mess

“What’s going on back here? Red, is that you?” Lia calls as she approaches the small circle where you all huddle.

“Look, guys, I don’t have time to explain, and I’m sorry to drag you into this mess but If word gets out that the King of Wolves was poisoned at this tavern, you will all be on his hit list. So you might want to help me!”

“Who poisons the King of Wolves!?” Lia gasps in shock.

Doyoung points an accusatory finger at Ten, who shoots him a glare in response.

“Guys, focus! There’s a headless wolf after me, and if I don’t leave soon, they’ll come after you too,” you remind them. “Any ideas on how to take him down?”

“Aren’t the wolves changelings?” Lia asks.

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Doyoung confirms. “I read once that if you light them on fire, they burn to ash.”

“I heard that if you show them their reflection, they cower,” Ten adds.

“Well, he doesn’t have a head right now, so that’s out of the question.” You say.

You hear distant howling. That cant be good and your thoughts flicker back to Haechan—where is he? Did he manage to shake off the wolves? The cold grip of worry squeezes your chest as the distant howling amplifies

“I have to go now. Don’t worry; just keep your heads down. If anyone asks, the King of Wolves never stepped through those doors.”

“Where are you going?” Lia asks, concern etched on her face.

“I need to finish this.” You grab a candle lantern from the wall and head out through the back door.

You sprint toward the docks, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you push your body to its limits. Haechan had agreed to meet you there if anything went wrong. The gravel underfoot shifts with each hurried step, but the sound of your heartbeat drowns out the crunching noise. You can feel the rush of impending danger creeping up behind you, reminding you that time is not on your side.

The alleyways give way to a wider street, and you navigate around groups of townsfolk enjoying their evening, blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding just moments away. Their laughter and loud conversations contrast sharply with the urgency of your mission. You dodge around a cluster of patrons who block the path, their jovial cheers fading into the background as you push through the throng. The crowd thins as you approach the water, and soon you find yourself alone. The air is thick with salty brine, and the sounds of waves lapping against the shore become the only company you have left.

But before you can take a breath of relief, a razor-sharp slash rakes across your back. Pain erupts, and you stumble forward, the lantern slipping from your grasp and extinguishing itself in the dirt with a soft hiss. Darkness envelops you momentarily, panic bubbling up as you realize who had struck you.

“lɹᴉƃ uɐɯnɥ ʎllᴉs,” an ancient voice rumbles behind you, low and mocking. He had no mouth yet you could hear him.

Struggling to gather your bearings, you force yourself to turn and face him—the King of Wolves. The sight of him sends a jolt of dread through you. His haunting figure looms over you. You can feel the fresh blood seeping through your clothes, and your back aches with a pain that warns you of the severity of the wounds. Even with magic, you know it will take days to fully recover from cuts this deep.

You force yourself to stand tall, despite the agony radiating through you. The howling you heard earlier echoes in your mind, a haunting reminder that you’re not alone. Panic flares anew as you realize that his cronies could emerge at any moment. You hope Haechan can fend them off a little longer. you have to think fast.

"ʞɐǝʍ ǝɹ'no⅄ ˙puᴉɥǝq ɯoɹɟ ƃuᴉɥɔɐoɹddɐ 'ǝɔᴉpɹɐʍoɔ ɥɔns oʇ ʇɹosǝɹ no⅄" he snarls, the effects of the poison and booze long gone.

"I'm not afraid to use underhanded tactics on scum like you." You shot back, circling around him, both of you sizing each other up.

He lunged, and you barely dodged his claws. Your body was tired, aching all over, but you were determined to stay on your feet. You threw a knife, but your aim was off, and he sidestepped with ease. It was frustrating; your eyelids felt heavy, and you could hardly focus.

Then, you heard a melody—a familiar tune that made your heart race. Suddenly, energy surged through you, making you feel lighter and stronger. You didn’t need to look around to know who it was. Revived, you fought back, pushing the king back for once. He swung at your ankles, but you rolled away just in time. You were on slightly equal footing, but you needed to gain the upper hand before he wore you down again.

Footsteps approached, and hope flickered inside you.

"Red!" Lia shouted. She was with Ten and Doyoung, and relief washed over you.

"Stay back! It’s too dangerous!" you warned, trying to keep the king's attention on you.

"Don’t be a hero!" Ten yelled, annoyance clear in his voice. "You can’t win without us!"

You exchanged blows with the king, your heart racing as you saw Doyoung preparing an arrow. You held the king off while Lia lit the arrow's tip. In one fluid motion, Doyoung let it fly, and the king of wolves erupted into flames. You all stepped back, eyes wide, as you watched him burn to ash.

Just then, Haechan appeared around the corner, flute in hand, playing that energizing melody that made you feel like you could take on the world. It was the last thing you heard before the music faded and everything began to blur around the edges.

It had been a week since that fateful night. The echoes of that ancient voice still haunt you, but you pushed the memories aside as you stood before the queen, the severed head of the wolf king resting ominously on a velvet cloth. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of approval and intrigue as she took in the sight.

“You have done well,” she proclaimed, her voice a soft yet commanding presence in the throne room. “In ridding us of this beast, you’ve secured not just our safety, but your own place in history.” With a graceful wave of her hand, she summoned her guards, who strode forward bearing an opulent chest. 

As they opened it, a dazzling array of rubies, emeralds, and sapphires spilled forth, glimmering like stars in the dim light. Gold coins cascaded down in a shimmering waterfall, their clinking a symphony of wealth

The sheer abundance of treasure left you momentarily speechless, and you could hardly believe the magnitude of your reward. You accepted gratefully but your mind lingered on Haechan. He had chosen not to attend the queen’s audience, cloistering himself away as he still relied on the myth of his existence as a shadow. He preferred to operate in secrecy, a specter amongst the whispers of the realm.

You stroll into the tavern, the warmth and chatter wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. You’ve brought some gifts and treasures, a little token of thanks for the friends who stood by you in that crazy battle. It just felt right.

"Drink up, fellas! Drinks are on Red tonight!" your former boss shouts, raising his mug high and getting everyone's attention.

You wince at the name. "Would you stop calling me that already?" you groan, rolling your eyes.

Lia smirks, leaning against the bar. "What do you want us to call you, then?"

"Just call me Y/N," you reply, finally giving them the name you’ve always wanted them to use.

"Y/N, huh? It suits you," Ten says, pouring a mug of mead for a troll at the bar, who looks way too eager to drink it.

"Was that a compliment?" you tease, raising an eyebrow.

"Don’t push it," he shoots back, giving you a mock glare, but you can see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Laughter echoes through the tavern as everyone raises their mugs in salute. The atmosphere feels electric, and in that moment, you know you’ve found your people.

As twilight deepened, you made your way to a familiar cottage, navigating through the dense woods that wrapped around the kingdom like a protective shroud. 

Rubies and a dazzling array of gems spilled forth as you toppled over the chest, the treasures scattering against the old, rickety floorboards of Haechan’s hideout. The glint of gold caught the flickering light of the lantern, creating a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of colors that danced across the dim space.

Haechan leaned back against the wall, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “So your word truly holds value, huh?” he teased, walking up to the trove. His fingers sifting through the precious stones as he reveled in his unexpected fortune. “Now, what’s your next move? I can’t imagine the pack isn’t hunting for the one who took down their king.”

You shrugged, a casual air masking the weight of your adventure. “They’re pretty useless without their leader. The royal guard has rounded up most of them, and for any stragglers, they’re probably getting out of town as fast as they can.”

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of hope creeping into his tone. “Are you planning to stay, then?”

“Never did I claim that,” you replied, glancing around the haphazard room. “There’s nothing for me here. I can’t spend all this gold in the slums anyway; I’ve got to see the world.” You stretched with a bored yawn, letting the wild possibilities of adventure wash over you. “But it would be a trifle dull to travel alone,” you hinted, letting a coy smile dance on your lips.

“If only you had a companion,” he shot back with a grin, earnestness hidden beneath the teasing.

“I know, it’s quite sad, really.” You turned toward the exit, pretending to be disinterested. “Well, I’ll be on my way.”

“Y/N.” The sound of your name, spoken for the first time, stopped you in your tracks, resonating in the air and binding you to the moment.

You looked over your shoulder, curiosity piqued and a smile still lingering. “Yes?”

Haechan shifted, his gaze steady and sincere. “You don’t have to go alone, you know.”

For a heartbeat, you considered the weight of that offer. Freedom beckoned ahead, yet the idea of shared adventure was equally tempting. You felt a connection forming, a spark of possibility that ignited your imagination. The world awaited, filled with danger and excitement, and perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if Haechan journeyed alongside you.

“What do you say then?” you replied, a playful challenge in your tone. “Are you ready to step out of the shadows and into the light with me?”

He was about to hang up the call when he heard a sound. Immediately he jerked back the phone to his ear and strained them to hear anything, but all he could hear was a buzzing sound.

“Hello? How can I help-”

“Help.”

He inhaled sharply, the woman’s raspy voice very clear in the empty office. Mingyu was the only one serving night shift in his floor currently, and the only thing accompanying him was the soft beeping on the seven screens in front of him and the buzzing of the fluorescent tube lights above him.

“Ma'am, are you in a position to tell me what is happening?”

His fingers flew across the keyboard, noting down the number first and then quickly texting the other department to find out the location of the call.

“Pl-please help. Make him stop.” The woman whispered,  her ragged breath harsh against his ears.

“Make whom stop? Can you tell me who is near to you, ma’am?”

Mingyu felt an unnatural calmness settle into his bones, one that always came whenever he forced himself to calm down in such situations.

A message dinged on one of his screens indicating that they had traced the nearest cell tower of the cell phone.

“Officer Lee.” He said, already on the other line, talking to the nearest official he could see. “We have a 911 emergency of abuse.”

“Roger that. Address?”

“It's…” Mingyu’s voice trailed off on seeing the address. 

No way- How was that possible? There had to be some mistake right?

Because the address was of his house.

He cleared his throat, sure that the address was wrong since they tracked the nearest cell tower, and that could be kilometres away from the destination.

“Uh, the address shows my house. I… I think you need to be on the lookout for areas near my house.”

There was a pause, as though Seokmin seemed to be trying to process this information. Seokmin had been good friends with him, so Mingyu knew that even he found it odd, especially when his neighbourhood was a safe and nice one.

“On my way.”

“Ma’am,” Mingyu said, back to line one, “if you could tell me your name or your address, or even what is happening to you, I could help you out better.”

His eyes were trained to look at all the monitors at once, one monitoring the small dot that represented Seokmin heading towards the destination, another with a blank form about the caller and another one where he was rapidly typing what he was hearing, ready to call in other emergencies in case he heard something important.

“Help! Why don’t you help me? Please help!”

“Ma’am help is on the way, please calm down-”

He was interrupted by a loud pop as all the lights went out, the only source of light now being the soft glow of his computer screens. The room was now lit up eerily and he felt the hair on the nape of his neck rise up. Mingyu wasn’t very scared of the dark ever, but the growing sounds of gurgling and growling in the telephone line was causing shivers to travel down his spine.

“Mingyu…” The woman rasped, this time sounding like she had gargled razors, her screeching voice turning his blood to ice.

How did she know his name?

Goosebumps rose all over his skin as his breathing came out in sudden pants, feeling an icy invisible hand wrap around his neck. He sucked in a breath harshly and with a jolt, he realised how lonely he was, not a single soul on his floor whilst he was plunged in darkness.

Then the call cut off abruptly, and at the same time, the power surged back to life. 

Yet, the cold feeling hadn’t left Mingyu as though he could still hear the woman gargling in his ear.

“Mingyu?”

He jerked as the second line suddenly came to life, Seokmin’s voice clear through the landline.

“H-Hey. Did you find anything?” He tried his level best not to sound shaken, but it was hard because the more he tried to ignore wherever had just happened, the more the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach grew.

“Nothing. We will be needing to get a more specific address. Your entire apartment seems safe to me. Is she still on the line?”

Mingyu exhaled harshly, rubbing his chest with his hand to calm down his heart that was beating too fast. He then realised how dry his throat had become, and quickly took a sip of water before continuing.

“No. She cut the call. I- uh, I don’t think she needs help anymore. She sounded alright at the end.” He said, wincing having to lie. He still couldn’t shake off the feeling of horror he had felt when he saw his own address flash on to the screen.

“Are you sure? Shouldn’t we follow the protocol still-”

“She told me so herself.” Mingyu snapped, and Seokmin shut up, not saying anything more.

He sighed, rubbing his template, trying to forget what he had just heard. But it was like the noise had been ingrained into his brain. He could hear it even now, even though there were many other small sounds beside him.

But being a 911 operator, there was bound to be such horrors, right? He had heard some similar stories of ghost calls from his superiors. Maybe this was one of them?

“Well then…I suppose that’s it huh?” Seokmin cut the silence, causing Mingyu to flinch as he jumped out of his thoughts. “Are you calling it a night?”

Mingyu felt his heart leap to his throat.

Calling it a night? On any other day, he would have loved to crash on to his bed but all of a sudden going back to his house, the place where this lady claimed to be at, seemed like a distant nightmare, something which was waiting for him to tear him apart.

“Uh, n-no. I’ll continue my shift I think. Besides, Seungcheol won’t wake up if I call him now.”

“Hey, are you okay?” Seokmin asked, concern lacing his voice. “You sound…scared.”

“I’m fine.” Mingyu swallowed thickly, feeling a patch of sweat that had formed on his forehead as he tried rubbing his temples.

“We’ve dealt with these before, right?” Seokmin asked again, trying to sound bolder for his sake.

“Y-yeah. Yeah. We have. I’ll… hang up now.”

As soon as the phone went down, Mingyu buried his face in his hands, trying to forget the horrible sounds he had heard on the phone.

But the more he tried to forget them, the more he was convinced that they were no more voices in his head, but were coming from the room. It was almost like he could hear the noise coming from behind the door.

I’m probably just hearing things.

He got up and decided to get some fresh air. He walked to the door and paused, the sound still ringing in his ears. Clutching the door knob, he took in a deep breath and with his eyes screwed shut he turned it open, bracing himself for whatever lay ahead of his.

Silence greeted him as he slowly peeled his eyes open, looking around tentatively for anything that might jump on him out of the dark. 

Ding!

The sound of the elevator’s beep caused his heart to nearly stop, the sudden sound cutting through silent night that was almost engulfing him. He felt his entire body freeze as all he could do was watch the numbers on the screen of the lift increase until it reached his floor, limbs paralysed with fear. 

With another soft ding! the lift door began sliding open, and Mingyu found himself almost begging that he shouldn’t be greeted by someone, or something, once the lift door opened.

The dim blue light of the lift spilt out as Mingyu watched in terror, but to his relief only emptiness greeted him back. He looked at his own reflection in the mirror of the elevator. 

Mingyu looked deathly pale, his eyes tired and haggard like he had just seen a ghost. His cheeks were hollow and he felt his stomach lurch when his reflection wobbled, indicating that that the lift was about to close.

And then the lift shut close, leaving him alone with a pin drop silence that almost felt suffocating.

Weren’t there others who had night duty? Because there was no way he was all alone in the building, right?

The thought was enough to cause his stomach to lurch, and he swallowed thickly wondering if he should call someone to take his place.

But his house! Mingyu could feel goosebumps rising on his skin the second he thought of his house.

What if she- that thing was still lurking around his house? Or worse, was actually in his house.

The ringing of the telephone cut through the silence like a blade, causing him to jump a mile. His reflexes kicked in though, and clutching his painfully beating heart, Mingyu ran towards his computers to pick the emergency phone call.

“911. Please state your emergency-”

“Help.”

Mingyu froze, the familiar voice draining out all the blood from his cheeks again.

No way.

He wanted to cut the call, wanted to block out whatever this woman was about to beg for because her voice was like icy daggers to his skin, rekindling his fear like never before. Mingyu had never felt so terrified in his life before. 

“Please help… Mingyu.”

It was like her whispering his name had opened Pandora's box, and lots of emotions hit him at once. He couldn’t even question how she knew his name because that wasn’t what terrified him the most.

But it was the familiarity of the voice of the woman. A voice he used to hear almost every day before it was snuffed out of his life suddenly.

“Y/N.” He whispered, fear clutching his stomach as he felt his heart hammer in his chest.

In the empty office he could only hear his own ragged breathing and the slight buzzing sound coming from the phone.

But how was this possible?

Because you had died six months ago.

Or rather, you had been killed in his apartment. Murdered in cold blood even though it didn’t make sense because you were the sweetest and most caring person he had met in the world. 

At first, he had been charged with murder. Those two months of investigation had nearly driven him mad. It was hard as it is dealing with your death but constant poking of the police made it even worse.

Finally he was set free due to the lack of evidence. 

Even thinking about you made his head throb. 

“Help please.” You rasped again. “Help me-”

“Where are you?” He whispered urgently, not sure why he was even asking questions. Because this had to be some sort of sick joke, right? Or maybe- maybe he was hallucinating after all. Hallucinating that you had come back to life to get some sort of closure.

“In our apartment! Why aren’t you helping?” You sobbed on the other end of the line.

He felt his head spin. Whom was he even talking to? With each word your voice turned more and more raspy and he could feel the familiar fear returning.

“If you don’t help me he’ll-”

Mingyu heard you gasp, followed by a whimpering as he heard someone slap you.

“Y-Y/N?” He asked, though he truly didn’t want to know what had happened to you. Was the person you kept mentioning your real killer? Then… was this your ghost he was talking to?

“Stay away.” A male voice spoke into the telephone suddenly, causing him to nearly fall off his seat. The hair on his arms and necks stood up at the familiarity of the voice.

“Stay away." He repeated.

He could hear his own voice on the other side of the telephone line asking him to stay away and Mingyu felt his head spin at the thought.

The telephone nearly slipped from his sweaty hand as he tried taking in a deep breath to calm himself down.

"And- and who’s this-”

“Just stay away from us.” He heard his own voice command him, before the line disconnected finally.

“Who was that?”

Mingyu jumped from his seat, hands flying to his mouth to prevent himself from screaming, until his eyes landed on Seokmin.

“You- you scared me!” He hissed, rubbing his sweaty forehead while trying to calm his shaking body down. What had just happened?

No way he had been talking to himself, right? How was that even possible?

Seokmin raised an eyebrow, walking towards him and sitting down on a chair opposite to him?

“Did I scare you? Or that call did?”

Mingyu looked away.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you.”

“I’m fine.” He snapped, wiping his sweaty face with a tissue. The last thing he needed was Seokmin asking too many questions before he started questioning his own sanity.

“You’re not. You asked the caller whether she was Y/N.”

Mingyu shivered involuntarily at the memory, giving away his fear.

“It sounded like her.” He lied, not wanting to remember what had just happened. Maybe if he was nonchalant about it Seokmin would leave him alone.

“Are you sure? That call before was unusual, coming from your house.” Seokmin said, still concerned. “It's okay to be shaken up by this, you know.”

He exhaled out, trying to calm down his nerves as much as he could.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry. Pretty sure it was a prank. I mean,” He forced out a laugh, which sounded odd against the silence surrounding the two of them, “How can it even be Y/N? That makes no sense. I probably miss her a lot. That’s why I can hear her everywhere.”

“You should go home.” Seokmin cut him, patting him on the shoulder. “I think you need to rest a bit if you’re that stressed out. Sometimes, stress causes us to see and hear things that are not real. ”

Mingyu opened his mouth to protest, feeling dread fill the pit of his stomach at the thought of going home, but with the way Seokmin was staring he knew he didn’t have an option. Or else he would need to explain how he heard his own voice speak to him and ask him to stay away.

Stay away.

Was that a warning, then? Was it a big mistake going back to his house?

But with the way Seokmin was staring at him, Mingyu had no other option but to get up slowly and pack up his things. His hands wobbled, causing him to nearly break his favourite mug, but he managed to force a smile and walk to the elevator, knees threatening to give out any second. 

Once inside the elevator, Mingyu chose to stare at his reflection’s nose, unable to meet its eyes. Something told him that seeing his reflection eye to eye would not be a good idea.

Please hurry up. Please open the door fast-

His heart jumped again as his phone rang suddenly, cutting the heavy cold silence which was accompanied by the occasional soft dings.

"Hello?” He whispered, wondering who was calling so late at night. It couldn’t have been Seokmin since he had his number saved, right?

“Why did you kill me?”

Mingyu froze, unable to breathe anymore. How did you-

“Y/N? How did you- Kill you- What are you talking about?” He panted, stumbling back to support his wobbly legs with the help of the wall of the lift.

All of a sudden the air felt cooler, and his clammy hands seemed to be unable to grip the hand bar of the lift. His eyes darted to the equally petrified reflection and a yelp escaped him, phone dropping to the ground.

Because standing right beside his reflection was you. You, looking just like how you had the day you were murdered. Except there was blood all over your dress and multiple stab marks on your chest and stomach.

You smiled at him sweetly. 

“Don’t you know? You killed me. Well, not exactly you. It was Mingyu. But he is you, you are him, right?”

His legs finally gave away as he pushed his back into the walls of the elevator, terror filling every single of his senses.

Helphelpelphelp-

He heard the lift ding as it reached the ground floor. Crawling to the buttons of the lift, he frantically pressed the open button, eyes not leaving your face as you grinned at him, baring your bloody and broken teeth.

Finally the door opened and Mingyu darted to crawl out but froze almost immediately, feeling his heart stop for real this time.

“No.” He sobbed, as he watched the real you walk towards him. Edging back, he felt his heart hammer painfully hard in his chest, every bit of rational thoughts leaving him as you stepped into the elevator.

You leaned towards him much to his terror, and Mingyu screwed his eyes shut as he finally accepted his fate. His breathing eased a bit but he could still feel how tense his entire body was, adrenaline rushing coursing throughout his body.

I don’t want to go.

“Now it’s time for me to return the favour.”

A/N: Please do tell me what you think about this story!! I worked really hard on it and I would love to know everyone’s thoughts on it~ Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

© 𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐌 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

Umbra Xenobiology Solutions. A mouthful of a name plastered across a massive building on the edge of a sleepy college town. With its tall barbed-wire fences and small windows, the property gives off a prison-like atmosphere. Beneath the logo, a slogan glows in clean white letters: Research First. It was the first sentence on the website, in their brochures, and even in the billboard ads. A phrase polished, yet so secretive. 

For all their sleek professionalism, no one outside the walls actually knew what was being researched. The company released no public papers, no press statements, not even a single tour. Yet locals agreed on one thing: Umbra secured your future if they hired you.

You were no different from the thousands who applied the moment internships opened. You had the credentials. From glowing recommendation letters from professors who adored you, hundreds of volunteer hours logged and verified, fluency in sign language, and a double major. Psychology and speech pathology. A strange combination to some, but Umbra seemed to love it.

Two weeks after submitting your application, you learned why.

A lead executive assigned you to Project Fenrir, located on the fifth floor of the facility. The name alone conjured images of wolves; maybe it would be some behavioral study involving canines. You didn’t specialize in animal psychology, though you figured you could still be useful. Collect data and observe behavioral patterns. Nothing too complicated.

Then, after hours of legal paperwork to swear confidentiality, they handed you a stack of files.

Right there, printed in bold black ink on the top, was a species you had never seen in any textbook: Homo sapiens lycanthropus.

A lycanthrope, or more commonly known as a werewolf. 

A creature you had only ever encountered in folklore listed in a clinical font as if it were just another primate subspecies. Umbra had discovered them. Several, judging by the spreadsheet on page ten that listed more than a handful of subject numbers. All tucked away behind reinforced doors and layers of non-disclosure agreements.

Now you would work with one.

Today is more of the same. Half a leftover breakfast sandwich and straight black gas station coffee that had sat too long in the pot filled your stomach. You donned a soft, cozy sweater to keep you warm in the lab, paired with nice black dress slacks to keep it as professional as a college graduate can. The sound of your heels is the only noise in the long hallway after the first security clearance. Once past the second door, you’ll reach the offices. You barely spend time in your assigned cubicle. Usually emails in the morning, typing up all your session notes after lunch, and answering another round of emails that dropped in after observation hours. 

However, Doctor Richardson is a new addition to your routine today. 

He stands at your desk, in conversation with another associate. You don’t even know their name. Everyone here keeps to themselves, heads down, focused on work, trying to mind their own to stay off the board of director’s radar. The money Umbra paid for your silence could fulfill even the wildest of dreams, and only a fool would risk their job security.

If a company can buy your devotion, what can they do when you are a threat?

Probably a question you should have focused on instead of being lost in the daze of numbers on your first paycheck. 

You clear your throat as you close the remaining distance to your desk. “Good morning, doctor. Are you here for me?”

“Ah! Exactly the person I was waiting for.” He answers with a smile. “I was going to join you on your climb upstairs.” He supplies, tucking his hands into his long white lab coat. “If that’s not too much trouble?”

“No,” you answer, shaking your head lightly. “Let me put down my jacket, and we can go. I don’t want to keep you.”

“It’s appreciated.”

Even if Doctor Richardson is your supervisor, you don’t see him in person often. You met him once on your first day, then a handful of times throughout the months. Most of your interactions are his brief replies to your long emails. Though his showing up today causes your heart rate to spike. You approached the board of directors with a request, and perhaps they have reached a decision. Surely if it was a no, it would have been an email response. 

Quickly, you move around him. Jacket placed on the back of your chair, lunchbox placed momentarily on your desk as you reach for a slotted tote bag next to your computer. Inside are your notepads, pens, a folder of worksheets, and two children’s books. All materials issued by the facility are required to remain on the property. Even a single pen leaving with you will result in termination.

It takes a second to double-check all the supplies are still inside your bag. The lunchbox you brought slides in perfectly at the top. You offer a weak smile, slinging the straps of the bag onto your shoulder. “After you, doctor."

Doctor Richardson spins on his heel, leading the way to the ominous elevator sitting at the end of the maze of cubicles. You follow eagerly as if his own shadow and as silent as one, watching him tap his name badge against the reader. The two rows of buttons for each floor light up thanks to his expanded access. He presses on floor five, where your subject resides. It’s different when you use your badge; only one floor will be accessible. From eavesdropping, you learned that each floor is a designated project for the company. It helps with organization and keeps people’s clearance simple. 

The soft ding from the elevator announces your arrival on the floor. Doors open, and the environment differs from downstairs. Gone are the carpeted floors, the stationed cubicles, the vending machines, and the break room that make the workplace appear like any other office setting. Up here is more clinical. White hallways with harsh fluorescent lighting. Tiled floors that shine with pristine care. Which is expected for a facility that has experiments. 

Instead of a laboratory, there are rooms. No, isolation cells. There are eight on this floor. Every cell has large, wide one-way windows, revealing every single one houses a werewolf under Project Fenrir. You guys stop in front of the cell you spend most of your time in. 

Doctor Richardson finally expands on why he visited you in person today. “I just wanted to say the board thinks you’re doing wonderful with subject 325. As a result, we’ve permitted your request.”

Time stops for you. As his words take hold, your breath catches in your throat. The request was approved by the committee. It actually got approved. You asked for extended teaching sessions with the subject, stating the more comfortable he was, the more progress you could make with his lessons. 

Subject 325 responds well to you. The exact words Doctor Richardson used on multiple occasions. As much as that is true, the werewolf only prefers you because you don’t poke and prod him for bloodwork. Unlike the scientists, you don’t push him to his limit with strength and endurance tests. You don’t call him by his computer-generated subject number. 

No, you call him by his name, the one you worked with him to learn. 

“Now,” Richardson retrieved a small electronic card from his pocket. A special access name badge with a built-in keycard just for you. One to use whenever you want instead of being forced to request entry from security. He offers it to you, continuing to speak in a firm tone. “With this responsibility, you may extend your time with him only if he continues to improve. If he declines, we will revoke the card. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” You say, nodding while taking the card. “Thank you and the board for the consideration. I won’t disappoint you.”

“I’m glad to hear that. You have real potential here. Keep up that great work, and perhaps one day you can join those on the committee.”

Your gaze isn’t even on your supervisor anymore. It’s locked onto the windows of Chan’s so-called room. There is no way he can see you two, nor hear you, and he sure as hell shouldn’t be able to smell you with the level eight bulletproof glass separating you. He’s a specimen, kept from the elements and most contaminants. 

Regardless of what you know is impossible, Chan perks up from where he sits, gaze boring into the window where you stand. Despite the strong fluorescent lights, his eyes were wide, pupils expanded so much that only a small part of the brown was noticeable. He rises to his feet a second later, face full of confusion, glancing between the digital clock on the wall and back to the window. It’s too early for you to be here. You come around his scheduled lunchtime at noon. Currently, it’s only a little after nine. 

The werewolf hesitantly takes steps toward the window. It’s not the same movement as if he were sneaking up on prey; it’s more cautious. Maybe concerned that he won't find what he's looking for on the other side of the glass.

A speaker above you crackles with the sound of whining. Chan is growing distressed. The rise and fall of his chest is shallower than before as his breathing becomes quicker, not quite hyperventilating but close. Although the key card consists mostly of thin hard plastic, it feels heavy in your hand. You could go in there right now to confirm Chan’s suspicions. However, you remain rooted to your spot, observing the new behavior. 

Chan begins to pace. Bare feet padding to the door and back to the window. It’s frantic, reminiscent of how your dog circles back and forth from the front window to the door, excited that you’re finally home after a long day. 

It’s confirmed. 

He knows it’s you. 

Somehow he knows and is growing impatient. 

“Sir,” you say with a polite smile on your face. “I apologize for cutting this conversation short, but I’d like to get there and get started.”

“Oh, of course," he answers, giving one last glance at Chan. A hint of disgust crosses his features before he reins his true feelings back in. You don’t call him out; instead, let him say his parting words. “Keep in mind what we’ve discussed. If you have any concerns, please reach out to us.”

And then what? 

Your so-called ‘concerns’ go ignored again? You fought multiple times with the head of security over the forced sedation. Chan only reacts violently to the medication because he’s terrified. Then he wakes up with lost time and less trust. None of this helps his temperament. 

The real question is, how can you look at Chan and be proud of the work you do? Just because you don’t hurt him doesn’t mean you help him. You are an accomplice to everything that happens. Arguably, the worst person out of everyone because of your kindness. 

This is not a life here for Chan or any of the creatures stuck here. He’s a bug under a microscope of people who couldn’t care about his happiness. 

If anything, you can at least try to make Chan’s day better. 

With a swipe of the new card, the chamber door opens. Chan backs away out of precaution, in case it’s not you. It wouldn’t be the first time security has come in to collect him with tasers out, looking for any excuse for conflict. 

His lips curl up into a wide smile, a dimple popping up on one side of his cheek. The tense shoulders relax now that he knows it’s safe. Still, he doesn’t move until you step inside and the heavy metal door shuts and locks back into place. 

Chan is upon you a second later, arms wrapped tight around your body, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His cold nose presses against your skin as he inhales the scent there. A range of vanilla from the shampoo you use, the jasmine in the body wash, and white lily from a perfume paired with your own natural scent. Despite his human form, he holds onto a lot of canine traits. Scent is a primary one based on the research you read. It helps them hunt, sense danger, and find their way back to each other. 

For him, your combination melds together, reminding him of his freedom, of his home away from this awful place. Reminds him of simpler times of waking up to a sun cresting over the mountains as he lies in the grass. So you allow him to remain in your hold, seeking solace in the comfort your scent brings him. 

You force yourself to think of anything else, not wanting to cry about his captivity once more. Those moments are for when you can’t sleep at night as your moral compass haunts you. Not here when the werewolf in front of you needs a distraction. 

Rather than sitting in negative thoughts, you focus on Chan. He settled on a clump of white fur stuck in the fibers of your otherwise red sweater. A soft giggle slips through your lips. “Do you smell Henry? I swear I can’t get all the dog hair off.”

Chan pulls away without a response, moving to the table in the middle of the room. Two chairs sit on either side. It’s where most of the lessons take place. The blank paper and crayons are scattered on top. It appears he finally caved and started drawing since you left yesterday. 

You come closer, thanking him for the way he pulls out your chair like a gentleman, sitting you down for dinner. He moves around the table, plopping down in his own chair. With a blue crayon in hand, he writes in legible and precise handwriting that he’s practiced for hours with you on the top of a blank sheet: Why are you here so early? 

“I got some good news for us.” You reply while placing your tote bag at your feet. “I talked to some of the higher-ups, and they’re allowing me more time with you. You’ll be seeing me more.”

Chan smirks before jotting down another sentence: I’ll have to check my schedule.

“Don’t be a brat!” You say with playful anger. It’s nice seeing more of Chan’s personality shine through after all this time. Hopefully, this means he’ll be more receptive to your learning plan. “But this means I need you to try harder, okay?”

His smile falters. A loud sigh fills the room as he dramatically throws his head back. It’s understandable; he’s tired of the routine. Language lessons, speech therapy, and sign language practice. Day in and day out. He’s come so far, but not to Umbra’s standards yet. 

“Chan, I mean it.” You say, leaning forward to place your hand over his. “That's why they’re allowing it.” Your voice gets softer, pulling his attention back to you. “Plus, don’t you want to talk to me?”

He finds his crayon to scribble across the paper once more: I talk to you. 

“With your mouth, Chan. I know you have a beautiful voice. I want to hear it.”

A few specialists above you have examined Chan. His vocal cords are intact and developed. He can scream, hum, and groan just fine. There is no reason he shouldn’t be able to speak. At first, you assumed he didn’t want to. Umbra took him from his home, and now he is a prisoner. No one in his circumstances would want to chat. Selective mutism was another possibility. Being in a foreign place, he doesn’t feel safe. The anxiety or fear could be triggering him, resulting in him being unable to speak even if he’s comfortable with you. If that’s the case, then he may never find his voice. 

Part of you holds out hope it'll happen. 

For now, you will continue the lessons. The sign language is slow going, but Chan picks up unfamiliar words. He knows the main language the company uses and can transcribe it thanks to you. You have normal conversations every day with him as if he were a regular man at his age. 

He's not a fool, though. 

When interviewed or interrogated by board members, he will respond with simple answers. There is no elaborating. There is no communication about himself or others of his kind. Chan is protecting his species. He is well aware of what these humans want, and the last thing he’s going to do is endanger anyone else to these monsters. This protection extends to you as well. You are part of this company. Chan may have more trust in you than the rest of the humans, but he is aware of who you answer to. He shuts down the more you press to find out, building up those walls to keep himself secure. 

Though in times like today, you get brief glimpses when you peek through the cracks. Your eyes scan over the images Chan drew. There are eight wolves in total. Each with different fur colors and markings. Chan has mixed shades of crayons to differentiate them all. 

You pull the page closer to you. “I’ve never seen so many wolves together.” 

The page you hold has a thin, nimble, yellow wolf. He’s followed by an orange one that’s a tad larger. Then two brown wolves appear to be playing together. The only difference is that one has red spots along its fur. 

You move to the other page. Another yellow wolf that Chan clarifies is actually white. It’s playing with two grayish wolves, and finally, at the bottom is a large black wolf watching over the entire group. Chan extends his hand, pointing at the lone wolf and then to himself. 

“Oh?” You smile at him, understanding what he’s trying to communicate. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

Chan’s plush lips curl up in a smile as he nods. The mood in the room shifts a few seconds later; broad shoulders sink as his smile falls. Chan stares at the drawn wolves with a sense of longing. He lets out a shaky breath, focusing fully on himself to collect his bearings. 

Part of you wants to change the subject. Get his mind off ‌his loneliness. De-escalate his emotions to an easier topic. However, the looming presence of the company is so loud in the silent room. You have to push for the answers they want. If you don’t, Chan is going to lose the one thing he can take for granted will be for him in this hellscape. 

You lean over the drawing, fingers brushing along one of the smaller brown wolves. “Who is this? Are they part of your family?”

He ponders his answer, head tilting to the side. You watch silently as he draws lines to connect each of the wolves together but places a little ‘x’ on each of the lines. The very first symbol he learned is for no. The wolves are connected, just not as a family. 

You attempt to supply an answer. “Are they your pack? Is that it?”

Chan’s eyes light up at the word. He makes a fist with his hand, moving it up and down a couple of times: yes. 

The lump in your throat is hard to swallow. Your body is fighting to keep the words from leaving your lips. “Did you let yourself get caught so your pack would be safe?”

Chan’s expression shifts, lips turning down into a grimace, and nods. He’s so selfless, the more you think about it. The werewolf formed a pack and became a leader, losing everything to protect his own with no idea about their well-being. He sacrificed himself, and now he’s a lab rat being tested on.

“I’m sorry, Chan.” You reply, fighting to keep your voice stable. “I know it’s hard being here.”

Chan reaches for the crayons once more. His frame hunches over ‌his drawing. You sink back in your chair, observing the character he adds to his image. This time it’s a human, one with a red shirt and black pants, the very same colors you currently are wearing, placed right next to his wolf. He circles them with a green circle and then draws an arrow from his feet towards the edge of the sheet. Once Chan finishes, he sits back, eyes on you. 

“You want me to take you somewhere?” You ask curiously. Chan’s arm raises, and he points towards the door. In response, you attempt again to say what he wants so that you understand. “You want me to take you out of the room?”

Chan lets out a moan and gestures toward the door once more, with more aggression. Then it all clicks together. Freedom. Pain blossoms in your heart like a bruise. He wants his freedom. Your voice comes out softer. The cameras recording are going to pick it up regardless, but still you try. “You want me to take you away from here?”

The werewolf nods. He places his dominant hand against the center of his chest and rubs in a circular motion to sign a word: Please. 

“Chan, I can’t. They’ll hurt you and then hurt me if I try.” You sigh as you respond. As though a strongman showing off his muscles, Chan lifts his arms in a flex. He follows it up with chomping his teeth. It’s not enough. You give a headshake. “Honey, you're weaker in this form. The security has padding and weapons.” 

The sound of a shutter door opening and closing provides a perfect segue for the conversation to shift. “Here, let’s change the subject and have lunch. You’re hungry, right? I’ll grab your food.”

Chan exhales in a huff, offended that you would offer to get the tray. He stands while placing a firm hand on your shoulder to push you back down into your chair. The look of disbelief remains on his face as he crosses the room to where a deposit box sits for his cell. 

You roll your eyes when he's not looking. He often refuses to let you help him. For his species, many of them are hyper-independent. Typically, the pack will hunt separately, but the alpha will drag food back for those who are ill or too old to fend for themselves. Even if he doesn’t hunt anymore, the collection of the tray is still his responsibility. 

He joins you once more, eager to see what the staff has given him. When in human form, werewolves can adopt an omnivore diet. However, in order to keep their strength, higher protein levels must be maintained. If the company does nothing else right, Umbra recognizes and accepts that.

Chan is giddy when seeing the slab of cooked meat when lifting the metal cloche, keeping the food warm. He’s less interested in the steamed carrots and boxed juice. Still, you encourage him. “There’s a new juice to try. It's a mixed berry.”

Immediately, he places the juice next to you, a scowl etched on his face. You giggle in response before placing it back on his tray. “Hey now, it doesn’t necessarily mean there are blueberries in there.”

His upper lip curls up in a snarl. There is no aggression against it, only playful banter. It keeps your heart warm as you retrieve your own lunch. On occasion, Chan will be curious about the food you bring. He mostly critiques that you don’t have enough meat and says there should be far fewer plants. Despite hating most of your diet, he gets excited on days you bring in something new he hasn’t heard of. His personal favorites so far are fresh strawberries and the chocolate pudding cups you occasionally bring. 

“Today is a special day for us. It's been a year since I’ve met you, so I brought you something.” You say with a soft smile. Chan’s head lifts when you open the plastic container. There’s an unfamiliar smell for him. His nose crinkles ‌curiously as he sniffs the air. “We call it pineapple. I don’t know if you’ll like it. The fruit grows with a tough skin, and this yellow part is acidic. It’s how the fruit protects itself.”

Cautiously, Chan reaches for a piece to plop in his mouth when the container is offered. He chews for a second before his eyes go wide and his face lights up. Both hands rise up immediately, fingers opening and closing repeatedly to demand more of the pineapple.

You giggle, handing the fruit over to him. “I knew you’d like it. Have all of it.”

Chan accepts the fruit with a content hum to himself. The smile stays glued onto your face to where your cheeks hurt. He’s come so far with his temperament. When you first worked with Chan, he refused to acknowledge your presence. You were beneath him, not worth his time. He wouldn’t even glance over when you sat at the table in the center of the room. Every day you state why you were there in a calm voice and wait for the allotted session time to end. Nearly two agonizingly long weeks of the same thing passed until Chan realized you weren’t going anywhere. 

The first time he sat across from you, his demeanor was the opposite of today. His eye contact burned through you with the heat of the sun to intimidate you. The broad frame sat like a rock with how tense he was. He waited, almost ready to pounce, listening to you explain why you were here. Even after that, he still wouldn’t move or react, assuming some sort of trick was being played. Everyone else here hurt him, so he assumed it was only a matter of time until you would. 

The door to the isolation room opening pulls you from your memories. Chan is already on his feet before anyone steps in. He places himself between the door and your sitting frame, creating a wall of protection. The behavior is instinctual. He's ensuring that the food you hunted, or in this case brought, isn't taken away from you. A low growl from him fills the room as four security guards walk in. 

The electrical hum of tasers being turned on causes you to shoot out of your seat, knocking the chair over. Your voice rises with the anger coursing through you at the immediate hostility. “We’re having lunch!”

“It’ll have to wait," one man answers. “325 is needed upstairs.”

When you attempt to pass Chan to defend him, he simply pushes you back with brief acknowledgment. Dread quickly fills you when the group of men comes closer. This isn’t going to end well. Your voice becomes desperate when you speak. “He fights because you use aggression! He’ll behave if you ask him!”

“We’ll take it up with Richardson.”

It’s hard to tell who strikes first. The room erupts in a fit of screaming. Chan manages to tackle one guard despite two tasers connecting with his skin. Another hooks his arm around Chan’s neck to cut off his air supply, forcing him to let go so he can claw at the padded forearm. 

“Chan, don’t fight!” You cry out, tears running down your cheeks, hearing his choking gasps. “Don’t hurt him! Please!”

It takes all four men to subdue Chan. At some point in the scuffle, one of the security guards pulled out an emergency tranquilizer. He sticks Chan right in the meaty part of his biceps. The werewolf immediately settles in their hold, growing weak. His eyes roll back into his head, his body becoming limp and easier for the men to manhandle. 

The group exits with the werewolf in tow, leaving the cell quiet minus your panicked breathing. Today is a breaking point. Umbra isn’t doing anything for the sake of science here. Chan doesn’t deserve this. You need to get him out of here. Even if it’s the last thing you do. 

The plan for Chan's escape took months to come to fruition. Initially, the idea of breaking him out seemed impossible. Doors with double key card access, security cameras and alarms, and an imposing 8-foot perimeter fence topped with extensive barbed wire. 

What if you could walk him out?

The longer you observed how the company operated, the more you noticed little cracks in the framework. Associates finished mundane tasks haphazardly. Because of time restraints and security's laziness, some records are forged. Everyone was comfortable in their position. As long as the board of operatives received the requested results, no one batted an eye. 

No one would watch a new intern who already proved their compliance. 

Especially on a government holiday that most of the staff took off, minus a handful of security. Two in particular that you spent the last week flirting with guard the entrance you wanted to use. You also learned that security has clearance to open all cells to help staff. There would be no need to use your keycard left at your desk. These two guards would also be the only ones at this end of the building. It would be a shame if you slipped sedatives into the break room coffee and offered them both a cup while batting your eyelashes. 

Not even two minutes after consuming the tainted coffee, both men dropped like sacks of potatoes, feet crumbling underneath them. You didn’t hesitate, reaching for both key cards clipped to their belts. The plan was proceeding as intended. You left the break room straight to the elevator up. All the motions were a blur until the doors chimed on your arrival on the fifth floor.   

Even if it was the same floor you knew, it was darker this time around. Not all the artificial lights were in use, and the lack of workers left the silence deafening. Your feet barely connected with the floor, the balls of your feet only touching long enough to propel you down the hallway quickly. As you arrive at Chan’s chamber, that's when the rush of the entire plan finally courses through your body. Shaky fingers of yours fumble to grip the key card correctly. The red error light only stirs agitation in you. You don’t have room for mistakes. It's impossible to know how long the security guards will remain unconscious. The longer this process takes, the higher the chance of others catching wind. 

You take a deep breath before sliding the keycard once more. This time, you successfully opened the door. An automated message plays, the very one heard a million times, telling everyone to stand clear. You don’t wait long, forcing yourself to prop against the doorjamb where the sensor will recognize a human is blocking it and refuse to close.   

Chan is in a corner of his room, finishing a set of pushups. He rises to his feet, face contorting into a look of surprise at seeing you. He’s shirtless, with the pajama pants issued to him hanging low on his hips. His skin was flushed red from his ears to his hips. Sweat dripped from his messy curls on his head. Veins in his arms are more pronounced thanks to his ongoing workout that you interrupted.  

He’s a carved god. 

He’s beautiful. 

Your breath hitches the longer you take him in. Some sort of feeling twists in the pit of your gut. A foreign feeling that may not be nerves; rather, it’s some attraction you still battle with to keep your relationship professional. You mentally fight to shut down any distracting feelings. That’s not why you are here. You need to pull it together and get him out of here. 

You force yourself to speak. “Come on. Let’s go.”

The werewolf’s feet remain glued to the floor. He lets out a chirp while scanning the wall clock before returning his gaze to you. With a raised eyebrow, he seemed to ask why you were here. It’s late, he’s already had dinner, and no tests run into the evening. 

“Chan,” you say firmly. “We don’t have time. Come with me.”

His head shakes, feet shuffling backwards, further into his room, until the backs of his calves knock into the base of his bed. A small noise of distress leaves him. He knows to be suspicious. This could be a trap, another test to check how obedient he is. 

“Please, Chan. You wanted out, right?”

He clenches both hands into fists, extending his index fingers. One digit strikes the other, signing a word: Can’t. 

“Yes, you can," you plead, trying to keep your frustration in check. He’s scared. Of course, he’s scared. You told him what would happen if he tried to leave. Still, you insist. “We must leave now. We won't get another chance."

He never sees you acting aggressively or in distress. When he struggles with every aspect of his daily lessons, you have never yelled at him or shown your annoyance. Here you are now, acting in a way that is unfamiliar to him. Another high-pitched, panic-tinged whine emerges from the back of his throat. It’s a wretched noise you wish never to hear again. 

He wants to trust his favorite human. 

God, he wants to. 

Yet, he doesn’t move. 

An automated voice comes from above you. “Please keep all cell doors clear.”

You can’t hold the door open for much longer. The defense system is seconds away from kicking in. Not only will cell doors shut, but all hallways will lock regardless of security clearance. Then you two will be trapped, and the security guards in the next tower will receive an alert. 

“Chan, come on.” You say while maintaining eye contact with him. There’s no telling what the company will do, and you don’t want to find out. The words you speak are more honest than they’ve ever been. “If we don’t go now, they’ll kill both of us.” 

The threat to your safety gets him moving. He quickly shuffles his bare feet on the tile. You extend your hand with a smile. “Yes! Good boy. A few more steps.”

His large palm is warm in yours. Your grip tightens as you turn on your heel to drag him along to the elevator. Even though you may use this hallway almost daily, the same few steps seem three times as long tonight. Chan continues to follow closely behind you, whining every few breaths. You want to comfort him, offer words of reassurance, or do anything to keep him quiet as you focus on getting him outside.  

On the ground floor, you are not greeted by either security guard. It’s a clear shot out of the building now. You tap both keycards on the sensor; a green light flashes, and the sound of the door unlocking rewards you. Chan finally realizes his freedom is achievable. The large, clear doors reveal the setting sun lowering behind the woods surrounding the building. He picks up speed, dragging you along to the last door. His whines shift into small, nervous hums as he waits for you with the cards. His eyes are wide, desperate that this isn’t some sick joke. The rise and fall of his chest quickens as you tap the last sensor. 

One door automatically opens. You drop the keycards at your feet and lead the werewolf through the threshold. The outside world is beautifully quiet. No cars on the interstate running parallel to the building. No birds chirping or annoying chittering insects. If anyone stepped out, all they would hear would be the two heartbeats pounding rabidly from the adrenaline of possibly being caught and the thrill of a successful escape. 

Now you have to create distance. 

Even if Chan could run free, far from this place, he stays in pace with you despite being barefoot. In no time are you two panting from exertion, and still you run deeper and deeper into the woods, determined to leave the facility until it’s nothing more than a tucked-away memory. 

Temporary safety is a crumbling cabin four miles south of the lab. The heat of the sun has long set below the horizon, plummeting temperatures low enough to make the tips of your ears hurt. Moonlight shines brightly through the breaks in the leaves, illuminating parts of the forest floor. 

The second part to secure Chan’s release happens now. You would wait here, collect your breath for a few minutes, and then head to the back where you stored a vehicle. Then you would be on the road, creating a larger gap and hopefully a trail the company will struggle to track. 

You scoped this location out weeks ago thanks to an aerial view you searched on an online map database. Storing the car was even easier. Whoever owned the property clearly considered the small buildings condemned and let time hopefully bring them to the ground instead of wasting resources. It was perfect. 

The inside of the cabin is dark. A few pieces of furniture long forgotten litter around the one-room cabin. You left a small battery-operated lantern when you brought the car. However, the light it throws falls short of any actual distance. It doesn’t matter; you don’t need it for long. Just until the cramp in your side goes away.

Chan hasn’t made much noise since entering the forest. He kept his head low, not even signing a response when you asked about his feet hiking in the woods. He used to tell passionate stories of running with his pack back home. No one was faster than him. His body could handle any terrain. Despite knowing all of that, you asked to be polite. A test to see where he is emotionally about being free. You expected excitement or a sense of drive to leave you behind to start a long journey home, even if he didn’t know where to start. There’s neither, just blind following as if he were a lost puppy. 

“We won’t be here long, okay?” You say more to yourself. 

Chan still doesn’t acknowledge you. He leans against one wall, eyes still trained on the ground. It could be in shock the more you think about it. A fight-or-flight response that is tied to his survival mode. It’ll have to run its course through his body. Once on the road, he can get some sleep, and that’ll help him relax. 

You kick off your shoes with a huff. Unlike Chan, the soles of your feet ache. All that time planning Chan’s freedom, and you forgot the one key detail of putting on a pair of athletic shoes that could withstand the hike. Tomorrow there will be several large blisters. Future you can worry about it later. 

A painful cry comes from behind you. You spin on your heel to see Chan slightly bent over, both arms wrapped around his middle. His jaw is clenched with a pained groan filling the room. Whatever is troubling him is getting worse. 

“Channie,” you ask, rushing over to him. “Are you okay?” 

A snarl slips past his lips as he finally meets your eyes. The angry gaze halts you just shy of touching him. His pupils shrink and expand repeatedly as if unable to adjust to the low light from the lantern. He’s begun to pant as fresh perspiration covers his forehead. 

“What is it? How can I help?”

Chan shakes his head, violently conveying a no. He doesn’t want help? You can’t help? Is it an effect of a test today out of anyone’s control? Maybe he needs to rest, sit, and let whatever is happening pass. 

His skin burns under your palm when you try to offer reassurance. Words don’t leave your lips, trapped in your throat at the sudden shove from Chan. The force he used is stronger than you expected, resulting in you landing on your ass across the room. He now has full-body trembles as his brown eyes frantically scan the room. You don’t need your ‌years of studying to recognize his behavior. He’s looking for an out, a way to get space away from you. Something is wrong. Very wrong.

Then, like a lightbulb turning on above your head, it all connects. 

He’s shifting. 

A full-body shift? 

That only means one thing. 

Your eyes land on your smartwatch as you bring your arm closer. Fingers tremble opening the calendar. Right there on tonight’s date confirms your worst fear. It has one added icon: a full moon.

No. No. No. 

You broke Chan out on a full moon. 

His hesitation back at the lab makes sense now. 

Chan wasn’t afraid of leaving. 

He was afraid of shifting while near you.

Chan’s noises become more distressed as he kneels. Howls of pain bounce off the walls of the small cabin as each of his limbs twists at unnatural angles. Bones snap loud as thunder, shifting under the skin to extend. Patches of black fur push through the layers of skin, slowly expanding to cover his body. Long, sharp, black nails extend out of his hands, forming claws that dig into the wood, easily scraping through the material as if tearing through a ripe peach. 

You watch in horror, paralyzed by the way his teeth extend into fully elongated canines. The familiar face shifts next, contorting as his snout extends and ears on the top of his head form. It takes nearly two minutes for the full transformation to occur. One you have only seen pictures of until now. Senior staff were the only ones permitted to observe full transformations behind several walls of glass to be safe. 

Plumes of air rise in the cold temperature around his mouth as he pants like a dog. His fully formed tail lightly sways behind him while the werewolf is taking stock of his being. Golden eyes scan the room before settling on your quivering body. 

“Chan?” You ask, voice timid. 

His head tilts to the side. Recognition, you hope. The stack of files never mentioned coherency during shifts. Chan wasn’t part of that study. He could be in this beast form and aware of you in front of him. Or, maybe he’s tucked far away, as the animal has its own independence. Regardless, this is a dangerous situation. One that you must tread carefully. 

The werewolf takes a step. Then another, slowly crawling to close the distance between the two of you. Your eyes focus on the floor, avoiding direct eye contact. Thoughts race in your head as you try to remember more of the information you consumed in his file. Werewolves share mannerisms with other species of canines. It could help you now. Avoiding eye contact is the first big tip you learned. Some species interpret direct eye contact as a threat or an initiation to challenge them.  

Warm breath fans over the crown of your head when Chan stops in front of you. His claws rest on either side of your thighs. Up close, you notice the way his onyx nails start deep in the nail beds, extending nearly two inches where the tips of his fingers once were. Your stomach sinks at the thought of damage he could do. 

Play this safe, you tell yourself. 

Slowly, you tilt your head to the side to expose more of your neck. Sweat from the journey clings to your skin, dotted right along your collarbone despite the cooler weather. Chan should be able to smell your natural body odor. Several breeds of canines can tell pack mates from their scent. Werewolves are similar in that regard as well. 

You gasp lightly at the faint brush of his nose in the crook of your neck. As motionless as a statue, you let him breathe you in for as long as he wants. Your daily ritual, he remembers. He should know it's you even if the wolf is in control. He’s spent the most time ‌with you out of everyone on the project. 

A surprise headbutt against your chest sends you falling backwards. Your head connects with the harsh wood, sending a sharp pain through the back of your skull down to your spine. The werewolf yips a playful sound with another head tilt. To his credit, you could argue he’s trying to play with you. 

Chan’s right hand presses down on your stomach before you can sit back up. The jutting claws dig through the thin shirt straight into your skin, just enough to be a warning. Stay where you are. Because if you don’t, a bit more pressure and your skin will tear as if it were paper.

In the next second, you cry out at the harsh tug on your waistband. The fabric of your jeans and underwear rips cleanly down. Out of reflex, your legs try to close at the first instance of cold air against your skin. Except Chan is quicker, using his wide chest to keep your most intimate area exposed to him. 

“Chan, what…?” Your words trail off. With gentle, controlled hands, your fingers wrap around his forearm. The fur here is coarse and thin compared to the rest of his body. His eyes connect with yours. It’s a hungry gaze. Confirmed by the way drool drips from his teeth. You may as well be a steak in front of him. There’s nothing but fear in your soft voice. “What are you doing?”

The ears on his head twitch; he’s heard you but doesn’t care as his snout slowly dips to prod at your pubic bone, not bothered by the small patch of hair there. Instead, he’s fascinated. Female werewolves have scent glands around their genitals. It’s where Chan knows pheromones should be when with a mate. 

Your breath catches at the sound of his curious sniffing traveling south. His cold, wet nose is jarring against your warm, flushed skin. This isn’t right; you need to stop this and need to get away. This entire night was a mistake. You should have waited for a different opportunity to break him out. 

The press of his rough tongue against your folds pulls you out of your thoughts. He’s tentative at first, lightly prodding, as if he’s testing the waters. However, despite how much you plead for your body to not react, a wetness forms from the stimulation. Chan gives a pleased hum of approval when tasting you. The hand on your stomach untangles from your grip with ease, moving down to your thigh, holding the squirming limb in place. His other hand mirrors, leaving your lower half pinned to the cabin floor. The supernatural strength keeps you from struggling and leaves him the perfect opportunity to shift his stance. He sinks lower between your thighs, nose pressed right against your clit, and tongue picking up speed the longer it swipes between your folds right across your hole, still determined to get more of you.

“Oh—Wait,” you whine, eyes wrenched shut, mind racing, thinking of anything to stop the growing arousal. “Ch—Chan, you can’t.”

The werewolf’s nose continues to grind against your sensitive clit with every swipe of his tongue, applying just enough pressure to aid the growing heat in your core. Your body tenses; the rush of pleasure is inevitable. This creature between your thighs is going to make you come, and time is running out to stop him. 

All you have to do is get him away for half a second. That’s all you would need for the rush to die out. Your shaky fingers reach between your legs to tangle in the soft fur on the crown of his head, right between his ears, and in one last attempt to push him away, you shove with all your might. 

Chan barely moves, unbothered by your effort, too hyper-focused on your taste. The sides of the invasive tongue slightly curl in on itself for easier access to dip deep inside your hole, the tip chasing the new wave of wetness that’s forming along your walls. Never in your life have you felt a sensation like this. It’s mind-melting, addictively intoxicating enough to neutralize any self-preservation as your orgasm overwhelms you. 

“Fuck,” you whine out, ‌trying to arch off the floor while you continue to battle your body over how euphoric this creature’s tongue feels. 

Much to your relief, Chan pulls away completely, head bowing to look between his thighs. While he’s distracted, you use the opportunity to sit up slowly, using the palms of your hands as leverage to scoot away and create distance. Unease creeps under your skin. Even in the pale light of the room, you can see what he’s staring at. 

His cock rests heavy between his legs, fully erect with more length and girth than any human man. Hell, it's bigger than most sex toys you have seen. The lump in your throat is hard to swallow the longer you look. Gears shift in your head. Chan is young for his kind, not even fully mature yet, meaning he’s yet to mate because of his captivity. 

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears at the thought. He’s expected to go through a werewolf puberty phase. A natural progression to be driven to breed with one of his kind. "Rut" is the word that the scientists have used. Stabilizers typically keep his hormones in check, though there are limits to how much he can take to avoid impeding his development. And judging by how his body is reacting, the doctors didn’t give Chan his medication this month.

Now here he is, a dilemma on his hands, and a body demanding he react. 

Chan’s gaze comes back to you, and with his heightened senses, his nostrils flare, taking in the smell of your arousal that’s still permeating the air in the space between you. 

It’s now or never. You need to get away from him. Tonight escalated far worse than it should have. Running away may be a death sentence, but you have to try even if it’s futile. 

At a snail’s pace, you rise to get on your feet. Chan mirrors, standing up straight on his rear legs. He is a bipedal werewolf. One that’s taller than you expect; the tips of his ears nearly brush against the ceiling of the room. The longer you take him in, the more you realize how tiny you are. You are no match for him; you barely come up to the middle of his broad chest. The width of his shoulders takes up an entire doorframe. If you let him catch you, there is no escaping. You push the thoughts away as you turn on your heel to face the exit of the room. 

One of Chan’s growls comes out. It’s low, rumbling deep in his chest, and reminds you of an irate dog giving one last warning before an attack. It stops you in your tracks, giving you time to recognize your error. 

He’s an apex predator. 

You have turned your back on him and not submitted yourself to him. 

It’s a challenge against him. 

You don’t wait any longer, pushing off the tips of your toes, bolting to cross the room, to the one door that could separate you from the werewolf. 

Half a second later, Chan crashes into your body with the force of a freight train, knocking all the air out of your lungs and successfully stunning you for a second. Adrenaline courses through your veins, keeping the fight inside you alive, burning like a raging wildfire. Your frame twists away from the snapping jaws in an attempt to get anywhere from his grasp. Though his sharp talon nails manage to hook into the thin material of your shirt, tearing it to mere strips of fabric as he scrambles to keep his hold on you. 

With all the strength you can manage, you push off the ground, trying to get your feet under you once more to get to that sweet safety that’s a few steps away. Chan is miles faster, using only a hand to swipe at your unsteady legs, sending you back to the floor in a pile of limbs. 

Before you can even acknowledge the pain from the fall, two burly, fur-covered forearms come into view, trapping you under his body. Chan, as a human, was already muscular from his daily exercise to pass his time. Now, in his true form, the extremities have far more mass and more definition. Truly a cage to keep you from escaping. 

You whimper in response to the sound of Chan snapping his jaw by your ear. It’s a polar opposite of the sweet man you know. He’s not the same soft guy who blushes when you bring him new food to eat or the one who gets dramatic when you start his daily lessons. He’s a complete stranger, a different being. 

This is a monster. 

Yes, you knew this side of him existed; it was inevitable he would shift, but he was going to be released before he needed to.

Chan’s sharp teeth are too close for comfort as he growls above you. Your eyes wrench shut, too scared to look at him, too scared of the bite that could occur. It wouldn’t kill you nor infect you; it’s the pain that terrifies you. 

Instead of the impending doom, you flinch reflexively as drool drips down onto your bare back as he assesses you under him. You are no wolf. However, he’s coherent and smart enough to know you are a human with a hole he can use. Your teeth sink deep into your tongue to fight the noise of distress trying to escape you at the sudden tug at the waistband of what remains of your jeans. Same as before, the rest of the denim shreds as effortlessly as before, leaving you completely bare under him. 

“Chan, please.” You beg again, trying to reach for the human part of him that is still in there. Your anguished voice is unrecognizable even to yourself. “Don’t do this. It doesn’t have to go further.”

If the werewolf understands your words, he doesn’t appear to care. Too busy scraping one of his claws repeatedly along the soft flesh of your hip, attempting to force you onto your hands and knees. The searing burn of the scratches is enough to make you comply. 

His knees slip between your legs, spreading you wider to accommodate his massive thighs. Anticipation of what is coming next causes your whole body to tremble under him. If your heart hammers any faster in your chest cavity, it may explode. Silently you pray it happens to escape this fate. 

Chan’s hips shift to angle his cock against you. Your breath catches at his first attempt to push inside. He really is going to try to bully his cock inside you. There is no physical way. You aren’t even prepared for a regular cock. 

“Chan, wait. You can’t…” Your words trail off, too distracted by the way the tip of his cock slips from the wetness, now nudging against your clit each time he thrusts forward. You can feel every ridge of the thick veins running along the length as he continues to rub so intimately against your folds, searching blindly for the hole he’s desperate to bury himself into. 

His noises of complaint fill the room with his growing frustration. It’s not right. He knows he needs to be inside. Though with his size he will rip you open. He could do irreparable damage. 

One of his hands moves to curl under you. The expanse of the wide claw covers your entire stomach as he brings you flush against his body. With a few more awkward shifts from his hips, the hot, angry tip of his cock finds home in the entrance he’s looking for.

“Ah, fuck.” You cry out as the girth of his cock forces your walls to accommodate around him. Your voice grows more wretched. “Channie, please!”

Thank goodness for the patience Chan suddenly found. Perhaps the beast understands the noises of discomfort slipping past your lips. Even though he doesn’t stop the whole ordeal, he waits to press another inch deeper inside only after your helpless noises quiet down. 

The following thrusts are timid initially. He drives his cock gently from the tip to the length he’s managed to sink into you. Each minute creeping by feels like hours, a never-ending cycle of moments that ignite the arousal in your core to the fear of another inch being pressed inside. 

When Chan makes the mistake of pulling out too far, you take the opportunity to attempt shifting your legs to sit down on your ass. It’s futile. Blocked not only by his thighs but also by the claw still resting against your stomach. The hold tightens, not allowing you to squirm away. He merely shifts you back where he wants you, cock easily pressing inside; this time he ruts quicker and quicker as his patience grows thin. 

Your breath catches as the sharp prick of teeth sinks into the back of your neck. Chan is unaffected by the hair in the way, only focusing on keeping his grip tight. Not enough to pierce through the soft skin. More globs of thick saliva drip from his mouth, caking into your hair and sliding down your neck. A low, tamer grumble follows, another warning, and another familiar trait among the wolves. 

Chan is scruffing you. 

Most of the time, a mother animal will scruff their young to carry or move them. It’s different with werewolves. This is a sign of dominance. A command for you to freeze and not move till he’s done. There are even studies at the facility showing mated pairs may scuff each other to calm their partners through distress. This instance is a mix of the two, especially with the warning noise he delivered. The last thing Chan wants right now is you moving away from his increasingly aggressive thrusts. He doesn’t understand it hurts, doesn’t understand how big he is for your human form. All he sees is more disobedience, and he won’t tolerate it. Not when he’s in control and not during the confusion of his rut. He knows he must breed, and you will accept it. 

Perhaps the werewolf is right.

The less you fight, the quicker he finishes, and the faster this whole affair will end. 

Chan’s thrusts are consistent thanks to the lack of your interference. Your pussy accepts his thick cock greedily, sheathing around him again. All of your attention is on the floorboards below you as you try your best to release the tension in your body. Accept him and his cock. That’s all you need to do right now. 

Just when you think you can handle the events of tonight, an additional issue arises. 

Chan’s cock appears to be growing at the base. 

No, bulging the more you focus. 

The last part of the mating process. 

Your human biology was never intended to accommodate a physical knot that werewolves have. Still, it doesn’t deter Chan from shoving as much of the bulging gland as he can into you. You cry out, feeling impossibly full, the tip of his cock pressing right against your cervix. No matter how you shift or squirm, there’s no way to dislodge yourself until the swelling goes down. Mercifully, the thrusts have stopped. Instead, Chan now grinds against you, giving himself just enough stimulation to reach his high. 

It’s a flood. No, more of a tsunami as warm seed erupts from his cock, adding to the uncomfortable pressure. You bring a hand to your lower stomach, moving his claw, now feeling where your body extends as more cum seeps inside of you. It’s dizzying and never-ending as his cock continues to pulsate inside of you. 

You sink to the floor, defeated and accepting your fate. You won’t be able to move for a while. Werewolves can stay locked together for hours to ensure the seed takes. Those in their rut can take even longer since their bodies aren’t used to mating. Chan is working on pure instinct with his muddy, hormone-fueled brain. He won’t understand he can’t get you pregnant. 

Speaking of said werewolf, he shifts his face, releasing his hold on your neck to drag his tongue against the planes of your sweaty back. Another recognizable behavior: He’s grooming you, showing you affection for the successful coital tie. 

The worst is over. 

By some miracle, you endured. 

Judging by the chime of your watch, it takes nearly an hour for the swelling to go down enough to unlock. You know, by the way your pussy begins leaking sperm around his softening cock. It’s a welcome relief.  

Chan doesn’t stop you from dislodging yourself away from his cock or when crawling out from underneath him. All of your movements are slow and cautious to not rile the werewolf, but accepting the adrenaline rush is long gone. The fatigue is settling into every muscle in your body.

You shift to sit on your ass a few feet shy of the beast. There's no care for your nudity, nor the filth of time caked onto the floorboards you rest on, and not even the mess still leaking between your thighs. All you want is to settle your racing heart. 

However, Chan’s rut continues to rage on. 

His snout presses against the wood flooring, right into the expanding trail of fluids, and he growls, offended at the way his hard work has spilled. This cum is supposed to stay inside of you. Thorough breeding is necessary. It’s the only way he can get pups. 

“Channie,” you plead, desperate as tears burn your lash line. “It won’t take. I’m human.”

A corner of his lip curls as he snarls. It’s a cruel, angry sound. You are disregarding his wants once more. The alpha wolf in the room. A new wave of panic courses through as he takes a step forward. He doesn’t make another noise. He doesn’t have to; you know what that piercing look means. 

No more games. 

You will take his cock a second time. 

You will stop fighting his mating attempt. 

“Okay,” you say softly, hands raised to halt him. “I understand.”

His golden eyes watch as your throbbing limbs shift. This time he’s not upset as you willingly turn away from him, back on your hands and knees. Your front presses flat against the wood. Both knees shift wider to leave room for him. The position is an invitation. You are presenting your pussy to the wolf, a universal sign of submission. 

Chan chuffs, happy at the display. His claws tap lightly against the flooring as he nears. Your heart thumps erratically in your chest in anticipation. Silently you pray to whatever higher being will listen that his second round will be quicker. Your pussy aches, still puffy and swollen from the abuse it’s endured. 

One claw comes down to rest next to one of your ears, followed by the other mirroring on the other side of your head. His firm stomach muscles press against your back, keeping him physically close to you while he stays mounted over you. 

This time around he doesn’t struggle to find your hole. His cock slides right in with a loud squelch. Your walls don’t fight his size anymore. The excessive amount of mixed fluids makes each of his cautious thrusts glide back and forth easily. You groan to yourself in disgust, hearing the drips from your pussy splatter against the wood flooring. There was so much of his cum, and still it wasn’t enough to satisfy his rut-filled brain. 

This night appears to be far from over unless you can help him along. 

One of your hands slips under your body, allowing your fingers to brush against your neglected clit. Jolts of pleasure run up your spine the longer you rub messy circles in the way you know will let your own orgasm rush over you.

It takes only a handful of seconds before your own moans slip past your lips. Chan whines high and pitifully when your tight walls spasm around his cock, trying to milk his cum out of him. He must love the sensation. His hips snap faster, trying to shove his knot back inside to feel this where he’s the most sensitive. Your plan is working. The knot is already swelling back up to its previous size. 

Call it guilt for the life he’s had in the facility, call it selfishness for wanting this to be over, or maybe it’s buried feelings locked deep in your heart that you refuse to acknowledge. Just justify the whole night how you want. Your fingers continue to rub through the fall of your orgasm, pushing for another. You know your body best; you can force another orgasm. 

You can give Chan what he wants. 

The pleasure he deserves. 

Those bulky forearms of his wobble as he struggles to not collapse on top of you. His head hangs right against your face. The soft fur tickles your cheek as he pants heavily from exertion. He’s getting as worn out as you. He must be right on the edge. 

Get him there, you say to yourself. Make it happen, and it’ll be over. 

With the perfect pressure against your clit, you dive headfirst over the edge. Your moans are shameless; no one else is here to witness you. Let yourself be honest and enjoy the pleasure. Accept the way Chan eagerly pushes his knot firmly against your hole to assure a successful lock back into place. Same as before, the hot seed gushes inside you as the werewolf above howls in satisfaction. It’s a rewarding rush of power as you ride out the entire length of your orgasm. 

Your own limbs are faring no better than his, now caving to fold under you from the exhaustion. You cry out at the harsh tug of the knot, unable to dislodge it. Though Chan sinks lower immediately to ease the pain for you. His soft fur is warm across the expanse of your body, enveloping you in a comforting, safe embrace. He rests his face against yours, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth to lightly drag over your cheek. He’s content, rut settling. 

The rest of the world feels worlds away. You know there is still the threat of the company on the horizon, but Chan needs time to shift back. Then you can get him out of here. It’ll just be delayed. There’s no telling how long until he's human again. Records stated his last full shift was five years ago. It’ll happen when his body is ready. You should stay awake to keep an eye on him. Yet, no matter how hard you fight, your eyelids close as you fall asleep. 

It’s hours later when you wake.

Mercifully, on the couch that was tucked away in the corner. Chan must have moved you when he shifted back. There’s heat cocooning your body. A moth-eaten blanket was tossed over you. You don’t care how old or dusty the cushioning might be. It’s a blessing after all the time spent on the wood flooring. 

Gradually, you assess your health. Every part of the body hurts. Besides soaking, a bath is necessary to remove the sticky mess between your legs. Overall, it's not intolerable. You still have a drive ahead of you and should be able to manage. You don’t have a choice though; the security guards are awake by now, and Chan isn’t safe yet. He needs to get out of these woods. 

Your eyes scan to the left. Next to you is a small corner table with two apples and a handful of wild berries that were not there last night. Chan must have left them as a gift. Dread sinks into the pit of your stomach the longer you stare at fruit. He left the cabin. He doesn’t know that the company owns drones that can scan the entire area. Not to mention plenty of thermal cameras. 

Where is he? 

You fight the fatigue to sit up, voice struggling to come out of your parched throat, “Channie?”

A human whine slips out across the room. 

Chan is in a corner. He’s tucked his limbs tightly against himself to be as small as he physically can be. His red, teary eyes briefly meet yours before falling back to the floor. He whimpers, something sad or hurt. He looks guilty and must feel it too. 

Your heart hurts; he remembers what occurred. His favorite human hurt by his own hand, the one person he trusted and felt safe with. Now unable to even look you in the eyes, worried about how you feel. Surely, he assumes anger, perhaps hatred, or even fear of his true self. 

Yet, there are none of those emotions flowing through you. Last night was your fault. You took him from that awful place at the worst possible moment. The animal inside him only acted as its biology told it to do. He can’t fight his own nature. 

“Chan?” You whisper, keeping your voice low. “It’s okay, honey.”

More heart-wrenching whines leave him. He turns his face away, burying it in the crook of his arm. His entire frame trembles as he begins to sob. You can’t even comprehend the emotional turmoil he’s going through. Werewolves mate for life unless in dire circumstances. Poor thing probably is wrestling a heavy conscience when he doesn’t need to. 

“Channie, come here," you say, firmer. A painful knot twists in your stomach. Not only does he need comfort, but after everything that occurred, you need him. "Please.”

Chan doesn’t rise to his feet when he finally moves. No, he scampers closer on all fours. He sits on the floor, physically as close as he can be, with his head low, anticipating some sort of punishment.  

It never comes, and it never will. 

“None of last night was your fault. I’m not upset," you say, with fingers tangling in his greasy curls to scratch at his scalp. His eyelids flutter shut. The touch is soothing, solacing enough for his crying to settle. It takes a few minutes for Chan’s tension to melt away. You only speak again once his breathing regulates. “We need to move soon.”

Chan pulls away as if your touch burns. His head shakes, telling you no. One of his hands comes up to his lips, signing a word: Eat. 

“I will," you answer. “But you shouldn’t have gone out.”

Chan huffs; it’s an offended sound. His eyebrows furrowed in frustration that he can’t communicate what he wants. His body twists, searching the room for anything the previous owners left so he could use it to help vocalize his response.

You bring a hand to his shoulder, softly squeezing the warm skin, “Don’t worry about it. I know what you're doing.”

He forgets the stacks of research you consumed over the year. The only reason he left the cabin was to find you food. It’s his job to provide a meal after a successful mating session. He knew enough about the human diet to not bring you a dead animal. Instead, he picked a safer option, one probably from memory with all the times you ate lunch with him. You shared countless apples with him, and the berries are similar to the blueberries you offered him despite his hatred for them. 

Once more Chan signs for you to eat. This time, more assertive. He pulls away to crawl across the room only to return with a bucket he must have found somewhere in the house. There’s water inside. He traveled to the nearby river you passed on the way here. 

“How long were you out there?” Your tone comes out more aggressive than intended. His eyes are wide with panic, taken aback. Plush lips start to part, but only a groan comes out instead of a word. He wants to plead his case. He doesn’t get the chance, not with your continuous prodding. “Did anyone see you? Did you hear anyone?”

Chan shakes his head, shoulders tense as the questions keep coming. His breathing becomes labored as the stress of your words overwhelms him. He slams the bucket down, causing you to flinch. Water sloshes over him onto the floor. He doesn’t particularly care, instead bringing his palm to cover your mouth, shushing the words of interrogation. 

The mood around you shifts. Chan’s cheeks are still puffy and tear-stained, though his eyes have narrowed. They’re not as round and curious. No, this gaze is serious, almost commanding. Similar to last night, when Chan established his power over you. He maintains the burning alpha wolf's gaze while his free hand blindly reaches for one of the apples to drop it into your palm.  

Heat spreads across your skin with how flustered you become. Sparks of arousal curl deep in your core. It’s followed by shame at how your body reacts to his display of dominance. It's a humbling reminder that you are no longer at the lab and Chan chooses to follow your lead. He can overpower you at any moment, but he doesn’t. All because he respects you. 

He releases his hold, and for one last time signs for you to eat. His eyes don’t leave yours; he doesn’t blink, just watching as you bring the apple to your mouth to take a bite. That appears to be enough to appease him, and he falls back to a seated position on the floor. 

Minus Chan’s nudity and dirty feet, he’s in good shape after his shift. This is good, very good for you. Occasionally, some werewolves fall into a deep slumber to recover. There was a genuine fear that you might have to try to move Chan’s bulky body, and you are in no shape to do so. 

“We have a long day ahead of us. How are you feeling?” You ask timidly before biting into the tart apple again. The werewolf at your feet merely shrugs in response. That's a good enough answer for you. You’ll finish this damn apple so his provider mentality is satisfied and then get moving. 

When tossing the blanket to the side, cold air sinks straight to the bone. It’s no different from dunking yourself straight into a lake in the middle of winter. Yes, it’s time to leave and never leave the warmth of the car heater. Damn Chan and his heightened body heat. The cool weather is probably a blessing to his skin. 

“Help me up.” You say while slowly maneuvering your limbs to sit on the edge of the couch. “We have to get moving.”

Chan motions over to you and back to himself. You don’t need him to speak to understand. The lack of sunrise will keep the forest a maze. Both of you are nude, and in no shape to be back out in the woods. Especially you, with what you endured. 

“I planned ahead. Don’t worry. We just need to get me to the shed in the back.”

Instead of being a shoulder for you to lean on, Chan stands upright before reaching for your frame. His strong arms wrap around your middle, pulling you up and away. You gasp at the sudden display of strength, wrapping your arms around his neck and securing your legs tight around his hips. With one final adjustment of his hold, Chan sets off through the decapitated cabin and straight for the smaller building. 

The ice-cold cement slab the shed is built on burns against the blisters on your feet once they connect to the ground. You work quickly, hands reaching for the blue tarp you placed here a couple of nights ago. It slides off easily, revealing the car underneath. The vehicle is nearly two decades old. Bought with cash from a car lot two towns away to have no ties to you. It took a couple thousand dollars to make sure it would be up and running for the long journey, but at the end of the day the cost didn’t matter. Just as long as Chan was free. 

Slowly you hobble to make your way around to the trunk. Chan follows, hands outstretched around your frame just in case you were to fall. It’s charming how much care he has for you. Again, it’s part of the werewolf in him. In his culture, you two are bonded partners for life now. He could be shunned from his pack if anything bad happens to you. He doesn’t even know where they are, but the values instilled in him remain regardless. 

Could you handle a lifetime with Chan? 

Don’t you have the answer already? 

Your fingers search for the handle, and with some effort, the lid pops open. Inside the trunk are a few supplies. Mostly clothes and shoes. You reach in, grabbing the set for Chan first. He accepts the pants first, wasting no time to pull them on. The tee shirt is a bit tight for the broad frame, but he appears unaffected. Finally, he accepts a hoodie. It’s on the large side. Loose for him to hide in, including his face. You help zip it up before reaching around his neck to pull the hood up. 

It’s perfect.

Well, almost. The shoes are a lost cause because his feet don’t fit, but you don’t plan on bringing him anywhere near people. Not until you know it’s safe. Chan merely tosses them away. He’s always preferred being barefoot, anyway. He never used the lab-issued slip-ons the entire time he was there. 

To your surprise, Chan takes the sweatpants you packed for yourself and kneels at your feet. His touch is gentle, using one hand wrapped around your ankle to lift your foot up so he can guide your leg through. He mirrors the other before hoisting the waistband up to rest comfortably at your hips. His gaze lingers on your stomach. Even in the low light, he notices the several small cuts from where his claw pressed onto your skin. His lash line is wet as he gently covers your belly button with his palm. 

"No pups," you murmur. 

Chan lets out a relieved sigh. Another pressing question that had likely been bothering him was answered. He moves his hand only to quickly press his plush lips against each of the scabbed-over cuts. On the last one, he looks up at you, lips brushing your skin. He’s mouthing words, though no voice comes out: I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. 

If only he knew how much guilt you were battling. There will be time in the future to heal and reflect. For now, you accept his words and allow him to help you dress if it eases his pain. The tasks appear to be a good distraction from the spiraling thoughts. He obeys your command to open the shed doors due to you not having the strength to fight the rotting wood. It gives you a moment to get the car running and warmer by the time he slips into the backseat with an excited chirp.

Yes, you feel the exhilaration too. It’s time to get the hell out. Your palms adjust their hold on the steering wheel as you pull onto the old dirt road. It’s bumpy and slowly being reclaimed by nature. Chan giggles in the back with every large dip, amused by how the car rocks. It’s a wonderful noise to hear. Once this is said and done, you’ll do everything in your power to hear all the time. 

Eventually, the lack of gasoline forces you to pull off the interstate. Chan’s stomach had been rumbling for the last hour, so a pit stop was needed. You could fuel up and find him some food for‌ both of you. Something more substantial than fruit. Then keep driving until you hit the hotel tucked right over the state line. 

Tucked off a few miles from the highway is a gas station you settle on. The building is no bigger than a two-car garage. Each of the walls is weathered from the years in operation. Several windows are boarded up with wood, and the roof has pieces of sheet metal used to repair leaks. Business probably only continues in service thanks to the random cars traveling through and a handful of locals. This is ideal; the chance of security cameras is low. People out here tend to mind their own business, and you will pay in cash. There is no way the company will know you were here. 

“Channie, I have to go inside for a minute.” You say while pulling out your stashed wallet in the center console. The cash is still confirmed inside. Your body twists toward the back to face him. “Will you be okay staying here?” 

Chan nods softly, face barely peeking from the hood. He doesn’t move from his lying position. 

Smart boy, he knows to hide. 

The store attendant doesn’t even acknowledge you entering, too invested in the newspaper he’s reading. You slink through the aisles, scanning the food. Two packages of jerky, one dusty can of pineapple, bottles of water, and a couple of overpriced handmade sandwiches from the cooler. It’ll hold you guys over until the next town. You don’t want to waste much time inside; you need to get back to Chan. 

Even at the register, the worker still doesn’t speak when you pay. Just a simple nod in acknowledgment at what pump the car is at. This guy is simply going through the motions, probably thinking about how long till his shift is over. It’s a blessing; you wanted to avoid painful small talk. 

Back outside, the sun is high in the sky. It’s a nice day. The weather is warming up despite how cold the temps dipped the previous night. Birds chirp in the distance. There’s not a cloud in the sky, you realize, as you silently pump the gas. Perhaps a sign of ‌better days ahead for you. The property you bought to remain under the radar is tucked away in the woods, nearly thirty minutes away from a one-stoplight town. There is genuine fear of how the company is going to react once they find out one of their test subjects is gone. You used most of your savings making it self-sufficient. Anything to make sure you don’t have to be seen. 

Will it last forever? No, but it’s enough until Chan decides what he wants to do with his life. 

Speaking of said werewolf, isn't he a little curious about the food you bought? 

Once securing the gas cap, you peek into the back seat. 

The familiar feeling of dread hits fast and hard. 

He’s not inside. 

“Chan!” Your voice cracks across the parking lot. The dirt parking lot has no fresh tire tracks, no strangers. Just dust and a pair of footprints trailing the opposite way from the car. The grocery bag slips from your fingers as fear turns the blood in your veins into ice. 

He’s gone. 

Just like that?

You scream louder this time. “Chan!”

A second later, Chan appears from the side of the building. He jogs back over to the car, head ducked low, shoulders tight. A sight similar to a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. Guilt written all over him. 

“I said stay in the car!” You exclaim, the anger in your voice thin and shaking. Loss, anger, and relief crash into you so hard your knees nearly give out. It’s a whirlwind. Nausea hits next, causing stomach acid to burn the back of your throat. “You should have waited. I was worried.”

Chan signs two words: Toilet. Sorry. 

He circles the car to grab the fallen bag. When he straightens, his hood slips off his head. Sunlight catches in his curls, wind teasing the brown strands, and it shows off all the different shades of color. 

Chan came back to you. 

He didn’t have to. 

It was the perfect opportunity to leave you behind. 

He is choosing to stay, right?

In a perfect world, he would find his pack and return to his family. Though that dream might be impossible. You don’t even know where Chan is originally from. Umbra ships creatures from around the world. The other werewolves could be oceans away. 

Now the insecurities inside you are trying to guilt you. You are all he knows now. He is still in survival mode. He’s accepted his fate. Being with you means he’s not a lab rat. Of course he would pick being out here. That thought stings more than the scratches healing on your hip. 

You want him to stay because he wants to. 

Maybe that’s selfish of you. 

The fear of losing him lingers in your chest, raw and undeniable. There is no shoving your feelings away anymore. You care for him. No, you love him. You would do anything for him. Able to see him here free, enjoying the sunshine, is priceless. Everything you have done and endured seems worth it. You would do it a million times over. This is what you wanted for him. 

For the first time, the voice you desperately wanted to hear speaks beside you. It's trembling, strained, and soft. “L—L—Love…You.”

The world stills. These are Chan’s first vocalized words to you. After a year of working every day. It’s not letters or numbers. Not rehearsed sounds practiced for hours at a time. Not a forced syllable squeezed out of frustration. All of it has paid off. 

He is expressing his true feelings.

You knew Chan was fond of you. Yes, you also knew of his deep emotional attachment. You aren’t blind. He sought you out in that horrible place. You were his comfort; of course he would grow attached. This makes your plan for his release harder on top of all your complicated feelings. The goal was to let him run free up in the thick woods near the mountain. Very few humans travel up there, so he could shift freely and safely from danger. There is a dense population of wildlife that would be perfect for him to hunt. Now you’re unsure if you could let him out there if he didn’t want to stay with you. 

“Chan,” you whisper.

His eyes stay on the ground like he expects the words to be wrong somehow. As if he’s bracing for correction. It isn’t perfect. It doesn’t have to be. Not when it’s music to your ears.

He swallows and tries again, stronger this time. “Love you.”

“I love you too, Channie.” You answer with tears burning your lash line. Cautiously bring a hand to his cheek, cupping his face before leaning close to place a soft kiss on his plush lips. Chan pulls away immediately, face flushing a deep shade of red, and gaze falling to the dirt below his feet. He’s shy about such sudden affection, but the wide smile on his face tells you he enjoyed it. 

“Come on.” You say with enthusiasm, turning to open the door for him. “We still have a long way to go.”

Chan slips into the passenger seat, closing the door behind himself. His eyes lock onto you, watching you walk around the front and enter on your side. He allows you to buckle his seatbelt without a struggle. His fingers fiddle with the cloth strap, completely distracted by the mechanism, curious how it works. 

And with that, you two are back on the road. 

If Chan minds the soft music playing, he doesn’t show it. He eats quietly beside you, scarfing down a sandwich and a bag of jerky in a handful of minutes. The pull tab on the can of pineapple gives him a small fight, but he chirps in excitement when realizing what’s inside. He eats one piece at a time with his fingers, savoring the fruit. 

The car ride was fairly silent after that. Chan rests his head against the cool glass, focused on the scenery passing by. Cautiously, you bring one of your hands to his, intertwining your fingers to hold. Out of your peripheral, he glances down at the hold and tightens the grip.

The two of you will figure out what to do about his next shift. Your new home has a basement. Though the idea of chaining him down doesn’t seem too appealing and is rather cruel, maybe he’ll understand. However, the real question is if you can werewolf-proof your home just in case it’s not enough to hold him. Sure, you live outside the city in the woods, but there are still neighbors miles down the road. 

Those thoughts don’t matter right now. 

After all, you have time until the next full moon. 

︎Abiaswreck | Do not copy, repost, or translate | As always, reblogs are appreciated! Feel free to comment, reblog with feedback, or send me an ask. I’d love to hear from you; it helps with motivation. I hope today is kind to you. <3

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the voice caught you so off guard that you nearly sent your laptop flying off the bed. thankfully, you reacted fast enough and stumbled forward before gravity could finish its job. "maki!!"

your roommate stood on the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and that stupid, smug smile plastered on his face. he was wearing some comfy grey pants and a simple white thank top that let his biceps show in an almost perfect sculptural way. of course he had to laugh at your tragedy while looking extra hot as well. 

"did you know that scaring the shit out of your best friend can cause her a heart attack!?" you glared at him, a hand pressed against your chest.  

"you'll survive." he finally took a step in, heading straight for the plate of gummy bears you had next to you. "how sweet of you to have my favorites in here." 

"maki!" even if you tried to snatch the plate out of his hold, he was already swallowing the gummies like a whale. "idiot." your eyes narrowed. "get out of my room."

"this is also my room." he casually threw himself on your bed, falling almost on top of you.

"but i'm in my alone time!" 

"and you were screaming like you wanted some company." he smiled at you, dimple included. you couldn't hide the effect that simple gesture had in the pitch of your stomach.

"what do you want? you wouldn't come here if you didn't want anything."

"how low you think of me..." he clutched his chest dramatically, before sitting up, eyes shining mischievously. "i actually do want something."

you sighed. those words never meant something good. "what is it?"

maki sat closer, enough to make you focus on his big puppy eyes. oh oh... he was using the secret weapon. he must want a really big favor from you- "can you braid my hair again? i liked it last time."

you raised an eyebrow in surprise. "that's it?"

"what do you mean that's it?" 

"i don't know." you pointed at his face. "you gave me the puppy eyes. i thought you wanted me to plant a bomb for you."

"i don't have puppy eyes!" he frowned at you, but the slight pink creeping up his neck gave him away. "uhh... are you gonna do ir or not?"

you remembered the last time you did his hair for him. it was just a random afternoon that you ended up sprawled on the couch, scrolling on your phone with nothing better to do. maki sat on the floor, aggressively smashing buttons as he played some videogame on the tv. 

eventually, your attention turned to the way he kept shaking his head from side to side every few seconds. his hair had gotten way too long, and the strands kept getting in his eyes every time he looked down at the controller. at one point, his annoyed huffing was louder than the videogame's sound effects.

without a word, you pushed him back until his body was right in between your legs. he didn't even react, too focused on the tv screen. you brushed his hair back in sections, your nails softly scrapping his scalp as you gathered all the annoying strands in your fist. 

and maybe he didn't notice he did it either, but he leaned into your touch. his neck rested back comfortably against the couch, giving you better access to his head. his shoulders visibly relaxed and even the grip on his controller loosened. 

then you finally tied his hair with one of the hair ties you always had around your wrist. the result was a cute little bun on top of his head, which made him look way too adorable for someone as big as him. a small smile made its way to his lips when he reached to touch it before returning to his game. "thank you." 

and for the simple way he said it, you thought that was it. that he was simply thankful to you for getting the hair out of his face. what you didn't know is that he kept the bun on even when he went to sleep hours later, and then he pouted when he woke up and found out it had fallen off during the night. 

now he was asking you to do it again. and he didn't want a simple bun. he wanted braids. 

"here." he casually handed you a hair tie. you immediately recognized it as the same one you used the last time, but you decided not to say anything. 

"fine. let's see what can i do." you got on your knees on the bed and moved to his head. his hair was now dyed in a soft pink tone and it was a bit longer than the last time, the front strands almost reaching the tip of his nose. you moved your fingers through it, wanting to untangle any knot before making the braid.

"ow." he hissed when you accidentally pulled a bit too hard.

you huffed back in response. "stay still."

"i'm staying still!" 

"you're not!" you gathered some hair in your hand and parted it in three sections. as you started to make the braid, you quickly realized that the position you were in was too uncomfortable to be able to make it at least a little decent. every time you braided one section, the other one fell off. "ugh, this is harder than i thought..." 

"wait." you watched him move. you thought he would get on the floor, but he got on the edge of the bed instead. "here." he casually patted his thighs for you to sit on.

you didn't think twice before sitting on his lap. physical affection had always been really common with him. falling asleep on each other's shoulder, playful smacks on your arm when he beat you in any game... you were both really touchy, and it never felt weird. 

but it was the moment his hands came to rest on your waist that you froze. his thumbs rubbed slow circles on your sides, and it made your heart nearly jump out of your chest. it wasn’t the first time you felt his hands on you, but why was it affecting you so much now? 

you forced yourself to look down at his hair again.

worst decision ever.

the new position made it so much easier to reach his hair, but it also gave you a better view of what you were actually sitting on. his shoulders were right in front of you, broad and barely covered by the thin shirt. the muscles in his arms flexed slightly as he grabbed your waist, his chest rising and falling steadily... why was the air suddenly so warm?

you swallowed hard before focusing back on your task. you parted his hair right in the middle, his dark roots peeking through the pink strands. it was silk and soft, and it still had a faint scent of shampoo on it that made you unconsciously lean closer.

"why were you screaming at the movie?" he suddenly asked, voice coming out low and slightly deeper than usual. 

"oh, the boy was being an idiot. if he likes the girl that much, he should just confess."

maki waited a few seconds before answering. "maybe he thinks she doesn't like him back."

"bullshit. the whole movie is them basically staring at each other for two hours. it's so obvious." carefully, you finished the first braid and moved to the second hair section.

"and that means they're in love?"

"of course." you said confident. "now shut up, i'm concentrated."

maki went quiet. his hands tightened on your waist just a bit, enough to make your heart twist again. the constant movement of your fingers through his hair was relaxing him a bit too much, that he even forgot to answer back with a sarcastic comment. he had to physically fight the urge to lean his head on your chest.

instead, he discreetly looked up at you when you weren't paying attention. getting you to sit on his lap was the first mistake he made that night. the second was thinking he could survive it. 

he was failing miserably.

the same way he failed when he slept with that stupid little bun on, because taking it off meant losing the feeling of your hands on his hair. 

and the same way he was failing now, staring at you in pure awe. he stared at the small frown of concentration between your brows. at the way your tongue peeked out slightly when a rebel hair strand slipped from your fingers. at the way your body fitted just so naturally on his lap. 

he was torturing himself, while you looked completely unaffected. or at least you were pretending to be. because he noticed the faint blush on your cheeks and the slight stiffness when he placed his hands on your waist. but maybe he was just imagining it.

"why are you staring?" your voice snapped him off his thoughts. he actually jumped a little, embarrassment creeping up to his cheeks. you had already finished the second braid, and he didn't even notice it.

he tried to sound casual when he answered. "you have a lot of moles." that wasn't the reason he was staring, but of course he noticed that as well. he noticed everything about you.

"what?" 

"here." he poked your cheek. "and here." his finger lingered on your skin longer than necessary, before pulling it down. then his jaw tightened, like he instantly regretted that move.

you blinked at him, eyes widening in surprise. the spot he just touched on your cheek felt warm now. maki looked just as surprised as you, like he didn't know why he did that. “you have too.” you muttered, poking his cheek just like he did. 

this time, you didn't miss the immediate shaky breath that left his lips. it was ridiculous. the two of you didn't know personal space around each other, and yet just a tiny poke on his cheek was enough to short circuit his brain.

“do i?” he whispered, eyes glued to yours like there was suddenly something preventing him from looking away. 

you nodded. your finger traced the moles on his right cheek together, as if they were a star constellation. “they say moles appear in the places where you were kissed in your past life.” 

“really?” when you nodded, his hand moved from your waist to your cheek. his palm was big enough to cover it entirely. the touch was gentle and careful, but it made you forget how to breathe for a moment. “then you must've been kissed a lot.” 

maki tilted your head slightly to the side, revealing the smaller moles hidden on the side of your neck. your pulse jumped incredibly high, and you were sure he could feel it under his thumb.

the tension in the room was so tight that even the air felt heavier around you. the touch wasn't playful anymore. his voice didn't carry the usual teasing tone either. he was simply staring at you, like a person who just found something too precious and had no idea what to do with it. maki had never looked at you this way. or maybe he did, but you didn't pay enough attention. 

“i finished the braids.” you drastically changed the subject after blushing like crazy at his words.

he let out a small chuckle before touching them briefly. the braids turned out quite short, like two little horns on each side of his head, but they actually suited him really well. “do they look cute?” 

“you look cute.” the words left your mouth before you could stop them. the second they did, you wanted to throw yourself through the nearest window. your face burned like fire and yet, you couldn't look away from him.

maki's smile only got bigger. “thank you.” his hands moved to your lower back to pull you a bit closer. his eyes were back on your face, analyzing it closely. 

and you did the same. your gaze focused on the tiny freckles scattered across his nose and how long his eyelashes were from up close. you had found yourself admiring his features many times before, when he fell asleep on your lap after an exhausting day. but now, it was like looking at him for the first time. you were noticing details you never saw before, and the most important one was in his eyes.

you had always brushed it off when your friends told you that maki looked at you differently. of course he did. he was more patient and softer with you, because you were his best friend, and he had always taken special care of you. that's what friends did.

“you're staring.” it was his voice what snapped you out of your daze this time. 

“so are you.” 

“yeah.” he laughed under his breath. “and according to your logic, what does that mean?”

you didn't even try to hide the way your eyes widened. you knew exactly what he was referring to. and judging by the way his smirk widened, he had asked just to hear you saying it again.

the stupid movie and your stupid comment. 

“that means they're in love?”

“of course.”

“it means…” maki's eyes lit up hopefully. that stupid dimple showed up in his cheek when he smiled. you recognized that smile. it was the nervous one. the one that came with a little huff and a faint red tint on his cheekbones. he was waiting for your answer.

you bit your lip nervously, trying to find your words. “it means…” your mouth opened again, but you ended trailing off. for a minute, you could only stare at him. he was close. too damn close that you could even hear his heart beating like crazy. or was it yours?

the answer was simple, but it suddenly felt like the hardest combination of words you've ever known. you were thinking too much about the answer. about his hands on your waist. about everything. 

your gaze dropped to the moles constellation on his cheek. that's when you stopped thinking and leaned in instead. a quick kiss pressed right above the little mole next to his lips. it barely lasted a second, but it was enough to make his whole body go completely still. 

you locked eyes when you pulled back. neither of you moved. you were both too stunned to speak. then, right when he was about to open his mouth, reality hit you all at once. you let out a strangled scream and scrambled off his lap so fast that your coordination betrayed you, feet tangling in your own blanket mess before your butt ended up hitting the floor with a loud thud. 

maki gasped loudly, covering his mouth in surprise. “oh my god! are you okay!?” he was already leaning down to help you, but another scream from you cut him off.

you dragged your butt back through the floor like a snake, wide eyes looking up at him like you were seeing a ghost. “good night!” you spit the words out and pushed yourself up to your feet, almost tripping for a second time before your hand finally reached the doorknob. 

“what?” maki stood up in pure confusion. you didn't even look back. you didn't trust yourself to stay in the same room as him for one more second. you yanked the door so hard that it closed with a loud bang behind you. 

he flinched, the air softly moving his bangs up. a heavy silence filled the room. then, a third high-pitched scream was heard from somewhere in the apartment, and he immediately bursted out laughing. 

“good night?” he repeated to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. then his hand moved to his hair, his expression softening as his fingers traced the braids you had put so much care into. slowly, he lowered it to his cheek. the spot where your lips had touched it was still warm and tingling. 

maki let out a shaky laugh, feet walking back until they gave up and his body fell on the bed. on your bed. 

no matter how many times he exhaled, his heart refused to calm down. it was his turn to cover his face and let out a muffled scream against your blanket. 

his head turned to the side, until his eyes stopped on your laptop. the screen was still on with the movie frozen mid-scene.

without thinking, he pressed play. the couple was staring at each other, the tension obvious even through the screen. as they stood closer, the music shifted to something low and intimate. the girl looked at his lips and the guy grabbed her hand. 

maki stared at it, suddenly invested. they leaned closer to each other, and so did him towards the screen. their noses were touching, their lips just a few centimeters away. it was there. it was right there-

nothing.

the guy pulled back at the last second.

maki frowned and let out an offended exhale.

“no one wants you to kiss my girlfriend,” ej argued. “especially not me or her.”

“come on already,” yuma whined. “either kiss or don’t—i’m getting bored.”

nicholas looked over at you. you looked at ej, ej looked back at you, and then you looked back to nicholas.

“oh my god,” ej huffed. “you can kiss her cheek, but that’s the most you’re getting.”

you let out the sigh you’d been holding in, relieved that ej made the decision for you because you weren’t sure what you were supposed to do.

so, nicholas crawled over across the circle to you, tilted your head to the side and planted a warm, soft kiss on your cheek, lingering slightly longer than he should’ve.

ej rolled his eyes, shaking his head in disapproval—not at you, but at his own best friend.

the game carried on, and proved quite entertaining as you got to watch many of ej and your friends share a kiss.

and then it was ej’s turn to spin.

of course, out of all the people it could’ve landed on, it landed on nicholas.

“wow, i’m pretty lucky today,” nicholas said with a glint in his eyes, a smile on his typically serious face. “tell me i get more than just your cheek.”

“you’re such a freak,” ej responded, and then he looked over at you. “it’s not up to me, though. it’s whatever y/n is comfortable with.”

your breath caught in your throat. everyone in the circle was looking at you now. it was all up to you whether or not you were okay with nicholas kissing your boyfriend.

you knew it was just a stupid party game. it wasn’t a big deal, and you knew how ej and nicholas liked to joke around and flirt sometimes. this was nothing. it was just a kiss.

“you can kiss,” you said, leaning back on your palms with a smirk. “just make sure to put on a show.”

“you’re a freak, too,” ej said to you jokingly, before turning back to nicholas.

the circle watched with anticipation as nicholas crawled across the floor yet again, then sank to his knees once he was in front of ej.

you watched carefully as nicholas brought his hands up to cup your boyfriends face, tilting his head up. ej gazed up into nicholas’s eyes, his expression completely serious. in fact, both of them looked far too serious for just a dumb party game.

their faces were getting closer and closer, their lips just an inch away. and then they were pressed together—nicholas cradling ej’s face in his large hands, their lips moving fluidly against each other.

you gulped, feeling your face start to warm. it seemed like they were actually into it, like they’d forgotten where they were and what they were doing, that it was just a game of spin the bottle. they seemed to have forgotten that people were watching them.

they weren’t even kissing anymore, but entirely making out. you swore you even saw a glimpse of one of their tongues for just a second, and it made your breath hitch in your throat.

“jesus, you guys,” yudai spoke up, laughing. “you can quit now.”

nicholas pulled back, lips glistening with your boyfriends saliva. ej stared up at him, a glimmer of something in his eye that you couldn’t make out.

if you weren’t euijoo’s girlfriend, you would’ve thought they were the ones dating. you felt like by just sitting there, you were interrupting something.

the circle fell silent—an awkward silence. nicholas cleared his throat, then shuffled back to his spot in the circle.

“um,” ej spoke, avoiding eye contact with anyone. “i don’t really wanna play anymore.”

you noticed he had his hands awkwardly positioned over his lap, and when he saw you noticed, he pulled his knees into his chest.

“me neither,” nicholas said. “i’ve kissed enough people.”

they met each others eyes from across the circle, then quickly tore their gazes apart.

“let’s go get another drink,” you suggested, trying to intercept and break the tension.

“yes!” ej agreed, hoisting himself up. “that’s a great idea.”

together, you two found your way through other party goers, into the kitchen. ej was quick to pour himself a hefty cup of liquor.

he took a long sip, then placed his cup on the counter and turned to you.

“i’m so sorry,” he said. “i don’t know what happened. i mean—i didn’t think he was gonna kiss me like that, and then it just kept going and we’ve both had too much to drink, and—”

suddenly, ej stopped talking, his gaze falling just past you, and he gulped.

you frowned, turning around to see what it was that had captured his attention. of course, it was nicholas, leaning in the doorway.

“that was hot,” he said, walking over to you two.

“shut up,” ej scolded.

nicholas chuckled, taking a sip from his red cup.

“well, y/n thought it was hot, too,” he said, motioning over to you. your eyes widened. “i saw the way you were watching us.”

ej’s eyebrows furrowed even further together, glancing over at you. both of them, with equally intimidating stares, were facing you, waiting for you to admit it or defend yourself.

what were you supposed to say? would ej get mad if you admitted that you did think it was kind of hot watching him make out with his best friend? would he think you were weird?

“i-i—”

you were sputtering out nonsense, still fighting a battle as to whether you wanted to defend yourself or admit the truth.

luckily, nicholas was there to do it for you.

“look at her,” he said with a laugh. “it’s obvious she liked what she saw. we’ll do it again for you, if you want.”

“no, we won’t,” euijoo interjected with a scoff.

and then, just for a split second, he saw it. on your face, a flash of disappointment. it was unconscious even to you, but it seemed like deep down, you were a bit disappointed that he wasn’t interested in recreating the show you’d seen just a few minutes earlier.

“wait a minute,” he said. “you actually liked it?”

“i-i mean, i don’t know,” you answered, struggling to meet either of their eyes.

“tell me, baby,” ej pried. “just tell me the truth. i won’t be upset.”

your face was pulsating, your cheeks red. it took you a minute to muster up the strength to give him the true answer.

“yeah,” you finally admitted. “i liked it.”

you glanced up at them for just a moment to see them exchanging some kind of look. you didn’t know what it meant. all you knew was that nicholas was smirking at euijoo, a mischievous little grin.

“you know,” nicholas said, setting his cup down, “i think we should get out of here.”

-

the three of you left the party together and ended up back at yours and ej’s apartment.

it was awkward, admittedly, sitting on the couch in between the two men. none of you quite knew what to say, and the silence was deafening.

of course, it was nicholas who eventually broke the silence.

“so, should we get it started?” he asked.

“get what started?” euijoo asked, already annoyed.

“you know,” nicholas replied. “your girl wants a show. let’s give her one. and now that we’re all alone, she can join in on the fun.”

euijoo glanced down at you, scanning your face, looking for the assurance that you wanted to keep going.

“you really wanna do this?” he asked you.

“if you do, i do,” you affirmed.

he took a deep breath, glancing from you over to nicholas.

then, finally, “fine. let’s go to the bedroom.”

although it wasn’t his apartment, nicholas led the way down the hall to the bedroom, practically skipping with excitement.

you and euijoo followed, and within a few seconds, the three of you were on the bed.

you were laying back against the pillows, while euijoo and nicholas sat beside each other down at the end of the bed where your feet were.

“did you like kissing me earlier?” nicholas asked, eyes trailing ej up and down.

“it was…” euijoo trailed off, searching for the right word. “fine.”

nicholas scoffed, offended.

“it was better than fine and you know it,” he replied.

you sat up on your elbows, hardly sparing a blink as you watched their faces get closer and closer to each other.

“i wasn’t thinking straight,” ej said. “it’s hard to remember.”

nicholas hummed.

“then let me remind you.”

he grabbed euijoo’s face in one of his large hands, rings probably cold on euijoo’s skin, and then joined their lips together.

you watched in awe at the way their lips seems to just melt into each other’s, how it seemed so natural the way they kissed, like they’d been doing it for years.

after a moment, ej brought his hand up and wrapped it around the back of nicholas’s neck, pulling him in even closer. at that, nicholas moaned into ej’s mouth.

you caught a sliver of one of their tongues entering the other one’s mouth, unable to figure out who’s was who’s. but then it became a battle of both their tongues, rubbing and intertwining with each other.

you squeezed your legs together, already feeing yourself getting worked up just from the sight of them kissing. all you wanted to do was to somehow get between them, to be in on their messy makeout.

euijoo pulled back a bit, glancing over at you to check on you and gauge how you were taking it so far. your eyes were blown out wide, lips glossy from how many times you’d licked them in the past few minutes.

“still doing okay?” he asked you, his torso pressed against nicholas’s.

“are you kidding?” nicholas said with a laugh. “look at her. she’s better than okay.”

ej noticed it but didn’t want to say anything so he didn’t embarrass you. it was obvious that them making out had made your horny, though. your thighs pressed together and your bright red cheeks were evidence enough.

he smiled a little.

“you can touch yourself if you want,” he offered.

that was all he said before he faced nicholas again and pressed their lips back together. you released a drawn out sigh, watching your boyfriend and his best friend devour each other.

you wanted to touch yourself, you really did, but it was nerve wracking to think about doing so in front of nicholas. he’d never see you in that kind of way, and you weren’t sure what he’d think.

regardless, he was occupied in something—someone—else, so you took the opportunity to slowly slide your hand down your body and into your pants.

straight past your panties, your fingertips brushed over your clit. you gasped, feeling how wet you already were, staring to rub the puffy bud in little circles.

nicholas’s hands trailed down euijoo’s body, desperately rubbing up and down his sides, pushing the fabric of his t-shirt up until it was bunched up around his shoulders. they pulled apart for a moment so ej could lose the shirt entirely.

nicholas’s eyes drank in the sight of ej’s bare torso, his hands gripping and rubbing your boyfriend’s supple skin.

“fuck, look at your little fucking waist,” nicholas practically growled against ej’s mouth. “you’re so sexy, juju.”

ej smiled and leaned back in, pressing his now bare torso against nicho’s as their lips intertwined once again. nicholas held ej’s waist as he slid his tongue back into his mouth, rubbing it against ej’s.

you couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips, your fingers gliding further down your soaked pussy. you dragged them down your folds and back up, spreading your arousal and staring at the two men unashamed, biting your lower lip.

ej pulled back from the kiss to look over at you again.

“why don’t you take some clothes off, baby?” he suggested in that sickeningly sweet voice of his.

you immediately obliged, sliding your hand out of your pants to take your shirt and bra off, all while maintaining deep eye contact with him. you almost didn’t notice nicholas stripping as well, revealing his toned abdomen.

you unbuttoned your pants and got rid of them, left in nothing but your drenched underwear. both of the men eyed you hungrily, but ej was the first to make a move. he detached himself from nicholas and made his way up the bed over to you, finally kissing you instead.

you tangled your fingers in caramel-colored hair, moaning into his mouth. he kissed you slowly, sweetly, carefully, and you wondered if it was the same way he kissed nicholas.

meanwhile, nicholas rid himself of his pants, left in nothing but his boxers. he stared as you and ej kissed, watched the way your legs quivered and spread. there was a patch of wetness on your thin panties, and it had nicholas’s cock twitching.

“do you want him to touch you?” ej asked, briefly pulling back from your lips.

you glanced over at nicholas, feeling a wave of insecurity and intimidation wash over you at the way he was staring with that hard look on his face.

“i-i—”

“he won’t bite,” ej assured you, glancing behind his shoulder at nicholas. “even if it looks like he will.”

nicholas fixed his expression, trying his best to look less threatening for your sake.

“you’re soaked,” he commented, inching his way over to you and euijoo. “let me take these off you, yeah?”

silently, you nodded, gasping when his cold, ringed fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties and slid them down your legs. you tried not to think too hard about it—the fact that you were now completely naked in front of your boyfriend’s best friend, your bare cunt on full display for him.

sensing your horror, ej leaned back in and kissed you, distracting you from your embarrassment.

you gasped into his mouth when you felt nicholas’s fingers swipe up the length of your pussy, gathering your excess of arousal. he spread the wetness around, and his fingers prodded at your entrance. just when you thought he was going to slide them in, he dragged them back up and pressed down on your clit instead.

you whimpered into ej’s mouth, humping your hips up into the air desperately. it made nicholas chuckle, and only aggravated you.

“she’s so sensitive,” he mumbled, slowly circling your clit with his middle and ring fingers. “you’re just as fun to play with as ej.”

ej hummed before he pulled apart from your lips, glancing down at where nicholas’s hand was rubbing you.

“don’t tease her,” he scolded. “she’s been good, you can fuck her with your fingers.”

you gulped, surprised to see your boyfriend take such authority when he was normally more submissive leaning. even nicholas looked surprised for a moment to be told what to do, but nonetheless, he obliged.

slowly and gently, he slid his fingers inside your pussy, getting you nice and stretched out. you cried out, gripping the bedsheet as your walls clamped around his slender fingers.

“fuck,” nicholas mumbled. “she’s so warm ‘n wet.”

ej began peppering kisses down your jawline and to your neck, and you felt like you were in heaven. the soft suction of his lips on your neck and nicholas’s lengthy fingers pumping in and out of you was euphoric. you didn’t think it could get better until you felt another hand on your pussy—euijoo’s.

while nicholas was finger fucking you, ej began to slowly rub your clit in circles, and your eyes rolled back into your head.

“oh my god,” you moaned, not even knowing what to do with yourself because it felt so good.

“is that good, baby?” ej asked you.

“yes, euijoo,” you choked out, clenching around nicho’s fingers. “it’s so fucking good.”

he smiled against your neck, continuing to kiss his way down until he made it to your chest. he wrapped his lips around one of your erect nipples and began suckling softly on the bud, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure and relaxation.

you couldn’t believe this was happening—you had two of the sexiest men you’d ever seen in your life pleasing you at the same exact time. ej rubbing your clit and sucking your nipples, and nicholas fingering you so deep that you were practically wetting the bed with your arousal.

suddenly, taking advantage of the fact that your lips were free now, nicholas brought his face to yours and kissed you—for real this time. his lips on yours and the way he kissed you was nothing like the way ej kissed you. nicholas was rougher, more intense. his tongue found its way into your mouth quickly, and you had to match his pace, so you rubbed your own tongue against his, exchanging saliva.

you moaned into his mouth, your fingers tugging on ej’s hair as he tugged your nipple between his teeth. you were practically riding both their hands, inching yourself closer and closer to your high. you needed it desperately, and you couldn’t hide it from them.

“you gonna cum, baby?” ej asked, gliding his tongue around your nipple.

all you could do was nod into nicholas’s mouth, unable to speak even if you weren’t kissing him. he plunged his fingers as deep as they could go inside of you, and your legs clamped around both their hands.

“fuck!” you yelped, breaking apart from the kiss. “shit, nghhh—i’m cumming!”

you threw your head back, releasing a strained moan as your climax washed over you. you tugged your boyfriends hair, tightening around their fingers as the knot in your stomach undid itself.

“fuck, that’s it,” nicholas cooed, watching the way your legs twitched as you started to come down. “so fucking pretty when you cum.”

he pulled his fingers out of you, and ej detached from your nipple. they were both sat on either side of you, looking down at you. ej carefully caressed your tummy, lulling you back down from the intensity of your orgasm.

“you’re so hard,” nicholas suddenly said, motioning to ej’s cock, straining obviously in his pants.

suddenly, nicholas was reaching over you to plant his palm against ej’s covered length, feeling it pulsate under his hand.

“fuck,” ej hissed, instinctively jutting his hips forward, pressing his cock further into nicho’s grasp.

nicholas smirked at his best friend’s reaction, squeezing ej’s length over the fabric of his sweatpants. he dragged his hand back and forth, but when he decided that wasn’t enough, he tugged on the waistband and tugged them down enough for ej’s length to spring free.

at the sight of your boyfriend’s dick drooling with pre cum, you eagerly sat up on your knees and positioned yourself in front of him. ej looked down at you tenderly, bringing his hand to the back of your head to guide your mouth onto his length.

you took him well like you always did, kitten licking up the precum from his tip before taking the rest of his length into your mouth.

ej sighed in pleasure, dropping his head back. you glanced up, only to find nicholas leaning forward and planting a firm kiss to ej’s neck.

“fuck,” ej groaned, bringing his other hand to the back of nicho’s neck.

it was hard to keep your eyes open with the tip of his long cock gagging you when it hit the back of your throat every few seconds, but you refused to miss what was occurring in front of you. nicholas sucking hickeys into ej’s neck was a beautiful sight, and you could feel yourself getting worked up all over again.

and it only got better when you watched ej’s hand carefully drag down the front of nicho’s torso, stopping at the waistband of his boxers. they made eye contact, seemingly exchanging information telepathically, and then ej was slipping his hand into the other’s boxers.

“oh shit,” nicholas moaned as ej began stroking him slowly. “fuck—that’s good.”

you watched the bump of ej’s hand moving in nicholas’s boxers, so entranced by the sight that you found yourself slacking on the blowjob you were giving.

“mmm, keep going, baby,” ej urged, drawing you back in with that coaxing voice of his.

you turned your attention back to him, pushing him as deep into your throat as you could go. you clenched your eyes shut in discomfort, hollowing out your cheeks.

you deep-throated him for a few minutes before he let you up for a much needed breather. when your eyes reopened, you found that nicholas’s boxers were to his knees and ej’s hand was pumping his thick cock in a rapid motion.

again, you sat back and watched in awe. the chemistry they had, the way they both seemed to know what the other one liked, left you dumbfounded. you truly began to question if this wasn’t the first time they’d done something like this with each other.

“f-fuck, euijoo,” nicholas grunted, grabbing ej’s wrist. “slow down, i’m close.”

“finish him off,” ej suddenly said to you, and your eyes widened.

“what about you?” you asked, glancing over at his long cock, standing straight up against his abs from how hard he was.

“don’t worry about me right now,” he retorted. “wanna see you take nicho, okay? wanna see you swallow everything he gives you. can you do that, pretty girl?”

you gulped with nerves, but nodded nonetheless. it was always hard to say no to ej, not that you wanted to.

you sat yourself on your knees in front of nicholas, face to face with his cock. a long vein ran all the way up from the bottom to the top, and so you traced it with your tongue before wrapping your lips around his bulbous tip.

“holy shit,” nicholas moaned, his hand finding the back of your head—not to push you, but to keep it firmly rested there. “that’s it, that’s a good girl.”

his words practically made you purr, your pussy nearly dripping onto the bed. you were so horny despite having cum all ready, but you needed more.

luckily, your boyfriend sensed that. before you knew it, ej was spreading your legs and positioning himself between them. and then, from the back, he licked a firm, electrifying stripe up from your hole to your clit, a lick so pleasurable that you whimpered around nicholas’s cock, jolting in delight.

“oh, yeah,” nicholas muttered. “fuck—is that good? you like getting your pussy eaten while you’re sucking me off?”

you eagerly nodded your head, your mouth stuffed too full to speak. although, you figured that even if your mouth wasn’t full, you still wouldn’t have been able to say anything. you were so fucked out, already dumb and you hadn’t even gotten fucked yet.

ej drank your arousal and licked your pussy up and down, circling the tip of his tongue against your puffy clit. you didn’t know what to do with your hands, so you opted for planting them on nicholas’s sharp hips, which gave you the leverage to suck him even deeper into your mouth.

your moans vibrated around his length, and he fucked his hips forward, making you gag when he hit the back of your throat.

“‘m fucking close,” he warned, tugging on your strands of hair.

you blinked up at him, your cunt tightening around euijoo’s tongue in excitement. just the thought of nicholas cumming was enough to make you feel like you could cum soon too.

he fucked his cock in and out of your throat a couple of more times before tensing, and then you felt the first string of hot, salty cum, hitting your tongue. you swallowed it and continued to do so with the ropes of it that followed, giving both him and ej what they wanted.

and nicholas looked so good when he came—his face scrunched up, releasing an array of beautiful sounds, abs tight and glistening with sweat—that suddenly, you felt like you were going to release all over euijoo’s face.

“e-ej!” you cried out, pushing your hips back into his face. “oh god, right there!”

his tongue rapidly flicked up and down, and suddenly, you, too, were cumming. you released all over his face, drenching him with your wetness, and he slurped it all up, licking your cunt clean.

you collapsed flat on your back against the bed when you were done cumming, looking up at the two men tiredly.

“wake up,” euijoo said, spreading your legs and making room for himself between them. “i haven’t cum yet, baby.”

your body was pliant from you sleepy you were, making it easy for nicholas to pick you up and place you on his lap, your back pressed to his sweaty chest. you put your feet on the tops of his thighs, spreading your legs and revealing your glistening pussy to ej.

you leaned back against nicho’s chest, steadying your breathing as ej lined himself up and nudged in until just his tip was inside you. with how wet you were, it wasn’t going to be hard for him to get you adjusted to his size.

as he slid inch by inch, nicholas wrapped one hand around your waist and brought it down to rub your clit. he used the other one to slide up your stomach and land on your breast, tweaking your hard nipple.

you felt like you were on another dimension, sandwiched between these two men, both of them stimulating every part of you. you felt so good, you couldn’t even do or say anything except lay there and take what they were giving you.

ej bottomed out and was quick to start thrusting, fucking you at a consistent pace from the start.

“is it good, baby?” nicholas asked in your ear, kissing just below it. “use your words.”

“it’s so f-fucking good,” you cried out, your body rocking back into his chest every time ej thrusted into you.

“you’re so pretty,” ej whispered, leaning forward to peck you on the lips. “such a sweet thing letting us play with you like this.”

you turned your head to the side and met nicholas’s lips, letting him snake his tongue into your mouth. you rubbed your tongues together, moaning pathetically and tiredly as ej fucked you hard and deep, his tip quickly finding your g-spot.

“mmmmph, oh my god,” you mumbled against nicholas’s mouth. “it feels so good.”

“i know,” nicholas cooed, pinching your nipples between his fingers. “i know.”

ej stared down at you in awe, perched on his best friend’s lap, making out with him. it was such an outrageously hot sight that he wanted to take a picture, and that way he’d never forget it.

but he was too close. he couldn’t think about stopping now, not when his orgasm was rapidly approaching. you could tell, too, based on his hips were moving fluidly, his thrusting losing its rhythm.

“cum again for me,” he commanded.

you looked up at him with big, watery eyes.

“can’t,” you whimpered out.

“hey, yes you can,” nicholas cooed, pressing his fingers firmly onto your clit. “you can do it. be good and cum for us, okay?”

you tossed your head back against his shoulder, and ej couldn’t resist. with your neck exposed like that, he felt like a magnet the way his hand immediately reached out to wrap around it. he squeezed just slightly, applying only a touch of pressure, but he knew it was just what you needed to get you to the brink of orgasm.

you clenched around him, legs shaking and threatening to close, but he kept them open. he thrusted, once, twice, three more times and then abruptly stopped, buried to the hilt inside of you.

you came with a silent, choked moan, your entire body twitching in nicholas’s lap. ej stuffed you full with his warm, sticky load, panting like he’d just run a marathon.

he slowly thrusted, riding and milking out both your orgasms, fucking his cum deep inside of you, where it belonged.

you were a mess. all three of you were, but you especially because—and you hadn’t realized it—but nicholas had cum against just from his cock rubbing against your back a few times. you were covered in cum from the inside out.

ej pulled out and helped you off nicholas’s lap. the three of your lay beside each other, practically melting into the sheets.

for a good ten minutes, there was silence. you were dozing off and only awakened when you felt a wetness on your skin.

you opened your eyes and realized the wetness was from ej wiping you off with a damp towel.

“you okay?” he asked, leaning down to kiss you softly on the forehead.

“mmm, yeah,” you answered tiredly.

nicholas was off the bed now, cleaning himself off and redressing. you realized, even in your tired state, that you didn’t want him to go. you didn’t like how neither them were laying beside you anymore.

“wait,” you called out weakly, getting nicholas’s attention. “can you guys just…get back in bed? can we just go to sleep together?”

ej and nicholas exchanged a glance.

“both of us?” nicholas asked.

“yeah,” you said. “if that’s okay.”

nicholas, who’d just put his shirt back on, immediately took it back off and crawled back into bed with you.

“more than okay,” he assured, kissing your cheek.

ej chuckled and climbed back into bed on the other side of you, pulling you into his chest.

“i could get used to this,” you mumbled, closing your eyes.

and you could. you felt safe with both men there on either side of you. you thought that you didn’t want this to be just a one time thing.

“yeah,” ej agreed. “me too.”

𝗗𝗬𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗖𝗦

✦ Lando is the golden retriever. He is all heart, passionate, expressive and very loud. He craves attention and constant validation. Very touchy with every opportunity he gets: back hugs when any of you is cooking, laying in your lap, kisses that don’t ask for permission.

✦ Oscar is controlled chaos. He can be very needy as well, but usually he is quiet, observant and, most importantly, possessive as hell under the surface. He doesn’t take up space like Lando does, but when he wants you, you feel it. A hand on your jaw, your waist, around your throat; “You’re mine too, remember that.”

✦ Since they’re pretty different, your job is to keep the balance. Be the anchor for Lando when he spins out, and pull Oscar out of his shell. However, you’re the one they have to work for.

𝗗𝗢𝗠 𝗩𝗦 𝗦𝗨𝗕

✦ Might come across as a surprise (for some), but Oscar is more dominant. He isn’t loud like Lando, and never raises his voice. He just looks at you like he knows what you need before you ask. He loves edging, teasing, and is more than capable to keep both Lando and you under his command.

✦ Lando is switchy, mostly submissive with a streak of brat energy. Loves being told what to do, because he loves being praised for doing it well. Catch him on a good day, and he’ll pin you to the bed and make both of you lose your minds. He’s more of a playful soft!dom when he tries, yet still needy, still very mouthy, and capable of taking over when he feels like it.

𝗜𝗡 𝗕𝗘𝗗

✦ Lando loves having control even when he’s not in his dom state. Oscar lets him have it, mostly because he loves watching you two. When you’re on Lando’s lap, Oscar is right there, stroking himself, yapping about how “You look so good like that.” More times than not, he just lies back and lets Lando use you, mouth open, hips twitching, desperate for his turn.

✦ The threesomes are very emotionally charged. They’re all about intimacy, knowing every inch of you, and being connected in a way that makes you all shiver when someone accidentally touches your hand hours later.

✦ Oscar likes hearing you beg.

✦ Lando likes hearing you moan his name.

𝗪𝗛𝗢 𝗜𝗦 𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗡𝗘𝗘𝗗𝗬?

✦ No suspense here, we all know that’s Lando. He needs to be taken care of, needs to be seen, and wants your attention, constantly. Emotionally, physically, sexually.

✦ Oscar might need it just as much, but he’s silent about it... until maybe a bad race or one off day. He won’t be loud about it, but comes to curl up against your back at night, “Can I have you tonight? Just you and me?”

𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘

✦ Oscar shows it through action. He remembers the tiniest details about both of you, and acts accordingly + aftercare with him is immaculate.

✦ Lando shows it through touch and words. He also likes to buy the silliest gifts, and takes random pictures when you’re not looking.

✦ Together, you won’t ever go to sleep feeling unloved. Oscar usually in your arms, while Lando is big spooning behind you, their legs tangled with yours.

𝗕𝗢𝗡𝗨𝗦 𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗔𝗥𝗜𝗢𝗦

𝗙𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗲

✦ It starts with a look. Lando sprawled next to you on the couch, Oscar sitting close enough to touch both of you if he wants to. Lando-big-mouth asks out of nowhere, “Are we gonna stop being cowards or?”

✦ Oscar is the one who leans in first and kisses you. When he pulls back, looks at Lando like your move.

✦ Suddenly, there’s nervous laughter and shaky breaths. Fingers brushing skin. Lando kisses your neck while Oscar kisses your mouth again, and it feels illegal to be this seen and wanted.

✦ They are checking in constantly. But naturally, it escalates at some point. Hands are everywhere gripping hips, tongues tracing collarbones and shoulders, Lando gasping against your skin as Oscar slides a hand between your legs.

✦ They figure out their rhythm mainly by listening to you. Oscar watches your face, and times every move. Lando’s messy and desperate to hear your sounds.

✦ After, it’s quiet until Lando (what a surprise, again) breaks the silence, “So that’s a yes to trying this properly, I assume?”

𝗙𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗳𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗲

✦ One of them felt ignored, the other gets defensive. You step in, trying to smooth it over, and get caught in the middle.

✦ Lando is the petty one, accusing “You always take his side!” And even though you try to explain it’s not the case, nothing can change his mind in the heat of the moment.

✦ After being quiet and just observing, Oscar throws in a “Maybe three people’s too many”, which hurts both you and Lando.

✦ He didn’t mean it like that, but the silence after is awful. You look at Lando, realizing he’s already halfway to the door, mumbling “Fuck this.”

✦ Sitting with Oscar in cold tension and regret afterwards. Getting mad at Lando for not answering his phone, and none of you knows where he went.

✦ He comes back hours later, tired, guilt eating him alive. “I don’t want to lose either of you. I just don’t know how to be in this sometimes. But I really fucking want it.”

✦ This is the time when he needs the most attention, so you pull both of them into bed. Just holding each other, whispering apologies.

✦ The next morning, Lando gets food for everyone and kisses Oscar’s shoulder when he passes. Oscar slides his pinky over yours across the table.