Meeya

Your face heated instantly, and you squirmed in your spot, feeling cornered in the softest way possible.

“A-ah, well… I’m not sure,” you admitted quietly. “I’m a bit afraid of motorcycles, I must admit.”

Tomas gasped dramatically, then pouted, nudging your shoulder with his like an overgrown puppy.

“You don’t need to be,” he said, voice warm and coaxing. “Ride with one of us, we’ll keep you safe. Always.”

The sincerity in his tone only made your cheeks hotter.

You hummed noncommittally.

“I’ll… think about it, okay?” you murmured.

Under the table, Kuai nudged your leg gently to get your attention. His voice softened.

“No pressure,” he said. “We understand if you don’t want to. Truly. But it would also be our honor to have you ride with one of us.”

Your chest tightened at how sweet that sounded.

“You’re sweet,” you told him, smiling warmly. “I’ll think about it.”

Their expressions shifted in their own ways:

Tomas lit up immediately.

Kuai smiled quietly, satisfied.

And Bi-Han’s eyes lingered on you a moment longer than the others—undeniably invested.

Just as you were about to reach for a pastry tray, a deep voice cut through the air.

“You might feel the most comfortable on my bike.”

Bi-Han spoke so calmly, it took you a second to realize he was talking to you. “It’s wider than either of theirs.”

Tomas immediately let out a dramatic groan, dropping his head onto the table as if he’d been personally betrayed.

“Bro, seriously? I was gonna offer first!” he complained, practically leaning across the table at Bi-Han.

Kuai hid his laugh behind his hand, but you could tell he agreed with the logic. Both Tomas and Kuai had sleek, narrow sports bikes—beautiful, fast… and terrifying for a beginner. The idea of holding on for dear life while either of them zipped down the road made your stomach twist.

Bi-Han’s bike, on the other hand, still a sports model, but with a broader body and more stable frame.

More space.

More balance.

More room to hold on without feeling like you were going to fly off with one wrong bump.

He’d thought about that.

About you being nervous.

About what would make you feel secure.

Your heartbeat stuttered.

Tomas continued whining in the background, gesturing wildly at his brothers.

“Man, that’s not fair! I would go slow for them! I swear!”

Kuai raised a brow. “Since when do you ever go slow on a bike?”

Tomas pointed at him in betrayal. “Why would you expose me like that?”

Their bickering faded slightly as your attention drifted back to Bi-Han.

He wasn’t looking at them.

He wasn’t even looking at you fully.

Just sipping his tea, gaze lowered, expression unreadable—except for the slightest tilt of his head, as if waiting to see if you understood what he was offering.

Not a ride.

Safety.

And… maybe something more.

You swallowed softly.

“O-oh,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady. “Well… that’s good to know.”

Bi-Han finally lifted his gaze to you.

“Whoever you decide,” he said, low and even, “you won’t fall.”

The words shouldn’t have made your heart jump.

But they did.

You made up your mind faster than you expected.

You turned toward Bi-Han, heart beating a little too fast, voice coming out softer than you meant it to.

“Well… if you promise, then… I’m willing to try. T-Today.”

All three of them froze.

Then—

Tomas’s grin split across his face like a firework.

Kuai’s lips curved upward, warm and proud.

Both of them nearly burst into cheers until you immediately shushed them with a stern look.

“Behave,” you warned, pointing a finger at them.

They straightened instantly, clearing their throats like chastised schoolboys.

But Bi-Han…

He didn’t cheer.

He didn’t flinch.

He just turned his head fully toward you, really looking at you.

A small smile—the smallest you’d ever seen from him—pulled at the corner of his lips.

“I’ve got you,” he said quietly. “Don’t worry. Trust me.”

Something inside you loosened at the certainty in his tone.

“I do,” you replied—simple, sincere, without hesitation.

The shop felt strangely warm for a moment, all three of them watching you with different flavors of affection.

You cleared your throat and snapped yourself back to reality.

“Well,” you said, clapping your hands together, “let me close up.”

You moved through your end-of-day routine with a strange flutter in your chest—locking displays, wiping down counters, switching off ovens. The brothers stayed seated, chatting among themselves, but their excitement buzzed around the room like static.

And every time you glanced toward the booth…

Bi-Han was already watching you.

Steady.

Composed.

As if ready to keep that promise the moment you were done.

The boys were already outside when you finally stepped out of your shop, the metal shutter clicking into place as you locked everything up for the night.

Their bikes were lined up along the curb, engines purring low in the cool evening air.

Tomas talked nonstop, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a kid who just got told he could go to the amusement park. The excitement of having you ride with them practically radiated off him.

Kuai stood beside his own bike, arms crossed, his smile calm but unmistakably pleased. He didn’t bounce like Tomas, but the pride in his posture said everything.

Bi-Han sat on his bike, brown hair catching the streetlight as he scrolled idly through his phone. He didn’t look impatient—just settled, composed, waiting for you to appear like he expected you to the whole time.

The second you stepped off the curb, Tomas practically launched himself at you.

“Here, here—give me your stuff,” he insisted, snatching your bag and anything else you were carrying with zero hesitation.

You laughed at him as he stuffed your belongings into his backpack.

“Tomas, if you lose any of my things—”

He immediately slapped a hand over his heart, eyes wide as he pretended to tremble.

“Please, don’t curse me like that,” he gasped dramatically. “I’ll guard it all with my life.”

“Uh-huh. You better,” you warned with a playful glare.

Still snickering, Tomas secured the backpack on his back and motioned for you to follow him with both hands.

“Come on! Your chariot awaits!”

He practically ushered you toward Bi-Han’s bike like he was presenting you to royalty.

Bi-Han looked up from his phone the moment he heard you approach. His eyes swept over you once—checking your jacket, your shoes, the slight tension in your shoulders. He slipped his phone into his pocket in one fluid motion.

No smile.

No words.

Just a quiet acknowledgment in his gaze.

He swung one leg off the bike with smooth, controlled ease. Without a word, he shrugged out of his leather jacket—dark, heavy, unmistakably his—and stepped toward you. Before you could protest, he draped it over your shoulders, guiding your arms through the sleeves with careful hands.

The jacket swallowed you.

Warm.

Heavy.

And saturated with his scent—clean leather, faint smoke, something cold and sharp beneath it.

It made a shiver run down your spine.

You glanced up at him instinctively, eyes softening in a way you didn’t mean to. Your lashes lowered slightly, and your breath caught for half a second.

Bi-Han paused.

Just for a moment.

Just enough to register the look you gave him.

Something flickered behind his eyes—a quick spark, gone as soon as it appeared—before he continued, expression settling back into its usual calm.

He turned, grabbed his helmet, and stepped close again. His touch was unexpectedly gentle as he lowered it onto your head, adjusting the straps and tilting it to sit perfectly. His fingers brushed your jawline once—light, steady, grounding.

When he was satisfied, he looked into your eyes through the visor slit.

A small smirk tugged at the side of his mouth—so subtle you almost missed it—before he lowered your visor with a soft click.

“Bi-Han… what about you?” you asked, worry threading your voice. “Aren’t you using one?”

He shook his head, slow and confident.

“I’ll be fine. We won’t be going fast.” His voice dropped, calm and reassuring. “This is precaution. To make you feel safer.”

Your chest loosened.

You exhaled a tight breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and nodded.

With the helmet on, his jacket enveloping you, and his voice still echoing in your ears, everything felt surreal.

He guided you toward the bike, one hand steady on your elbow, positioning your foot and helping you climb on with practiced care. Tomas was on your other side, babbling helpful instructions in between bursts of excitement.

“Okay—lean with the turn, not against it.”

“And don’t tense up too much, it makes it harder to balance.”

“Oh, and if you get scared just hold on tighter—Bi-Han won’t mind!”

“Tomas,” Bi-Han warned without looking at him.

“Right, right—helpful advice only!”

You bit back a laugh inside the helmet.

Between Tomas’s animated explanations and Bi-Han’s steady, grounding presence, you listened closely, nodding so they knew you understood.

Your pulse thudded.

Your fingers trembled once against the seat.

But you were ready.

Once he made sure you were seated securely, Bi-Han swung one leg over the bike again and settled into place in front of you. He eased the bike off its kickstand, the machine straightening smoothly beneath both of you as he sat back, posture calm and confident.

The moment the bike shifted, your body reacted on instinct—you wrapped your arms around him, hands flattening against his abdomen. His muscles tensed for a heartbeat, surprised by the sudden touch, before he let out a quiet exhale.

Then he reached down.

His fingers wrapped gently around your wrists, steady and warm, guiding your hands just a little lower to a spot where your grip would be more secure. He squeezed once. Reassuring, silent. A 'you’re safe' spoken without words.

His other hand shifted behind him, reaching back to your thigh, his thumb brushing a small, slow arc meant to calm your nerves.

The touch worked.

Your breath steadied.

Your shoulders relaxed.

Out of the corner of your vision, Tomas and Kuai both gave him the signal that they were ready. The moment Bi-Han saw it, he tapped your thigh lightly with two fingers—a quiet cue.

Hold on.

Then he turned the key.

The engine roared to life beneath you, deep and powerful, vibrating through your legs and up your spine. The warmth of Bi-Han’s back, the weight of his jacket on your shoulders, the solidness of your grip around him—it all wrapped together into a feeling that was equal parts adrenaline and comfort.

You tightened your hold, heart fluttering.

“Ready,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear through the helmet.

And then the bike rolled forward.

The ride was… exhilarating didn’t even begin to cover it.

The moment the city lights faded behind you, the three of them veered onto long stretches of backroads—quiet, open, nearly empty. The world blurred into streaks of silver moonlight and shadowed fields, cool wind rushing past you like a river.

You stared, utterly mesmerized.

The sky looked endless out here.

The trees rippled like waves.

The road stretched forward like a promise.

The air was cold enough to nip at your skin, but Bi-Han’s jacket wrapped around you like a shield, all warmth and weight and safety. Every time the breeze cut sharper, the scent of him and the faint warmth radiating from his back kept you steady.

Tomas and Kuai rode ahead and alongside, doing what they always did: causing chaos.

They raced each other, swapped lanes with ridiculous flair, and pulled tricks that made you gasp and laugh into your helmet. Their joy was infectious. Their energy wild.

You tightened your arms around Bi-Han with each surprise, and each time you did—

He loosened.

His posture shifted from rigid control into something almost relaxed, his back straightening, his shoulders easing. He even reached behind him, placing a steady hand on your thigh. The touch grounding, a silent check-in each time the road shifted beneath the tires.

And he didn’t remove it unless he absolutely needed to.

At one point Tomas pulled up right beside you, winking wildly through his visor and making exaggerated hand gestures that very clearly meant race me. His bike growled eagerly beneath him.

You laughed hard, shaking your head at him—

Until Bi-Han’s hand gave your thigh a firmer squeeze.

He leaned back just slightly, voice carrying over the wind:

“You want to race him?”

The adrenaline rushing through your veins made you reckless, giddy, weightless. The world felt bigger than fear in that moment.

You nodded—once, sharp and excited.

Bi-Han saw it.

And he grinned.

A wicked, rare, sharp-edged grin that sent your pulse shooting upward.

He slid his hand up to tighten your arms around his torso, securing your hold, making sure you were flush against him.

“Hold on tight,” he warned, voice low.

He leaned his body closer to the bike, shifting into racing posture.

The engine rumbled beneath you, eager.

Tomas revved his own engine, taunting loudly.

And then—

Bi-Han gunned it.

The bike shot forward like a released arrow, the world streaking around you in a rush of wind and sound, your laughter lost in the roar of pure, perfect adrenaline.

He didn’t just ride.

He flew.

Tomas and Kuai revved their engines behind you, the deep roar echoing across the empty road as they pushed to catch up. For several long, thrilling minutes, the three of you rode almost shoulder-to-shoulder, weaving through the open stretch as the sky deepened from dusky purple into darker blue.

Eventually, the adrenaline tapered off as the daylight faded.

One by one, the three bikes slowed.

Kuai pulled up on your right, visor lifted just enough for you to see his eyes crinkle. Tomas flanked your left with a dramatic wink and a blown kiss through his helmet, both of them laughing through their engines.

With a final wave—stopping only once so Tomas could return your belongings—the brothers peeled off in opposite directions, their bikes roaring into the night as they headed home.

The sudden quiet left you alone with Bi-Han, his pace steady, controlled, and unhurried.

His hand returned to your thigh—not suggestive, just anchoring—keeping you balanced as the road smoothed out beneath the tires.

Your palms rested against his torso, the warmth of him bleeding through his shirt. You could feel the soft shift of muscle as he breathed, the steady rise and fall that matched the rhythm of the bike.

Without fully thinking, your hands slid lower along his abdomen, searching for stability as the bike rolled over a dip in the road. Your fingertips brushed across the firm lines beneath his shirt—muscle shifting, tightening, relaxing as he corrected the bike’s angle.

Bi-Han’s breath hitched.

Not loud, not obvious—

just enough for you to feel it.

And he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t shift your hands back into a “safer” place.

Didn’t break the contact.

He simply kept riding.

His hand remained on your thigh, steady and unhurried, fingers warm through the jean you wore. The cold air whipped around you, but the heat of him, the thrum of the engine, the solid strength beneath your palms—

It all wrapped into something grounding.

Something that steadied you rather than scattered you.

There was no rush now.

Just the two of you cutting through the night like the world didn’t exist.

And Bi-Han didn’t speak.

He didn’t have to.

Feeling bold—bold enough that the cold wind was irrelevant—you let your hands wander.

One hand drifted up, slow and deliberate, tracing his torso until your palm settled against the center of his chest. You could feel his breathing beneath your hand—controlled, even, but heavy enough to betray that he felt you.

Your other hand slid lower…

down his thigh…

your fingers spreading, testing the heat and firmness beneath your palm.

Bi-Han couldn’t see your face.

He didn’t need to.

He glanced down—just once—just enough to take in where your hands had gone. His shoulders loosened, his posture easing in a way so subtle you might’ve missed it if you weren’t touching him everywhere.

Then his hand—the one resting on your thigh—tightened.

Firm.

Measured.

Possessive.

Not pushing you away.

Not guiding you forward.

Just acknowledging you.

Letting you know he understood exactly what you were doing.

Heat rushed to your face behind the helmet. Embarrassment mixed with adrenaline and something deeper—something warm and electric—that pulled you toward him.

Instinctively, you leaned forward, resting your head against his back. Your arms tightened around his torso, your chest flush against the solid warmth of him.

His breathing changed—deepening, slowing—as if your closeness settled into him like something he welcomed.

Something he wanted.

His thumb brushed your thigh once again. A single, quiet stroke that felt more grounding than a grip. More intimate than a statement, more real than anything he’d said aloud. Then his hand stilled again.

Warm.

Steady.

The world narrowed to him—

his heat,

your hands,

and the dark road unfolding ahead.

Your thumb stroked slowly over his chest—soft, soothing, intimate, the kind of touch that felt like a secret. You weren’t sure if you were calming him… or steadying yourself.

Your other hand drifted lower along his thigh—bolder now—your fingertips tracing the inside curve of muscle.

Closer.

Warmer.

More daring.

Undeniably stepping into dangerous territory.

Bi-Han shifted.

Not much.

Just the slightest parting of his thighs—so small that anyone else would’ve missed it.

But not you.

It wasn’t nothing.

It was deliberate.

A silent, wordless permission.

A quiet if you’re going to explore… I won’t stop you.

His hand tightened on your thigh again, slow and unyielding, his fingers pressing just firmly enough to let you know he felt every second of what you were doing.

The bike stayed steady, controlled beneath you–but Bi-Han’s breathing?

Different now.

Barely.

Just barely.

Deeper.

Slower.

Focused.

Like he was holding himself still with effort.

Like your touch was testing the limits of his control.

Your eyes fluttered shut as your hand drifted inward, fingertips brushing along the thick, half-hard shape straining against his jeans. A slow, deliberate drag of your palm made sure there was no room for misunderstanding.

The reaction was instant.

Bi-Han’s entire body jolted—small, controlled, but impossible to miss with your chest pressed against his back. A low sound escaped him, rough and dark, scraped from somewhere deep in his chest. His grip on your thigh tightened sharply, fingers digging in with a pressure that sent a pulse straight between your legs.

Beneath your touch, he swelled—his length firming in your palm, heat blooming through the denim. You felt every throb, every twitch, every subtle pulse against your hand.

You pressed a little harder.

Bi-Han inhaled through his nose, sharp and unforgiving, his chest expanding beneath your other hand. That perfect discipline he carried like armor wavered for a heartbeat—just enough to make your stomach flip.

His thighs shifted again. This time, the space opened more clearly—still minimal, still subtle, but unmistakably intentional.

A quiet invitation.

A wordless surrender.

Silent permission from a man who trusted almost no one.

You cupped him fully through his jeans, your palm molding to the heat of him. You didn’t even squeeze—just the hold alone was enough to drag another restrained, guttural sound from his throat.

His breathing deepened… changed… lost its perfect timing.

He leaned forward on the bike slightly, one hand gripping the handlebar so tightly the tendons on the back of his hand flexed. The other stayed anchored to your thigh, thumb dragging a slow, shaky line over your skin like he needed the contact to ground himself.

The engine vibrated beneath you.

The night blurred around you.

But everything between you was molten.

He didn’t pretend not to want it.

Didn’t pull away.

Didn’t correct you.

He let you touch him—boldly, openly—even as his breath faltered, betraying how intensely he felt every movement.

Your fingers slid to the button of his pants, hovering there just long enough that the question in your touch became unmistakable.

He didn’t speak.

Instead… he removed his hand from your thigh, just for a moment.

You felt the unmistakable shifting of denim.

The button popped.

The zipper eased open.

Then his hand returned to your thigh—this time with a firmer squeeze.

Claiming.

Demanding.

Clear.

Go on.

Your breath trembled inside the helmet as you accepted the invitation. You slipped your hand inside his pants, over the heat trapped beneath his boxers—slow, purposeful—and the burn of him against your palm made you shiver.

Bi-Han’s entire body jerked.

A sound tore from him—low, rough, helplessly dragged from his chest like he’d been trying to hold it in and failed. His grip on your thigh tightened, fingers digging in with a force that rode the edge of pain and pleasure.

You didn’t stop.

You stroked him again, slower this time, more deliberate, making sure he felt every inch of the drag. The friction of the thin fabric beneath your palm grew warmer, grew slick, the damp spot spreading as you worked him.

His length pulsed against your hand.

Bi-Han inhaled sharply, the breath breaking halfway through.

His shoulders tensed under your cheek, his head tilting forward as if the sensation punched through his carefully maintained control. Your fingers slipped beneath the fabric, finally wrapping around him—skin to skin.

Bi-Han choked on a sound, jaw clenched, his breathing shattering out of rhythm.

The fabric between you grew warm, damp, slick with him. The glide of your hand smoothed, heat rolling up your arm, into your chest.

Bi-Han’s breathing lost all discipline.

Each inhale dragged heavy.

Each exhale trembled, unsteady and raw.

His hand slid higher on your thigh, gripping, anchoring himself to you like you were the only thing holding him together.

He drew in another shaky breath.

“…keep doing that,” he muttered, voice ruined and barely audible over the engine.

Not an order.

Not even close.

A plea disguised as one.

Your fist tightened around him, stroking again—slow, devastatingly steady.

Bi-Han shuddered.

Actually shuddered.

His back leaned into you—just slightly—but enough to tell you how close he was to unraveling with you on the bike.

His cock twitched in your hand — sharp, needy pulses that throbbed against your palm like he couldn’t contain the reactions even if he tried. You brushed your thumb lightly over the tip, gathering the slick warmth leaking from him, and used it to stroke him more earnestly.

Bi-Han’s head tilted back against you — just barely — a controlled lean that still somehow felt desperate. His breath spilled out in a heavy, unrestrained exhale, vibrating through his chest and into your hand.

“Pull me out, baby…” he groaned, voice raw, low, and loud enough for you to hear through the rumble of the engine.

You didn’t hesitate.

You slipped your hand deeper, free hand tugging his jeans down just enough. His flushed, thick length spilled into your palm, hard and twitching, hot against your skin.

Bi-Han glanced down — a quick, dark flicker of his eyes that took in the sight of your small hands wrapped around him. His jaw clenched. He bit his lower lip, tore his gaze away, and fixed it back on the road with a sharp inhale.

You wrapped both hands around him, pumping his cock smoothly, deliberately — the glide easier now with every drop of heat leaking from him. He was heavy in your hold, thick enough that your fingers didn’t close entirely around him at the base.

His breathing fractured again.

You stroked him faster, tightening your grip just a little, your hands disappear around him over and over.

The bike hummed beneath you.

The night air whipped by.

And Bi-Han was unraveling in your hands.

You faintly noticed the turn he took — the familiar curve of the road leading toward your house. You were minutes away.

A wicked idea pulsed through you.

You tightened your grip.

Bi-Han choked on a sound — sharp, guttural, dragged from somewhere buried deep. His hips jerked, just once, just enough for you to feel how close he was.

His hand clamped harder onto your thigh, fingers pressing into your skin with a force that bordered on bruising. His chest expanded in a desperate inhale, and his entire body trembled through one hard shiver you felt from shoulders to thighs.

You stroked him again.

Slower.

Tighter.

Deliberate.

His cock throbbed violently in your hands, leaking more across your fingers, the heat rolling through your palms like a promise.

You were so close to home.

And he was so close to breaking.

As the bike slowed and rolled into your driveway, you grinned against his back. You didn’t stop. One hand kept stroking him steadily, and with your other you ground your palm against his tip, teasing circles that made him twitch violently.

Bi-Han barely managed to ease the motorcycle onto its kickstand before his control cracked.

His head snapped back, a low, desperate moan ripped from his throat — unrestrained, raw, nothing like the measured man he normally was. His hand blindly found your thigh, gripping hard enough to warn you and beg you all at once.

Then he reached for his shirt.

He grabbed the hem of black fabric and yanked it upward, exposing the hard clench of his abdomen — every line tight, every muscle twitching under your touch. He bit down on the shirt, holding it between his teeth, the sound he made muffled and wrecked.

He leaned back into you, breathing hard, his weight settling against you in a way that felt like surrender.

You stroked him faster.

Your palm gliding.

Your thumb circling his dripping tip.

His cock jumping in your hands, desperate and close.

His moans grew rougher, chest rising sharply against your palm on every inhale. His thighs shook, knees parting instinctively as he arched into your hold.

Then—

You felt it.

A hard, uncontrollable jolt of his hips.

And he spilled into your hand.

Thick, hot, pulse after pulse coating your fingers. You tightened your grip just a little, coaxing it out of him, dragging another ragged groan from his chest.

You removed your hand from his tip—

—and his next release shot upward, splattering across his exposed abdomen in slow, heavy streaks.

It dripped down the tense ridges of muscle, streaking him beautifully in the moonlit glow of your porch light.

He trembled.

Jaw tight.

Shirt still clenched between his teeth.

Breathing wrecked.

Marked by his own pleasure and your hands.

And you couldn’t help admiring the sight — Bi-Han sprawled against you, body shaking, cum painting his stomach, his control shattered in your arms.

To your surprise, he didn’t soften at all.

His cock stayed hard in your hand, twitching with lingering sensitivity, still heavy and flushed. Bi-Han released his shirt from between his teeth, chest still rising sharply, and leaned forward just enough to tug you out from behind him.

Turning off the bike, he helped you climb off, hands firm and steady at your waist. He removed your helmet in one smooth motion and tossed it aside before pulling you in and kissing you—hard.

His mouth crashed onto yours, raw and urgent, tasting like need. His hands clamped onto your hips, dragging you flush against him while he devoured every sound you made.

When he finally tore his mouth from yours, both of you were breathing hard, lips swollen, faces flushed. His eyes were dark, glassy, still hazy from orgasm—but filled with something sharper.

Predatory.

Your only warning was that glint.

Before you could inhale, he grabbed your waist, spun you around, and bent you over the bike.

You gasped, shocked, your palms bracing against the cool metal.

“Bi-Han! We’re outside,” you stammered, breath shaking. “The— the door is right there—”

He ignored that completely.

Your pants were torn down your legs in one fierce pull. Cold air hit your thighs—then his warm hand replaced it instantly, gripping, spreading, claiming.

He hummed a low sound behind you as his fingers slid between your folds, gathering the slick dripping out of you.

You moaned, soft and involuntary.

“The… the neighbors…” you tried again, voice trembling. “They’re home. They’ll see us—!”

Bi-Han’s eyes flicked toward the house next door, quick and disinterested, before pinning back on you.

His free hand wrapped around his length—still firm, still leaking—dragging himself through your soaked folds. The wet sound was obscene in the quiet night.

He coated himself in you, stroking slowly, deliberately.

“Let them watch,” he murmured, voice low and rough against your ear. “Let them see how nicely I fuck you.”

You felt the blunt heat of his head press against your entrance—slow, unhurried, but with a promise of force behind it.

Your fingers dug into the seat of the bike..

You barely had time to breathe before he began to push in.

Your cunt stretched around him inch by inch, slowly swallowing his length. You clenched hard—instinctive, desperate—as if your body wanted to drag him in even deeper.

Bi-Han hissed through his teeth.

The sound was sharp, guttural, punched straight from his lungs.

Your heat wrapped around him so tight it bordered on overwhelming, and his fingers flexed on your hip as if he needed something to hold onto.

“Fuck…” he breathed, low and rough.

He smoothed a palm up your ass, the touch firm, appreciative, almost tender—then squeezed, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pushed deeper. He stuffed you full with slow, deliberate pressure, savoring every inch your body took.

The moment his hips met your ass, his mouth fell open.

And the filth poured out of him like he’d been holding it back for years.

“Look at you,” he rasped, voice thick and dark. “Taking my cock like you were made for it.”

Your walls clenched again, fluttering around him, and he let out a strained sound that vibrated through your spine.

“So fucking wet,” he growled, dragging his hips back just an inch so he could watch himself slide in again. “Leaking for me the second I touch you.”

His hand slid down your ass, thumb brushing the corner of your entrance where he was splitting you open.

“You hear that?”

The wet, obscene noise echoed between your thighs.

“That’s how desperate you are.”

Your breath hitched.

He chuckled—low, cruel, pleased.

“Good slut,” he muttered, the words dripping off his tongue like molten heat. “My good, tight little slut.”

He thrust deeper, slow but forceful, his length dragging against every tender spot inside you.

“So fucking tight,” he snarled. “So tight I can feel you shaking.”

His grip tightened on your hip, pulling you back onto him, forcing you to take every inch.

“You’re not even trying,” he growled into your ear, breath hot against your skin, “and you’re already squeezing me like you want to milk me.”

Your legs trembled.

“And I’m not stopping,” he added, voice dropping into something dark and final. “Not until I ruin this pussy out here… where anyone can see.”

His hips rolled into you at an agonizing pace, dragging his cock out of you only to sink back in with a deep, deliberate push that made your cunt flutter helplessly around him.

You clenched so tightly he groaned, the sound torn straight from his chest.

He kept thrusting slow, cruel, savoring how your body reacted to every inch he gave you.

Then his breath hitched—

and he laughed.

A low, breathless, wicked sound that scraped right against your spine.

“Did you know you made them hard earlier?” he murmured against your ear, hips snapping forward just a little harder. “My brothers… both of them.”

Your thighs trembled.

He chuckled again, dark and pleased.

“You had them staring like they didn’t know where to put their eyes.”

He pulled out halfway, dragging against every sensitive spot inside you—

then pushed back in, slow and deep.

“And now look at you,” he added, voice thick, “shaking on my cock.”

Your breath hitched.

You’d teased Tomas and Kuai earlier during the morning, sure — but you hadn’t expected that kind of reaction from them. You were only trying to get back at them for teasing you over your sensual music choices. The surprise flickered through you, quick and breathless.

Bi-Han felt it.

And he only leaned in filthier, voice dipping lower, darker, the satisfaction in it unmistakable.

“Talking to them like that…” he murmured, amusement curling around every word. “Describing the music… the meaning behind it…”

He let out a soft, breathless laugh that vibrated against your skin.

“You don’t think they imagined things? Imagined touching you? Imagined what those lyrics would look like… with you?”

A quiet sound escaped you, your body reacting on instinct, hips shifting just enough to meet the slow roll of his.

Bi-Han groaned softly, a low sound of approval, and his next movement was firmer — controlled, deliberate — a reward for responding to him.

“And Tomas…” he continued, tone turning even darker, “he couldn’t even stay still. I saw him grinding into his palm. That’s how undone you had him.”

Heat washed through you, sharp and dizzying.

Bi-Han chuckled again, low and wicked, lips brushing your ear.

“Imagine,” he murmured, “what would’ve happened if they saw you like this.”

His hand tightened on your hip, his breath warm against your neck.

“Close. Breathless. Barely holding yourself together.”

Your whole body trembled.

“And you have no idea,” he added, voice sinking into something dangerously soft, “how much that thought drives me mad.”

You mewled for him, the sound so sweet it practically melted out of you, and Bi-Han’s breath hitched like the noise struck him somewhere deep. You were hanging on by threads, barely thinking, barely breathing — and he felt that too.

He gave you a sliver of mercy.

Just a sliver.

His pace sharpened — deeper, harder, more purposeful — and the sudden change ripped a gasp out of you. Bi-Han’s head tilted back slightly, jaw tight, because your body clamped around him like you were trying to drag him under with you.

It took almost nothing.

A handful of his filthy words in your ear, the steady drive of his hips, the heat of him everywhere — and you fell apart. Hard. Fast. Your whole body trembled against him, breath breaking, nails curling into whatever you could reach.

He growled at the way you reacted — a low, dark, satisfied sound.

You barely had time to catch the aftershocks before he moved.

He slipped free and flipped you with a single, fluid motion, hands dragging the rest of your pants off with zero hesitation. He didn’t even look at where they landed. He didn’t care.

Then he grabbed you.

Hands under your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing, pulling your body flush to his with a force that stole your breath. Your legs wrapped around him on instinct, your heart hammering as he pressed inside again — hot, solid, unrelenting.

You could feel how worked up he still was.

How badly he wanted you.

How little control he actually had left.

He carried you straight to the door.

Your back hit it hard enough to draw a soft cry from your lips. His hands clamped on your hips again, pinning you there, his mouth hovering close, his breath shaking with the effort of holding back… something.

He didn’t even wait for you to recover.

His body pushed into yours again — claiming, hungry, barely restrained — each subtle roll of his hips making your pulse trip painfully fast.

His lips brushed your ear when he spoke, voice a low, wicked growl.

“Go on,” he murmured, tone dripping slow and teasing. “Open the door.”

His fingers tightened at your waist.

Not urging you.

Commanding you.

All the promise in his voice hit you at once — dark, breathless, filthy — and you knew exactly what was waiting for you the moment you got that handle turned.

Your fingers fumbled with the keys, vision blurring, mind turned to useless, trembling mush. You tried to slide the key into the lock — you really tried — but Bi-Han didn’t stop.

His hips kept driving into you with sharp, deliberate force, each movement knocking the breath out of you and sending sparks racing up your spine. The pressure of his body pinning you to the door made it impossible to focus on anything else.

Your hand shook.

The key scraped uselessly against the lock.

He leaned close, lips brushing your cheek, voice so low and cruel it shot straight down your spine.

“If you don’t open this door,” he murmured, steady and unbothered, “I’ll just make you fall apart right here.”

His pace shifted.

Sharper.

Harder.

Merciless.

A gasp tore out of you, your body jerking helplessly against the door. The keys slipped from your shaky fingers, clattering to the ground.

You didn’t even try to reach for them.

Your arms flew around him instead, clinging to his shoulders, your whole body arching into his as the heat built inside you again — fast, dangerous, overwhelming. Your breath came in broken little bursts against his neck, and you felt his grip tighten on your thighs as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

Bi-Han breathed against your ear, voice dark and pleased at how quickly you were unraveling for him again.

“Go on,” he whispered. “Cum.”

And you did — your body trembling, back pressed to the door, his hands holding you exactly where he wanted you while the second wave built and crashed through you, wiping out whatever strength you had left.

Your whimpers turned into something softer, sweeter, downright sinful — sounds you couldn’t have held back if you tried. Each noise punched straight through Bi-Han’s control. You felt him shiver against you, breath stuttering like he couldn’t believe how gone you were for him.

He could have paused.

He could have bent down, scooped up your keys, let you unlock the door like a sane person.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Not when you felt like this in his arms.

Not when you clung to him like you needed him to stay upright.

Not when every tiny movement of your body sent shockwaves through him.

Your legs trembled around his hips, gripping him tighter, and Bi-Han’s head dipped to your neck, a harsh exhale brushing your skin.

“Too perfect,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

His hold on you tightened, fingers digging into your thighs, his body moving with a pace he clearly wasn’t planning to stop. You could feel the painful tension building again — that familiar pressure curling deep, quick, impossible to fight.

Your breath stuttered, your hands grasping at his shoulders, clutching fabric like you’d fall apart without him there to hold you. The heat rolled back into your spine, faster this time, sharper, your legs shaking in his grip.

He felt it.

He always did.

Your body tightened in his hands, and he let out a low, ragged sound — the kind that told you he was losing his own composure just as fast.

“Let it happen,” he growled against your neck. “I want to feel cum again.”

Your body didn’t even hesitate.

The command left his lips, and you broke again — instantly, violently, body seizing from having cum thre times back-to-back. Your breath caught, your entire frame tightening painfully in his hold as the release wracked through you once more.

Bi-Han couldn't even stop at this point—didn't want to stop.

He didn’t even slow down.

If anything, he drove into you harder, determined to drag every last tremor out of you. The intensity of it made your legs jolt around him, your fingers clawing at his shoulders until you couldn’t hold back another cry.

You slapped a hand over your mouth, desperate to muffle the loud, hitched squeal that escaped you anyway. Your head tipped back and bumped the door with a dull thud, your body twitching helplessly in his arms, every muscle shaking from how relentlessly he kept pushing you through the high.

Bi-Han felt it all.

Every shiver.

Every flutter.

Every tiny jolt that said you were completely undone.

A shaky, breathless laugh broke out of him — rough, disbelieving, overwhelmed by how fiercely you reacted.

“Look at you,” he muttered against your skin, voice unsteady with heat and something close to awe. “You can’t even breathe without falling apart on me.”

His grip on your thighs tightened, pulling you even closer as he pinned you to the door, absorbing every tremor running through your body.

And gods, you were still shaking.

Still clinging to him.

Still reacting exactly the way he wanted.

Your hand slipped away from your mouth, your breath breaking into tiny, desperate sounds as you tried to form words.

“Bi-Han… please— ahh— inside…” your voice cracked, hips jerking helplessly against him. “I want— ngh— I want you to fuck me properly.”

Shameless.

Feral.

Begging for him.

Bi-Han froze.

Just for a second.

A rough, guttural growl tore out of him, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as if your words punched the air out of his lungs. His whole body went rigid, every muscle pulled tight with the effort of not losing himself right there against your front door.

He drew in one long, controlled breath — the kind that barely held him together — then shifted his grip on you, lifting you higher, securing you against him like he had no intention of letting you slip even an inch.

Then he moved.

Fast.

He bent just enough to snatch the fallen keys off the ground, keeping you pinned to him the entire time. He didn’t even waver. Not once. His strength barely faltered as he shoved the key into the lock with sharp, impatient precision.

The door clicked open.

He kicked it wide with his foot, stepped inside without breaking stride, and slammed it shut behind him with a force that rattled the frame.

You didn’t even get the chance to breathe before his mouth found your neck, his grip tightening like he was seconds away from completely giving in to everything you’d just begged him for.

He carried you straight to the dining room, barely giving the darkness time to settle around the two of you. With a hard exhale, he set you on the table — not gently, not carelessly, but with the kind of control that said he needed you spread out in front of him right now.

He straightened slowly.

His eyes dragged over you, dark and burning, pinning you in place better than his hands ever could. Apparently, three orgasms didn't count as properly fucking you, huh?

“Fuck you properly, hmm?” he echoed, a sharp grin cutting across his face as he stepped closer. His hips rolled once — shallow, taunting, testing your reaction — his voice dripping with smug heat. “Sweetheart… I don’t think you can handle what you’re asking for.”

You should have let that go.

You should have bitten your tongue.

But your mouth betrayed you long before your brain could interfere.

“I’d bet Tomas and Kuai would do it better than this.”

The second the words slipped out, your eyes flew wide.

Silence hit the room like a blade.

Bi-Han froze.

Absolutely still.

Not a breath.

Not a sound.

Not a flinch.

Just his stare — heavy, unreadable, dangerously calm — dragging down your body before locking onto your face.

Then everything snapped.

His hands clamped onto your hips, and he moved with a force that stole the air from your lungs, the sudden intensity making you cry out. The shift in his rhythm was brutal — the restraint from outside shattered, replaced by a raw, punishing urgency that tore helpless, high-pitched sounds from your throat.

You couldn’t stop them.

You couldn’t bite them back.

He didn’t give you the chance.

A broken wail tore out of you, your back arching off the table, fingers scrambling for something to hold onto as he drove the breath straight out of your body again and again.

Some part of you — a wild, reckless part — whispered a hysterical thank-you that you’d opened your mouth…

The rest of you cursed it.

Because Bi-Han’s reaction was overwhelming — feral, possessive, merciless — and every second of it felt like punishment for even daring to say another man’s name.

Bi-Han didn’t slow down.

Not even when you tried to suck in a breath.

Not even when your spine arched off the table.

Not even when your hands scrambled for anything to hold onto, cunt burning in oversensitivity.

He leaned over you, chest brushing yours, his mouth finding your ear with terrifying precision. His breath hit your skin—hot, ragged, furious.

“You think they could do this?” he snarled, voice breaking into a dark, guttural rasp. “You think either of them could handle you when you’re like this?”

His rhythm didn’t falter.

Not once.

“You think Tomas could make you shake like this?” he hissed, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Think Kuai could keep up? Think either of them could even touch you without falling apart?”

You tried to speak—

you tried.

“Bi— B-Bi-Han, I didn’t— I m-mean—”

The words came out a ruined stutter, your breath catching on every sharp movement he forced through your body.

He laughed.

A low, breathless, vicious thing that vibrated against your neck.

“What’s wrong?” he mocked, voice dripping with heat. “You had plenty to say before.”

You shook your head desperately, trying again, your voice tumbling out in small, broken pieces.

“I—I didn’t mean— I wasn’t— please— I’m sorry—”

But his next movement shattered what little sentence you had left.

Your apology fell apart on your tongue, dissolving into a strangled sound you couldn’t hold back. Your legs tightened unconsciously, your hands curling toward his shoulders without coordination.

He dragged his mouth along your jaw, voice a dark growl.

“Pathetic,” he murmured. “Look at you. Words all gone. Brain all gone. And you thought someone else could do better?”

You made a noise—high, breathless, almost panicked at how overloaded you felt.

He smirked against your skin.

“That’s what I thought.”

His hand slid up your ribs, gripping you harder, making your breath break again.

“Say their names now,” he whispered, venomously soft. “Go on. Try.”

You didn’t know why you did it.

Maybe it was spite.

Maybe it was desperation.

Maybe it was that thin, reckless thread inside you that always snapped when Bi-Han pushed you this far.

But you moaned out their names.

Soft.

Shameless.

Barely formed.

“T—Tomas… K-Kuai—”

Bi-Han went still.

Not silent.

Not calm.

Just… still.

A dangerous stillness.

Like the second before lightning hits the ground.

His head lifted slowly, eyes dropping to you with a look so dark it made your stomach flip.

Then a thought crossed his face — sharp, feral, possessive enough to be felt instead of seen.

He released one of your hips, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his phone.

Your breath caught.

“Wait— Bi-Han—”

He didn’t listen.

Didn’t even pretend to.

He unlocked the screen with a quick swipe, thumb moving with eerie calm as he tapped into his contacts.

Then he pressed a button.

The line began to ring.

He held the phone near your ear—not close enough for them to hear you clearly, but close enough that you could hear the ringing loud, sharp, humiliating.

“Bi-Han—!” you gasped, voice cracking.

He leaned down, his mouth brushing your cheek, his tone low and venomously pleased.

“Let’s see,” he murmured, “how they react to hearing their names fall out of your mouth like that.”

Your breath stuttered, chest tightening with a mix of panic, embarrassment, arousal—everything tangled so tightly you couldn’t separate one feeling from another.

The phone kept ringing.

Both of their names lit up the screen.

Bi-Han’s smile sharpened, dark and vicious.

“They deserve to know,” he whispered, his voice shaking with restrained heat, “exactly what you sound like when you’re begging.”

The phone kept ringing, shrill and merciless in your ear.

Your breath came out uneven, panic and heat twisting together so tightly you couldn’t separate them. You squirmed in his hold, not to escape but because the humiliation was almost too much to handle.

Bi-Han didn’t let you go.

He didn’t even waver.

He moved the phone closer to your face—then, with a deliberate swipe of his thumb, pressed the speaker button.

The ringing became louder.

Sharper.

Impossible to ignore.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“Bi-Han—please— don’t—”

He leaned down, lips brushing the corner of your mouth, his voice dropping to a low, lethal whisper.

“You wanted to say their names… so let them hear you.”

Your stomach dropped.

“And if you can’t stop making those noises,” he murmured, voice thick with possession, “they’ll know exactly what puts you in that state. Every little sound you try to swallow.”

Your breath hitched hard.

The phone kept ringing.

He chuckled darkly—barely a sound, more like a vibration against your skin.

“Imagine Tomas right now,” he whispered. “Hearing you on the other end. Wondering why you sound like that.”

You shook your head frantically, but the trembling in your body betrayed you.

“And Kuai…” he added, tone sinking even lower, “trying to pretend he isn’t listening harder than he should.”

The ringing cut—

And both of them answered.

A single click.

Two voices overlapping.

“Hello?”

“Bi-Han? Everything alri—”

They froze.

Because the moment they spoke, a helpless, breathless sound escaped your throat—soft, broken, undeniably intimate.

The kind of sound no one could misunderstand.

Bi-Han’s smile widened against your cheek, darkness spilling off him in waves.

“There it is,” he whispered, savoring it. “Sweet enough for both of them to hear.”

You clamped a hand over your mouth, mortified.

But he caught your wrist mid-movement, pinning it to the table beside your head.

“No,” he hissed gently. “Let them hear you.”

The call stayed open.

Their stunned silence filled the room.

Bi-Han leaned in, voice sharp as a blade and twice as filthy in intent.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he breathed. “Give them something to remember.”

Their shaky breaths bled through the speaker.

Two sharp inhales.

A startled silence.

Then the unmistakable sound of both Tomas and Kuai freezing on the other end, straining to understand what they were hearing.

You wanted to disappear.

Bi-Han wanted the opposite.

He pinned your wrist harder against the table, leaning down until his lips brushed your ear, voice rough with possessive heat.

“Say their names,” he murmured. “Right now.”

Your whole body jolted.

“T-Tomas—”

“K-Kuai—”

The names fell out of you in broken gasps, barely formed words pushed from your throat because you couldn’t hold them back.

The line crackled softly.

Both brothers sucked in a breath at the same time — shaky, involuntary, like the sound of you had hit them dead center.

Bi-Han smiled.

You could feel it against your cheek, slow and vicious.

“Listen to them,” he whispered. “Struggling to breathe because of you.”

You whimpered helplessly, but he didn’t let go of your captured wrist. His other hand tightened where it held you steady, keeping you in place like he owned every trembling inch of you.

“You hear that?” he taunted, lifting his voice just enough for the open call. “That’s what she sounds like when she says your names.”

Another sharp inhale from the speaker — soft, stunned, shamefully audible.

Bi-Han’s tone darkened, becoming something low, territorial, and dripping filth.

“But don’t fool yourselves,” he growled, voice dropping to a deadly whisper near your mouth. “She’s not making those sounds for either of you.”

Your breath stuttered, your free hand clutching at the table edge.

He angled the phone closer, ensuring every breath you let out carried across the line.

“Go on,” he commanded, voice a slow drag of heat. “Show them who’s actually making you feel like this.”

You shook your head in mortified panic — but he grabbed your chin, forcing your gaze up to him, holding you still with frightening, effortless control.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, “I said moan.”

His thumb stroked the corner of your mouth, a cruel parody of tenderness.

“Give them the truth,” he said. “Let them hear who you come apart for.”

Your voice broke.

A soft, helpless sound left your lips — the kind you couldn’t swallow down even if your life depended on it.

On the other end of the line, both brothers made tiny, involuntary noises — the kind men make when they’re stunned, affected, and trying desperately not to react.

Bi-Han shivered in pleasure at the sound.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Give them more.”

You heard it—that tiny, shocked whisper of your name.

“…Y/N?”

It was Tomas.

Barely audible.

Barely breathing.

The sound hit you like a pulse of heat, your fingers twitching uselessly against the table.

Then Kuai’s voice followed—quiet, fractured, like he didn’t know whether to speak or hang up.

“Bi-Han… what— what are we hearing?”

Your lungs seized.

You wanted to respond.

To deny it.

To explain.

To breathe.

But nothing came out.

Bi-Han didn’t let you try.

He leaned down, mouth brushing your cheek, voice a low blade dragged across your nerves.

“Answer them,” he taunted softly. “Or is your mind too far gone already?”

Your lips parted, a sound barely forming.

“T-Tomas… Kuai, I—”

Nothing else came out.

Your voice broke apart, dissolving into something breathless, unsteady, completely useless.

Tomas inhaled through the line—

shaky, involuntary, stunned.

Kuai murmured your name again, the sound tight like he was fighting something in his throat.

“Are you— are you alright?”

Bi-Han laughed.

Not loud.

Not cruel.

Worse.

Deep, breathless, triumphant—the sound of a man reveling in exactly how undone you were.

He put the phone even closer, letting the static catch every tiny breath you couldn’t hold back.

“You hear that?” he said to the brothers, his voice dripping poison-smooth. “She can’t even speak.”

Your fingers curled helplessly in the fabric beneath you.

“Look how quiet she gets,” he went on, taunting, savoring. “All that backtalk earlier… gone.”

Your head tipped back, vision blurring, your whole body shaking from the sheer psychological overload.

And the worst part—

the part that made your stomach twist and your pulse spin—

You didn’t care about the call anymore.

Not one bit.

Shame had melted into heat.

Embarrassment into helplessness.

Your mind into static and Bi-Han’s voice.

He felt it.

Of course he did.

A dark smile curved at the corner of his mouth as he leaned in close enough for his breath to slide against your throat.

“I told you,” he murmured, smooth and venomous, “you’d fall apart for me.”

Your name whispered from the phone again–fragile, stunned.

And Bi-Han whispered back, for you alone:

“Let them listen. They can’t touch you.”

Your chest tightened, your breathing breaking in short, desperate little bursts.

You were gone.

Completely.

The moment he felt you unravel completely—mind blank, breath broken, body trembling in his hands—something in him snapped.

His movements sharpened.

The rhythm shifted—harder, faster, unrestrained—a sudden rush of intensity that made your whole body jolt against him.

You gasped, fingers clawing instinctively at the table, your back arching as the world blurred into heat and sound and the weight of him above you.

The phone was still on speaker.

But neither of you remembered it existed anymore.

The only thing you heard was him.

His breath.

His voice.

The low, ragged sounds spilling from his throat as the last of his restraint shattered.

“Bi—Bi-Han—!” you tried to warn, tried to breathe, but the words dissolved instantly into something soft, high, completely uncontrollable.

The table creaked beneath you.

Your legs trembled.

Your mind went white around the edges.

He leaned over you, bracing one hand beside your head, his breath rough against your cheek as he lost himself fully in the moment.

“Gods—look at you,” he rasped, voice breaking, heat dripping from every word. “You don’t even care they’re listening.”

He was right.

You didn’t.

You were so far gone in the haze he’d dragged you into, so overwhelmed by the pace he’d snapped into, that the entire world narrowed to the push and pull of him—nothing else.

Your fingers curled helplessly in the tablecloth.

Your lip caught between your teeth.

Your eyes rolled back, vision swimming.

Bi-Han’s head dropped to your shoulder, a guttural sound rumbling out of him—raw, desperate, almost pained from how deeply he was lost with you.

Neither of you heard Tomas whisper your name again.

Neither of you caught the uneven “is she—?” from Kuai.

You were both too far gone.

Breathless.

Consumed.

Moving together helplessly, recklessly, forgetting absolutely everything except the fire between your bodies.

Bi-Han’s movements turned brutal.

Not reckless — controlled brutality, sharp and consuming, every motion driving you further into the table until you were gasping for air. The force of him rattled through you, each deep, urgent thrust sending sparks snapping behind your eyes.

You felt him start to lose control.

His breath stuttered.

His rhythm broke its precision.

His grip tightened almost painfully around your hips.

He was close.

Dangerously close.

Your body reacted on its own — unable to hold anything in, unable to hold anything back. The tension coiled in your spine snapped all at once, tearing a raw, choked sound from your throat as you fell apart one final time.

“Bi—Bi-Han!”

His name spilled out of you in a broken cry, your whole body tightening in his hands as the high ripped through you harder and faster than you could brace for.

Bi-Han felt it.

A guttural sound tore out of him — low, ragged, punched from somewhere deep in his chest. The moment your legs trembled and your voice cracked, the last thread of his control snapped.

“Gods—” he choked out, voice shredded.

He drove forward once more — hard, deep, claiming — his entire body seizing with the force of his own release. His breath collided with your shoulder in sharp, uneven bursts as he held you there, pressed fully to him while every muscle in his body tensed.

The only sound in the room was the brutal, uneven panting coming from both of you — your chest heaving, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, his hands still gripping your hips like he couldn’t let go yet.

The phone was still on the table.

Still on speaker.

Still connected.

But neither of you cared.

Not right then.

Not when both of you were too lost in the aftershocks, bodies pressed together, breath mingling in the dim room as the world slowly stopped spinning around you.

He exhaled shakily against your neck, the sound raw, exhausted, and far too intimate.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

You just hung there in the stillness, panting, trembling, recovering — the air thick with everything you’d just done and everything you weren’t ready to think about yet.

The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

And that’s when you heard it.

A shaky, uneven inhale—not yours.

Not Bi-Han’s.

“…oh… god…”

Tomas.

Barely whispered, barely formed—like he didn’t mean to let it slip out loud.

Then Kuai—breath rough, tight, unmistakably affected: “Is she…? Are they still—?”

His voice cracked.

Your eyes snapped open.

Bi-Han stilled, his shoulders rising in a slow, dangerous breath.

Then another sound filtered through the speaker—

a choked exhale,

a soft curse,

two men on the other end of a line who had heard far too much and could not hide it.

Bi-Han didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

He just shifted his gaze toward the phone lying crooked on the table beside your arm.

The silence stretched.

Thick.

Loaded.

Humiliating in a way that made your stomach flip.

Then Bi-Han exhaled once—sharp, almost bored—and said in a low, deadpan murmur:

“Hope you enjoyed that.”

Your jaw dropped.

A startled laugh burst out of you—half mortified, half delirious—and you slapped a hand over your mouth too late.

Through the speaker, two things happened at once:

Tomas sucked in a breath.

Kuai made a low, strangled noise like he didn’t know whether to hang up or turn to stone.

Bi-Han didn’t even blink.

He shifted his weight slightly, still catching his breath, still towering over you with that post-storm intensity, and added dryly:

“You’re both pathetic.”

Another twin inhale from the other end—shaky, shameful, stunned.

You couldn’t stop giggling now, soft, breathless little bursts you tried to swallow, but your body was still trembling and your brain was scrambled, and the whole situation was absurdly, painfully, horribly funny.

Bi-Han finally picked up the phone, glanced at the screen, then lifted it just high enough for his brothers to hear the final blow:

“Next time, hang up faster.”

And he ended the call.

His hand splayed across your back, guiding your hips back onto his, a pleased sigh slipping from him as he sank even deeper.

It was becoming too much—the mix of pleasure and pain from his rough thrusts overwhelming you, especially after the three orgasms he’d already wrung out of you, climbing you toward your fourth.

With a weak whimper, you tried to crawl away, inching forward even as he kept driving into you.

His eyes narrowed, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he rumbled, voice low and menacing.

Two hands seared onto your hips and dragged you back harshly against him, wedging his cock impossibly deeper.

“Don’t run from what you begged for,” he sneered. “Try that again and I’ll pin you to this mattress and ruin this pussy.”

You sobbed against the sheets, your walls clenching painfully around him as you succumbed to your fourth orgasm.

“P-please, I can’t—” you gasped, tears slipping from your lashes.

Bi-Han let out a low curse at the sound of your sweet, wrecked voice, feeling his length twitch violently inside you.

“Yes you can. Just a bit more,” he panted, draping himself over you and pinning your hips down to the mattress with his own.

You thrashed beneath him, only to be held completely still, choked moans and barely-there whimpers spilling out of you.

Bi-Han drove into you a few more times, savoring the way your walls pulsed around him before pulling out and spilling across your rear.

“Shit…” he grunted, catching his breath as he slowly lifted himself off you, falling to the side with an exhausted groan.

You stayed there panting, body trembling and twitching with aftershocks, struggling to steady your breath.

“Fucking hell, Bi-Han,” you complained breathlessly. “I think you broke me.”

A low chuckle rumbled from his lips as he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close.

“So dramatic,” he grunted. “I wasn’t that rough with you.”

You shot him a look of disbelief before rolling your eyes and snuggling further into him, the steady beat of his heart lulling you to sleep.

When you awoke, your body was properly sore and the space beside you was cold and empty. You pouted at that, but shrugged it off. He was a busy man, and you didn’t expect him to stay and cater to you all morning.

You stretched, got up, and began getting ready for the day, taking a soothing shower, brushing your hair, applying your tinted gloss—all while humming softly to yourself, a small smile playing on your lips.

Honestly speaking, you weren’t sure what to expect from him after the deed, but it definitely wasn’t this.

It was him barely sparing you a glance, giving you the cold shoulder every time you tried to spark a conversation. His words toward you stayed as icy as ever, like he was too busy to even bother speaking with you.

You frowned at all of it, trying to make sense of the shift. After the night you spent together, you thought maybe he’d soften a little or at the very least acknowledge you more than usual.

“Hey, Bi-Han,” you said softly, knocking on his office door to get his attention.

He raised his head, eyes narrowing at the sight of you before a grunt slipped out.

“…Yes?” he said gruffly, immediately turning back to whatever document sat in front of him.

You lingered in the doorway for a moment, stepping inside as you tried to figure out what to even say.

“Are you… okay?” you asked cautiously.

“Yes,” he replied, brow lifting briefly. “Should I not be?”

You shook your head. “No, no, I just… I was making sure.”

Bi-Han hummed low in acknowledgment, eyes dropping right back to the page.

“Are you… mad at me?” you squeaked, biting your lip as your fingers played with the hem of your shirt.

His eyes lifted at that, wary and evaluating.

“No. I am not,” he answered slowly, like he was trying to figure out why you’d even ask something so out of left field. “I am completely fine, Y/n. What do you need?”

“It’s just… you’ve been acting kind of cold with me, is all.” You shrugged, feeling smaller by the second.

“I have been acting the same as yesterday,” he replied flatly.

You opened your mouth, then shut it again, suddenly unsure what you were even trying to argue.

Bi-Han sighed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “What are you expecting, Y/n?”

You shrugged, shaking your head and giving a noncommittal little noise.

He huffed, eyes sharpening as he stared you down.

“Do not waste my time. What are you expecting from me?” he repeated, irritation threading through his voice.

You exhaled shakily, looking away before forcing yourself to meet his eyes again.

“I dunno…” you murmured. “I just… thought you’d be different. Y’know, after… last night.”

Bi-Han went quiet, a frown settling onto his features. He studied you for a long moment before letting out a deep, resigned sigh.

“Last night was… a stress relief for the both of us,” he said evenly, and you flinched at how blunt he was. “You seemed frustrated, and I had far too much work to think about. It seemed like a good way to rid ourselves of stress. That’s all.”

Ouch.

Yeah. That fucking hurt.

Your eyes dropped to the floor, lashes going wet as tears gathered. You grit your teeth and forced yourself to nod.

“Right…” you said, voice low and tight. “Stress relief. Got it.”

Bi-Han opened his mouth as if to say something else, but you gave a quick bow, murmuring an apology for disturbing him before swiftly exiting his office.

After that, you began avoiding him whenever possible. If he happened to be around, you’d excuse yourself to finish your duties elsewhere. When speaking to him couldn’t be avoided, you kept it polite and brief, reverting completely to the way things had been before.

It was starting to grate on his nerves just how much you were distancing yourself.

But really… who did he have to blame for that?

The truth was, he had the biggest, stupidest crush on you. And now that the two of you had slept together, the dumbass didn’t know how to function afterward. He had been so sure you weren’t into him (the fucking idiot)—at least, not the way he was into you. He’d assumed you’d just slept with him so you could say you managed to do it.

Now he knew you weren’t that shallow—you were far too kind to pull something like that.

Still, he could never be completely sure.

Women of all types were always throwing themselves at his feet, flaunting themselves for even the smallest scrap of his attention. He had just considered it lucky that he’d had his eye on you for a while and had finally given in to his own needs.

But now?

Now he was rethinking his choice of words and how dismissive he’d been about the whole thing.

He sighed, grumbling to himself as he stalked down the hall toward his office. He would definitely have to make it up to you somehow. Maybe take you out to dinner and try to confess, in his own impossible way.

As he racked his brain, trying to come up with something, he heard your laughter drifting from down the hall and looked up.

Johnny had an arm hooked firmly around your shoulders, apparently cracking jokes, his eyes lighting up whenever they landed and made you laugh.

Bi-Han frowned at the sight, his usual scowl settling onto his face as he began approaching the two of you.

“Oh come on, princess,” Johnny grinned at you. “We’d make it to the Oscars if you became the leading lady in my new film.”

You giggled, a faint blush coloring your features as you gently smacked his arm. “Absolutely not, Cage! Besides, I have duties to tend to. I can’t just up and go to Paris for your film.” You smiled.

“Indeed, you cannot.”

Both of you turned your heads at the gruff response, watching Bi-Han stop in front of you with an annoyed expression, his eyes fixed on you with something that almost looked like anger.

“Grandmaster,” you muttered, bowing slightly, which only made him frown a little more.

“Stop ruining my plans, you emo blizzard,” Johnny complained, tugging you closer to him as if to keep Bi-Han from stealing you away. “I need a pretty lady like her to make my film look spectacular.” He winked at you.

You shook your head, a small grin tugging at your lips. “Johnny,” you said exasperated, “do you even listen? I said no!”

“Nah, heard you. Just trynna convince you,” he grinned back.

“Y/n.” Bi-Han interrupted, his voice low.

You looked up at him again, noticing his eyes were darker than before.

“Office. Now,” he grunted, already turning on his heel and briskly walking toward his office.

You blinked before letting out a small sigh.

“The hell is his problem?” Johnny tilted his head. “Got an ice pick up his ass or something?” he snorted at his own joke.

You shook your head, slipping out from under his arm with a soft laugh. “Maybe,” you joked back.

“Hopefully he doesn’t give your ass too many frostbites.”

“Johnny!”

He laughed and shooed you off.

You took a deep breath, staring at the door in front of you before exhaling and gently knocking.

A grunt sounded from the other side. After a moment, you pushed the door open and stepped into his office.

Bi-Han was already seated behind his desk, dark eyes fixed on you the moment you entered. The door shut behind you with a quiet click.

“Grandmaster,” you murmured politely.

Bi-Han stared at you for a moment, his eyes unreadable.

“You seemed to enjoy yourself,” he said flatly, his voice still carrying that low tone from earlier.

You blinked. “…What?”

“Cage,” he replied, looking at you unimpressed. “Laughing at his pathetic jokes and letting him hang off you like a fool.”

Your brows shot up in surprise and confusion. “He’s just a friend. He was only joking around.”

“That’s all the imbecile does,” he scowled. “Joking. Always joking, never taking anything seriously. The fool.” He muttered the last part under his breath. “And always touching.”

You stared at him for a moment, your brows slowly furrowing.

“Why does that matter to you?”

He stiffened, his eyes cutting away from you briefly before returning to your gaze, nearly blank.

“You are distracting him from his duties and training,” he said stiffly.

You raised a brow. “Johnny distracting himself is hardly my problem. Besides, you know he barely pays attention during training and ends up slacking on some of his duties.”

“Precisely why you shouldn’t be speaking so freely with him,” he said flatly.

“Oh, please.” You snorted. “He’ll find me one way or another,” you mused.

Bi-Han’s eyes narrowed at you.

“You seem to be quite comfortable with him,” he noted.

“Well… yeah,” you mumbled awkwardly. “We actually talk to each other like normal people.”

Bi-Han stilled at that, his lips pursing slightly as he considered your words.

“Look—” you sighed. “If this is about you thinking we’re sleeping together, we’re not,” you said bluntly, staring him down. “I make it a habit not to do that. Whether it’s stress relief or not.”

Bi-Han tensed at your words, his lips parting slightly in surprise at how forward you were.

“So don’t worry,” you finished. “I’ll keep it professional.”

Bi-Han stared at you, quietly stunned. After a moment, he let out a long sigh and shook his head.

“No…” he muttered.

Your brows furrowed. “…No? What do you mean no?”

“I’m… a fool,” he sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “I must admit I was not exactly… forthcoming with you.”

You simply stared at him, waiting for him to explain.

“The reason I said that was because I wasn’t sure you liked me. I simply thought that I may have been… bragging rights of sorts.” he winced.

“A what?” you asked, confused.

“I thought you slept with me because you could,” he repeated.

Your eyes widened and you sputtered, flustered by the thought. “You thought I slept with you as a trophy?!”

He nodded solemnly. “Yes.”

“I— What? Bi-Han, what the hell?!” you gawked at him. “Why would you even think that?”

He shrugged, something so out of character for him.

You opened your mouth, only to promptly shut it again, pinching the bridge of your nose with a soft sigh.

“No, I didn’t sleep with you because of that,” you murmured, lowering your hand and meeting his eyes shyly. “I did it because I like you.”

Bi-Han blinked, a faint smirk curling onto his lips. “Is that so?”

You glared at him. “Don’t start with this shit.”

He let out a low chuckle, standing up and rounding his desk before stopping in front of you. He tentatively raised a hand, gently caressing your cheek. A soft hum left him when you nuzzled into his palm.

“I like you too,” he murmured softly.

You smiled up at him, lidded eyes full of adoration.

“How about this time we sleep with each other for different reasons, hmm?” you teased, a grin breaking across your face as he smirked and let his hand slide down to your neck, fingers curling lightly over your pulse.

“I think that’s a fine suggestion,” he murmured darkly, leaning down to crash his lips against yours.

Hopefully one of you remembers to lock his office door before Johnny barges in looking for either of you.

you finally arrived to your house, the shift you took almost killed you.

as you sit yourself on the living’s sofa, your mom went there to tell you that one of your dad’s old time friend was coming here.

LEON KENNEDY was quite a figure for the most part of you life because of the long-time friendship he had with your dad. you haven’t seen him too much since you were fifteen, when he decided to move to another city to presude a job.

but even if you haven’t had a sight of him, you heard everything about it. and i mean everything.

your father’s late-nights talks with him resolved in a lot of gossip for the next morning; his job and how hard was for him, how many cities he had visited in the spear of one year but mostly that he’s now divorced from his wife.

his divorce was nothing new to you. from childhood you recoil that him and his wife had ceased to be a dream-match many many years ago. they never had children or even wanted to and although on the outside they had been labeled as an ‘eccentric couple’ your family knew how much it cost that man to get out of that circle of endless apologies.

it was midnight when a knock on the door knocking! sound alerted everyone.

your father rushed to it and greeted the man with a big hug and greetings that could be heard all the way to the living room. when your father returned to the living room, you expected to find a broken man—especially knowing what had happened.

but no, it was quite the opposite.

and there he was. you wouldn't have guessed he was in fact older than your dad. his hair was still somewhat blond, even with several gray strands, and had a beard that wasn't very prominent but still visible.

his body was robust and he had several marks on his arms—his big arms.

this wasn't the leon you remembered, or perhaps your mind was too intoxicated to comprehend the enormous presence standing in front of you. the weirdest part of the whole meeting was that he didn't really recognize you at first. now, don't get me wrong—it wasn't like those older folks who just forget faces; it’s just that he still had that mental picture of you as a fifteen-year-old.

once it clicked that it was you, he almost passed out. leon felt sick just by seeing you after such amount of time, his gaze went up and down on-going for a little two minutes before your dad spoke to break the silence between you both.

“so, i hope you still remember my daughter,” he said, hugging you from your shoulders.

“yeah, i do remember her.” leon responded.

but you couldn't stop looking at him curiously—did he really remember you? if he did, you were nervous because you didn't want him to see you as that fifteen-year-old girl who behaved like a brat to catch his attention.

leon on the other hand was screwed, so-fucking bad. if he had imagined that you had grown up to be one of the most beautiful women he had seen since his divorce, he would haven’t even come to visit so unprepared.

internally he was biting the flesh of his cheek so as not to flirt with you in front of your father or he would kill him but, ohmygod. it was hard.

the night passed too slowly for both of your own and his liking. a long time passed when you both had lost the battle of who was eating the other more with their gaze, gratefully your father was too distracted to see how his best friend looked at you with every slight movement.

the birthday cake passed by the table as well as several glasses of champagne between everyone, and even so, the eldest's blue eyes did not leave your presence. they were staring even more than before.

you had to bail yourself from there. as you excused and retire from the table while mumbling some half-baked-lie about needing some quote on qoute fresh air, but your parents knew you were just heading to the house’s balcony to smoke out your nerves. honestly, work has been such a dumpster fire lately that nicotine is the only thing keeping you from a total villain arc.

as you swiped your diy-pack of malboros you made and save for a post-shift treat, finally had the courage to step out the living room.

slumping into one of those cheap patio chairs, you tried to breath properly but your own brain was already doing gymnastics over leon.

like, what’s his actual fucking deal with all of this bullshit looking? because the way his eyes were on you felt almost like he was yearning, or straight-up thinking with his dick—you couldn’t really tell.

part of you just wondered if he’s just lowkey bitter and sexually frustrated post-divorce, but that’s not nearly close. leon is, well.. leon fucking kennedy; the man probably has a whole waiting list of women in his DMs. why would he be wasting his time staring down a girl as young as you?.

yeah you were spiraling over and over again.

mid-inhale and you were already feeling quite delusional about it, that’s when a hand landed on your left shoulder.

a heavy, calloused and firm grab. the second its fingers hit, your entire body felt nervous and started to glitch. stomach on going with a series of internalized backflips. you knew who it was.

“those things will kill you, y’know.” leon said.

his voice was low, whispery like. it wasn’t like the way boys usually talked to you, he remained steady and patient.

you took a long, quite shaky drag and finally exhaling the smoke into the crips night air, glancing timidly at him. “since when you’re my doctor, mister kennedy? i’m pretty sure the stress of this whole party is going to killl me before this.” you add while mocking him.

leon let out a huff hat was almost a laugh, his thumb grazing the line of your collarbone just for seconds before he pulled his hand away from you, leaning against the railing next to her.

he looked expensive—the kind of expense that came with a decade of seniority and a soul-crushing divorce settlement: his sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms that had no business looking that good.

“fair point,” he conceded. his eyes already going up and down scanning you, making you feel literally small on his behalve.“but you’re too young to be this cynical. leave the slow burnout to people my age.”

“so that’s what the divorce thing left you,” you added, teasing him looking more bolder than before.

leon tilded his head slowly, a knowing smirk tugging in the corner of his mouth. “i think i’ve still got a little spark left ... though i suppose that depends on who’s asking.”

he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours as he took the blunt from between your knuckles, giving it a try. fuck, fuck, fuck.

“you’ve been staring at me all night,” but so did him. “care to tell me why, or am i going to have to play the guess game with you?.”

your heart was doing backflips constanly. “oh. well let me tell you sir, i wasn’t the only one doing it.”

leon just stepped a fraction closer, invading your personal space in such way you felt how your lungs tighten more and more.

“don't stay out here too long, sweetheart. it’s getting cold.”

however, you didn't make him wait too long; without thinking twice, you took that cigarette from his fingers, threw it away and wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him to your mouth and kissing him with such intensity that several soft whimpers escaped him between kisses.

and he didn’t refuse it, not at all. leon moved you and him to a corner hidden from everyone else’s sight by a wall, his mouth kissing yours with such hunger, his tongue making its way inside it.

“fuck doll, your dad is going to cut my head off.” he whimpered, biting your lower lip with his front teeth.

leon’s palms moved up and down on your waist, trying to keep you as close to him, lips running and trailing upstairs your neck and drawing muffled moans from you. you had to cover your mouth with your right hand—you felt dirty just from feeling your underwear begin to dampen from the slightest touch of his beard against your skin.

“mister kennedy,” you whispered.

“call me leon. princess.”

“leon, leon please.” you barely responded.

when suddenly, another voice appeared. “sweetheart, is leon with you?,” you dad asked—his voice sounding tender and worried. fuck! fuck!.

even so, leon never stopped. those wet, lawd and noisy kisses on your skin didn't want to leave for a second.

on the inside you just wanted to hit that man and answer your father properly—but you couldn't. your voice was too weak from all the moans you stifled in your throat.

“sweetheart?” another call.

“answer him, sweetheart,” he mocked.

a thread hanging from your voice, letting out a short gasp before you could even respond.

“y—yeah dad, leon is, mgh. s—smoking with me..”

after hearing your father's footsteps fading away, leon wasted no time and placed one of his legs between yours, opening them without any shame. "i'm not finished with you," he murmured simply before guiding you to his knee and indicating that you should move your hips against it.

the material of his pants was too rough, but he could still feel the moisture of your panties soaking into them. several grunts escaped his lips. he felt dirty for having you like this—shit … you were his best friend's daughter! and all he could think about was how adorable you would look taking him.

he just kept grunting at your sight, his cock was arching inside his pants begging for a release of some kind but tonight he just wanted to please you, but he had to be quick before your dad starts to questioning where you both are again.

“just like that, angel. you don’t have to rush..” leon’s voice echoed into your ears. “i can feel how giddy you seem down there, s’goddamn good to me.”

he moved his leg away from your core, causing you to let out a weak whimper from the lack of contact. slowly, he lifted the edges of your dress so he could see what he was about to enter.

from his perspective, your body was pressed against the same wall that had held you up just moments before, your legs trembling slightly, your eyes glistening with tears of pleasure and your gaze fixed on him—nonetheless there wasn't even a trace of shyness in your eyes, only a desperate need for him to devour the overwhelming desire you'd been harboring since your first glances that night.

when the sound of his belt unfastening caught your ears, you unconsciously arched your body, breasts pressed even harder against the cold wall, your ass in the air, perfectly positioned to make his mouth water at the sight of you like this, so damnedly surrendered to him.

but not a normal amount, it was bigger than the ones you saw before, its tip glistening slightly with the pre-cum that coated it and with such size on it that would surely make your hips ache the next day.

"you're going to be the death of me, princess," he murmured softly, cupping your face for a few seconds and kissing you wildly. his pants already undone, your panties pulled by the side and when he barely lowered his boxers to let his cock go—and damn, it was big.

“ow baby, don’t get too scared, we’ll make it fit,” leon purred, aligning the tip of his cock between your wet and slippery folds, fake-thrusting on them, coating his length with your juices. the instant his cock forced its way between your rubbery and gummy walls you had to bite your lower lip to avoid making a sound. amid silent curses, the blonde man grabbed your hips and began thrusting without any mercy, digging his fingers into the flesh of your womb like an animal in heat.

“ohmygod!, mister kennedy..”

a sharp smack echoed on the balcony, now your ass bearing the mark of leon’s bare hand against your sensitive skin, your ass getting redder. without stopping his thrusts, he let go of one side of your waist and guided his middle and ring finger inside your mouth—inserting them roughly, gaining a gagging sound from you.

“gonna fill you up, baby,” he mumbled near your ear lobe, licking and biting it in between each thrust, your pussy making lawd sounds with each one, a constant plap! sweep! sound bursting into the night. “’m going to fill this little cunt until you can’t handle anymore, you’re gonna walk inside the house full of cum.”

“leon, mgh! i—can’t. they, m—my dad, he might..”

“he won’t hear us if you keep your pretty mouth closed,” leon grunted, growling under his breath. his lower abdomen started to feel hotter than before, his lunges inside your pussy became rougher.

when your walls began to tighten around his length, fucking shit, leon swears he literally saw stars appear before him.

“this greedy cunt is taking me s’well, mind if i gave her what she needs? bet she’s gonna look so pretty with cum all over her,” he spoke and its way was so dirty you felt an enormous arousal hugging your whole body.

with a chocked and gaggy moan you came all over his cock, coating the entire length with your juices—from its base to the tip. you claimed that dick as yours.

leon had his orgasm a few minutes after yours, painting your walls with his semen, his seed now claiming its place inside you like some type of thropy.

after leon had barely cleaned you up and arranged your clothes, as well as his own, they went inside, greeted by your father—who quickly chided them for taking too long to finish their cigarettes.

however, the glances you both gave eachother concealed a certain complicity. suddenly you brushed leon's shoulder with your fingers, giving him another mischievous look before going to get a glass of beer.

he just smiled, hoping your father would invite him to sleep over so he could have his way with you again against the mirror in your room because he couldn't stop himself.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex) 

☆ At first, Bi-Han wouldn’t be as affectionate. The most he would do for you after finishing is toss you a rag to clean yourself up and get himself ready to head to his private shower (not caring to invite you, even). But after much-needed moments of vulnerability with him and having to coax him out of his very rigid views of giving affection, he slowly became accustomed to making sure you feel comfortable after intercourse. He would take baby steps, electing to clean you up himself first and not leave immediately after. He would silently bring you a change of clothes and a cup of tea from the clan’s kitchen. Although sometimes he would just… stare at you, waiting for you to instruct him on what to do next. Like I said, baby steps. 

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) 

☆ Bi-Han’s favorite body part of his would have to be his arms. Their ability to hold you in place no matter the position and the way your hands look grasping his biceps, just barely wrapping your fingers around them, is almost too much for him. He has spent decades building the muscle, sculpting the perfect ratio of tone and bulk that he cannot help but feel prideful in how he chooses to use them. On the other hand, his favorite body part of yours is your waist. He feels it is the perfect place to hold you, to keep you steady as he has his way with you. No matter what shape your body may be, he will always keep as firm a grip as possible on your sides and relish the way you shiver under his touch. 

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically... I’m a disgusting person) 

☆ Bi-Han loves to cum on your face and in your mouth specifically. Whether you’re giving him head or receiving a good pounding from him, when he feels he is close he will more often than not pull out and grab your jaw. He gives it a squeeze to make your mouth drop open and give himself a few more pumps before emptying on your tongue. He loves to see the way it collects there, the way it paints your lips white and dribbles out the side of your mouth. And if the spurts miss their mark, he will collect it with his fingers and push them onto your tongue. He doesn’t want to see his seed go to waste. The sight of you licking and sucking it right off of his fingers is enough to make him hard again at times. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

☆ He thinks about what it would feel like to use his cryomancy skills inside the bedroom. All of his life he had been told to reserve his powers for the sanctity of combat, to bring honor to those before him by wielding his abilities to their fullest potential. And, more importantly, what they were intended for. But after years and years of abiding by this rule, he can’t help but wonder if there could be more that his gift could be used for other than violence. When the two of you are in the bedroom, images will flash into his mind of making his tongue cooler than usual while giving you head, generating frost on his fingers tips as they trail along your inner thighs, and breathing chilly puffs of air into the crook of your neck as he thrusts into you. But he must restrain himself. Unless, of course, you manage to somehow convince him. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?) 

☆ Bi-Han has very little sexual experience, and it’s not entirely his fault. His entire life has been dedicated to training, to honing his skills in order to become the formidable and fierce grandmaster he is today. His father never really spoke with him about sex when he was younger, the only clues he would get coming from overhearing his brothers and clanmates in raunchy conversations as teenagers. As time passed, he learned how to satiate his own erections whenever they made their presence known, content with being able to satisfy himself quickly and efficiently. So when you came along, he was utterly clueless on how to pleasure you. This led to many teaching moments and incredible amounts of patience on your end, trying to let Bi-Han know that sex is not a race to the finish line. He would learn eventually how to be more gentle and attentive to your needs during sexual activity, what foreplay is and why it's important, and how to create intimate moments of intense connection while you two are engaged in the act. He now treats sex as something very sacred rather than a pure display of dominance and self-fulfillment, thanks to you. In summary, there’s a learning curve, but stick to it! It will be worth it in the end. 

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual) 

☆ Missionary is what comes naturally to him, it was the position the two of you were in when you had sex for the first time. He has come to treasure it for that reason, but when you introduced him to different positions it was like a whole new realm of possibilities were now open to him. And because of this, he loves backshots. There’s something about the way your ass bounces and ripples against him as he holds your waist in his hands, pulling you back and forth that riles him up to no end. And when you look at him over your shoulder with that fucked-out look on your face, he has to stop himself from cumming right then and there. If he’s feeling a little more rough that night, he will wrap one of his hands around your throat/hair and pull you back, admiring the way your back arches oh so beautifully.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc) 

☆ Serious, 100%. Like what was mentioned earlier, Bi-Han grows to view sex as an act of reverence toward himself and his partner. He will take in your body in earnest, grateful that you feel comfortable enough around someone like him to make yourself so vulnerable. That kind of trust is very important to him and he will spend the rest of his days ensuring that it is never broken. He knows he’s not the most approachable man, so the fact that you still want him through his hardened exterior and ignorance to any form of sentiment makes him feel on top of the world. Maybe once in a blue moon you will see a fleeting smirk or a small, contented smile on his face during sex if he knows he’s doing a good job.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) 

☆ While Bi-Han was taught basic hygiene by his father, he never really paid that much attention to his nether regions save for basic washing in the shower. The hair was an afterthought and not something that he felt he ever needed to address. He had more pressing issues to worry about. But once you had entered his life and his bedroom, he felt an inexplicable urge to make sure he looked presentable for sex (and any other occasion you were involved with, for that matter). He would begin to trim the black hair there whenever he deemed it unruly, but never down to the skin. There would still be a fair amount of hair there, but significantly more well-kept and cleaner than before. His pride would try to get in the way and tell him that he didn’t need to alter his appearance for anyone, but there’s just something you do to him that compels him to make sure he always looks his best.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect...)  

☆ Tying back into the notion that Bi-Han had misunderstood expectations of sex in the beginning, he was internally grateful that you showed him what it could be with a little help. He didn’t understand at first that during sex your partner’s pleasure is just as important as your own. Your guidance in this area helped him blossom into a man who will learn his partner’s body, who will learn just what makes you tick. He knows all of your sensitive spots, all of the places he has to touch, grab, kiss, lick, or bite to leave you begging for more. On days where he is feeling especially genuine in his appreciation for and admiration of you, he will be firm but gentle in the way he ravages you and it truly feels like lovemaking. Other times, when he is strung-out from exhausting days leading the clan as grandmaster, he will be much more rough and unforgiving. He will apologize both before and after for his behavior, but you know that he will make you feel treasured once he has had his way with you.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon) 

☆ Bi-Han, as explained before, knows how to get himself to finish. But sometimes when you’re away and he has shut himself into his chambers for the night, he will miss your presence greatly. There’s no familiar dip in the bed beside him, there’s less of your belongings strewn about his shelves and desk, and there’s an overall lack of you in his quarters. Looking towards the side of the bed you usually occupy he sighs, longing to feel you and taste you once more. Debauched images of you will flash through his mind: you on your knees in front of him, your hands on his pectorals as you bounce on his cock, the feeling of your warm skin pressed against his… he already can feel himself becoming erect. And with a frustrated huff, he shucks off his pants and practically snatches your pillow. He will stroke himself until completion, pressing his nose into the fabric that still holds your lingering scent. His orgasm grows and grows with each deep inhale of what he craves. And when he does finally release, he feels like weeping. He doesn’t know why and feels foolish for the intense display of emotion, but your absence bores a hole into his very being. He goes to bed that night wishing for your safe return (and so he can show you how much he’s missed you under the covers).

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks) 

☆ Bi-Han enjoys controlling when you orgasm. He likes to bring you right to the edge and then reel it back, reveling in the pout on your face and the desperate moans leaving your lips. He really, really likes when you’re desperate for him and he loves to see you beg for him. It makes him feel powerful. He also likes rough sex. He gets great satisfaction out of letting his physical energy and aggression out on you as long as you are enthusiastic about it as well. Biting, slapping, scratching, and hair pulling are all on the table (and may be reciprocated as well, if you ask). He can get a bit carried away with the primal tone of it all, though, so be sure to check in with him if he needs to bring things down a notch. The last thing he wants to do is genuinely hurt you. Bi-Han also has a thing for creampies. He delights in watching his seed spill out of you and watching you squirm as he pushes it back in with his fingers and makes you lick them clean.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do) 

☆ He prefers sex to be kept in his quarters away from people who could catch him in such a compromising position. It’s a part of your ritual at this point to keep it there not only for your and his safety but also to ensure the sanctity of it all. If you really, really beg him though, he may settle for sex in his personal shower for a change of pace. Sex between the two of you should be kept private and for each other’s viewing pleasure only. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going) 

☆ Whenever you call him “grandmaster” in the bedroom, it will take enormous amounts of self-restraint (which most of the time doesn’t work in the first place) for him not to fuck you until the bed frame breaks. Even if the situation is not as salacious and you are simply addressing him as such, he will have a hard time not wanting to drag you to his room, what with the way you look at him like that as you speak his hard-earned title. Another thing that brings him great pleasure is watching you fight. Sometimes, he will watch you training with the other clan members in the courtyard from afar and will pop a boner at your demonstrations of strength. Knowing that you can defend yourself with ruthless might and a fierce disposition turns him on to no end. And, if you’re up for it, a little play-fighting/wrestling can work as incredible foreplay for him. He would have you pinned on the ground or against a wall with your bodies flush together to make sure you’re aware of his hard-on. He would tell you that it was your doing, too.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) 

☆ Bi-Han is a very dominant man. Everybody knows this. So he won’t feel comfortable doing anything where he feels like he isn’t in control (to a certain extent). He enjoys when you get on top and take your pleasure into your own hands, but he won’t be okay with bottoming or being submissive. He prefers to know that he is the one in charge at the end of the day. That isn’t to say he doesn’t enjoy a little teasing from you now and then, though. Additionally, Bi-Han wouldn’t be okay with exploring threesomes or cuckolding. He can be very possessive, so he needs to know that you’re his and his alone. No one else should get to see you this way in his eyes. He views it as a violation of loyalty and fidelity. Bi-Han also wouldn’t be cool with being restrained, blindfolded, or anything else that would impede his ability to sense or move. Again, it’s a control thing but he also knows that he needs to be on high alert as grandmaster should anything happen to the clan while he is busy with you.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc) 

☆ Bi-Han, due to his lack of previous sexual experience before meeting you, has never had his dick sucked before. He’s definitely thought about it and how it would feel, but it paled in comparison to the first time you knelt in front of him and rubbed on his thighs before untucking his cock from the confines of his uniform. His heartbeat quickened as he watched you lean down towards his cock and give a little lick to the tip, tongue swirling around it. He lets out a groan that embarrasses him but he finds it hard to keep his composure the way you lick him from base to tip. And once you start taking him into your mouth and throat, he’s done for. He comes rather quickly that first time, but it's safe to say that he’s a big fan of blowies now.

☆ When it comes to giving head, he is also inexperienced and is unsure of what to do at first. This is where you come in and show him the ropes. He is flushed a gorgeous shade of pink as you guide him on where to touch, lick, kiss, and suck, feeling sheepish as a beginner. But when you start to let out those pretty moans and your hands grip onto his hair by the root, he slowly becomes more confident as he learns your body and what feels best for you. He would never admit it to you, but he enjoyed learning from you on how to pleasure yourself. It wasn’t necessarily a power play thing, but more so due to the fact that it was you who wanted him to make you feel good. After that, getting his mouth on you is one of his favorite things to do in the bedroom. And he never forgets what you taught him. 

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.) 

☆  It will really depend on his mood and what headspace he is in during the day. If the clan is making great strides towards its prosperity and the new initiates show true promise, he will feel more generous in the bedroom and go easier on you. His touch will be gentler, his kisses more sweet, and he will overall be more passionate as he makes love to you. He would bring a more sensual atmosphere into the bedroom and even try to seduce you into his quarters when the ivory moon hangs high in the evening sky.

☆ But on other days where he is more frustrated than usual with the clan’s progress, he will throw the door to your shared room open and rip his mask off his face, tossing it away to be discovered later. If you aren’t already in bed, he will pick you up by your waist and toss you onto the mattress, fingers flying to make quick work of his uniform. Bi-Han will practically rip your clothes away, muttering something about getting you new ones at a later time. There isn’t any room for you to even speak with the utter whirlwind of events and you settle for letting him do what he needs to do. He barely spends any time prepping you, unable to control himself and the way he aches to be inside you, to manhandle you, and for you to help him satiate his rage. It’s not necessarily a hatefuck, but he will hold back on giving as much affection as you're used to. 

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.) 

☆ Bi-Han isn’t a fan of quickies, as mentioned previously. Sex is reserved for his quarters and his quarters only. No one should be privy to what you two get up to behind closed doors. Even if you were keen on trying it or becoming needy throughout the day, he will shoot you a cold glare and a firm “no.” Your begging and pouting won’t work on him either, even if you are his one true weakness. He would never show it in front of his disciples, but sometimes he wants it just as much as you do. Above all else, though, he has a job to do. A clan to lead and defend. He cannot let himself give into carnal desire while on duty, seeing it as an impedance to his ambitious endeavors. He doesn’t take kindly to people getting in his way, no matter how close they are to him.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) 

☆ He would never do anything to gravely, truly injure you, but there was one time he put you in a headlock while thrusting into you, not even thinking about the repercussions. It wasn’t until you were choking on the last remnants of air in your throat and frantically tapping on his bicep before he realized that you weren’t enjoying it anymore, releasing you and meeting your gaze like a deer in headlights. It was that night that he learned he really doesn’t know his own strength and oftentimes he beats himself up relentlessly for it. After that, he isn’t really game for experimenting, afraid that he will once more see that terrified look in your eyes as you were catching your breath, coughing and sputtering. He lets you bring up anything you want to try from that point on, too embarrassed and wrapped up in self-deprecation to ever let himself try anything like that again.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last...) 

☆ While on duty as grandmaster he practices great self-control, his stoic demeanor an impenetrable wall as it hides his lustful yearning. But once he has clocked out for the day, he could have sex for an hour straight. However, he will gauge how long the act will last and how often you two have it based on your own communicated thresholds coupled with his own exhaustion levels. Over time he has perfected the art of not coming too quickly, thanks to the embarrassment of it happening prematurely eating him alive as the two of you began to have regular intercourse. But even if he does come relatively fast, it does not take much for him to get hard again. You’re walking perfection in his eyes and even just a lewd-laden look thrown his way can turn him on. 

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) 

☆ (Let’s pretend for a moment that you both live in an era where acquiring sex toys is a resource available to you, even if your place of residence is in the secluded Lin Kuei palace). At first, he views toys as competition. Why would you need anything other than him to satiate you? Was he not enough for your needs? When you mention it his ego can’t help but be bruised. He doesn’t understand that the toys, if you like to use them, are simply a tool to help you bring your pleasure to the next level, not a means of replacing him. It takes some convincing for him to realize that he can work with the toy, not against it. He is begrudging at first, grumbling about how his hands work just fine, but when he sees that look on your face and the noises you’re making when you hold it against yourself as he thrusts into you… he guesses he sees the appeal now. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) 

☆ Once acclimated to your body, Bi-Han finds teasing thrilling. In this setting he is quite literally holding the ultimate power over you, bending your pleasure to obey his every command. If he senses that you're close (which he eventually is able to based purely on the sounds you make and the look on your face), he will deliberately slow down his ministries or stop them altogether, taking more pleasure in the way you react than he’d care to admit. This teasing can last anywhere from a few minutes to half an hour depending on how much time the two of you have to yourselves. There is just something about the way you look at him all teary-eyed and desperate as you beg him to keep going that riles him up to 100%. Your hands would caress his face and shoulders, trying to grab at anything that would pull him closer to you and convince him to keep going. Eventually he will, but let him enjoy toying with your orgasm for a bit. It not only feeds into his ego that desperately demands to be validated in his competence, but it also reminds him that you trust he will give you what you want in the end. This game is all part of the fun. 

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make) 

☆ To say that he is terrified of his clan hearing him make any type of noise in the bedroom is an understatement. He worries that each time it happens it will chip away at his credibility as grandmaster and give fuel to the members of the Lin Kuei clan to use against him should he ever prove himself unworthy of his title (he shudders at the mere thought). That being said, he will reserve himself to low grunts and huffs tucked up against the crook of your neck. And don’t tell a soul about this, but every so often if the pleasure overwhelms him you will hear somewhat of a whine or whimper coupled with a shuddered breath. He will swear that it never happened anytime you bring it up, but the both of you know what really went down. You don’t bring it up after that to save his pride from becoming disparaged and to not bring too much attention to it. After all, who wouldn’t want to hear that again?

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) 

☆ Bi-Han knows how crazy it drives you when his hair is down. Normally tied up neatly in a bun with a few loose strands, he always senses a shift in your demeanor when he unties the band and lets it fall past his shoulders, reaching up to scratch his scalp. It gives his ego a boost as he meets your awestruck gaze, feeling your eyes on him even when he turns away. And when sex is initiated while it’s down, locks will fall in front of his face as he towers over you, bouncing you onto his cock. He just looks so handsome, so sexy that you can’t help but reach your hands up and thread your fingers into the soft ebony. Normally he would chastise anyone for daring to touch his hair, but you have a different effect on him. And… well, he guesses he doesn’t hate the feeling. When you grip his hair by the root and give a soft tug, he groans softly and throws his head back, the pull driving him to pounding into you impossibly faster. He is much more lenient about you touching his hair after this. And don’t tell anyone, but he likes when you brush it for him. The door needs to be securely locked before it happens, though. The chance of anyone stepping in and witnessing the softness of it all would be severely emasculating for him. 

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words) 

☆ He easily packs 6-7 inches. It’s thick and veiny, curving upwards slightly so that it bobs against his abdomen when he releases it from his clothing. The color matches his skin tone but when aroused it flushes a beautiful pink. The feeling of it inside you is not too much to the point where it’s painful but also just enough to the point where you feel full. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) 

☆ Bi-Han has a relatively high libido once he starts having true intercourse with you. After years of celibacy, he finally has a taste of what it feels like to give into the desires of the human body and he finds himself craving it more than he would like. Like mentioned before, he will restrain himself from giving into every craving when he is on duty, but once he has relieved himself of his post and the two of you are tucked away carefully in his quarters, everything is fair game. But during the day, while he is carrying out the next plan towards progress for the clan’s superiority, he will catch himself in occasional daydreams of having sex with you. This includes those fantasies of his that he has yet to muster up the courage to try (with your explicit permission, of course).

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)