#ot13 x reader

SEUNGCHEOL⠀★⠀he’s your boss.

the lock on the door clicks behind you, a spotlight on the bulge prodding your thigh as seungcheol drags you back against him — impatient, now that the turmoil in him has finally given way. 

“sir—”

“don’t call me that.” he rasps, hands fisting in your blouse. “not right now, please.” 

you melt into him as his lips find your neck, pressing your body flush against his. he squeezes desperately at your sides as he throbs in his pants — nothing like the composed, strict boss you know. 

“if i’m about to make this mistake,” he mutters at your jaw, fingers twitching just beneath the swell of your breasts. “i need to know you want it too.”

“we shouldn’t..” you whisper against his mouth. 

“i know.” he swallows. “tell me to stop, and i will.” 

your answer is to pull him in by his tie, and press your lips to his — months of tension breaking loose into a messy, desperate kiss. seungcheol groans as you lick into his mouth, grabbing your ass through the skirt and rolling you against his hard-on.

“take this off for me?” he sighs, leaking into his suit pants from the friction. “been wanting to taste you..”

JEONGHAN⠀★⠀you’re his friend’s crush.

“keep an eye on her,” he’d said. “make sure she gets home safe.” the words of his best friend had gone through one ear, and jeonghan can feel them leave out the other as your tongue explores his mouth. 

jeonghan had kept an eye on you under flashing red lights — heat bubbling in his gut with each sway of your hips — and when you approached him, drawling that you wanted to leave, who is he to break a promise? 

it’s not jeonghan’s fault that you’d climbed over the car’s centre console and plopped yourself in his lap. he’s not to blame, really, when his honest first response was to resist. 

“sweetheart, we shouldn’t.” he’d sighed, dazed eyes watching you rock gently on his lap. his cock fills out his pants eagerly, and he clenches his fists to hold back. “my best friend likes you.” 

you hummed, fingers threading through his hair. “but i don’t want him.” 

jeonghan lets go — of his grip, and his control — as he swallows your breath in a kiss. allows himself to grab your waist, guiding you to grind against his bucking hips. 

his groan melts onto your lips, length pulsing where it rubs into your ass. “i don’t want that either.”

JOSHUA⠀★⠀he's waiting for marriage.

the barrier of fabric between you both is soaked through at this point — joshua in his boxers, rutting into your panties as you kiss and grope each other desperately for god knows how long at this point. it’s not nearly close enough, but your fiancee’s been steadfast in his beliefs and in his patience. 

you get tangled up like this every night, and each time joshua insists that you sleep before things go too far, smiling despite the obvious tent in his pants. 

you think tonight will be not different — until joshua pulls back with a low whimper, eyes raking over your body with a ruined look. 

“shit,” he curses, swallowing your gasp as he kisses you rougher than before. “we should just do it.”

“but.. we can’t..” you trail off into a light moan as joshua sucks at your neck, a large hand coming to squeeze your breast. 

“i want you.” you feel the way his cock throbs at your heat. he chuckles. “really bad. i might die before the wedding. it hurts me to turn you down..”

his hand skims down your tummy, stopping at your panties to ghost over your clit. he smiles at how your hips buck. 

“let me?”

JUN⠀★⠀he’s your leading man.

jun licks a whine from your mouth as it rolls off your tongue, his clothed length rutting just right against the thin cotton of your underwear. he presses you further into the wall, the heat between you growing damper. 

you almost forgot that this is the same junhui: a quiet character, playful on a good day — but particularly cold to you and you alone. his leading lady. even with the cameras, he struggles in pretending to even tolerate your presence, and it’s making your job harder. 

how ironic, that when you finally asked him outright what his problem was, you shortly found yourself smothered by him in a desperate kiss. 

“shit—this is a bad idea,” jun groans out onto your lips, precum staining his pants as he mindlessly humps up into you. “why am i even doing this?”

yet, he makes no move to pull away, and you smirk. 

“don’t go falling for me,” you quip, cut off with a gasp as his tip prods your clit in a particularly rough thrust. he steals another kiss from you, and you whimper. “…we should stop.”

“i know.” jun mutters, adam’s apple bobbing in a gulp as he watches where your hips roll together. “but i can’t.” 

SOONYOUNG⠀★⠀he’s your brother’s best friend.

you muffle soonyoung’s moan with a kiss, your hand down the front of his pants and wrapping around his cock. the first stroke brings a loud squelch from the amount of precum coating his length, and soonyoung’s head lolls back in pleasure — knocking against the bathroom mirror.

you shush him, teeth nipping at his tongue as a warning, earning a whine in response. you stop the movements of your hand, but his pelvis just jolts upward, fucking himself into your fist.

“you need to be quiet,” you whisper-yell. your brother would break this door down, and break his best friend’s legs if he knew you were in here together. 

“i shouldn’t be doing this,” soonyoung says weakly, but puts no effort to stop. his cock pulses in your hand as you twist at the tip. “i know better.”

you roll your eyes — he wants to self reflect now? when he’s already this hard?

your breath hitches as he reaches for you, firmly cupping his hand over your crotch. he groans, conflicted. “i want you..”

“better make it quick.”

“won’t last anyways.” he tugs your pants down, sighing in relief at the sight of your bare pussy. “your brother’s gonna kill me…”

WONWOO⠀★⠀his friends can hear.

wonwoo tilts his head at you like a curious cat as you climb into his lap. he cranes his neck around you to not lose sight of the computer screen — there’s a whole woman on top of him, and his attention still is on the game. you feel even less remorse for what you’re about to do.

you grab his chin, forcing him to look down at you. 

“what are you—” wonwoo chokes as you lift your skirt up, presenting your bare pussy pressed to his crotch. muffled voices come from his headphones, and he clarifies that he’s talking to you. great, there’s company. 

you’re too pent-up to care, grinding against his now half-hard length, and wonwoo lets out a pained noise. 

he reaches for his headphones, intending to mute himself, but you grab his hand and guide it to your pussy instead. wonwoo’s breath hitches as you coat his fingers in your arousal. he raises his hips from the chair, rubbing his boner into your ass. you let out a light whine as his fingers tap your clit. 

“we shouldn’t...” he murmurs, yet gently lifts you for room to tug his pants down, cock springing free. “just stay quiet.”

JIHOON⠀★⠀you both work early.

jihoon hums appreciatively as you massage the aches from his back. it was almost midnight by the time he got home from work and quietly crawled into bed. after slouching at a desk all day, the feel of your soft hands on him — groping, caressing — felt like fucking heaven. 

you missed him like hell, and the little noises of relief he was letting out from the massaging were driving you up the wall. before you know it — you’re palming jihoon through his boxers, desperately grinding yourself onto the hand he’s got down the front of your pyjama pants. 

you’re both exhausted from the day, kept awake only by the pure need caused by this proximity. jihoon’s barely keeping his eyes open, but he’s so hard and you’re so wet under his fingers. 

“baby, we should go to bed..” he grumbles, letting out a breathy moan when you squeeze his base. “we both have early starts in the morning.”  

you whine in protest, jihoon drawing the sound out as his thumb nudges your clit. 

“you sleep, then.” you pull his cock out and roll on top of him. he doesn’t even lift a finger to stop you. 

he groans in defeat, lining himself up. “after.”

SEOKMIN⠀★⠀you just got dumped.

“w-wait a second—” seokmin sputters, not sure what to do with his hands as your own start to feel him up. 

you don’t respond as you squeeze his thighs, fingers creeping further to the growing bulge in his shorts. 

“this isn’t right, i can’t,” he lets out a startled moan as your face nuzzles into his neck, breath tickling him. 

“can’t what?” you ask, licking a stripe up his skin. 

seokmin sighs. “i can’t do this to you..”

he can’t find the strength to push you away though, so he just sits there, body silently begging you to touch him. 

he still sees a taken girl when he looks at you — a girl who belongs to someone else. as a matter of two hours ago though, that’s not true anymore. 

you’re supposed to be heartbroken, and he was supposed to be comforting you. but he can’t help the way his heart swells over you being so quick to make a move. 

“we’re not doing anything?” you giggle, fingers ghosting over his lap, catching the way his dick throbs.

seokmin takes one look at your lips, then throws all caution to the wind — leaning in to kiss you desperately. 

no harm if you’re not doing anything, right?

MINGYU⠀★⠀you babysit his kid.

you brace yourself with a hand on the wall, whining out among the lewd squelching filling the room, too embarrassed to look down at the source: mingyu’s mouth going to town between your thighs. 

you’ve orgasmed twice at this point, but he showed no intentions of stopping after the first came quick. you can feel his smirk pressed into your skin as he laps at you like a dog, fucking only a single finger into your hole and it still being enough to fill you up. 

there hadn’t been any words, not since he’d asked if you’d seen his son to bed. you nodded, intending for him to pay you and send you on your way — not corner you and drop to his knees.

you squeak as mingyu hollows his cheeks to suck your clit, the sparks of a third orgasm rushing quickly into your gut. 

“m-mr. kim,” you whimper, earning a smug chuckle to rumble on your clit. 

“what is it, pretty?” 

“we should stop..” 

you’re taken aback when he listens, licking his lips as he pulls away. 

“if that’s what you want.”

you swallow, noticing his other hand gripping himself through the pants. then, you softly shake your head — and he smirks.

“turn around for me.”

MINGHAO⠀★⠀he’s looking after you.

“hm?” minghao lets you pull him down to the bed, and you wrap your arms around his waist. “did you need anything else?” 

he gently strokes your hair, smiling fondly at how you’re clinging to him. it’s been dark days as of late — and minghao’s been here to support you through it. carrying you to the shower when you can’t leave bed, spoonfeeding you since you’d rather starve. 

he doesn't need any thanks. not every best friend might go to those lengths, but minghao does because he loves you. 

minghao’s body freezes when he feels your mouth pressing kisses to his open palm. you try to pry his thighs open, and he stops you with a gentle hand on your face.

“we shouldn’t do this..” he sighs. “not because i don’t want you, but… it isn’t right. not now.”

you pout at him, resting your head in his lap as your fingers slide to his crotch. despite his reluctance, he’s already half-hard.

“i want to feel good,” you palm at him, and he just barely whimpers. “please?”

minghao’s weak to the way your eyes plead at him. he relents, pulling you up for a kiss and savouring your lips on his for the first time.

“if it makes you feel better.”

SEUNGKWAN⠀★⠀you’re at a party.

“tell me you’re mine.” seungkwan rasps, crooking two of his fingers up into your pussy. you squeak out the words, your entire body buzzing with heat over this unfamiliar side of your loving boyfriend. 

seungkwan’s angry, has been since he pulled you into this bathroom by the arm, shutting out the rest of the party as he pushed you against the locked door. 

you’re trying your best to stay quiet — but it seems like he wants to provoke you into making noise as his thumb swipes at your clit and his fingers fuck into your g-spot, uncaring for whoever hears. 

“boo,” you whimper, insanely attracted to him. “we shouldn’t.. not here..”

seungkwan clicks his teeth, ripping his hand away. he steals your lips in a harsh kiss, licking into your mouth like he’s trying to prove a point — which he gets when your hips buck, chasing his touch. 

you moan in surprise as he rubs his tip through your folds. you’re so worked up that you hadn’t even realised he pulled his cock out. 

“i’m not going to hold back, so don’t you either.” he bites at your lower lip, and you just melt. “i want that fucker to hear.”

VERNON⠀★⠀you’re not using protection.

you tremble under vernon, nails digging into his tensed forearms as he grinds against you — skin to skin, your combined arousal squelching with each rut of his cock through your folds. 

his tip bumps your clit so perfectly, and he’s watching each little reaction on your face so intently that you could cry. not just because of how loved you feel, but how bad you need him too.

vernon’s even worse off than you are — but he can’t cross this line. unless.. 

“i know we shouldn’t,” he mumbles, gritting his teeth when his tip catches on your hole with a particularly rough thrust. “but, fuck, i’m really struggling here..”

“me too,” you admit, wrapping your arms around his toned back. “i want it.”

his eyes widen, slowing the rocks of his body, and you nearly choke from the loss of friction. “don’t just say that..”

“i’m not,” you give him a reassuring smile, pecking his nose sweetly. “i want to feel you.”

“fuck.” he groans when he dives in for a kiss, reaching down to line himself up. his head of his cock just nudges your heat, and it twitches. “okay.. but if you say—”

“not gonna wanna stop.”

CHAN⠀★⠀you’re both too drunk.

you giggle as chan’s heavy breath tickles your neck. his lips latch onto the skin to suck a bruise and you shiver, body writhing under his pinning you to the couch. 

“baby, shi—stop squirming, please,” he moans out at your frantic hips rutting against the tent in his pants — the throb of his cock matching the one in his temples. 

your head is swimming, chan’s touch leaving a trail of fire across your sweating body. you can’t even remember leaving the bar, let alone making it home; all your hazy brain knows for sure is that you need chan. 

“want it,” you bumble, not a thought passing in your head as you reach down to grip him. chan keels over, his drunken lust taking over as he humps into your hand.

“we shouldn’t do this,” he huffs to himself, a brief moment of clarity. it wouldn’t be right. 

you’re so sensitive to everything right now, you swear your eyes well up in desperation. or maybe your vision’s just that blurry. determined, you drag your crotch against him, moaning out at the burning friction.

his mouth drops open in a whimper, just letting you. “but, i guess we could..”

library ✦ taglist ✦ inbox

jun: cuts your meat for you

you are perfectly capable of cutting your own steak, but you haven’t in the years since dating jun. it started one afternoon when you’d just gotten your nails done and didn't want to mess them up. after that, the habit stuck and you haven’t had to lift a knife in years.

soonyoung: hypes you up

got a new outfit? he’s telling you how good you look. turning in a project or assignment? he’s telling you how capable you are. he loves giving you praise, letting you know how proud he is of you. he’s your biggest cheerleader. 

wonwoo: keeps a photo of you in his wallet

he’s a classically romantic kind of guy. he keeps his favorite photo of you tucked into the back of his wallet, hidden where only he can see it. when you two are apart, it really grounds him to see your face. he takes so many photos and loves this one the most. it’s slightly out of focus because he took it when he was laughing, and your matching smile is reflected back in the photo.  

jihoon: holds your bags 

those big muscles are not just for show, he puts them to use for you. and its not just your purse. he’ll hold your backpack, your shopping bags, and the groceries (all at one time if need be). if you drive, he’ll also hold your purse for you in the passenger seat of the car so it doesn’t get dirty on the floor. 

seokmin: always laughs at your jokes

like, genuine laughs from his belly at every single joke you make. he thinks you are the funniest person he’s ever met. you two have matching senses of humor and you just love to laugh together. if his members think he’s loud by himself, he's twice as loud when you’re around. 

mingyu: packs your lunch

he’s in the kitchen every night packing you something to take to work the next day. he cares about you. he wants you to eat well and live forever with him. so he’s packing you nutritious meals and little sweet treats to make your day bright. he also sneaks in little post-it notes of love confessions that make you blush in the office. 

minghao: never says no to you

you are his most treasured thing, someone he holds near and dear to his heart. he finds it impossible to say no to you when you ask him for something or to do something for you, and you know this, but you know better than to abuse this power, most of the time…

seungkwan: always says yes to a sweet treat 

and he’ll pay for it too. he knows if he says he doesn’t want one, you’ll change your mind so he always says yes. he loves seeing how excited you get for an ice cream at the convenience store around the corner or a chocolate bar from a vending machine in the hybe cafeteria. he’ll never deny your sweet tooth. 

hansol: adds your song recommendations to his playlist

he takes his playlists very seriously, and he takes your opinions very seriously so when you recommend songs to him, he trusts you. immediately adding them to his playlist so he can listen to them when you’re apart and think of you. 

chan: keeps a list of everything you like on his phone

Nabi's body ached. Her throat was dry. The sting of Minghao's earlier comment still pulsed at the back of her mind. It hadn't even been that serious—just a sharp critique on her timing, one that she knew was justified, but the delivery was sharp and it cut deep.

The wounds from her fight with Seungkwan days prior were still raw—and everything lately made it feel like the universe was just lining up more punches.

So when Seungkwan made a comment now—about someone always dragging the group energy down—Nabi didn’t bother holding back.

“Say it to my face, why don't you?” she snapped, her voice slicing through the air.

That was it. That fanned the spark into a flame.

“What? You think I wasn't?” Seungkwan shot back, eyes narrowing.

Seokmin visibly flinched. Joshua paused the music.

“Oh, we're doing this again?” Minghao muttered under his breath.

“What the hell is your problem lately?” Seungkwan demanded, stepping toward her.

“My problem? What's your problem? You've been on my ass since last week. You act like I'm the only one who's stressed out. Newsflash—everyone's tired, Seungkwan!”

“Then stop acting like the world revolves around you!”

“You're one to talk! You're the one inserting yourself in shit that doesn't involve you.”

Voices rose. Bodies shifted. The others started trying to step in.

“Okay, let's cool it,” Seungcheol said, hands out, trying to mediate the argument. “We're not doing this again tonight.”

But it was too late. The tension broke like a dam.

Mingyu tried to stand between them. Soonyoung pulled Seungkwan back, but Minghao—cool, composed Minghao—threw his two cents in too.

“Maybe if you actually listened instead of taking everything personally, this wouldn't happen.”

Nabi's eyes snapped to him.

“Don't act like you're above all this, Minghao. You've been passive-aggressive since day one.”

That's when Chan muttered, “God, can't you just stop already?” and someone else echoed it.

Words were flying too fast now.

“Ya. Quit it you two.” Jeonghan's voice tried to cut in but it was swallowed whole by the noise.

“Stop treating me like your punching bag. You don't see me coming at you when you mess shit up so how about take your head out of your ass?” Nabi spat, closing in on a seething Seungkwan.

“Well maybe you're not just cut out to be here!”

He screamed, shoving her back.

Nabi stared at him blankly.

She didn't even flinch. It didn't burn. It didn't sting. It just… sank. Heavy. Like her body finally understood what her heart had been trying to say for days.

She gave a bitter, exhausted smile. A short, dry laugh followed. “Wow,” she said, voice flat.

She walked away, shaking her head and grabbing her bag.

“Fuck this,” she said, swinging her bag over her shoulder. “Don't bother looking for me.”

And with that, she turned and walked out before anyone could stop her—shoulders stiff, chin high, but hands shaking just slightly at her sides.

She didn't know how long she'd been walking.

The cold air bit at her skin, but she barely noticed. Her legs moved on their own, carrying her aimlessly through dimly lit streets, past shuttered stores and flickering street lamps. Her breaths had long since evened out, but her chest still felt tight, like she hadn't stopped crying even though the tears had dried.

Eventually, Nabi sat down on a park bench under a streetlight that buzzed weakly overhead. Her limbs ached. Her palms stung from how hard she'd been clutching her bag strap. She let it slide to the ground beside her and leaned forward, elbows on her knees, face in her hands.

Everything hurt. Seungkwan's words echoed like a curse. Minghao's voice. Chan's. The way no one really stood up for her.

After what felt like forever, she reached for her phone to check the time… but her hand met an empty pocket.

She blinked. Then checked her other pocket. Her bag.

Nothing.

“Shit,” she muttered, sitting back. “Must've left it.”

She let out a frustrated huff and scrubbed a hand over her face. Just great.

Still, there wasn't much she could do now but head back to the company. She figured the guys had probably all gone home by now. The fight had happened hours ago… maybe.

She stood up, brushing off her jeans, and slung her bag over one shoulder. The street was quiet as she turned onto the road back to the building.

Nabi heard the soft scuff of footsteps behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder casually. A man was walking a few paces behind her, hood up, hands in his coat pockets. He looked like he was just heading somewhere nearby—maybe the convenience store ahead—so she didn't think much of it.

But when she passed the store and kept walking, so did he.

Her pulse kicked up.

It's fine, she told herself. He's probably just going in the same direction.

But then she heard his pace shift—slightly faster. Then again. And again.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

She picked up her speed. So did he.

“Excuse me,” the man called from behind.

She didn't turn around. Just kept walking faster.

“Hey—hey, Nabi-ssi, wait!”

Her blood turned to ice.

She was not wearing anything recognisable or eye catching. No one else around to recognise her. She wasn't even sure her own managers would've picked her out in this lighting—and yet this man said her name like he knew her.

No. No no no—

She broke into a jog, heart slamming against her ribs.

“Please, just one picture,” he said, voice louder now. “I'm not trying to scare you, I just wanna talk! I've been waiting for this moment for so long!”

Then—

A hand grabbed her arm.

Nabi let out a strangled yelp, twisting away, but the man's grip was iron tight, his fingers digging into her upper arms so hard she felt the circulation in her hands begin to fade.

“Let go of me!” she shouted, panic erupting in her chest.

She tried to yank back. Nothing. He held her still, breath reeking, mumbling something about finally getting a chance to talk to her without the others around.

She kicked and pushed hard with her leg, shoving him back.

The impact caught him off guard. He stumbled back a step, and Nabi ripped herself free.

She just ran.

But his hand snatched her wrist a second later, nails biting into her skin.

“Don't run, Nabi-ssi! I've supported you since your first stage—don't be like this!”

She screamed, twisting, and with everything she had, she swung her bag around and slammed it into him.

He grunted. The strap slipped off her shoulder. She hit him again.

This time, he staggered.

And she ran.

Ran like hell—full tilt, lungs burning, tears blurring her vision. The company building was in sight now, just past the crosswalk, just through the alley, just—

She crashed into someone.

Nabi gasped, stumbling back and dropping her bag, but the man she bumped into caught her by the shoulders, steadying her.

It was one of their managers.

His eyes widened as he recognised her—then widened further when he really saw her.

Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were red and wild. Tears were streaming down her face. Her chest rose and fell with ragged, panicked breaths.

“Nabi-ya? What—what's wrong? What happened?”

She couldn't even answer. Just stood there, gasping, trembling from head to toe.

The dorm was quiet.

Quiet like it had been for days now—unsettling and hollow. But tonight, that silence had weight. Like a fog that settled in every corner. Dense. Suffocating.

Mingyu sat by the door, arms resting on his knees, leg bouncing relentlessly. His eyes kept drifting to the entrance, watching it like a hawk. Hoping. Waiting.

Almost two hours had passed.

Two whole hours since she walked out.

And even after everything that was said—especially after everything that was said—none of them could sit still.

Not even the ones who argued with her.

“Still nothing?” Jeonghan asked quietly.

Seungcheol stood near the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear, his brows drawn together in a permanent crease.

He didn't answer.

The call didn't go through. Again.

He hung up with a shaky sigh and muttered more to himself than anyone, “It's not like her to not pick up…”

“She's probably just mad,” Wonwoo said, though his voice was strained, his arms folded tightly across his chest. “Maybe she just needs space.”

“Maybe her phone died,” Soonyoung offered.

“She might be on her way back now,” Seokmin added. “She probably just doesn't want to talk to anyone yet.”

The words floated around like half hearted prayers. But no one believed them—not really.

Jihoon's voice cut through the silence, low and anxious. “She's never been gone this long. Not without letting us know where she is.”

“She didn't even bring her jacket,” Chan murmured from the corner, where he was scrolling through his phone for the tenth time, refreshing the chat thread. Still no reads. Still no response.

“It's freezing outside.” Mingyu's voice cracked slightly. “She must be freezing.”

Seungcheol ran a hand down his face, his patience thinning by the second.

He'd been calling her over and over—during the whole drive back to the dorm, and ever since they returned. Each unanswered ring only made the knot in his chest tighten.

He stared at his phone, defeated, before asking aloud, “Has anyone heard from her?”

No one answered right away.

Until the realisation hit.

Not a single one of them had gotten a reply. Not a single read receipt.

“No,” Jihoon said slowly. “No one has.”

They looked at each other, that slow panic creeping in, sinking its claws into their skin.

Their maknae was out there—alone. And none of them knew where she was.

“We have to go look for her,” Seungcheol said suddenly, pushing off the counter.

Mingyu was already on his feet. “I'll go with you.”

“Me too,” Soonyoung said.

“Get your jackets,” Seungcheol instructed, eyes scanning the room as Jihoon and Wonwoo stood to join them.

But before anyone could even grab their shoes, Seungcheol's phone rang.

The ringtone pierced through the tension like a blade. They all froze. Seungcheol stared at the screen. And his heart skipped.

Manager hyung

“Hyung?” Seungcheol answered immediately, voice sharp.

The others turned, watching him like hawks.

“Seungcheol-ssi,” their manager's voice came through the receiver, tense. “Nabi is with me. She got into an… altercation. With a sasaeng.”

His heart dropped.

“What?” he breathed. “A sasaeng? What do you mean she got into an altercation?”

That caught everyone's attention. Heads snapped up. Every muscle in the room tensed.

“She's fine. But... rattled. Shaken. Someone's on the way to pick you up. I'll explain everything when you get here.”

The call ended, but the dread lingered.

Seungcheol's hand slowly fell to his side.

“She's at the company... hyung said—” he paused, throat closing up. “He said she encountered a sasaeng,” he finished, voice wavering, face pale, eyes stormy.

The room turned ice cold.

Mingyu swore under his breath.

Jihoon looked like he'd just been punched in the gut. Soonyoung's fists clenched. Chan sat frozen, face pale.

Seungcheol didn't wait any longer. He grabbed his coat, shoved his feet into his sneakers.

“I have to go,” he said. “Stay here. I'll message the moment I get there.”

And just like that—he was gone.

The dorm door clicked shut behind him.

And the silence returned.

But this time, it was unbearable.

Seungcheol didn't walk—he ran.

The only thing on his mind was her.

Phone clutched tightly in one hand as he fumbled to type out a rushed message to the group chat.

I'm here. On my way to her.

The hallway blurred around him. Bright fluorescents. Empty walls. The soft echo of his own footsteps bouncing back at him. Not stopping until he was face to face with the door to the clinic.

He pushed it open without knocking, chest heaving, heart beating so loudly it drowned out his thoughts.

There she was.

Curled up on the narrow cot like a broken doll. Her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them. A blanket draped over her shoulders, but it barely looked like it was doing anything to keep her warm.

Seungcheol had seen her tired. Exhausted. Even crying.

But he had never seen her like this.

Small. Still. Fragile.

His chest tightened so painfully he almost forgot how to breathe.

One of their managers sat beside her, eyes flicking up as the door clicked shut behind him. He stood up and whispered something to Nabi before pulling Seungcheol out of the room. “The company physician checked her over. She's okay. No serious injuries. Just a few scratches and possible bruising. She's just... in shock.”

Seungcheol sighed a breath of relief, dragging his hands over his face.

“Breathe. She's fine. Come on,” their manager clapped a hand on his shoulder, reassuring him, and guided him back into the room.

As the door clicked shut, Seungcheol's eyes locked on Nabi.

She hadn't even looked up.

He took a step forward—slowly, carefully, like he might scare her if he moved too fast. He knelt beside the bed, heart in his throat, hand hovering midair.

“Chōmi-ya…” he said, barely above a whisper.

She was unmoving, like she was frozen in time.

Swallowing hard, he reached out. Gentle fingers brushing her arm, trying to offer some form of comfort.

And she flinched.

Her body jerked away so fast it was like she'd been electrocuted. Her head snapped up, eyes wide, wild with fear. A quiet, panicked gasp escaped her lips, one hand gripping the blanket to her body, another shooting out to shield herself.

Seungcheol froze.

That look—the pure, unfiltered terror in her eyes. It punched the air right out of his lungs.

“Hey, hey... it's okay,” their manager said quickly, stepping in, voice calm. “It's Seungcheol. Just Seungcheol, Nabi-ya.”

Her chest heaved with sharp, uneven breaths. Her eyes darted between them before finally settling on Seungcheol's face.

And then—

Recognition flickered in her eyes—slow and uncertain—before her shoulders slumped, like the weight of it all had finally caught up to her.

The tension drained from her limbs, and her hands trembled as they slowly dropped back to the blanket clutched in her fists. She blinked rapidly, swallowing hard, lips parted as if she wanted to say something—but couldn't.

Seungcheol hesitantly sat at the far end of the bed, offering a forced smile. “You're okay... I'm here, Chōmi-ya.”

“I'll take you both home,” the manager said gently, stepping back. “Let me just inform one of the clinic staff.”

Seungcheol nodded and looked back at Nabi. Her eyes were red. Her cheeks blotchy, unmistakeable markers of her tears staining them.

And she looked so tired.

So young.

So vulnerable.

Without thinking, he shrugged off his coat and gently laid it over her shoulders. Her hands clutched the fabric like it was a lifeline.

Seungcheol offered his hand again—but this time, slower. Softer.

She hesitated. Just for a moment.

Then placed her hand in his.

And that was enough to break him just a little.

He gave it the gentlest squeeze.

“Let's go home,” he whispered.

The hallway outside their dorm was quiet—the kind of quiet that felt like it was holding its breath.

The manager walked ahead, stopping just before the door as Jeonghan reached forward to open it.

“Hey, aegi-ya…”

He extended a hand toward her, palm open. “Come on… how about you wash up and eat some ramen?”

Nabi's feet stayed planted. Her eyes flicked up to the familiar entrance—this space that had always meant comfort, belonging, home.

But something heavy settled in her chest.

Because stepping inside didn’t just mean warmth or familiarity. It meant facing the ones she had argued with. And her heart still trembled with the memory.

Being here meant seeing them. Meant feeling the sting of what was said—what wasn't. And she didn't know if she was ready.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, curled inward.

But Jeonghan waited. His hand still outstretched, his smile soft with understanding.

And finally—shakily—she reached out. Her smaller hand slipped into his, and he gently pulled her into the dorm.

Warmth wrapped around her the moment she stepped inside. Her shoulders dropped by just a centimetre, but her eyes stayed wide. Her movements, cautious.

The manager gave her one last glance before turning to Seungcheol. “I'll be meeting with some company people tomorrow morning—legal, PR, higher ups. To go over everything and figure out next steps. You should be there.”

Seungcheol nodded, his gaze tight with unspoken weight. “I'll be there. Thanks, hyung.”

As he stepped into the dorm, the quiet warmth of it hit him. The comforting scent of broth wafted from the kitchen, and he saw Mingyu hunched over the stove.

Jeonghan stood just outside the bathroom door, eyes flicking toward Seungcheol with a look that held both worry and something softer—something protective.

Seungcheol's brows drew together, but Jeonghan gave a quiet shake of his head.

“She didn't want to be alone,” he said softly. “So I promised I'd stay nearby.”

From inside the bathroom, faint sounds slipped through. Not sobs exactly—more like soft, stifled cries, making the both their hearts ache.

Time passed slowly.

Then the door creaked open.

Nabi stood there, hair dripping wet, strands clinging to her cheeks. Her frame was swallowed up by an oversized shirt, her legs bare under a pair of borrowed basketball shorts. Her eyes were glassy. Skin still damp. Cheeks splotchy and pink.

Jeonghan whispered a soft "aigoo", gently taking her hand again and guiding her toward the kitchen island, where a steaming bowl of ramen waited.

She sat without a word, quietly picking up the chopsticks.

Seungcheol moved behind her and draped a towel over her shoulders. His voice was barely a breath. “I'll just dry your hair, okay?”

She didn't respond, but she didn't pull away either.

Then—

“Where are the others?” she asked, voice barely audible.

Jeonghan was the one to answer. “They're in their rooms. They didn't want to overwhelm you. Thought you might need some... space.”

She gave a small, almost invisible nod.

She ate quietly while the three boys watched, not saying anything—just surrounding her with quiet presence.

That's when they saw the marks.

Faint, red lines left behind from harsh scrubbing. Darker bruises blooming underneath—shadows along her arms. Angry scratches that reminded them of what she went through.

Seungcheol swallowed hard and kept drying her hair with careful hands, quietly wishing he could turn back time and stop her from ever leaving earlier that day.

His movements were slow. Gentle. Like brushing through a memory.

There was so much he wanted to say. I'm sorry. I wish I was there to protect you. I didn't know something like that could happen to you.

But the words stuck in his throat—so instead, he just kept going. Towel gliding through her soaked strands. Fingers skimming past the curve of her ear.

When she didn't pull away, he let out a breath that trembled.

Suddenly, Mingyu leaned over the kitchen island and pressed the softest kiss to the top of her head.

And that's what broke her.

Her hands stilled. Her body froze.

And then, slowly, her head lowered, shoulders curling inward, and the tears began to fall. Silent at first. Then soft sobs, spilling out without force. Just a release—of all the fear, the hurt, the heartbreak she'd held in.

Jeonghan wrapped an arm gently around her side. Mingyu cradled both of her hands in his, biting his lip as his own tears threatened to fall.

And Seungcheol—he didn't stop drying her hair. But his hands trembled now, towel clutched tight between his fingers as if it was the only thing anchoring him.

He leaned forward, pressing lips onto her still damp hair.

“You're safe now,” he whispered. “I've got you.”

They didn't rush her. Didn't try to stop the tears. Didn't fill the silence.

Because sometimes, love meant sitting quietly in the heartbreak. And holding her there until it passed.

NABI LAND masterlist requests 💌 | tickets to NABI LAND 🚀 let's go on a date at the NABI Café ᰔ

🧠 1) Absent-minded BF → PANIC MODE

(“Yeah sure—WAIT WHAT?!”)

S.Coups (Seungcheol) “Yeah, yeah—” already halfway to the door. Stops. Turns around. “…Wait. Why?” Instant concern. Soft voice. “Did I do something? Did I make you uncomfortable?” Pulls you into a hug before you can answer. “Hey. You know you can tell me, right?” You’re fighting for your life not to laugh.

Wonwoo “Nn, okay.” Takes three steps. Freezes. “…Why do you need me to leave?” Glasses off. Serious face on. “If it’s because of me, I’ll go. But I want to know.” You almost feel bad. Almost.

😩 2) Whining BF (dramatic, offended, clingy)

(“Babe??? After EVERYTHING???”)

Hoshi “What???” Jaw drops. “Babe, just now we—” Stops himself. “…I mean. I’ve literally seen everything.” Dramatic sigh. “But okay. Fine. If you don’t love me anymore.” He does not move.

Mingyu “HUH?” Looks genuinely betrayed. “We literally—” Low voice, closer now. “…I mean, I’ve already seen it all.” Pouts. “But okay. I’ll go.” Stands there. Doesn’t go.

😄 3) Happy BF (zero shame, zero filter)

(“Why don’t we change together?”)

Joshua Smiles immediately. “Oh—do you want help?” Blink. “…Or we could just change together?” Says it like it’s the most logical thing in the world. You: 😐 Him: 😇

Minghao (The8) Tilts his head. “Why?” Beat. “…We can just change together.” Shrugs. “Bodies are bodies.” You’re the one blushing now.

🫶 4) Respectful, Mature, Green-Flag BF

(“Privacy matters.”)

Jun “Oh! Okay.” Already turning away. Pauses. “Just because I’ve seen everything doesn’t mean you don’t deserve privacy.” Soft smile. “I’ll wait outside.” HOW is this a prank anymore???

DK (Dokyeom) “Of course!” Big smile. “I’ll give you space.” Stops at the door. “…Do you need a hoodie?” You’re weak.

Vernon “Yeah, sure.” No fuss. No drama. Puts headphones on. “You good?” That’s it. That’s the reaction. King.

👀 5) BF Who KNOWS It’s a TikTok Prank

(Because you’re predictable.)

Jeonghan Doesn’t move. Smirks. “You never change in the bedroom.” Silence. “And you already have a changing room.” Steps closer. “…How many views are you hoping for?”

Woozi Looks at you. Looks at your phone. Deadpan. “This is a prank.” Turns back to his laptop. “You’re bad at lying.”

Seungkwan Gasps dramatically. “Oh my GOD.” Points at you. “It’s a TikTok prank, isn’t it?” Already posing. “Wait—film me again. I wasn’t cute enough.”

🥰 Bonus: The One Who Still Loses Even When He Wins

Dino (Chan) “Oh—okay!” Immediately leaves. Closes the door. Reopens it slightly. “…You’re done yet?” Embarrassed smile. “I miss you already.”

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

To please You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lee Chan made the Twelve, Thirteen.

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

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

The bottom of the food chain. 

A lamb thrown to wolves.

Mingyu had done it in two minutes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A tantalizing addition. 

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

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

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

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

The leader eyed him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The chorus sang again, “Amen.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lee Chan swallowed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is this what damnation feels like?

Mingyu had done it in two minutes. 

Seungcheol had done it without issue. 

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

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

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

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

Lee Chan took a breath.

And then another.

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

You’re failing, Lee Chan.

A most disappointing performance.

And to think we thought You worthy of trying.

Maybe he made it up himself.

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

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

“Ah.”

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

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

Hansol ripped him away from You.

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

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

You crooned, “Hansol.”

He knew better than to speak.

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

You wanted him.

You needed him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chan.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was only the beginning.

Lee Chan had much to learn, much to experience.

But, tonight… Tonight he was to be celebrated.

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

Thirty-one days untouched, fulfilled.

Thirty-one days without release, fulfilled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Prophet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room shook.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My beloved, you’re so beautiful.”

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

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

“Mm, fuck, so warm, You are Heaven.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s… He’s…”

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

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

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

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

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

“When? When did you become mine?”

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

“After,” Seokmin groaned, gritting his teeth.

Joshua smiled. “After, when?”

“Initiaiton,” his lover spat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Amen.”

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