"jimin," you started, but he silenced you with a kiss, gentle yet insistent. it was a kiss that spoke of familiarity and passion, of shared secrets and whispered promises in the dark.

"i've been thinking about you all day," he admitted when you parted, his forehead resting against yours. "specifically about what's under that dress."

a slow smile spread across your face. "oh really? and what did you imagine?"

"white lace," he replied without hesitation, his hands finding the hem of your sundress and inching it up slowly. "something delicate and beautiful, just like you."

you chuckled softly as his fingers brushed against the lace of your panties, exactly as he'd predicted. "how did you know?"

"i know you," he said simply, his thumb tracing the pattern of the lace against your hip. "i know what you like, what feels good against your skin."

his touch was gentle, sending waves of desire through your body. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer for another kiss, this one deeper and more urgent. his tongue explored your mouth as his hands explored your body, memorizing every curve and dip.

the dress pooled at your feet, leaving you in just the white lace bra and panties you'd chosen that morning. jimin took a step back, his eyes roaming over you appreciatively.

"you're so fucking beautiful," he breathed, reaching out to trace the line of your collarbone, then down to the swell of your breasts. "every time i see you, it's like the first time all over again."

you felt your cheeks raise in temperature under his intense gaze, even after all these months. "you're not so bad yourself, park jimin."

he chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that never failed to make your stomach flutter. "just 'not so bad'?" he teased, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. "i think i can do better than that."

with agonizing slowness, he lowered the lace, his eyes never leaving yours as he revealed you to the night air. you stepped out of the panties, kicking them aside as he knelt before you, pressing soft kisses to your hips, your stomach, the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

"jimin," you breathed, your hands tangling in his hair as his mouth found its destination. his tongue flicked against your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

redoubling his efforts, his fingers joining in as he brought you closer and closer to the edge already. your knees trembled, and you had to grip his shoulders for support as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable intensity.

"come for me, baby," he murmured against you, the vibrations of his voice pushing you over the edge.

your orgasm came over you, leaving you breathless and trembling, your grip onto the balcony railing firmer than ever. jimin held you through it, his arms supporting you as you rode out the intensity of your orgasm.

when you could finally stand straight again, he rose to his feet, his lips crashing against yours in a passionate kiss. you could taste yourself on his tongue, a combination that made you want him all over again.

"inside," you managed to gasp between kisses. "now."

he didn't need to be told twice. scooping you up effortlessly, he carried you back into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind him. the cool air conditioning was a shock to your heated skin, but it was quickly forgotten as jimin laid you on the plush rug in front of the sofa.

he shed his clothes quickly, his body illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the windows. you watched him, appreciating the lean muscle, the smooth skin and the confident way he moved. this was your man, your lover, your partner in everything.

joining you on the floor, he covered your body with his, his weight a familiar comfort. his lips found yours again as he positioned himself in between you.

"look at me," he whispered, and you opened your eyes you hadn't realized you'd closed. "i want to see you when i'm inside you."

you held his gaze as he entered you, a slow, deliberate slide that had you both gasping. this was your favorite part; the initial joining, the moment when you became one, when nothing else in the world mattered but the connection between you.

he began to move, his hips finding a rhythm that was both familiar and exciting. with each thrust, he pushed deeper, filling you completely. your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, as your hands roamed his back, feeling the muscles flex and contract with each movement.

"fuck, you feel so good," he breathed against your neck, his pace quickening. "so tight, so perfect for me.''

a guttural groan as escaped his lips as he increased his pace, driving into you with renewed urgency. the sounds of your sex filled the room; skin against skin, breathy moans, whispered words of love and desire.

you could feel another orgasm building, this one deeper and more intense than the first. jimin sensed it too, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles as he continued to thrust into you.

"together," he commanded, his voice strained with his own impending release. "cum with me, baby."

your eyes locked as you both tumbled over the edge together, waves of pleasure washing over you in synchronized rhythm. his name was a prayer on your lips as you cried out, your body arching against his as he emptied himself inside you.

for moments afterward, you lay tangled together, your bodies slick with sweat, your hearts beating in sync. jimin peppered your face with soft kisses, his lips gentle against your skin. you could feel the energy still thrumming between you, a current that refused to be sated with just one release.

his lips curved into a smirk against your temple. "I'm not done with you yet." he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your chest.

jimin moved, effortlessly flipping you onto your stomach. his hands gripped your hips, pulling you up onto your hands and knees. "stay right there," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

you heard him stand, the rustle of his movements a tantalizing promise of what was to come. when he returned, his hands were back on you, guiding you to your feet. "come here," he said, his voice thick with renewed desire.

he led you back towards the balcony, the cool night air a relief against your heated skin. the city lights twinkled below, a silent audience to what was going on floors above. jimin positioned you facing the railing, his hands on your hips as he bent you forward slightly.

"hold on," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear.

you gripped the cool metal of the railing, your knuckles white as you anticipated his next move. the height was dizzying, the drop significant enough to be dangerous but with jimin behind you, you felt completely safe.

he entered you in one smooth, deep stroke, and you both gasped at the sensation. from this angle, he felt impossibly deep, stretching you in the most delicious way. his hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he began to move.

"fuck," he breathed, his pace quickening with each thrust. "you feel incredible like this."

you could only moan in response, your head falling forward as pleasure washed over you. each snap of his hips sent jolts of electricity through your body, building a tension deep within you that was both agonizing and exquisite.

"look at you," he growled, one hand moving from your hip to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back gently. "so beautiful, taking me so well."

the combination of his deep, relentless thrusts and his dirty praise sent you spiraling towards another orgasm. you could feel it building, a tidal wave of pleasure that threatened to consume you whole.

"jimin," you gasped, your knuckles turning white as you gripped the railing tighter. "i'm gonna…"

"cum for me, baby," he commanded, his voice strained with his own impending release. "let me feel you cum."

with a cry that was swallowed by the night wind, you tumbled over the edge, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over you. jimin followed moments later with a guttural groan, his release filling you as he buried himself deep inside you.

for several long moments, you remained joined, your bodies trembling with aftershocks as the night air cooled your sweat-slicked skin. finally, jimin pulled out gently, turning you around to face him.

his eyes were dark with satisfaction, a soft smile playing on his lips as he pulled you into his arms. "i love you," he murmured, his voice raw with emotion.

"i love you too," you replied, your voice barely a whisper as you leaned into his embrace.

Michael was so done with you, and he couldn’t believe he was even thinking that way about you. First, you had teased him on purpose--flirting with other men in front of him (even if you claimed you were just complimenting them, with a smug smirk), knowing exactly how much he hated it. And then, you showed up at his work wearing that short skirt that would flash your whole ass if you bent over. Normally, he wouldn’t have minded… but his father was there, and that bastard had been shamelessly staring at your legs. That was the final straw. How dare his father do that, knowing you belonged only to him? And how dare you act like that while his father was watching?

When 6 AM came, he returned home, took off his coat, and kicked off his shoes. His eyes fell to yours--those beautiful shoes he loved so much, the ones he’d bought for you. They had a tiny purple bow, and it sent a jolt of heat through him knowing you wore purple as his silent claim on you. He walked upstairs and found you asleep, his beautiful darling. He let out a shuddered breath, his body warming as he took in your angelic, peaceful form. You had dared to tease him, to speak to other men with that flirty lilt in your voice. This was your own doing… that’s what he told himself to justify what he was about to do.

He woke you, and you yawned adorably, blinking up at him.

“Michael… it’s 6 AM…” you mumbled sleepily. “I know, love,” he said with a smile, “but we have to talk about your behavior today. That was simply unacceptable…” His hand stroked your hair as he added, “I think you should do something… as an apology,” his fingers already working at his belt. “I didn’t do anything!” you pouted, your voice defiant. “You’re not the one who decides that. You don’t flirt with other men and then claim you did nothing!” he snapped, freeing his cock from his boxers and rubbing the tip against your lips. “Just apologize, and I’ll forget all about it,” he said in that smooth, dangerously hot British accent.

“Hmph, maybe I thought their dicks were worth the trouble,” you shot back. His eyes went wide. You thought their dicks were worth it? You’d been thinking about their dicks? Was he not good enough?

“Fucking dickheads… putting thoughts like that in her head…”

His hand shot out, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. You let out a startled yelp as he pushed you down onto the bed.

“How dare you… thinking about those other bastards’ cocks when you have mine? Fucking slag,” he snarled. “Your dad could probably fuck me better,” you taunted in that bratty tone he despised. If there was one thing he hated more than anything, it was the idea of his father being better than him at anything.

“I hate him. I wish he’d go through springlock failure again…”

You gasped when his free hand gripped your head and forced his cock deep into your throat. You huffed in protest but quickly began sucking eagerly. “You always make me do this… fuck!” he groaned, his voice low and rough. You looked up at him, and he gave you a twisted smile. “Look at you… my little cocksucker, fuck~! Mmm~! That’s all you’re good for--keeping my cock warm~! Let me do the thinking for you~!” he moaned, thrusting into your throat until you gagged.

Your eyes watered as breathing grew difficult, but with your wrists pinned, you couldn’t move away. He held your head still as he came down your throat with a deep, satisfied moan.

Finally, he released your wrists and hair, and you coughed, catching your breath.

“’M sorry, Michael…” you whispered with teary eyes, thighs rubbing together unconsciously. Michael smiled with something dark behind it, leaning down to kiss your tears.

“You look so beautiful… even when you’re crying. So fragile…” he murmured, cupping your face and kissing you deeply. So fragile… you needed him--his protection. Only his.

His hands slid down, pinching your nipples through your nightgown and drawing out a needy whimper. “I don’t think you’re that sorry yet…” he said, his gaze dropping to your stomach.

His tongue darted across his lips as he imagined your belly swollen, your tits full and heavy. The thought made his cock twitch. That would teach you. That would make sure you could never leave him. He slid your panties off, and you didn’t resist--just let him do whatever he wanted, even through your whining and tears. That was the reward of his careful manipulation: you were such a good listener now. Lining himself up, he teased your slit before pushing in, drawing a loud, needy moan from your throat. He didn’t wait before moving, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing with your cries and the wet squelch of your bodies. “M-Mike~!!” you moaned out, voice breaking. Your pussy clamped around him like a vice as he thrust harder, his groans joining yours. “Fuck~! You’re so pretty… my pretty girl! Fuckin’ hell~!” he gasped.

You looped your arms around his neck, moaning sweetly against him. He looked down at your flushed, dazed face--eyes rolled back, lips parted--and chuckled darkly. Leaning to your ear, he whispered, “I’m gonna fill you up so good.” You babbled something incoherent in reply. Michael’s thrusts turned erratic as his release built. Then you felt it--hot, thick spurts filling you, and you cried out as you squirted around him. Michael sighed in satisfaction, kissing your wet cheeks. “They wouldn’t fuck you like this, would they?” he murmured with a soft laugh. You mumbled nonsense before sleep claimed you. He pulled out and caressed your cheek, his cum oozing out of your well-used hole. “Maybe I should fuck you in front of William,” he said to himself, a lovesick gleam in his eyes.

Maybe being bratty wasn’t so bad after all…

You and Lee Minho are like oil and fire.

Not water and fire—because water tries to calm. You? You burn.

From the second you joined the dance crew, it’s been war. If you nail a move, he pushes harder. If he shines in rehearsal, you double your effort. You challenge each other, mock each other, drive each other insane.

And yet… you’ve never looked away.

Especially not when he’s sweaty in rehearsal, shirt clinging to his body, lip caught in his teeth as he watches himself in the mirror with that impossible focus. Or when his voice dips low, sharp and smug, when he says something to rile you up.

You hate him.

You want him.

Which is why the first time it happens, it feels like a dam breaking.

It’s after practice. You’re both the last ones there. You argue. You get in each other’s space.

And then you’re kissing.

No—biting.

No—devouring.

He pins you to the wall like he’s waited months to do it.

You should stop. You don’t.

It becomes a thing.

You don’t talk about it. You don’t plan it.

It just happens—whenever you’re alone, and angry, and can’t stand how badly you want each other.

Your friends think you still hate each other. And during the day? You do. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But then there’s night.

And the way he looks at you like you’re his only focus.

The way he touches you like it’s more than release—like it’s a need.

His apartment. 11:47PM.

You shouldn’t be here. You said you wouldn’t come. But your body knows the code to his door.

You barely get two words out before he has you pressed against the wall, mouth hot on your neck.

“You couldn’t stay away,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “Missed me?”

“Shut up.”

He smirks. “Make me.”

You crash your mouth against his.

His hands are everywhere—hips, thighs, waist, under your hoodie. He picks you up like you weigh nothing and carries you to the couch.

He drops you onto the cushions, kneels between your thighs, and yanks off your shorts in one smooth motion. You gasp as the cool air hits your skin—then moan when his mouth follows immediately after.

“Minho—” your voice is already breathy.

“Keep saying my name like that,” he growls against your skin, licking a slow stripe over your inner thigh.

He slides two fingers through your folds, glancing up with that cocky, devastating smirk. “Dripping. Already?”

You hate how much power he has over you. You love how he uses it.

His mouth is hot, tongue skillful, fingers curling just right as he devours you like he’s starving.

Your head falls back. “Fuck—don’t stop—”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere,” he says, voice muffled between your thighs.

You’re close embarrassingly fast. He knows it. Keeps the pace steady, relentless, until your hips jerk and you gasp his name like a confession.

And he doesn’t stop.

He keeps going until you’re shaking, overstimulated, tugging his hair with a breathless “Minho, please—”

He pulls back, mouth wet, pupils blown.

“Take your shirt off,” he says, voice low and dangerous.

You obey.

He strips, revealing skin and muscle and everything you try not to fantasize about when he’s pissing you off during practice.

He climbs on top of you, lining himself up, but pauses—just enough to look into your eyes.

“You want this?” he murmurs.

You nod.

He doesn’t move.

“I need to hear it.”

“I want you,” you breathe. “I always fucking want you.”

His lips crash into yours again, and he thrusts in, slow and deep, making your back arch and your fingers dig into his shoulders.

You cling to him, gasping, every stroke sending sparks through your whole body.

It’s rough, but not careless. Every snap of his hips is measured, deliberate, like he knows your body better than you do.

“You drive me insane,” he whispers, lips brushing yours. “But I can’t stop. Can’t stop thinking about you. Touching you. Wanting you.”

Your heart stutters.

He’s close. You are too. And when you come again, it hits harder than it ever has—your name breaking from his lips as he follows seconds after, collapsing on top of you with a shuddering breath.

You’re still sprawled across his couch, blanket barely covering you, Minho's arm draped over your waist, chest still rising fast against your back. The room is warm, filled with the scent of sex and sweat and something dangerously close to tenderness.

You’re about to speak—say something sarcastic, maybe ask if he has water—when there’s a sudden buzz at the door.

Minho groans softly, pressing his face into your neck. “Ignore it.”

But the buzz comes again.

And again.

You sit up. “It could be important.”

Minho grumbles but pulls on sweatpants and stalks to the door.

The second it opens—

“Y/N?!”

Your heart drops.

Your best friend, Jisoo, is standing in the hallway, holding the iced coffee you forgot you asked her to drop off earlier. She was supposed to leave it at the door.

Instead, she’s staring past Minho’s shoulder—right at you, wrapped in a blanket on his couch, flushed, messy, very much freshly wrecked.

Her eyes go wide.

You look at her.

She looks at you.

Then Minho.

Then back to you.

You swear time stops.

“I—uh—I forgot I gave her your address once,” you say quickly, voice cracking.

Jisoo slowly blinks. “You’re sleeping with Minho?”

Minho leans casually on the doorframe, smug and shirtless. “Sleeping with? Baby, be honest—we haven’t slept a single time.”

You throw a pillow at his head. “MINHO—”

Jisoo gasps. “Oh my god, I walked into a fucking fanfic.”

You panic. “It’s not serious, okay?! It’s just sex—”

Your voice is louder than you mean for it to be. Defensive. Sharp. Like you’re trying to cut through the heat still lingering in your skin.

Jisoo just blinks at you, wide-eyed in the hallway.

Behind you, Minho's expression shifts—something flickering behind his usual cool exterior.

He steps forward.

His voice, when he speaks, isn’t teasing. Isn’t smug.

It’s quiet. Certain.

“No, it’s not.”

You freeze.

The words hit you harder than they should.

“What?” you ask, even though you heard him.

Minho looks at you—really looks. No smirk, no bite, no mask. His face is open in a way you’ve never seen.

“I said it’s not just sex,” he repeats, more firmly this time. “At least not for me.”

Your heart stutters.

He glances at Jisoo—who, to her credit, is now pretending to look very interested in the floor tiles—and then back at you.

“I know we’ve been playing this game like it doesn’t mean anything,” he says, voice low. “But it does. To me.”

You open your mouth, then close it again.

He takes a step closer, like he’s afraid you might run.

“I care about you,” he says, softer now. “And I’m not gonna pretend I don’t just because someone else found out.”

You want to say something snarky. You want to laugh it off. You want to not feel this.

But the look in his eyes?

It guts you.

You feel Jisoo slowly back away, awkwardly muttering something about “text me later” before she disappears down the hallway, giving you space.

Minho doesn’t look away.

“I didn’t plan for this to happen,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “I thought… maybe if I kept it casual, I could control it. Control how I felt about you.”

His gaze drops to the floor for a beat. Then back to you.

“But I can’t.”

You’re still holding your shirt in your hands. Still standing in his living room in the aftermath of what was supposed to be just another night.

And suddenly, it doesn’t feel casual at all.

_

You leave his apartment with your jacket half-zipped, heart pounding like it’s chasing something you’re still running from.

You didn’t say anything.

Couldn’t.

Not when he looked at you like that. Like he meant it. Like he was done hiding and wanted you to do the same.

You don’t text him.

You don’t sleep.

Instead, you sit on your bed, staring at the ceiling, haunted by his voice in your head.

“I care about you. And I’m not gonna pretend I don’t.”

And damn it, you feel it too.

You felt it in the way he touched you like you were something fragile under all the fire. You saw it in the way he looked at you after you came undone in his hands—like you weren’t just a body, but something he wanted to hold after.

You're not scared of sex.

You're scared of this.

Of how real it suddenly is.

But when your phone buzzes with one single message—

“If you come back, I’ll say it again. As many times as you need.”

—you’re out the door before you can change your mind.

You knock once.

He opens the door instantly—like he’d been waiting just behind it.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he.

Then you're moving—you drop your bag, step into him, crash your mouth to his.

This kiss is different.

It’s not angry. Not desperate.

It’s slow. Deep. Like you're tasting every inch of what you almost lost.

His hands come up to your face, thumbs brushing your jaw like you’re something delicate. Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

When he pulls back just slightly, your noses still touching, he whispers: “I missed you. Every day I didn’t have you—I missed you.”

Your eyes burn.

You lean into his touch, whispering back, “I was scared.”

“I know,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I was too.”

You look up at him, voice barely audible. “Do you still want me?”

His answer is immediate.

“I never stopped.”

He takes your hand, leads you to the bedroom—not like last time.

Not rushed. Not rough.

He strips you slowly, eyes roaming over every inch like he’s trying to memorize you.

“Lie back,” he whispers.

You do.

He hovers over you, kissing you everywhere but your mouth—throat, collarbone, stomach—each kiss a word he doesn’t say out loud.

His hands move softly over your body, teasing but not taunting. Reverent.

When his lips finally reach where you ache for him most, he doesn't rush. He takes his time.

Licks. Sucks. Worships.

You gasp his name like a prayer.

“That's it,” he whispers, fingers curling inside you perfectly. “Let me take care of you.”

You’re already trembling when he slides up your body, eyes searching yours.

“Tell me you want me.”

You pull him in, kiss him hard. “I want you.”

He enters you slowly this time—deep, smooth, like he’s trying to fit the words he can’t say into every stroke.

And it’s different now.

You feel everything.

Every roll of his hips. Every gasp. Every whispered name. It’s not about fucking anymore—it’s about being close. Being seen.

“You feel so good,” he groans into your neck. “Always do.”

You cling to him, nails digging into his back. “Minho…”

“Say it again.”

“Minho.”

He picks up the pace just a little, making you whimper.

“I’m yours,” you whisper, voice breaking. “I’ve been yours.”

That’s what undoes him.

He groans deep in his chest and moves faster, chasing your high as you spiral with him—both of you coming undone, this time not just with bodies but with hearts bared and burning.

After

You’re tangled together in his sheets, breath finally steadying.

He’s tracing patterns on your back, your head resting on his chest.

You look up at him. “You still care about me?”

He smirks, brushing your hair away. “I just made love to you for an hour. What do you think?”

You smile.

Then you kiss him again—slow, sweet, and soft.

No rivalry.

Just you and him.

You were lacing up your boots, mentally preparing yourself for a big performance alongside your dance mates. Tonight, your group will perform a dance for part of a two-part show before a pay-per-view in Europe. You felt a lump in your throat realizing after the main event for the first part of the show, you will be in front of thousands of fans.

Taking a deep breath, you finished lacing your boots and took a look in the mirror, your reflection greeting you with your gear.

“I hope Mr. Levesque was right” you thought to yourself “Maybe this would get more people to attend the shows…”

“Y/N!” Your dance mate, Bree, called for you. “Are you ready? It’s time to get going!”

“Just a minute, Bree! I’m grabbing one more thing!”

After taking another minute to adjust yourself, you grabbed your mask and headed out the locker-room, praying that this will change everything.

.•°☆.⋆｡⋆☆•˚｡⋆｡˚•☆˚｡⋆.☆•°.⋆

Your stomach was tied with nerves as you and your group performed, reenacting the infamous rivalry of The Shield and CM Punk; you were dressed as Ambrose, Bree and another dance mate being Rollins and Reigns. Surely this would get some talks from the audience and backstage.

As your group hit your final move, the audience went wild, cheers and whistles from thousands of members of the WWE universe. You smiled and proceeded to exit as staff and crew members proceeded to get the ring set for the next show.

As you made your way back to the guerilla, Triple H immediately greeted you and your group.

"Fantastic work!" He said, shaking your hand firmly. "This will definitely make headlines. How do you feel personally?"

Bree and the others were waiting for your answer, it was difficult to get words out.

"I...don't know for sure, I was happy to do this. really. I'm happy we could make this happen."

Triple H smiled and stood out of the way so you could prepare to go home.

...

The Shield POV:

The three men were watching your performance as they were getting ready for their appearance for show 2. They were the main event as they prepare to squash their beef with CM Punk and Heyman. They immediately caught eyes on you, irritated with how you represented them.

"Is this about us?" Dean questioned, fixing his gear "I must say she sure looks the part."

"Seems like it" Seth answered, smiling watching your moves.

"I don't think I'm enjoying how we're being presented." Roman added, "Perhaps we should confront her about it."

"At least we can agree on that."

...

You were preparing to get to your locker-room before you felt a pair of rough hands pin your shoulders to the wall, catching you completely off guard.

Your eyes widened as you adjusted to your view. In front of you was the Shield, Roman staring directly into your eyes.

"Um...What is th-"

"Care to explain yourself?" Roman started, annoyance in his tone. "What was that stunt you pulled?"

"I don't know what you're talking ab-"

"Lying isn't going to make this easy." Rollins joined in, crossing his arms "We're talking about that 'dance' of yours."

Your stomach dropped when you heard that. Your dance, as in the choreography you were paid and signed to do for Levesque. You definitely understand if you didn't know they'd watch but what was their deal with you? You were just doing your job...

"I..." You started, The Shield already looked annoyed. "I was just doing my job. I was told to do this from Mr. Levesque; I wasn't aware that you three would be here tonight."

"Just like we weren't expecting for us to be mocked." Ambrose responded, his coldness making you shiver "This is wrestling, not Dance Moms or whatever."

Now that part pissed you off. It wasn't your fault that you were scheduled for this. Triple H specifically stated exactly what he wanted from you and your team. You were just following his request.

"How rude." You gritted your teeth, anger in your voice "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him! Excuse me for literally doing what I was requested to do. I don't know what your problem is, and I don't know what you expect me to do about it."

The silence was deafening. You hated that you had to defend yourself like this; yes, it was new, but it could be what may be needed for more traction to the franchise.

You were caught off guard when Roman finally released his grip on your shoulders, tension becoming thicker from the three men.

You felt a shiver as Roman took a hand to cup your face, examining your eye movements - his thumb stroking your cheek.

"Perhaps there is something you can do..." Roman finally responded, "Think of this as a little...consequence when you mess with us."

Ambrose and Rollins smirked, their sinister idea as to what they should do to you.

"Take us to your locker-room. Now" Ambrose demanded, "And don't make us wait."

You felt a tight lump in your throat as you immediately gathered your composure, as you lead them to your locker-room.

.•°☆.⋆｡⋆☆•˚｡⋆｡˚•☆˚｡⋆.☆•°.⋆

You took a deep breath as you opened the door, the three behemoths following behind.

You watched as Rollins locked the door behind, the four of you standing there in complete silence. Your legs felt like jelly, struggling to continue standing.

Roman's eyes never left yours as he slowly approached you, his perfectly toned body nearly pressed against yours, you were scared to make a sound.

You felt sandwiched as you felt Dean's presence behind you. You didn't know how to respond to whatever they wanted from you.

You lost your train of thought as you felt a hand grab your ass, another pair of hands making their way to your chest.

"W-What?" You stammered; a harsh slap across your ass in response.

"Damn, baby" Ambrose chuckled "You make these look good."

You let out a sigh as Roman began cupping your breast, his hands being so playful. It was intoxicating.

"What is this? You were rude to me, but now this?" You were confused, shivers down your spine as you felt your pants being tugged on, Ambrose slowly pulling them down.

"Yes, we were annoyed about that." Roman responded, his face going to your neck. "But we couldn't help but look at how good you looked."

You let a soft moan escape as your felt a pair of lips kissing your neck, gentle but overwhelming. You felt Seth's presence behind you now, replacing Dean's grasp on your behind.

"You caught our eyes looking like one of us, like there was a female member" Seth teased, "That would've been an eyecatcher wouldn't it?"

"I'll say" Roman replied, his tone becoming more playful.

Your eyes shut immediately feeling a bulge pressed against your ass; catching as to what they really wanted. You couldn't look them in the eyes.

"Unfortunately, we're getting a little impatient." Seth growls, swiftly removing your pants, panties exposed.

You felt embarrassed and crossed your legs quickly. shivering from how heated you were getting. This only made them hungrier.

"Not so fast, little one" Roman smirked, forcing your legs apart with his hand, fingers tracing against your inner thigh.

As you felt yourself willingly allow him to take your shirt off, revealing the matching colored bra, you felt Roman forcefully grab your face, pressing his lips against yours.

It was too much to handle. First a big performance night for you and now this. What else could happen?

You gasped feeling fingers traced your underwear, getting damper from the slow circular motion.

"What a slut" Roman chuckled "Do you not feel ashamed?"

You held onto his shoulders for support, your ass still getting groped by Rollins.

"I don't think she is" Seth responded "I think this is what she wanted."

What felt like an eternity, the two men stopped teasing your body, having another idea in mind.

"You know...We could keep this going all night." Ambrose started, "But it wouldn't be fair to you."

You wouldn't respond, your body trembling from sensations, desperately needing to be touched.

"How about this: Just you and us? Nobody else. We can leave here and keep this going at the hotel?"

"I..." you started, "I'd like the sound of that."

The three men smiled, you grabbed your pants and shirt and gotten ready to leave with them.

"You're going to have a long night with just us."

̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

a warning you didn’t take much notice of because your other hand was already feeling up the other fang, finger practically massaging the gums around it before dragging a finger down the sharp edges until you reached that pointed tip letting it press into the soft fleshy pad of your finger. it wasn’t until you felt his fang lightly sink into the bud, instinctively making your shoulders jump only drawing a tiny bead of blood followed up by his tongue swiping over the digit that you notice his grip on your wrist. the way his chest was heaving up and down, and the heat of the smoke emanating from him with each breath he took fanning your face. the moment you looked up at him it was like looking into the eyes of an hungry lion whose patience was wearing thin, now reminding you that you do in fact have your hands in the mouth of an apex predator. 

just as you were about to pull your hand away hans posture slacks as he closes the distance between you lips catching yours hesitant yet it was though his mouth was pulling you into a passionate kiss, lips swiftly dragging against each others. he made sure he took his time with you languidly tilting his head so he can slip his tongue in your mouth at an deeper angle wanting to explore you and your taste. he didn’t wanna grab your face just yet either, wanting your lips to set the rhythm and pace as he made sure his fangs nipped at the plush of your bottom lip.

the makeout only continued to grow heated as you followed each others lead, lips lingering on each other and swallowing the others moans. you couldn’t help but melt into the kiss as your tongue swipes over his canines earning a growl from him as he pulls away from the kiss a string of saliva connecting you two, he goes to bite the glove off your hand and guide it towards the solid tent in his pants so he can press his forehead against yours fiery hooded eyes holding your gaze while he uses your hand to palm at him through the confines making you feel the affect you have on him.