at first, you trembled in fear, eyes opening as wide as they could as if it would somehow aid you when not a single ray of light surpassed the bolted door. you blinked your eyes and pushed your palms against your eyelids until flashes of color appeared in front of you. now, you sit still, occasionally blinking when you have the energy to open your eyes. though, sometimes you aren’t aware you’d opened them until your waterlines touch.

you can see him, but only just. the light isn’t blinding which somehow makes it all worse. you have no excuse to shut your eyes and a part of you doesn’t want to. a part of you wants to absorb every single ray of light. take in every inch of your enclosure as you can before he leaves. you can finally see the carvings in the walls that you routinely ran your fingers against, trying to decipher the words. you can see the dirt on the ground and the piles of pebbles you tossed. but you can also see his ears. you can see the bead of sweat trickling down his throat. you can see the occasional flash of his eyes when his hair jumps a little too much, his irises impossibly dark and deep. you can see his lips that appear as plump and pink as you remember.

the light only seeps through the crack beneath the door, something he was usually careful about avoiding, but it seems his eagerness to attack you made him sloppy this time. as soon as he walked in he was on you. there was no cruel game of him searching for you, making kissing noises as if summoning an obedient puppy while you crawled from corner to corner to escape his nimble fingers.

it’s strange experiencing all of it. the taste of his tongue, the scent of his sweat, the feel of his calloused fingertips and his cock splitting you open, and now, the sight of his mouth hanging open as a whiny moan bubbles from his throat, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down, his front teeth peaking past his lips. you can even see your own skin, your palms raw from rubbing, your fingernails brittle and broken, dirt clinging to your forearm.

his hands grip meanly at your naked hips, fingers trembling as he pants, dipping his head into your neck, licking up the side to your ear. your eyes fell to his back, seeing the strain of his back muscles against his t-shirt, watching his hips rut up and down with fervor, confined in a loose pair of jeans. you wish it was dark again.

he always relented, but haechan was determined to make today different.

haechan grunts lowly, gripping the stiff fabric of the cheap couch, feeling the strain begin in his fingertips before moving to his palms, then up his arms. his toes curl in his shoes, thighs flexing and hips aching to thrust into your tight fist. he feels like he's burning, intense heat bubbling under his skin, painting his tan skin with a red hue. he was sticky all over, a layer of sweat coating his figure as he fought to control himself.

haechan pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, watching as your blurry face became clear. a whimper caught in his throat as his eyes flickered across it, taking in your lashes fanning your disinterested expression. you met his eyes, making him twitch in your palm at a simple glance. fog crept up his lenses, obscuring his view but he still saw the raise of your eyebrows.

shaky fingers reached for the thick, black temples of his glasses, pants falling from his lips as he wipes them clean before messily sliding them back onto his face. he could sense the way they sat lopsided but his brain didn't allow him to feel embarrassed. he pushed himself towards you, lips puckered.

"haechan," you said, thumb playing with his swollen tip.

"what?" he slurred, pout extended.

"i said no more kissing."

he shut his eyes, scrunching his nose to attempt to raise his glasses. "just a little... please..."

you shook your head, the nails of your spare hand lightly clawing at his base. he shivers, pressing a sloppy kiss to your nose. you recoil, “gross, haechan.”

“just c’mere,” he whispers, a finger slithering beneath your skirt, “i can make you feel good, too. promise.”

“no,” you snap, moving away, “don’t touch me.”

haechan’s long dark bangs slide over his forehead, gliding over his lashes, tickling his ears as he shakes his head, shoulders pushing against yours. his cock jumps, the precum leaking from his top smearing over the hem of his white t-shirt. it brushes your thigh, making you squirm beneath him but he paid your intention to get away from him no mind. instead, he focused on how easily your skirt rode up your thighs and how soft your skin felt, how thin and flimsy your panties are.

he pushes them aside, sparing a quick look at your cunt, groaning at the sight of it. you attempt to cover it, placing your hand atop your pussy. haechan bristles, displeased. grabbing your hand, he brings it to his lips, his pink pout, laying a kiss on the surface as he lines his cock up to your entrance.

his eyes flutter shut as he pushes inside. the heat, the grip, even the slight effort he needed to push himself into you. he collects saliva, letting a stream trickle down to where your bodies met. he is scared to move, fully aware of how embarrassingly quickly he will cum. he already feels like he might, being still inside your tight walls, feeling the tightening of you unprepared walls around him making his stomach feel heavy.

the sound he makes when he involuntarily begins desperate and shallow thrusts into you is almost animalistic, your protests falling on deaf ears as haechan became more and more lost on the sensation. the feeling is euphoric, unfamiliar and so much better than your fist. haechan’s cheeks burn as he feels his climax approaching not even a minute later. he wonders what you’re thinking. he pants, scorching breath hitting your faces as he tucks his lip between his teeth, cum shooting from his tip in long spurts.

“fuck,” haechan moans, brown eyes hidden with a layer of fog coating the lenses of his glasses. he thrusts into you again, shallowly this time, too sensitive to do much else. he can feel his release seeping out of you, the sticky substance dripping onto his thighs. “sorry. i didn’t mean to cum so fast.”

“let me go again.” haechan shakes his head again, “need to show you how good i can make you feel.”

haechan hisses, clearly irked by the action. without looking at you, he tilts your head upwards, wet cock slipping out of your abused throat as a quick but firm smack landing on your cheek. a warning. your chest burns as you try to regulate your breathing, wiping your tear-filled eyes and damp cheeks with shaking fingers.

you move to tuck your hair behind your ears, taken aback by the sudden feeling of pubic hair prickling your face, musky scent flowing into your nose, and haechan’s familiar cock gliding against your tongue, leaving traces of salty precum, and stretching your throat rough and fast. the sensations slowly register in your mind, panic settling in once more as his hips resume their previous brutal pace.

haechan’s mouth parts, a sigh falling from it as his lips hang open, bitten and red, tongue swiping over them when they begin to dry. his head is slightly reclined, keeping his growing, shaggy bangs from falling in from of his heavy eyelids and ruining his view of the flashing screen. his free hand slips beneath his shirt, slithering up his heated skin, grazing one of his sensitive nipples. his thighs flex under your hands, the palm firmly holding the back of your head, guiding your movements, began to tremble.

you feel relieved, sensing his approaching orgasm. his balls tighten against your chin, cock pulsing with excitement.

his movies are amateur, but he thinks that is what makes them so desirable. most of the ones he came across feature high-quality cameras, blinding lights, specialized tools, and expensive disguises. but haechan's are shot on his outdated cellphone, his face concealed by a cheap plastic mask, an almost transparent white that he thinks resembled some sort of canvas, perfect for him to keep after it was all over. a little canvas for his work, splattered with unique patterns of crimson blood.

his movies take place in a stereotypical van, lined with thin blankets and flat pillows, natural light beaming through the dirt-splattered windows because haechan could never wait for dark. sometimes, the camera was propped on various objects, slanted or facing the ceiling, leaving only the sound of his lightly distorted laughing backing screams of terror, as the real show commenced.

haechan had known he would like yours most.

he had always liked the sound of your voice. the way you'd call out to him with a steaming cup in hand every morning. he just yearned to hear it beneath him, bouncing off metal walls, and eventually, blaring through the speakers of his computer. he was correct, of course. your screeches were like those in his favorite horror films, making his heart race and his pants tighten. the deep inhale as your chest heaved when he pushed himself into you with nothing more than a lazy trickle of saliva to help him glide inside. the sticky, wet noises that grew louder with each brutal movement of his hips.

haechan always liked the color of your skin, too. the way it looked against the tones of your clothing, complimented the metals of your jewelry, and blanketed the rest of your enticing frame, each curve and dip colored in that perfect shade. it looked even better when it was painted crimson. each slow and intended slice splitting your skin, allowing it to part and expose the pink interior that flooded with red liquid. the droplets of your blood rolling down your sides, your cheeks, your arms, and his favorite, your neck.

haechan was always one to play with his toys. each drawn out second exciting him, filling him with with the desire to do more. to draw out a new reaction, a new cry, plead, or facial expression.

he had decided to deceive you, something he had never done before. he let his voice shake as he babbled apology after apology, the sound distorted by plastic. he was so sorry. he just couldn’t control it. what could he do to make it up to you?

you hadn’t believed him, but you had played along anyway, claiming to accept his remorseful words. you took his hand, trembling as he helped you up. he covered up a snort with a sniffle, watching you like a predator on prey as you used the last of your strength to inch away from him. your fingers had grazed the fabric of your clothing, your eyes hesitantly leaving his figure.

haechan’s tongue darted between his cracked lips as he delivered the last blow. the loud sound gone as fast as it had begun, ending with a dwindling wheeze through your mouth. he even liked the silence afterward, the quiet singing of birds, and his satisfied sigh as he leaned back, putting his weight on his heels.

he didn’t tell mark that when he proposed the idea, of course. he claimed the threat to assault you was just to scare you. we won’t actually do anything, haechan said, we just need to make her squirm a little. a touch at worst.

so mark reluctantly agreed to the plan, if you could even call it agreeing. he simply lifted his head, closing the space between his brows. haechan thought that was enough, grinning as thoughts of mark feverishly rutting into you entered his mind. the thought aroused haechan. picturing mark with his eyes shut tight as he refused to look at you, slamming his desperate hips against yours, likely telling himself that his future depended on it. and you, attempting to keep your sobs silent, and your familiar soft skin dimmed with the shadow of a towering shelf.

expectedly, you had rejected mark, dismissing his threats because you truly believed mark would never go through with them. and you were right, he would’ve never done anything if it weren’t for haechan’s insistence. if haechan hadn’t pinned your arms behind your back, pushing you towards the back of the library, dusty shelves lined with even dustier books.

haechan could feel you push against him, already sensing the events to come. he knew you were thinking of all the times you were held against the creaky shelves, dust flooding your nose with every ruthless thrust of haechan’s hips.

the hesitant expression on mark’s face only worsened, his brows now as close to each other as they could get. he said no, a look of disgust on his face when haechan ordered him to lift your top. come on, mark, haechan said, locking eyes with the older, just a little touch.

mark raked his eyes over you, working his way back up to haechan’s expectant gaze. mark knew that haechan liked to see him comply and he almost always did, unable to deny the younger of what he wanted. but on top of that, mark had a feeling that haechan just really wanted to see him do it for other reasons. he was often asking invasive questions about mark’s sex life, a little too curious.

mark shouldn’t have been surprised when it wasn’t just a touch. haechan’s words, your pretty curves, and whiny protests making him act in a way he never would have expected. but as soon as his fingers met your skin, mark was almost eager to obey each of haechan’s demands to go further. mark even found himself forgetting what he was doing it for, too caught up in his actions.

when mark was lined up to your entrance, nerves finally seemed to catch up to him. his tip brushed your lips, sliding against the sticky slit as he found your eyes, fearful and wet, blinking rapidly as you shook your head from side to side. haechan’s face was tucked into your neck, puckered lips gliding over the expanse, gaze glued to where your hips were flush with mark’s.

they're fucking their stepsister for fucks sake. and not consensually either. it's disgusting, he knows and jeno knows. scaring their poor little stepsister, making her knees shake and tremble, eyes watering at the mere sight of them just to get their dicks wet whenever they please.

so, what did he expect? a civil sit-down with you? a written agreement outlining the do's and don'ts? boundaries? a fucking schedule?

jeno doesn't get it, haechan thinks. this is depraved. that's the appeal. to haechan anyway. but, haechan would bet that it appealed to his brother, too.

he saw the way jeno's breath would catch and his swollen prick would twitch in his fists when you fought against haechan as he forced himself onto you, calling out to jeno with dwindling hope that he would help you. he saw jeno's brutal pace as he fucked his own brothers cum back inside you while you wailed about safety and pregnancy, struggling against haechan's grip. jeno's clear arousal at the distress and worry as he stood with haechan in your small ensuite bathroom, peering down at you as you crumbled to the floor, awaiting results. the slight sag of his shoulders at the negative result. sick fucker, haechan had whispered in his ear.

it's not fair, jeno had said. but here he is, pinning you to your mattress, kneading your fleshy ass and biting into your shoulders as he fucked you from behind. your cries muffled by haechan's thick cock buried in your throat.

haechan pounded into your mouth, jeno's bangs brushing his thighs as he pulled the flesh of your shoulder. their eyes met for a brief second, blown pupils looking into haechan's as jeno's reddened cheeks deepened and low, open-mouthed grunts paused as if he knew what haechan was thinking and he agreed.

even after the sealing handshake, jaemin still had a sour taste in his mouth. it didn’t feel right, but jaemin just couldn’t get himself to call it off. that was until haechan came with company. jeno was not supposed to be there, plopping down onto the couch beside you, roughly slapping your inner thigh. your eyes searched for jaemin, squirming in your spot as you tried to avoid haechan’s gaze and ignore his taunting call as the unwelcome guest moved his hands to hover over your zipper. jeno was not supposed to be there. jaemin definitely had not agreed to that. so he lashed out, screaming, throwing whatever he could reach, storming towards you and the man trying to shove his hand down your underwear.

haechan was enough on his own, leaving you bruised and exhausted, trembling and crying as you tried to soothe your pussy. jaemin could barely take it, hating the way your stares towards him had changed from loving to loathing to empty. jaemin couldn't let jeno get his hands on you too.

jaemin lasted a week without contacting haechan. barely. his thumb hovered over his contact multiple times a day, trembling as he fought the urge to call him, apologize, beg pathetically if he had to. he cursed himself for being weak, letting his affection for you get the best of him. get in the way of what really matters to him.

it was his turn to loathe you. staring at you like he was trying to find something within you, but even he didn’t know what he was looking for. a reason? motivation? he wasn’t sure.

it didn’t even seem like you were grateful for his sacrifice either. you spoke curtly and quietly when he would attempt a conversation, avoiding him at all costs, sometimes even going as far as to sigh. it bothered jaemin. he realized quickly that your suffering wouldn’t affect him directly. not like your happiness does anyway. his high was worth so much more, the heat in his system, and momentary bliss were beyond words.

when haechan picked up the phone, jaemin sighed in relief, ignoring the hostility in haechan’s voice as he greeted him. it was quick to get him to agree, but not before haechan modified their deal, and jaemin was more than happy to accommodate him.

he expected jeno this time, even nodding in his direction as he followed behind haechan, tossing a small baggie in his direction.

it was just as brutal as jaemin expected, maybe even worse. but there was another sensation present this time, a buzz of excitement in his belly as he watched your shirt being split in half and your panties being yanked off your body. jaemin glanced between jeno and haechan, catching the way they grinned at each other as if they were sharing the same demented thought.

jaemin stayed for a total of twenty minutes. he only knows because he was sure to check the digital clock, red numbers flashing on the table beside the armchair. he couldn't bring himself to stay anymore, watching the two men violently assault you proving to be too much. the blissful high and flow of blood rushing south almost enough to make jaemin lift himself off the armchair he had collapsed into, and join in on the brutal acts. slow and fuzzy thoughts of latching onto your bulging throat, sucking on the center where the tip of haechan's cock comes to a stop. maybe jeno would let him have a go, let him slowly pound into you. but, even under the influence jaemin knew it would be a bad idea.