#sub i.n

AN: this is the same vibes as pomegranate kisses | jeongin x m!reader in a way

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You’re not sure what the final straw was, maybe the first time he humped your pillow. Or the third. Or maybe when he went after your leg while you were refilling his water dish like some desperate stray. 

It’s been four days of this nonsense, at first you thought he was just joking around, but this is getting ridiculous and you’re about to throw him into the pond.

“Jeongin!” you bark, and the kitsune jumps, ears perking up guiltily from where he’s currently rubbing himself against the corner of his bedding. Again.

“Not the furniture,” you deadpan, hands on your hips. “We talked about this.”

He whines. Actually whines, crouching down like a scolded dog with a too-fluffy tail curling over his back. His golden eyes glimmer with pure dramatics.

“It’s not my fault!” he huffs, “You’re always coming in smelling like flowers and moonlight and ugh- I have instincts!”

“Instincts don’t mean you get to violate everything, Jeongin.”

He shifts fully back into his fox form, ears twitching, eyes narrowed, and sulks beneath the stone table, where he promptly humps one of the legs like a beast possessed.

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Do I need to call Chan?”

“Don’t bring the naiad into this!” comes his muffled protest. “He tried to bathe me last time!”

You fold your arms. “Maybe he should. You clearly need to cool off.”

“I just- Ugh! It’s the season! My tails get tingly! My soul gets tingly! I can't help it if every soft object looks breedable right now!”

You snort. “That’s not a word we use in this house.”

“Says who?”

“Says the person whose blanket you defiled yesterday.”

Jeongin yips. “You saw that?”

“I stepped in it, Jeongin.”

He goes dead silent.

“…Was it warm?”

“JEONGIN.”

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By day five, your eye is twitching.

The Sanctuary’s other residents have started noticing. Minho side-eyes Jeongin whenever the fox starts sniffing around the mossy corners of the common space.

Even Changbin, chaos incarnate, tried to cover Jeongin with a blanket. “He needs to be swaddled,” he said solemnly, like Jeongin was some possessed Victorian child.

You’ve tried giving him space. Extra food. Cold compresses. Nothing’s helped. He’s just too pent-up. And the worst part? He still insists on being sweet and shy when you scold him, like he doesn’t have ten documented humping incidents today alone.

You find him today pressed flat to the floor of his room, panting, one paw twitching in his fox form, a visible blush creeping up his snout. His tails are puffed out in every direction.

“…You good?”

He lifts his head slowly.

“I humped a dream,” he whispers hoarsely. “Thought it was real… but it was just an illusion and-”

“Jeongin!”

“I said I was sorry!”

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By the time you enter his quarters again on day seven, you’re armed with a spray bottle.

He tries to mount a throw pillow and gets misted in the face.

He yelps. “What the hell?!”

“You’re not neutered. This is the next best thing.”

“You can’t spray me like I’m a cat!”

“Can’t I?”

He shifts to human form, half-naked and glistening with some kind of self-inflicted sweat, glaring at you with amber-ringed eyes and zero shame.

“This is a hate crime.”

You raise the bottle. “You wanna test me?”

His hands go up. “Okay, okay. I’m trying. Really. Just… there’s too much of you in this room and not enough self-control in my body.”

“That’s your problem.”

“No,” he murmurs, gaze hooded now. “That’s your problem. Because one day you’re gonna walk in here, all soft and pretty like you always are, and I’m just gonna lose it. Right here. Right on the floor. I’ll make you watch.”

You blink. “That was… graphic.”

“I want to be graphic!”

You pause. “…So you’re saying if I lock the door-”

“and sit on my face,” he finishes, hopeful.

You blink again. “I mean… meditate or something.”

“Oh.” A beat of silence. “...But, if you wanted to sit on my face?”

You throw the pillow at him. 

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By day eight, you've just about lost it. You've tried letting him work through it on his own, offering a den further apart, he keeps finding his way back somehow. 

You try to be professional. Really. You come in with ointments for his paws, a calm demeanor, and absolutely no intention of letting him mount your leg again. 

But the second you kneel down to check his ankle, something shifts. He makes a soft, breathy sound, almost like a whimper, and then he’s crawling forward, warm, solid, glowing with something not-quite-human behind his eyes.

You stiffen.

“Jeongin,” you warn. “Don’t.”

He growls, low and hungry. “Don’t what?”

His tails brush over your legs, silky-soft and teasing. He’s so close your noses nearly touch. His breath is sweet, like candied herbs and ruined self-control.

“I told you,” he murmurs. “You shouldn’t smell this good. It’s dangerous.”

“Then maybe you should stop sniffing me.”

“I’ve tried.” His mouth brushes your jaw. “I even tried humping a tree, you know that? A tree. I thought maybe I’d feel better. I didn’t.”

You lose it, you laugh. You cackle. 

Jeongin looks at you with a wicked smile, all teeth and heat and glowing eyes, and pounces. You don’t have time to scream before he’s on top of you, arms braced on either side, tails curling around your limbs like binding silk.

“You’re gonna let me rut, or I swear to the moon, I’ll start dry-humping the trees again.”

You stare up at him, breath caught in your throat. “…That’s not a real threat.”

“I moaned loud enough last time the dryad heard me.”

“Hyunjin?!”

“He left me a flower crown and said ‘get well soon.’”

You groan. “Fine. You wanna fuck? Then fuck.”

He blinks. “…Wait, really?”

“Yes. But you get one go. And if you hump anything non-living after this, I’m telling Chan.”

“Deal.”

His mouth crashes against yours before you can take it back, hot, hungry, almost grateful, like he’s been holding himself back for days (because he has). His fingers tug clumsily at your shirt, nails catching the fabric, his other hand already buried in the curve of your waist like he needs to anchor himself.

You're flat on your back in his blanket nest before you realize it, pillows scattered, the floor padded with soft pelts and rumpled quilts he’s clearly been making a mess of for days. It smells like him here, spiced honey and heat, and too many hormones for anyone’s good.

“Can I?” he breathes, eyes wild, cheeks flushed. “Can I rut you like I want? Need it,”

You arch a brow. “Define 'need’”

He whimpers. “Clothes off, on all fours, me behind you, I lose my mind halfway through and cry a little.”

You blink. “...You’ve thought about this.”

“So much.”

He makes a desperate sound when you start unbuttoning your pants, and he lunges like you're prey. His mouth leaves open kisses on your belly, your hip, your inner thigh, and then he’s nuzzling between your legs with such reverent intensity it makes you laugh through a moan.

“You’re not even inside me yet, and you’re shaking.”

“I know,” he gasps, nipping at your skin. “I’m gonna blow my load like a virgin if you look at me too much, fuck, you smell so good-”

You barely get the words, “Then do something,” out before he’s sliding into you with a full-body tremble, like he’s been waiting his entire afterlife for it.

He groans, high, sweet, and downright filthy, as his hips snap forward, almost feral, the sound of skin on skin obscene in the otherwise soft, fabric-muffled den. His tails twitch with each thrust, wrapping tighter around your calves and arms like velvet ropes. He kisses you sloppily, constantly, like he’s scared you’ll disappear beneath him.

You reach up, fingers tangling in the soft fur at the base of his tail just to see what happens.

He screeches. Actually yowls. His hips stutter. He bites your shoulder and moans like a banshee.

“Oh my gods, don’t do that unless you want fox kits.”

You snort, biting back your own moan as he speeds up, practically humping you now with little finesse, but a lot of enthusiasm. His rhythm’s all over the place, needy, quick, messy, but it doesn’t matter because he’s so into it, eyes wide and glossy, chanting your name like a spell.

“Mine, mine, mine,” he babbles, face buried in your neck, his illusion magic going haywire as little bursts of foxfire pop and sizzle overhead. One tail knocks over a pile of blankets and reveals a stuffed pillow with a suspicious stain on it.

You stare.

“…Is that the-”

“Don’t look at that,” he huffs, thrusting harder to distract you.

You laugh so hard your legs go weak, and Jeongin nearly sobs into your chest from relief and overstimulation.

He finally finishes, with a trembling whimper, his body curling around yours like he never wants to let go. He’s flushed and panting, still moving his hips lazily, like his need hasn't quite worn off.

You brush the hair from his face, letting him catch his breath.

“I’m still telling Chan.”

He moans. “He’s going to boil me.”

You smile and press a kiss to his sweaty temple. “…Worth it?”

He grins. “…I’m gonna hump that pillow again.”

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AN: now this was sooooooo fun to work on.

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You don’t know how it became routine, maybe the third or fourth time Jeongin curled up outside the greenhouse with bramble thorns in his fur, or when he first sighed and melted beneath your brush like butter on stone. Either way, it’s yours now.

Tail-brushing duty.

Jeongin sits on a mossy cushion in the sunlit clearing behind the sanctuary’s herb garden, surrounded by drifting flower petals and the soft scent of lemon balm. Seven pale tails fan out behind him like silk banners, twitching restlessly. He’s in his half-shifted form today: mostly human, though his ears and tails remain stubbornly fox, a telltale shimmer in his eyes betraying his illusion magic at the edge of breaking.

You kneel behind him with your favorite wide-tooth comb and a jar of balm. “Don’t wriggle.”

“I’m not wriggling,” he says, immediately wriggling.

“Mmhm.”

You press your palm to the base of his nearest tail to anchor it, and Jeongin shudders. Just the lightest brush makes his ears flick back like they’re trying to hide.

"You know you asked for this," you remind him, voice honey-smooth as the comb starts its first long stroke through snowy fur. "You were shedding everywhere. Even in the sheets."

“You said I could sleep at the foot of your bed-”

“Not in my pillows.”

Jeongin makes a little chuff of protest, but goes quiet when you hit a knot. You work it gently with your fingers, massaging balm into the tangled patch before combing through again. The soft, methodical rhythm lulls him until he exhales slow and heavy, like he’s melting right into your lap.

But you notice the twitch in his fingers. The little tremble in his thigh. The almost imperceptible way his breath hitches when you comb a little too close to the base.

You pretend not to.

“You’re quiet,” you murmur, lips close enough to his ear that the tip turns scarlet.

He shrugs, stiffly. “Just… feels nice.”

“Just nice?” You lean forward to smooth your palm over the second tail, then the third. “You’re shivering.”

“‘M not.”

But he is. You catch the way his hips shift almost unconsciously, like he’s trying not to press down against the mossy earth. Poor thing doesn’t know what to do with himself. His illusions flicker again, briefly casting a shimmer of foxfire that curls harmlessly between your ankles.

You smile to yourself.

“I think I’ll brush this one next,” you say, fingers hovering above the one tail he never lets you touch.

The seventh. The most sensitive.

“No wait-”

But it’s too late. Your fingers slide through the downy fur, barely grazing the base where nerves are coiled tight as wire. The reaction is instantaneous, Jeongin chokes on a gasp and his whole body jerks forward, caught between shock and pleasure.

His ears flatten. A helpless, whimpery noise escapes him.

“Ohhh,” you breathe. “There it is.”

“D-Don’t,” he whispers, voice gone high and breathless.

But you keep brushing. Gentle strokes, slow and precise, dragging the comb from base to tip while your free hand steadies him with firm pressure on his lower back. Jeongin’s breathing shatters. His hips grind forward before he can stop himself.

Your thighs ache with the effort of staying still, of pretending your own core isn’t throbbing just from watching him unravel.

“Sensitive boy,” you tease. “You like this too much.”

His tails twitch violently. “It’s- hnn, n-not meant to feel-”

“Shhh.” You stroke again, and this time he moans, full-bodied and desperate, burying his face in his arm as if that could hide the way his cock is pressing hard into the moss beneath him.

You drop the brush and replace it with your hand, raking your fingers through the seventh tail until he’s trembling under you, little foxfire sparks licking at the air around him.

“Gonna cum like this?” you murmur against his ear. “Just from me brushing your tail?”

Jeongin lets out a sob. “C-Can't- please, I- please?! feels so g-good,”

You keep going. He writhes, thighs spread wider now, hips twitching helplessly against nothing, and his cock gives a needy pulse you can feel even through his clothes. You slip your hand between his legs and palm him through the fabric, just once.

That’s all it takes. He shatters, crying out as he cums hard in his pants, tears slipping down his cheeks from how intense it hits. His tails flare and go limp all at once, flickering dim foxfire curling around your ankles.

You keep your fingers brushing that sensitive tail with deliberate slowness, soft strokes barely grazing the tip, like the teasing whisper of a breeze over a raw wound. Jeongin’s breath shudders sharply, ragged and uneven, a helpless whimper caught in his throat. His hips jerk instinctively, desperate for relief, but you press a firm palm into the small of his back, holding him still.

His ears flatten fully now, the delicate tips slick with tears, flushed deeper than the pale pink fur along his cheeks. You trace your fingertips up the length of his tail, every tiny nerve ending singing under your touch, and he whines, a low, broken sound between pleasure and pain.

“T-Too much…” he gasps, voice trembling like a fragile leaf caught in a storm.

But you smile, heart swelling at how completely undone he is, how vulnerable and open, yet still so eager to please.

“Not done yet,” you whisper, voice thick and warm, leaning close enough that your breath fans over his temple. “You wanted this, remember?”

Jeongin tries to steady his breathing, but his body betrays him. His thighs quiver, shaking beneath your hands, slick heat pooling between his legs despite the slick mess he’s already made. He curls his fingers into the moss, digging sharp little claws into the earth as you flick your fingers in slow, teasing strokes along the base of his tail again.

His skin flushes a darker rose, spreading from his neck down to the tips of his toes. His tails twitch and wrap around your wrist, holding you captive with silent, desperate pleading.

Tears spill over freely now, blurring the edges of his vision as sobs shake his slender frame. You brush them away with the gentlest touch, fingertips lingering on his temple.

“Look at me,” you say softly.

He blinks up at you with swollen, glistening eyes, lips trembling.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re like this.”

You curve your hand around the base of his tail, stroking more firmly now, circles, light pinches with your nails, running your palm over the soft fur like you’re memorizing every inch.

Jeongin gasps again, body arching toward your hand despite himself, a string of desperate sounds spilling from him, too raw to be words. His breathing falters, chest rising and falling erratically, hips twitching with no control.

You’re not cruel, just merciless with your teasing.

Your fingers slow, dragging over the tip of his tail until it quivers, the fine hairs standing on end. His entire body shudders violently, wet tears leaking from his eyes, lips parting in a silent cry that breaks your heart and ignites your desire all at once.

His cock throbs hot against your thigh, still leaking from his climax but already aching for more, and you press a kiss to his temple, warm and steady.

“Almost there, love,” you murmur.

The final strokes come soft and slow, deliberate, enough to keep him on the edge, but never letting him fall again. He trembles beneath you, a mess of flushed skin and quivering limbs, every nerve ending alive and burning. Jeongin’s sobs quiet into helpless whimpers, and you catch his chin gently, guiding his gaze to meet yours.

“Good boy,” you whisper.

His lips quiver into a shaky smile, eyes bright and glazed with tears, the foxfire flickering softly around his tails like a halo.

You slide your fingers into his hair, threading through the soft, dark strands as you press your forehead to his.

“Come on,” you say, voice low and soothing. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He leans into you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the world, and you hold him close, fingers still lightly stroking those sensitive, cursed tails.

You press a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Sweet thing,” you whisper, “you’re too easy.”

He breathes out a ruined laugh, hands fisting in your lap. “Y-You did that on purpose.”

“Obviously.”

“Mean,” he sniffles.

“I’ll wash your pants for you.”

“...That doesn’t help.”

But he nuzzles closer anyway.

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The water is cold and heavy, pressing in on the silence of the hidden grotto. You are coiled amongst the shadows, your eight tentacles wrapped tight against the dark rock. Jeongin is poised on a damp shelf across the pool, his tail a brilliant splash of green scales. He expects a sailor, a helpless vessel drawn to his voice. He doesn't expect you. He never really does, but he’s so pretty you can’t help it.

The cold clarity of your thoughts, usually reserved for calculating the ocean's weaknesses, is shattered. The sight of him is a warm, invasive tide that floods your focus. It's a fight, but his presence is too strong. Your powerful tentacles begin to uncoil, stretching and gliding through the water, moving toward him almost against your will.

You break the surface, your tentacles rippling against the rock walls. Jeongin's eyes, usually dark pools of predatory calculation, widen in startled alarm. He recognizes you instantly, the predator he knew would show up. He realizes too late that he lured you specifically, and he's completely trapped. You assert dominance immediately, hauling your slick, coiling anatomy onto the damp rock beside him. He shrinks back, his shoulders tense, but he cannot break the thrall of the desire in your eyes.

His breath hitches. "What do you want?" he whispers, defeated.

You ignore the question. You use your hands to mock his perfect allure, gently poking the tip of his nose and running your finger to frame his sharp jaw. As your hands play with his face, distracting him, a pair of slick tentacles brush his waist, wrapping gently, possessively around his slick, scaled hips at the base of his tail. His whole body shivers at the cold, tactile sensation. You use your powerful tentacles to secure him. You command two strong coils to lift his arms and hold them gently but firmly against the cool rock above his head. He could break the restraint easily, but his desire to please you is greater than his strength.

"Stay right there, my pretty Siren," you murmur, claiming his mouth in a long, dominant kiss that steals his breath.

You pull back, watching his chest heave. You assert a new level of control. You command a fourth tentacle to uncoil from the rock, slick and cold, and the soft, sensitive tip brushes his chest, making his nipples harden instantly. You lean in, your own mouth replacing the tentacle's tease, taking one peak between your lips and drawing a surprised, choked sound from him. At the same time, your human hands cup his jaw and slide up his neck, tracing the delicate, cool skin just below his ear.

"Too subby, my pretty boy," you breathe against his throat, pressing a possessive, open-mouthed kiss there. "You surrender so easily. You're too cute to be a predator." You feel his body tense, fighting the pleasure while his arms remain bound above his head.

You move down, commanding the tentacle at his bottom of his tail to hold firm. You find his center, the smooth, vertical slit where his siren anatomy rests. With a demanding hum, the tentacle tip slides and presses against the sensitive skin, running the slick surface along his length. He cries out, a ragged sound that is half-melody, half-whimper.

"Look at you," you breathe against his ear, "your own body is betraying you. Did you wait for me, Innie?"

You slide your hands up his slick chest, pressing a possessive human kiss to his collarbone. He gasps, his mouth falling open in a helpless, silent plea. This is the moment. You command a fifth tentacle, slick and cool, to rise up, its tip gliding past his lips. You push it deep, gently but firmly fucking the soft tip into his mouth, hitting the back of his throat. He instantly starts to choke and gag, his eyes widening and tearing up in a beautiful, frantic display of terror and pleasure. His body trembles violently against the rock as he fights the nausea. You hold his jaw, forcing him to take the intrusion, whispering praise that only heightens his humiliation.

"There you go. So pretty when you break, my beautiful thing. Take all of me. That's a good pet."

The tentacle playing with his slit pulls back just enough to make him believe relief is close. With a demanding hum, the tentacle tip forces its way back pass the tight, slick entrance. The powerful coil immediately wraps around his rigid member inside the slit, filling the tiny space not meant for something so large, sliding and jerking against his sensitive flesh. He cries out, a ragged sound that is half-melody, half-whimper, muffled around a tentacle, his body trembling violently against the rock.

"That's right. Take it all, Innie," you command, your voice low and thick. "Such a little slut for me."

You feel him tense, his entire body rigid against the wet stone. You use your human finger to run around the tight slit, pressing in on the bulge created by the internal tentacle jerking him off in there. He is right there.

"Come on, little siren, make a mess."

His release is so cute. You pull the tentacle from his mouth just as he screams out your name, a sound of agony and immense pleasure. You capture his tongue in your mouth, sucking on it as his body gives way. His powerful tail thrashes violently in the water, and all the tentacles spasm, losing their discipline and clamping down in a final, involuntary coiling act of absolute surrender. His seed spills hot and messy dripping out of his slit and onto the cold rock.

You pull back, watching his trembling, defeated form. His tentacles are now slack and inert in the water. You lift one soft coil with your human hand and gently use the slick tip to wipe the mess from his slick abdomen.

"I hope to see you again soon JeongInnie," you say, your voice soft as you float away.

AN: can you tell i was having lunch when i wrote this...?

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You’ve grown used to Jeongin’s mischief. The flash of red fur vanishing around a corner. A glimmer of illusion magic fluttering behind the herb shelves. The way his nine tails sometimes brush your ankles just to see you jump, only to find him giggling in the rafters, fox ears twitching with glee.

So when you see him vanish into the forest early that morning, barefoot and flushed, you think it's another one of his games.

“Jeongin,” you call, grinning. “You’re not hiding the pomegranates again, are you?”

But he doesn’t answer. And by dusk, the laughter still hasn’t returned.

He didn’t usually go far, not unless something spooked him. His magic leaves behind a faint scent trail when he wasn’t paying attention, but today it was thick, hazy, and confusing. Too warm. Too sweet. It curled in your lungs like incense and made your heart speed up without reason. Something was wrong.

You follow the trail until it leads you off the main path and deep into the wildwood, where the trees pressed close and the magic thins. It wasn’t until you duck beneath a tangle of vines that you see it, a glimmering ripple in the air.

Jeongin’s den. You step through the illusion carefully. The world on the other side is warmer, softly lit by hundreds of bioluminescent mushrooms, their glow casting the clearing in blues and greens. Moss blankets the ground like a nest. In the center, curled tight with his ears pressed flat and tails trembling…

“Jeongin?”

He doesn’t move. You cross the clearing in quick strides. The air was thick with his scent now, cloying, sweet, like ripe fruit and woodsmoke. Your pulse stutters.

“Hey, it’s me,” you say gently, crouching beside him. “What’s going on?”

He whimpers. Actually whimpers. The sound breaks something in you.

“I didn’t mean to,” Jeongin whispers, voice raw. “I didn’t know it would be like this,”

You reach out instinctively, fingers brushing one of his ears. It twitches beneath your touch. The clearing illusions flicker, revealing flushed skin, tear-pricked eyes, and trembling hands fisting the moss.

“You’re presenting,” you murmur, realization dawning. “Your first heat…”

He nods, cheeks scarlet. “It started yesterday,” he admits. “I thought it was just a cold. Then I got hot. And everything smells like you, like I can’t think, can’t breathe.”

You swallow.

“Jeongin.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” he says. “But it hurts. I don’t- I don’t know what to do.”

Your heart cracks wide open. “Oh, baby fox…” you murmur, leaning in close. “You should’ve told me.”

“I was embarrassed,” he says quietly. “I’m supposed to be-” He buries his face in his tails. “Not needy.”

“You’re not needy,” you say firmly. “You’re in heat. You know I'm here to take care of you.”

He peeks up at you, eyes glassy and gold. “…You don’t hate me?”

“Jeongin. I could never.”

You guide him into your arms carefully, letting him curl against you, his skin fever-warm and his scent nearly intoxicating now. Your hands find his ears, his hair, the soft curve of his lower back. He sighs like he’s been holding his breath for days.

“…You came,” he whispers.

“Of course I did.”

His fingers fists your shirt. He looks up at you through wet lashes, voice barely a breath. “…Will you help me?”

Your stomach dips. “Are you sure?”

He nods, flushed all the way down his chest now. “I don’t want anyone else. Just you.”

You cup his cheek gently, brushing a stray tear from his lashes. “Then I’ll take care of you, sweetheart. I promise.”

You help him undress slowly, coaxing him out of his oversized shirt with whispered praise and kisses along his neck. He shivers when you pressed your nose to the crook of his throat, inhaling his scent deeply, groaning softly at the overwhelming sweetness of it.

“You smell like pomegranate,” you breathe into his ear. “So warm.”

He whines. The den has clearly become his nest, soft moss, scattered feathers, silken scraps from the Sanctuary’s fabric stores, even a blanket he must’ve stolen from your cabin (you recognized the patch on the corner). His magic shimmers faintly around the perimeter like a bubble.

You guide him down into it carefully, letting him stretch out among the silks. His tails fan behind him like a sunburst, twitching in anticipation. His chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths.

“Just relax for me,” you say softly. “Let me take care of everything.”

You kiss his chest first, slow, open-mouthed, tasting the salt of his sweat and the heat radiating from his skin. He arches when you reach his nipples, gasping at the touch.

“S-sensitive-”

“I know,” you murmur, sucking gently. “You’re doing so well.”

Your hands slide down, over his trembling hips, parting his thighs carefully. His cock is flushed dark and already leaking, untouched and twitching with every heartbeat. You wrap your fingers around him slowly.

“Oh.” Jeongin gasps, head falling back.

“So responsive,” you stroke him gently. “You needed this, didn’t you?”

He whimpers, arching into your touch. “Please-please don’t stop-”

You take your time, coaxing him open with fingers slick from the pouch of oil he kept hidden under a mossy stone (you don’t ask, just kiss his cheek when you find it). He is tight, fluttering around your fingers, desperate.

You go slow. Gentle. Patient. And when he finally begs for you, voice high and trembling, slick dripping down his thighs, you line up and push in with painstaking care.

His gasp breaks into a sob.

“Oh gods, Jeongin,” you breathe, gripping his hips. “You feel like- so tight- so perfect,”

He clings to you, legs wrapped around your waist, breath hitching as you bottom out.

“Don’t move,” he gasps. “Please just-just let me-”

You still instantly, pressing kisses to his jaw, his cheekbones, his fluttering eyelids.

“You’re doing so well,” you whisper. “So beautiful like this…”

When he adjusts, you start to move, slow, rocking thrusts, each one dragging moans from his throat like music. His tails twitch wildly behind him, wrapping around your legs and waist like he couldn’t bear to be apart from you, not even for a second.

You kiss him through it all. Hold his hands. Praise every little sound, every breathy gasp of yes, there, more, until he was shaking and clawing at you and sobbing your name as he cus untouched, coating both your bellies in white.

But you didn’t stop. Not until he begs. Not until he's boneless and tear-streaked and smiling up at you with a dazed, blissed-out glow in his eyes.

You clean him up with a warm cloth and coax him to drink water from your flask. He blink sleepily, nestle against your chest with one arm draped over your ribs and his tails curl around both of you.

“…That was intense,” he whispers, voice wrecked.

“You were incredible,” you say, brushing his damp hair back. “I’m proud of you.”

He beams faintly. “…Do I still smell like pomegranate?”

You chuckle. “Yeah.”

His eyes flutter shut, pleased. “Good.”

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AN: lolol? someting about fucking a man thats fucking another man

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By the time Chan walks in, Jeongin’s already naked, already breathless, already rutting against your thigh with the kind of brazen need that leaves nothing to the imagination.

“Hyung,” Jeongin pants, golden eyes wide and glassy. “You came…”

Chan hesitates in the doorway, cheeks flushed to the tips of his ears. “You said-? You told me it was urgent.”

“It is,” Jeongin whines, clinging tighter to you. “I’m losing my mind.”

You glance up from where you’ve got a hand on Jeongin’s back, steady, grounded, gently stroking between his twitching tails. “He’s been like this for days.”

“I told him,” Jeongin gasps, “I’d behave. But it’s- he smells too good and-and I thought about you too, hyung. You’re always watching after us and not saying anything,”

Chan looks like he’s about to dissolve into mist. “Jeongin-”

“You want it too, don’t you?” Jeongin’s voice is so soft. “You just won’t ask.”

You don’t speak. You just hold Jeongin steady as he slowly lifts his gaze, not to you, but to Chan.

“Stay,” he whispers.

Chan doesn’t move. Not forward. Not back. Just stands there, throat working, as Jeongin presses a kiss to your collarbone, then murmurs, loud enough for Chan to hear, “Please make him stay. I want him to watch.”

You stroke his head, murmuring low. “That what you want, baby?”

Jeongin nods quickly, noses under your chin, desperate for praise.

You turn to Chan. “He’s been so good for me, Channie. Been letting me help him come down. But he wants you, too.”

“I-” Chan stammers. “I don’t want to take advantage. He’s younger and-and you two-”

“You’re not taking anything that isn’t being offered,” you say gently. “And he’s made it very clear what he wants.”

Jeongin shifts back, hands stroking over your chest as he turns to face Chan fully. “I want you to touch me,” he says. “I want to be soft with you. H-hyung-?”

Chan stares at him like he’s looking at something holy.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

The den is warm. Blankets everywhere. Nesting instincts gone wild. Pillows smell like foxes, sweat and sex. But now it’s fuller, Chan joins you on the floor, shedding his loose shirt, eyes flickering down your body, then Jeongin’s.

You pull him close with one hand at his waist and kiss him slowly. Chan trembles. Always so responsive, even when he’s trying not to be.

“Let me take care of you both.”

He nods. You guide him to kneel. Jeongin practically slithers into his lap, their bare chests brushing, and this time, this time Chan doesn’t shy away. He places tentative hands on Jeongin’s hips, then kisses his forehead.

“You’re really sure?” Chan whispers.

“Been sure,” Jeongin breathes. “Just needed you to catch up.”

You smile. You take your time. You start with Jeongin. Of course. Soft touches. Gentle strokes. Fingertips along his thighs, tracing each line of tension. He’s vibrating like a live wire. Chan holds him from behind as you lube up your fingers.

“You’ve been here before, haven’t you, baby?” you murmur.

Jeongin nods eagerly. “Yours. Want you again.”

You press the first finger in, slow and sweet. Jeongin moans, head thrown back, tails twitching. Chan watches, stunned. He strokes Jeongin’s chest, breathing through his own rising arousal. You add another finger.

Jeongin arches. “Yesyes-please more- hyung, watch, I’m good, I’m letting-”

“You’re perfect,” you soothe, and Jeongin cries, soft and needy.

You stretch him with patience, using one hand while your other rubs soft circles over Chan’s thigh.

When Jeongin’s trembling and loose around three fingers, panting into Chan’s neck, you kiss him, kiss them both and turn to Chan.

“You ready?”

Chan swallows. “You want me to…?”

You nod. “Hold his hips. Stay steady. Let me guide you in.”

Chan looks terrified. And so, so hard. “Okay,” he whispers.

You slick his cock carefully. His breath hitches.

“You’re good, hyung,” Jeongin says, blinking up at him. “Don’t think too hard. Just… be in it.”

Chan groans. You angle Jeongin onto all fours, chest pressed to the blankets, ass up and waiting. Chan positions himself behind, trembling.

“Go slow,” you murmur. You help line him up, one hand steadying his length as he slides in.

Jeongin wails, high-pitched and keening. Chan gasps, nearly pulls back, but Jeongin grabs his arm.

“Don’t stop.”

You stroke Chan’s back, pressing your chest to him as he inches deeper into the fox.

“Fuck,” Chan breathes. “He’s-he’s squeezing me.”

“Because he likes you,” you murmur, nipping his ear. “He wants his hyung to fuck him.”

Jeongin lets out a guttural moan. Chan whimpers.

You reach around and palm Chan’s chest, sliding down his belly. “I’m going to fuck you now, too,” you whisper.

Chan shivers. 

You coat your fingers again, press one against his entrance, and he moans into Jeongin’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Chan nods. “Yes. Want it.”

You prep him thoroughly. Two fingers, then three, then yourself lined up behind him, your hands wrapped around his waist as he slowly rocks into Jeongin with each push.

When you slide in fully, Chan breaks. 

“Fuckfuck- it’s too much!”

“It’s perfect,” you soothe, kissing his shoulder. “You’re so good. Taking both of us. That’s it.”

He’s sandwiched now, your cock buried inside him, his own sliding in and out of Jeongin’s wet, clenching heat. Jeongin is moaning nonstop, his hips grinding back into every thrust.

You thrust slow, measured, deep.

Jeongin sobs when you push Chan forward into him. “Pleaseplease- I’m gonna-gonna come,”

You murmur to Chan. “You hear that, Channie? He’s close. Because of you.”

Chan groans like it hurts, hips stuttering.

“Keep going,” you tell him. “I’ve got you.” You fuck into him with steady pressure, pushing him deeper with every stroke, until all three of you are a mess of moans and panting and foxfire flaring in the corners of the room.

“Chan,” you growl, right against his ear, “come inside him. Now.”

He whimpers. “I can’t… too much- gonna-”

You slam in deep, and he shouts, spilling inside Jeongin with a choked cry. Jeongin howls, actually howls, clenching around him and soaking the sheets as he comes, body wracked, face wet with tears.

You don’t stop.

You fuck Chan through it, thrust after thrust, until he’s the one crying, whining into Jeongin’s neck as you overwhelm him from behind.

“You take it so well,” you murmur. “Look at you. Caught between us. You want to be our good boy?”

Chan nods rapidly, sobbing. You kiss his back, his neck, his jaw, then finally thrust in hard and deep and come inside him with a groan.

The three of you collapse. A panting, trembling, sticky pile. Chan’s still buried in Jeongin. You’re still buried in Chan. 

Jeongin is the first to breathe. “I think I saw god.”

You snort.

Chan groans. “I-I can’t feel my legs.”

You kiss his temple. “You don’t need them right now.”

“You two are gonna kill me,” he whispers.

You brush his damp hair back, still lodged deep. “I’ll make sure it’s a good death.”

Jeongin giggles, soft and happy.

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