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[chxrryangel]

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[papawolfchris]

Absolute menace in 2 very different ways

[chxrryangel]

𝑴𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝑴𝒆 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕 [I]

Chapter One: Shatters Like Glass

Warnings: Oral sex, coercion, angst, cursing, descriptions of self injury(accidental), minor femmephobia/homophobia, felix cameo, felix and jisung are in a relationship, sana cameo, ni-ki cameo Word Count: 5.6k+ A/N: I am not a political expert, especially not in regards to Korea’s politics so I apologize for any inaccuracies/inconsistencies, obviously, this is purely fiction. This has been a long time coming haha (enjoy <3)

“You’re not serious! What’s wrong with the four bodyguards I already have?” Hyunjin slammed the door to his father’s office as he stormed in, the pictures on the wall rattling lightly.

“Hyunjin, we’ve been over this. I—”

“—think my safety is at stake and you want someone more experienced with these kinds of threats. Yeah, you’ve said that. Are you trying to say the security we have isn’t the best in the game? Cheaping out now, dad?”

“Hyunjin!” His father pushed back from his desk, hands braced on the dark wood. “I’m done having this argument. You’ve been getting threats for months now and I am going to take every precaution to make sure you are safe. You will be getting a new bodyguard and yes, he will be with you at all times. Now, I’m very busy, so get the fuck out of my office. I have a meeting soon.”

“This is bullshit.” Hyunjin mutters through his teeth, turning on his heel and rushing out of his office in the same manner he’d entered it. He rounded the corner and ran straight into someone, obviously on their way to his father’s office.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” The figure said in a deep accented voice, hands on Hyunjin’s arms to steady him. “Are you alright?”

Hyunjin took a step back, the figure’s hands dropping away. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He was able to get a better look at the stranger, a few inches shorter than Hyunjin himself, but much more muscular. He had longer pale blonde hair, styled framing his face.

“You’re Hyunjin, right?” He asked and Hyunjin nodded shortly. “I’m Chan.” He held out a hand. Hyunjin grasped it firmly out of habit, noting the calluses on Chan’s palm, his thick fingers gripping Hyunjin’s long slender ones. “Sorry we had to meet like this.”

“No, it was my fault.” Hyunjin takes a step to the side, letting the man pass by and indeed head towards his father’s office. Maybe he was some senator, Hyunjin always had a hard time keeping track of all the politicians his father interacted with. Though he was rather young, and certainly not dressed for a meeting with the president. He stood with his chin at Hyunjin’s shoulder, broad and built—he obviously worked out—he filled out the long sleeve black shirt he was wearing, as well as the dark cargo pants. 

“See you around, Hyunjin.” He grinned towards Hyunjin before rapping lightly on the door and being beconned inside.

Deciding not to think further on it, Hyunjin made it to his bedroom, backing into the door to close it and sliding down the smooth wood. He pulled his knees to his chest, groaning loudly in frustration—fighting the tears that were threatening to spill. He wouldn’t cry over this.

Hyunjin had been getting creepy threats; letters, messages online—and other more unorthodox methods—for months now. People telling him all the things they want to do to him, how they’d kidnap him, some even said they’d kill him if he didn’t return their “feelings”, and god forbid he was ever seen with a girl. Once he’d been photographed at a lunch with his cousin and all his fans had a conniption until an official article was published confirming their blood relation, and even that only slightly calmed the storm. There had been worse, but he didn’t like to think about it. It was a lot for anyone to handle, he thought he’d been doing okay, but maybe he wasn’t as okay as he thought. Rubbing his eyes with his fists, he pushes off the floor and walks further into his room — flopping down on the bed.

Along with all of that, now he would have to deal with some oaf following him everywhere he went for who knows how long. Privacy was already difficult to come by, being the son of the president meant he was constantly being watched whenever he went out — either by security or paparazzi, usually both. But every now and then, he was able to sneak away, hide in plain sight, avoid the press and security for a few hours of freedom. Now that was all being taken away from him.

Hyunjin let out a loud yell into the pillow under his face, muffling the sound of his frustration. It wasn’t his fault people got all weird around him, he didn’t ask for any of this. He was horrified when his dad told him he was running for office, he wasn’t even a politician — just rich and well connected.

That was one of the reasons Hyunjin hadn’t moved out, after he finished school he’d hoped to get a job and move out, but his father forbade it. 

“No son of mine is going to make a career out of dancing.”

“Dad, it’s not—”

“No. You’re lucky I let you make it your minor, the fact that it’s in your transcript is embarrassing enough. It’s time to take your life seriously and drop this prissy nonsense. You’ll work at Hwang Industries and that's final.”

So instead, he was saddled with a stupid position at his father’s company, where he did absolutely nothing, and was stuck living in the penthouse. Hyunjin wanted to live, to travel, meet people, experience life. He didn’t even have any friends anymore. 

Besides Felix.

Felix was his childhood best friend. Their parents ran in the same circles and Felix had been the only member of that family Hyunjin got along with. He wasn’t stuck up like so many of their peers, neither of them bragged about money or power, they just wanted to be normal. He could look back fondly on the trouble they both got into as kids.

Glancing towards his bookshelf, he saw the versace keychain sitting proudly between his books. He and Felix couldn’t have been more than ten, sneaking around the coat room at an event. The staff was away and they were searching pockets. Then they stumbled across someone’s luggage, they had presumably come straight from the airport to the event. On the handle of the versace duffle bag were two keychains, an odd shape with sunglasses, one was purple, the other baby blue. They only had to glance at each other before Hyunjin pulled them both loose and handed Felix the blue one. 

The staff had returned by that point and quickly shooed them out. They were giggly little shits as they heard the owner of the bag screaming at the coat room attendant, much to their parents' confusion. Hyunjin felt a little bad but it was their own fault for leaving it unlocked and unattended.

His reminiscing was interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

“Hyunjin-ah. Hwang Donghyun-ssi would like to speak with you in the foyer.”

“Thank you, Sookhee.” Hyunjin called, sliding off his bed and slugging towards the door. Sookhee had worked for the Hwang family since Hyunjin was in diapers, she was more of a mother to him than his own. She was still standing outside when Hyunjin left his room, wiping down a nearby window. Hyunjin towered over her, having surpassed her height when he was hardly fifteen. “Do you know what it’s about?” Hyunjin asked, already knowing the answer.

“He didn’t say. I’m sure it had to do with the hunky bodyguard downstairs.”

“H-hunky?” Hyunjin laughed, blinking at Sookhee.

She nods, chuckling softly, “Muscular, blonde, sharp jawline, pretty face—”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Hyunjin waves her off playfully. He rolls his eyes, turning down the hall and back downstairs to see his father standing in the foyer, the familiar blonde at his side.

“Chan?” Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, walking towards the pair.

“Ah, he said you’d already run into each other.” His father commented. “This will make this simpler. Hyunjin, this is your new bodyguard, Bang Chan. Chan, this is my son. Hyunjin.”

“You’re the bodyguard… You?”

Chan nods wordlessly.

“Chan is the best there is. He will be by your side for the foreseeable future, and you will behave. You will not try to disappear on him, you will be respectful, and you will follow his orders, or there will be hell to pay.”

“Dad—”

Donghyun steps forward, twisting the collar of Hyunjin’s t-shirt in his fist and pulling him closer, “Not another word Hyunjin, or I swear you will never leave these walls again. We have an event tonight and I need you looking presentable. Go upstairs and don’t come out until we are ready to leave, I’ll send the stylist up to see you.” Hyunjin clenched his jaw, looking between his fathers rage filled eyes. “What do you say, boy?” His father raised a challenging eyebrow.

“Yes, sir.” Hyunjin all but spit, looking down at his father. Donghyun dropped his shirt, flattening his own before briskly going back towards his office. Hyunjin wanted to scream, far louder than he had hardly five minutes ago. He rushed up the stairs, not caring if Chan was following — he had no intention of letting him into his bedroom. He could wait outside.

Hyunjin slammed the door closed, picking up the closest heavy thing — a decorative figure from a random shelf, and clucking it into the far wall. It shattered on impact, glass scattering across the wood floor, leaving a large dent in the wall by his closet.

“Hyunjin.” The door handle jiggled, it was Chan. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Fuck off!” Hyunjin growled at the door.

“Are you okay?” He asked again, his tone the same.

“I’m fine, just go!” He felt like a child throwing a tantrum. He didn’t care. The handle stopped moving and Chan didn’t speak again as Hyunjin wearily stepped further into his room.

He knelt down inspecting the pieces, he hadn’t actually realized what he’d grabbed. The glass shards were small enough it took him a while to figure out what it was. He rooted around, the smooth glass sliding across the floor, until he found a head.

It was a ferret. The one Sookhee had given him during a trip to the zoo when he was a kid — his mother had canceled last minute after promising to take him. He’d seen it in the gift shop window, glittering in the sunlight, she hadn’t hesitated to get it for him, spending her hard earned money without a second thought. He felt tears pricking his eyes for the second time that day, the mostly intact head resting in the palm of his hand.

“Fuck…” He sniffled, looking up in an attempt to prevent the tears from falling — it didn’t work. His fist closed around the glass piece and he gasped in pain, the sharp edge having pierced his skin. “Fuck!”

“Hyunjin, let me in.” Chan’s voice came again, though he didn’t rattle the doorknob.

He knew he was going to regret telling him, but for some reason… “The key is on the top of the doorframe.”

Hyunjin heard the rough scrape of the key being pushed into the lock before his door opened. Chan stepped in, seeing Hyunjin kneeling in a sea of broken glass. He seemed taken aback for a moment but he didn’t ask questions, just stepped carefully over the shards and helped Hyunjin to his feet. Chan led him into the en suite bathroom, sitting him on the closed toilet seat and kneeling in front of him. He took Hyunjin’s hand in his own, carefully inspecting the cut. It wasn’t deep, the bright crimson stark against the pale skin of his palm.

“Where’s your medical supplies?” He asks, looking up at Hyunjin.

“Under the sink.” Hyunjin pointed to the cabinet. Chan got what he needed before returning to Hyunjin’s side. He was meticulous, gently cleaning it with soap and water before holding pressure on it until it stopped bleeding.

“Are you okay?” Chan asks.

“Well I’ve got a cut on my hand but I’m—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Chan interrupted. “I know you’re not happy about my being here but… is there something else?”

“I…” Hyunjin glanced out the open bathroom door, seeing the shards of glass on the floor. He huffed a laugh, refusing to cry in front of Chan. “I broke… I broke something very precious to me. So, I’m angry at myself, and I’m frustrated with my dad, and my hand really fucking hurts.” Chan had started to wrap a bandage around a fresh gauze pad, careful not to pull it too tight. 

“Dad’s gonna be so pissed.” Hyunjin sighed, wincing as Chan pressed his thumb into the wound.

“That you broke… whatever that was?”

Hyunjin shook his head, “That I have a bandage on my hand for this event.”

Anything out of place, especially a presumed injury, ended up in a tabloid somewhere. Usually accompanied by wild speculations about the cause. When Hyunjin had broken his hand, forcing him into a cast for six weeks, the reporters had a field day coming up with possible explanations — even after his father had released a statement. 

Though what he told them wasn’t true anyway.

“Oh…” It was clear Chan didn’t quite know how to respond to that so he quickly moved on, “It should have stopped bleeding enough to change to a band-aid before you leave, it’ll be less conspicuous.”

“Right…” All he could do was stare down at the floor, his sock clad feet digging at the grout on the tile floor. Chan continued, wrapping the bandage around a final time before cutting the piece and securing it to his hand. “Thank you.” Hyunjin mumbled when Chan released his hold on his hand, standing back up.

He nods politely, “I’ll clean up the glass. I don’t want you cutting yourself again.”

“I…” Hyunjin bit his lip. “Just don’t throw it away… please.”

Chan nods again, turning away from Hyunjin and leaving his room — presumably to get a broom. Hyunjin leaned forward on his knees, his head in his hands. Today was a mess, he didn’t know how he was going to tell Sookhee, and he was really stuck with the bodyguard.

Chan seemed polite enough, certainly more skilled at conversation than his other guards had been. More attractive too.

Chan made quick work of the glass, using tape to get up the last of the smaller shards. He’d kept what he could, putting it into a small box and leaving it on Hyunjin’s desk. Hyunjin had finally made it out of the bathroom, moving to sit at the edge of his bed — one leg tucked under him as he watched Chan finish.

As he turns to face Hyunjin, his door swings open and the stylist steps inside.

“Hyunjin, your father sent me up to get you ready for tonight.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Chan nods politely towards Hyunjin before slipping out the door. Sana, the stylist, made herself at home at his desk. Setting out her supplies and waving over Hyunjin to come sit.

He pulled himself off the bed, slugging his way onto his desk chair. Sana tsked at him and he begrudgingly sat up. Hyunjin let his eyes fall closed as she lightly misted his face, getting to work on his makeup.

“Who's the hunk?” She asked, glancing towards the closed door.

“Dad didn’t fill you in?” Hyunjin huffed a laugh, “—and that is the second time he’s been called that today.”

“Sookhee and I are in the same boat,” Sana teased, playfully tapping the end of her brush on Hyunjin’s nose.

“How did you know it was Sookhee?” He asked, finally opening his eyes.

“Well I know it wasn’t your mother.” She picked up a nude pallet and stood closer, leaning over to get a better angle on his face.

“Maybe it was dad,” Hyunjin grinned up at her, Sana held back a laugh.

“Boy, you are going to get me fired.”

“Can’t happen,” Hyunjin shook his head. “I’d go crazy without you.”

“Just tell me who he is,” she smacks the side of his head. “Does it have something to do with the stalkers?”

Hyunjin nodded, “Dad wanted me to have a more specialized bodyguard. So now I’ve got Blondie on my tail at all times.”

“He seems nice, and he left you in here alone with me.”

“Well I’d hope he’d have the decency to leave the room when I change.”

As Sana continued with his makeup, Hyunjin eyed the glittery pallet in his makeup bag. His father would never allow him to wear that, and definitely not to an event, and if he was seen with it by paparazzi he’d be in for it.

But he loved the idea of more feminine makeup for years, he used to love watching his mother do her makeup.

“You should let me doll you up sometime,” Sana said, like she could hear what he was thinking.

“Dad would kill me.” Hyunjin said flatly, closing his eyes as Sana sprayed a final mist over his face.

Sana had moved on to his hair, running a comb through it before adding some gel to the ends. She’d spiked it up and out, his hair was at an awkward length since he was growing it out and he refused to slick it back, regardless of what his father said.

“You don’t have to go out in it, just for fun. We could take pictures.” She suggested, stepping back from the chair and pulling out his clothes. 

Sana had brought up a simple suit, matching black blazer and slacks, grey button down shirt, black dress shoes. He was able to dress it up a little with jewelry, a chain, a bracelet on one wrist and the watch his father bought for him on the other, and a few rings. 

“Just think about it, okay?” She straightened his matching black tie, brushing down his blazer.

“I will,” Hyunjin promised.

Sana nodded, giving him a once over before slipping back out of his room. 

Hyunjin was looking at himself in the mirror when Chan came back in. He’d changed as well, now wearing an all black suit, no tie, and the first three buttons of his shirt were undone. Hyunjin was about to ask if his father had approved that but Chan spoke up. 

“Let me see your hand,” he said, simply.

Hyunjin turned towards him, holding up the gimp hand — still wrapped in gauze. Chan unravelled it, slowly and methodically until the cut on his hand was visible. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, leaving a light red line down the middle of his palm.

“It’ll probably scar but I don’t think you need to worry about it splitting at the party. It’s up to you if you want to put on a smaller bandage.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it will be fine.” He moved towards his bathroom, unwrapping the bandage as he did. The gauze had done its job absorbing the residual blood. He tossed it in the trash and reached under his sink for a bandaid.

“Does my father know you’re wearing that?” Hyunjin asked.

“He hasn’t seen me if that’s what you're asking.” Chan said flatly.

“He may want you to put on a tie.”

“He can want me to all he wants, I wear what I like. It’s in my contract.” Chan grinned, winking at Hyunjin before he stepped back into the hallway.

Hyunjin was slightly taken aback. His father had always been meticulous about appearance, his own, Hyunjin’s, his mothers, anyone associated with them. He wouldn’t have thought his father would agree to putting a clause like that in Chan’s contact, no matter how skilled he was. Who was this guy?

He made his way down to the foyer, his father waiting expectantly.

“Let’s go, we can’t be late.” Donghyun  said after taking note of Hyunjin’s attire and silently approving.

The limo was ready to pick them up outside, Chan opened the door allowing Donghyun to duck into the car first, then Hyunjin. He shut the door, opening the passengers seat and sliding inside before the driver set off.

“Will mother be meeting us there?” Hyunjin asked as the car started to move.

“Your mother doesn’t get back from Paris until Sunday.” His father answered dryly.

“Right…” Hyunjin huffed, leaning back in his seat.

He watched the buildings pass by as they drove, almost making himself dizzy as his eyes flicked back and forth between them. He had been dreading tonight since his father told him about it, the same way he did every event. The only highlight was getting to see Felix, and maybe flirting with some of the dignitaries' sons while he was at it.

The drive was shorter than he had expected, more maybe he’d just spaced out, but when they stopped in front of the entrance Chan got out of the car quickly. He’d thrown on a pair of sunglasses as they drove, keeping them on as the paparazzi cameras started to flash at their arrival.

Hyunjin stepped out, plastering on a pleasant smile as he allowed his father out after him. Donghyun took the lead, waving pleasantly at the surrounding crowd and ignoring their barrage of questions.

When they finally stepped inside, Hyunjin’s eyes were dotted with light flashes, blue and purple dots in his vision — he’d never been able to adjust to it. He followed his father into the main hall, already filled with people standing around tables, glasses in hand as waiters circled the room with platters.

“I’m going to get some air,” Hyunjin said, turning towards the propped open glass doors that led to the balcony.

His father balked, “We just got here, you need to—”

Hyunjin was already gone, Chan trailing behind as he made his way to the open air. He was thankful this venue had a balcony, the ones without were so suffocating. He took a deep breath of the fresh air, the cool night breeze piercing through the layers he was wearing. The clouds were looming overhead, dark and intimidating. It would probably rain later. Too bad he’d be stuck inside.

Leaning against the guardrail, he stared out at the view of the forest below. The venue was pretty out of the way, up on a hill and mostly surrounded by woods. He wondered absently about what he and Felix would’ve gotten up to if they’d come here as children. The games of pretend they would’ve played, climbing trees and swinging swords made of broken branches.

“Hey stranger,” a deep baritone came from behind him. Hyunjin turned, grinning as Felix’s freckled face came into view.

“Hey, Lix.” He turned back to the railing as Felix came to stand beside him, holding out a cigarette which Hyunjin gratefully took. “You’re late.”

“Fashionably.” He rolled his eyes, “My sister took her sweet time trying to decide which dress she wanted to wear; the red, and dark red, or the orange red.”

“Mmm, understandable.” Hyunjin watched the cherry glow at the end of his cigarette as Felix lit it, then his own.

“Who’s the brick wall?” Felix asked after taking a quick puff, the smoke curling in the wind. Hyunjin laughed, glancing back at Chan who was staying a respectful distance away, standing by the large glass doors leading to the balcony.

“Bodyguard.” He said, flatly. “Dad thought I needed someone more specialized…”

“It’s gotten worse, hasn’t it?”

Hyunjin didn’t answer. He didn’t have too. Felix knew every detail of what had been going on, more than what he’d told his father; the threats, the letters, the touching. He didn’t need to relive any of it.

“Doesn’t mean I need a glorified guard dog following me around.”

“At least he’s nice to look at,” Felix took another drag, glancing behind at the blonde standing at attention a few feet away.

“There’s that one positive thing, I suppose.” Hyunjin grinned. “How’s Ji?”

“He’s good. His producer has him in the studio pretty late most days but his single is still charting so, we’re optimistic.”

Hyunjin shook his head, “I had it stuck in my head the other day, it was driving me nuts.”

“Have you listened to it more than what I showed you before it came out?” Felix grinned wickedly.

“No, that’s exactly why it was so annoying!”

Felix giggled, “I’ll have to tell Jisung, he’ll be thrilled his voice was stuck in your head.”

“Well he can go fuck—”

“Hyunjin, you should get back inside,” Chan suddenly appeared next to him.

“What? Why?” Hyunjin whipped towards him.

Chan made a subtle gesture to the forest below the balcony. At first, Hyunjin didn’t see anything, then he looked closer at one of the trees to see a young woman peeking around it — camera in hand. The moment he caught her eye she shrunk back a little into the shadow of the tree, though she didn’t leave.

“Fuck…” He muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Come on,” Felix said, keeping his tone light. “Your dad is probably missing us.”

The pair of them put out their cigarettes on the ash tray on top of the trash can before tossing them in. 

“Oh, I know he’s missing you,” Hyunjin elbowed Felix playfully. “He tells me all the time.”

“Well you should tell him I’m a taken man,” Felix grinned.

Hyunjin cackled, ignoring the looks he got from the surrounding attendees.

“I should run, I’m sure my mother is bad mouthing me to her friends and I simply cannot allow my name to be tarnished further.” Felix patted his back.

“I’ll see you, Lix.” Hyunjin waved him off, watching as he turned left and slipped into the crowd.

“I already informed the on-site staff that she’s here, it will be taken care of.” Chan said as they continued through the banquet hall.

“Right…” Hyunjin nodded.

Hyunjin hadn’t recognized the woman, not that he could truly make her out from a distance. There were a few uncomfortably familiar faces rattling around in his head, making the occasional appearance in his dreams — or nightmares. He didn’t know any of their names but one, Yang Seri. She’d been following him around since before his dad even ran for office. They went to school together, she was in the grade below him. He didn’t remember interacting with her, he didn’t even think they shared a class, simply passing by one another in the halls. But that was enough.

He only started to notice her outside of school after he graduated. He saw her everywhere. The clubs he went to with Felix, karaoke bars, the park when he walked his dog…

He missed Kkami.

“Have you been smoking?” He’d been walking on autopilot but his fathers words snapped him from his thoughts.

“No,” Hyunjin said through grinning teeth. His father looked less than convinced but his attention quickly shifted to the dignitary in front of him.

“Park Junseo-ssi, have you met my son?” He asked, gesturing to him. Park Junseo was one of the many business men currently kissing his father’s ass, though Hyunjin didn’t bother to try and remember what his business was.

He held out his hand, respectfully shaking it, “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

“Allow me to introduce you to my daughter,” Junseo stepped to the side, gently gripping the elbow of the woman standing next to him and pulling her closer. “This is Haeun. She’s currently studying to be a nurse at Yonsei University.”

Her eyes darted between Hyunjin and his father before she bent into a bow, “It’s a pleasure.”

When she stood back up, all he could do was stare at the slightly migrated filler in her top lip, his father not-so-subtly elbowed him in the back. Hyunjin cleared his throat, blinking rapidly before holding out his hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well,” he nodded.

She giggled, “No need to be so stiff, Hwang Hyunjin-ssi.”

Hyunjin’s nostrils flared, but he quickly covered it up with a smile. He hated being called by his full name. He wasn’t sure why, he’d always been like that. It made him want to grind his teeth. “I can’t help it if a pretty girl makes me nervous,” Hyunjin fibbed, knowing it would feed into her ego.

She preened, biting her lip and glancing towards her father.

“Don’t they look charming together?” Junseo said, looking to Donghyun for approval.

Donghyun eyed them both, ignoring the look from Junseo as he answered, “You could say that…”

“Excuse me,” Hyunjin said, giving a quick but polite bow to the pair of them.

As he moved to walk past his father, he grabbed Hyunjin’s arm, “Where are you going?”

“The bathroom. Wanna come?”

His father rolled his eyes, letting go. Hyunjin walked briskly into the hallway, Chan close behind.

“You can wait there,” Hyunjin rolled his eyes.

Chan didn’t stop, continuing to follow behind Hyunjin. He stopped, turning towards the smaller man.

“Chan, you’re not serious.”

“Your father is trusting me to keep you safe, that means I am with you at all times.” Chan explained matter-of-factly.

“You gonna come in the stall with me, Channie? Maybe hold my dick for me?” Hyunjin grinned.

Chan scoffed, though Hyunjin thought he saw a hint of a smirk. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

“Fine.”

Hyunjin pushed into the restroom and as he stepped around the short hallway, he saw Nishimura Riki washing his hands. He was looking down, giving Hyunjin the perfect opportunity to sneak up behind him.

“Hey, Ki,” Hyunjin said silkily, his hand sliding under his suit jacket over his hip.

He jumped, pulling away and turning to face him, “Hyunjin! Don’t do that, someone could—”

“No one else is in here,” Hyunjin shook his head. “And I locked the door.”

“What do you want?” He asked, glancing towards the door nervously.

Hyunjin takes another step forward, backing him against the counter,“You know what I want.”

“Jin, I can’t. My parents are here—”

“Your parents were here last time too,” Hyunjin hooked his finger into the gap between the buttons of his suit jacket.

“And I said it was a one time thing,” Riki shoved his hand away.

“You said that the time before too.”

Riki looked away and muttered, “Fuck you.”

“Exactly,” Hyunjin grinned.

Hyunjin always got what he wanted, it had been a gift he’d had since he was a kid. Which is exactly how he ended up kneeling on the tile floor with Riki’s dick down his throat. 

His knees were starting to ache from the hard floor, he ignored it. Hyunjin allowed himself to get lost in the feeling, the weight of him on his tongue, the taste, the tight grasp Riki had on his hair, the shuttered gasps falling from his lips.

“I fucking hate you—” Riki groaned, his grip tightening as he bucked his hips harder against Hyunjin’s face.

Hyunjin’s eyes rolled back when his cock hit the back of his throat, he forced down a gag, using his tongue to tease along Riki’s length as he fucked his face. Riki’s pants turned to moans, he tried to hold back but Hyunjin couldn’t have that.

He hollowed his cheeks, gripping Riki’s thighs as he worked himself faster over his length. Riki tried to slow him, sputtering something about it being too much, but Hyunjin pulled his hands away from his hair and pinned them to the counter. Riki may be bigger, but Hyunjin was stronger, keeping him right where he wanted until he spilled down his throat.

He didn’t bother wiping his mouth as he stood up, gripping the back of Riki’s head and pressing their lips together. Riki groaned, parting his lips just enough for Hyunjin to deepen the kiss.

Then he finally pulled back, the pair of them panting. Riki was shoving himself back into his pants and straightened his suit in the mirror as Hyunjin slipped out of the bathroom. He jumped when he almost ran straight into Chan, for the second time.

“God, what are you—?”

“Your father wants to speak with you,” Chan said flatly, pointedly ignoring the mess that was Hyunjin’s hair.

Hyunjin almost wished he’d ask about it. He couldn’t get a read on the man for the life of him. He was so flat — emotionally anyway. 

But then there was the moment before they left the penthouse. He’d hardly ever heard anyone talk about his father that way, besides himself or Felix. And for someone he hardly knew, someone employed by his father, he was taken aback by his brazenness. 

It had felt so out of character for him, not that Hyunjin knew him enough to say that. Would his personality start to bleed through the longer he worked for him?

“Yeah, well, my father wants a lot of things,” Hyunjin said, throwing Chan’s earlier statement back at him.

Riki finally emerged from the bathroom, clearly not expecting Hyunjin, or Chan for that matter, to be standing outside the door. He stepped around them with a sheepish bow and quickly returned to the main hall.

“I’m not going to drag you by the ear—however tempting—I’m just telling you what he said,” Chan said.

“Kinky. But I think your ears are pink enough for the both of us,” Hyunjin brushed past him, following the same path as Riki as he returned to the ballroom. Though, instead of finding his father, he made a b-line for Felix.

He stood, smiling sweetly, next to his sister as the pair of them were spoken down two by another attendee. Felix saw him coming and gave him his most subtle ‘help me’ eyes.

“So sorry to interrupt," Hyunjin placed a hand on the man's shoulder. “Jung Woojin-ssi, I’m afraid your car alarm is going off.”

“What?” He turned toward Hyunjin.

“One of the clerks just informed me as I walked back in, you should probably go see what’s the matter.”

“I… how would you know it’s mine?” He asked, suddenly sceptical.

Hyunjin put on an offended front, “The workers here take pride in their memories.”

There was suddenly the sound of a car alarm echoing through the open balcony doors. Woojin rushed out the door before Hyunjin could say another word. As soon as he was gone, the alarm stopped. Hyunjin glanced back at Chan, who winked at him, subtly pushing something back into his pocket.

Taglist is open <3

If you have any thoughts I'd love to hear them (requests/ideas are open for this series as I am actively writing it). Don't forget to like and reblogs, I really appreciate it. Thanks for reading!

[chxrryangel]

𝙼𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝙼𝚎 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 [𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭]

Summary: Hwang Hyunjin is the son of the recently elected president of South Korea, a situation he is less than thrilled about. His feelings towards his father's position only worsening as he began to gain a lot of attention. Women, and some men, online raved about his looks, obsessively so, to the point where Hyunjin had amassed four personal bodyguards. But after a recent incident his father decided it wasn't enough. Introducing Bang Chan, his new personal shadow, a complete mystery, and the bane of Hyunjin's existence.

Series Warnings(each chapter will have specific warnings): Smut, angst, bodyguard/president's son, violence, attempted rape/noncon(not Chan), animal abuse/pet death (not descriptive), abusive relationships, non-idol AU, implied/referenced child abuse, more to be added

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

...

Taglist is open !

AO3 Link

[dearwalker]

mask on, fuck it, mask off | sex pollen

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader Word Count: 8.4k

Contains Brand New Day spoilers 🕸️

Description: You’re spider-man’s closest thing to a friend since the world forgot his name…all without him ever taking the mask off. His true identity has always been a barrier between you two, but what happens when he gets hit with the pollen, and not only him, but the creature lurking inside him fixates on the only person he gets to call home?

Tags/warnings: sex pollen smut, fem!reader, porn with plot, whiny desperate peter >>>, dry humping, piv, riding, oral fem!rec, fingering, dark!peter taking over for a bit, orgasm denial, prone bone, so much yearning, mask stays on…or does it?

Note: You have no idea how giddy it makes me to write him again. He had NO business looking that good in the movie so I had to get this out of my system. Enjoy 🤍

Masterlist

You've seen spiderman hurt many times. When you signed the lease of the first apartment you could afford as a recent graduate, you never thought that would become your new normal. 

The first time it happened was completely accidental. He’d arrived at the building in the middle of the night, bruised, bleeding and too disoriented to realize that the window he’d come through was not his. 

That night, the noise of a heavy body collapsing onto the floor woke you up. For one terrifying moment, you believed someone had broken into your apartment, only to switch on the lamp and find the city’s superhero groaning and pressing his hands to his side. His suit was torn there, and blood soaked through the ruined fabric onto your rug. 

He barely lifted his head when he heard you gasp, the lens of his mask focusing on your figure standing there with wide eyes, wearing only an oversized shirt.

“Wrong window,” he choked, then tried to hold himself up but immediately collapsed again. “Dammit,” he cursed, waiting for you to freak out any second now. 

You could have, but instead you rushed to him and knelt beside him.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Your hands hovered helplessly over his body, trying to see how bad the damage was in the dark. “You need a hospital–”

“No!” He snapped, trying to turn away but failing miserably. “I’ll be fine, I heal quickly.”

“You still need to stop the bleeding,” you countered, folding your knees under your body so you could rest on your calves. “Listen, I can help you. I took some medical courses last year and I have a kit somewhere.”

You looked at him with pleading eyes. He’d saved the city so many times, the fucking world, it was the least you could do to give something back. 

He considered his options for a second, and to be honest he didn’t have many. His body was betraying him, and he couldn’t even get up to fix it himself like usual. 

The blood loss made him nod, and you wasted no time in getting up and finding said kit. The blood loss also made him drift in and out of consciousness as you tended to the wounds on his ribs as much as you could. 

It did not make him less cautious of you though. When you noticed the rip on his mask over a nasty gash on his neck and reached for it, his hand closed around your wrist and even half conscious, his grip was strong. 

“Please,” he whispered. Pleaded. “Keep it on.” 

The fear in his voice made you promise you would. Even if you couldn’t get to that gash properly. Even when he fell asleep on your floor and didn’t wake up for six whole hours. 

The next morning, he opened his eyes and found you sitting on your bed, still staring at him. 

His hands patted his chest, and confirmed his arachnid powers had done its job and healed him mostly. But most importantly, his mask was still in place. With no warning from E.V of it being removed. He learned that you’d spent the night making sure he was still breathing without seeing his face. 

That had been one year ago. 

After thanking you profoundly for helping him, he’d repaired your window, apologized several times, and disappeared into the apartment next door. He then considered moving into another building, but the thought was brushed away very quickly when he remembered the balance in his bank account. 

So he acted more careful instead. For a while, he only turned back home when your curtains were already closed, or he only left the apartment when you had already left for your job (because yes, he absolutely researched the hell out of you after that night.)

Then he moved to the attic of the building. Bigger space, no neighbors, no risks. No you. Or at least he thought. 

Because some nights…some delirious nights he still found your window a few stories down, and the accidental visits became less accidental. When he was too badly injured to care for himself, he came to you, even after you confessed your degree had nothing to do with medicine. 

When he noticed you understood about his equipment malfunctioning, he’d bring it for you to inspect. When he became too reckless with himself you talked his ear off about how being difficult to kill did not make him immortal.

Somewhere along the way, you became spiderman’s friend. 

Spiderman was safer. With you, spiderman was the only part of him he could let you see. Because that was the thing, you only knew the masked superhero. 

He’d spent so much time blocking away his identity, making peace with the fact that there was no longer anyone in the world who would call him Peter and know exactly who that person was. That name only belonged to the people that once knew him, and no longer existed, so he never gave it to you.

Never showed you more than a sliver of skin when his mask rode up or glimpses of his abdomen when you tended to his wounds. He always kept that barrier and you respected it, even on those nights he was too weak to stop you. Even if sometimes not knowing the color of his eyes kept you up at night. 

A promise was a promise. 

Maybe that’s why he kept coming. Why he trusted you with a certainty he couldn’t understand. Why he eventually showed you his new living quarters in the attic and let you spend time with him. Why half a year ago, he added another chair next to his desk so you could work together, or help him when he was out patrolling and needed an extra set of eyes.

“I’m officially the girl in the chair, spidey,” you joked that time as you sat next to him, spinning around in your chair.

He’d gone quiet immediately, his body tensing up enough to make you frown, but then managed a small smile and said you were. You pretended you didn’t notice him being too quiet as he worked on his inhibitor after that. 

He was wearing a hoodie, sweatpants and the mask. Always the mask that didn’t quite let you see through him. After a moment of quiet, you rolled your chair closer to his and nudged his arm playfully. 

“You know I can’t keep calling you spidey forever, right?” 

He snapped out of his trance, and the chuckle that came from under the fabric was unmistakable. 

“Why not?” He nudged your arm back, but still focused on the device he was hunched over. “I like spidey.”

You put your elbow on the desk, resting your cheek on your hand so you could lean a little closer. 

“I like it too, but it feels ridiculous after having my hands all over your body almost every night.” 

The moment the words left your lips, you realized how bad that sounded. He straightened up, turning toward you.

“Wow.” Even if you couldn’t see the smile on his face, the lenses of his mask were quite expressive sometimes. He was amused. 

“That came out very wrong,” you said immediately, before he bursted into laughter. He had been laughing more since you entered his life. “You know what I meant,” you whined, laughing too with heat flooding your cheeks. 

“I think I know,” he chuckled, making you roll your eyes. 

“I’m being serious though,” you added, a little more quietly. “You don’t have to say your real name. Just give me something.”

“Mmm…” he acted like has considering it, going back to tinkering with the piece of metal between his fingers, but then his eyes drifted to the flowers he’d bought that morning, and the name came out of his lips before he could think twice about it. “You can call me Maynard.” 

“Maynard?” You repeated, suppressing a chuckle. “You don’t sound like a Maynard. That’s like an 80 year old man’s name.”

“That’s all I can give you,” he shrugged playfully. 

You had a feeling it went deeper than that, but you’d also learned not to push it with him. 

“Alright. Maynard,” you nodded, “but don’t expect me to use that name unless I’m dying. Guess I’ll stick to spidey for now,” you chuckled, going back to your own work as he hummed in agreement. 

The conversation ended there. With him trying not to think about your hands all over his body in…different conditions. 

Peter didn’t know exactly when his gratitude became longing. He could not identify the moment the friendship, the closeness, or just your smile, shifted into something he craved everyday. 

Despite the mask and the fake name, he knew that after years of being no one to everyone, he had become someone to you. And you had become everything to him. Even if it was behind walls he’d built, you were the person who knew him better than anyone alive.

Which is why, the night he lost control of himself after an unknown dust was thrown at him in a fight, he chose not to crash land into your room. 

Peter hit the floor of the dark attic with a loud thud, as his senses went overboard. His suit was sticking to his body uncomfortably due to the sweat coating his feverish skin. The fabric was intact, with no visible wounds in his body, just that burning sensation of something running through his veins. 

And that dark part of him he’d managed to lock down with the inhibitor, trying to claw its way out. 

“What the…what the fuck is going on,” he cursed, clutching his heaving chest as he panted against the worn wood floors. “I can’t–I can’t breathe…” 

The computer’s monotone voice broke through the silence. 

“You have arrived injured. I’m letting her know–”

“NO!” He cut the AI off, “EV, don’t tell her–”

“Message already sent.”  

He glanced up at the digital clock on his desk. 2:18 am. 

He groaned, grabbing his head when a wave of migraine hit him. He knew what came after that. The black eyes. The desire to break. To take. But this time something felt different. It was like a pull, looking for something or someone…for…for you? 

Oh fuck. 

You were going to come in and you were going to see him like this. No, no–

“Spidey?” You asked from behind the door, knocking exactly twice before opening it anyways.

The air changed the exact moment you walked in, and that something inside him shifted too. It became aware that the only thing it craved to survive was in the room now. 

He needed to get to you. He needed to pin you down and– 

“Don’t!” He managed to scream, holding his hand up weakly when you scrambled toward him. 

You stopped right in your tracks, eyes wide and running all over him, searching for torn fabric, blood, or anything that would explain why he looked like every breath was painful. 

“What happened?” You frowned, when you couldn’t find any source. “Did you get hurt?” 

You instinctively stepped forward, but he waved his hand in front of him again. 

“Stop, stop, stop,” he said quickly, “don’t come any closer.” 

The harshness in his voice caught you off guard, but what sealed the deal was him dragging himself further away from you. It was barely more than a clumsy, desperate crawl, but he managed to put a decent distance between you before collapsing against the side of his thrifted couch. 

He avoided looking at you. The oversized shirt covering your body, the comfy shorts you were probably wearing, the way your hair looked messy from rolling out of bed as soon as you got EV’s warning even if you had work the next morning.

You stayed right where you were, watching him. His suit had always fit him like it was painted on his skin, but every pant made his chest rise and fall beneath the fabric so violently that you wouldn’t be surprised if it ripped at the seams. 

This reminded you too much of the changes that happened in him months ago. 

It started with a sharpened temper, then the heightened sensitivity to everything, the black covering his eyes, and moments during patrol when his reactions became simply frightening for someone who had as much strength as he did. But you were supposed to have stopped it. 

“Is it the inhibitor?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, “is it failing?” 

“I–I don’t know…I was hit with some dust out there,” he breathed. “I think it’s tampering with it…my head is killing me. Everything is too much.”

You nodded, turning toward the workstation. 

“I will check the programming. Just hold on.” Not your best attempt at reassuring him, but he groaned in acknowledgment. 

“EV?” 

The computer woke when you touched the keyboard, illuminating the dark attic in a wash of blue light. 

“Online.”

“Please run a diagnostic on the inhibitor and any possible interference.” 

“Beginning diagnostic.” 

You waited impatiently for the results, tapping your fingers on the desk while you watched him from the corner of your eye. 

Over there, he…he was doing his best trying to breathe. 

This obviously wasn't his first time having sensory overload. When the animal tried to take over the human part of him, everything in the city became impossible to escape. Not a single movement, or sound, or simple existence within miles was unnoticed by him. 

But this time? The rest of the city had disappeared. There were no sirens in the distance, or voices coming through the walls, or every heartbeat in the building pounding in his head. 

There was only you. 

Your rapid heartbeat echoing inside him. He felt every tap of your fingers against the wood, every slight catch in your breathing each time he made another involuntary and pathetic sound from his spot on the floor. 

Your scent…God, your scent filled the entire apartment. 

The scent he found himself coming back to so often that it scared him. He didn’t want the attachment. The possibility of having someone again only to risk losing them again. 

That same scent was making every muscle in his body react in a way he didn’t understand. It made him, and the other him, wanna do things to you he had only dreamed of in his wildest fantasies. Things he wasn’t proud of, things he wouldn’t dare to say out loud, even if he looked at you through the lenses of his mask and you couldn’t see the black in his eyes. 

He pressed the back of his head against the couch harshly. 

This was wrong. So wrong. 

His senses were supposed to consume everything when the change came. Instead, they had fixed themselves entirely on you.

He could feel the heat of your body from across the room as though you were still in front of him. Could remember with sickening detail how soft your hands looked when they reached for him. Could almost feel the burn of the touch that had never landed because he stopped you. 

What if he’d let you? What if he’d felt the way your hands ran all over his body? What if you’d moved them lower, and lower, as your mouth–

“Diagnostic complete.” 

Your heads snapped toward the screen. 

“There’s no external damage affecting the integrity of the device. I detected a foreign biotoxin in the bloodstream that may be bypassing the inhibitor, activating the suppressed arachnid hormones.” 

“What biotoxin?” You frowned. 

“Unknown. No matches found in available databases.” 

Great. He thought. He had no time to take a bath with Yelena Belova to find out what the stupid dust was. 

The screen changed, displaying a model of his nervous system. There were yellow bright lines pulsing quickly, running all the way from the base of his brain down the length of his spine. Something unknown was moving through his blood, altering the part of him he had spent months forcing into submission.

He sucked in a breath as he watched you read the screen. Your eyes were focused, and a bead of sweat made its way down the side of your forehead. 

He suddenly felt the need to lick it off. 

Wanted to run his tongue from the base of your neck to the back of your ear. Wanted to fist your hair and make your heart beat out of your chest from how good he knew he could make you feel–

“The effects remain within his enhanced tolerance. However, prolonged exposure to certain hormones can cause extreme distress without relief.” 

“What hormones?” Your voice, worried and unknowing of his thoughts only made him feel guiltier. 

It took him a second to realize what you asked, but EV threw him under the bus before he could say anything. 

“There’s a significant rise in reproductive hormones. The unknown toxin is inducing a strong mating response in him.”

Mating response. He stopped breathing. 

Your eyes slowly moved from the monitor to him, and he saw the moment your attention dropped lower to the tent of his pants. 

That suit concealed nothing on a good day. On one like this? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck–

He shifted almost immediately, but the movement only worsened the pressure, pulling a helpless groan from his throat that made your pulse jump. You looked away at once, turning back to the computer. 

“Is there a way we can…umm…stop it?” You asked hesitantly. 

“The subject is experiencing severe sexual arousal with a fixation on a nearby individual,” she explained, because fuck him if he wasn’t the unluckiest individual on earth. “Acting upon it can be a positive option to relieve sexual tension.”

He wished the floor would open beneath him, swallow him, and never ever EVER spit him back out again.  

Your pulse was absolutely hammering after that. He caught the sudden change in your scent. There was a sharp spark of surprise, nervousness, and something else beneath it that his altered senses fed on immediately.

You kept your eyes fixed on the monitor, although the data had stopped meaning anything the moment you heard fixation on a nearby individual. 

“Is that what you really feel?” You asked softly after a moment. 

His head fell forward, catching it between his gloved hands. He didn’t know how to answer without making everything worse.

Although, after what EV said, could it really be worse? 

“…Yes.” The word came out rougher than he expected. Yet still not enough for what was happening inside him. “It’s like…I can only feel you. All of you.”

Heat rose to your face once again. 

“What does that mean?” 

Don’t say anything, don’t–

“I can smell you.” Great start, idiot. He cleared his dry throat before continuing. “I can smell your shampoo…the lotion you use…the ink on your hands from your favorite pen.” 

He chose not to mention he could also smell the adrenaline on you. The heat gathering slowly beneath your skin. 

Your eyes dropped to your hands, and under the dim light of the computer, you caught the blue stains in them from your journaling session before bed. 

“I can hear your heartbeat changing every time I speak,” he added. Okay, that one slipped out.  

You swallowed. And god, he felt that in his own throat. 

The suit was suffocating him at this point. He wanted to rip it off as much as he wanted to rip off the fabric covering the goosebumps on your skin. 

“Is it only because I’m nearby?” You asked, gathering the courage to turn your chair to him.

White lenses met you across the room. He dragged in another shaky breath of oxygen made of you as he thought about his next words. He could’ve lied. He should’ve lied. But instead, chemically overwhelmed and stripped of every defense he possessed, he gave you the truth. 

“No.”

His voice was firmer this time. No hesitation in it despite the thousand red alarms pounding in his head telling him to shut up. 

“It picked you–no, I picked you for a reason,” he added. “And it’s not just me. The other…the other me wants you too.” 

His voice went lower on the last part, that told you how much it cost him to admit that. 

The silence following his confession was heavy. For a moment he wished he could read your mind. For all he could feel of you, your thoughts were unreachable. 

His own mind was a mess. The impulses didn’t feel like thoughts anymore, just his body feeding him instructions. 

Get up. Cross the room. Touch her. Breathe her in.

His palms shook with the urge to close around you. His teeth ached with the need to graze your skin. His eyes burned with the desire to see beyond fabric. 

Every part of him seemed convinced that the small distance between you was a mistake he needed to correct. That he needed to breathe you in until his lungs burned. Drag his mouth along the inside of your wrist and taste the pulse there.

He hated it.

He hated that something inside him could look at the person he cared for the most and reduce her to an answer for his pain. 

“EV, how long is this state going to last?” He asked the computer, followed by a weak cough as he clutched his side. 

“Your enhanced physiology is struggling to break down the toxin’s structure. I estimate a time between ten to twelve hours before it’s metabolized. However, neurological collapse is expected before that timeframe.”

“What?” You looked at him. “There’s no way we’re letting that happen. Maybe I can–”

“Don’t even start,” he cut you off, shaking his head profusely. 

“So what? I’m supposed to sit here betting on whether your body collapses on hour three or hour six?” 

“I’ll just pass out, big deal. I’m not putting you in danger because of this. I can handle it.”

“You’re barely handling it now. There’s no danger in trying–”

“You don’t understand what’s happening inside me right now,” he argued, raising his voice. “This other thing, the one the inhibitor controls it’s…awake. That part of me doesn’t think like I do. It doesn’t care if you're scared, or hurting–”

“You wouldn’t hurt me–”

“You don’t know that!” He snapped, his fist struck the floor next to him, hard enough to make the worn wood crack beneath his knuckles. 

The sudden noise made you flinch. He smelled the flash of fear moving through your body for only a second. 

One second enough. 

“Fuck–that is what I mean,” he cursed, covering his lenses with his hands. “I don’t…I don’t know if I’d be gentle. I can’t risk this, I can't…shit, I can’t risk you.”

The words, said with so much pain, and honesty, seemed to settle somewhere deep in your chest. 

“Okay,” you nodded, settling deeper in your chair. “But I’m not leaving you like this. I can’t risk you either.”

He shuddered a painful exhale. His head dropped to the couch again, shutting his eyes in preparation of what the next hours of torture would be. 

Except…he didn’t even last ten minutes. 

The suit was killing him, so he decided he’d be better without it. He reached desperately behind his back, clumsily undoing the zippers that tied the suit together.

He could feel your wide eyes on him as he tugged the fabric off his shoulders, peeling it off his sweaty arms. He groaned when he lifted his hips and the suit grazed his swollen crotch. In a matter of seconds that felt like eternity he managed to break free from the spandex, and threw it away somewhere in the room. He’d undressed down to his dark boxers, mask still in place, revealing the marble sculpture of his body.

You let out a shaky breath from your spot, eyes raking over a body you’d only seen partially. He was covered in wounds most of the time, but this time, he only had faint bruises from the night before decorating his chiseled abs. 

His tight muscles flexed with every rise of his chest, his bulge straining harder the more you devoured him, pressing against his pants, making him curse quietly. 

You noticed, and returned your eyes to the screen to track his vitals. 

He felt grateful that you’d given him that grace, but just you being in that room made it very hard for him to think of anything other than your existence. 

Too hard. 

Before he knew his hand drifted down the growing ache in his crotch, trying to feel some relief, but every rub he made over the fabric of his boxers sent a jolt of pain through his body instead of pleasure. 

It only made it worse when he realized you were tense at the desk, trying very hard to keep your focus on the screen and not on the whines he was letting out. 

“…I’m sorry,” he apologized instantly, breathlessly, moving his hand away. “I didn’t–”

“Don’t apologize,” you shook your head quickly, eyes still on the screen. “You…you can do whatever you need.” 

He didn’t say anything, just whined in pain again, so you took it as a chance to say it before you regretted it. 

“But my offer still stands, spidey.” 

What a polite way of saying ‘I’d let you fuck me into next week so you can control your horny arachnid hormones, spidey.’

Fucking hell. 

“I’m okay I just–God I didn’t–I didn’t think it would feel this way…” He laughed humorlessly, staring at the ceiling. “But I–I got this. Yes.”

You kept quiet, hearing him mumble to himself about a hundred times about how he had this.

“I’m okay…I’m good…it’s fine…” 

He wasn’t. 

“Fuck I don’t…I’m going to die…”

For God’s sake. 

“I think I can help.”

By the time he registered the words and looked back at you, you had already moved from your chair and shortened the distance between you, kneeling in front of him. 

His senses went from one thousand to one million. He forced his hands behind his back, trying to keep the animal from grabbing you and getting it over with. 

“What–what are you doing?” He stammered nervously, the lenses of his mask going wide. 

“Maynard,” you said quietly, ignoring the way his body tensed up at that name. “Would it make you feel better if I put my hand here?” 

You placed your hand right in the center of his chest, and your cold palm met his overheated skin. He gasped, feeling every individual fingerprint on his skin. He wanted them marked on him. Tattooed. 

His back arched from the couch, with a strangled gasp breaking from beneath the mask. The relief hit him all at once, through a simple contact that felt like salvation. 

Your hand steadied him for only a glorious second, but now that you had touched him, his body knew precisely what it had been denied.

It wanted more.

His own hand closed around yours so suddenly that you almost pulled back, but he loosened his grip the instant he realized how tightly he was holding you. 

“Sorry–”

“Don’t apologize.” You pressed harder. 

He was burning.

The heat beneath your palm scared you, but what scared you more was the violent pounding of his heart beating against your hand so so quickly. 

“Better?” You asked quietly, trying not to bite your bottom lip at the image of him crumbling under your palm. 

“So fucking better,” he said breathlessly, pressing your hand tighter against his chest. “I…dammit–”

“Breathe,” you reminded.

His head fell back against the couch. Chest rising up and down, up and down, up and down. 

Just take her, man, she’s right there–

Your free hand accidentally brushed his neck, right where the border of the mask started, snapping him right back. He grabbed your hand, not harshly, but firm enough to make your breath hitch. 

“Please.” Was all he said. 

Leave it on. 

It brought you back to that first night he’d crashed into your life. 

“I wasn’t planning on removing it,” you whispered, leaning closer. “You can keep it on. But let me help you…I really want to.”

See? She wants it. She needs it so bad. 

He hated that the other guy was right. He knew you meant what you said because he could smell the proof pooling between your thighs.

Fuck it.

In a sudden movement he reached for your waist, dragging you forward so you were straddling his lap. The bulge you landed on made you gasp, hands instinctively grabbing onto his sweaty biceps for balance when he let out a broken groan that vibrated against your core. 

His hand cupped your jaw, bringing it closer to his face, and your dilated pupils reflected on the white of his lenses. 

“I can feel that you want this,” he mumbled, tilting his head to the side. “Please, say it again…”

You shifted your hips, barely, so minimal yet he felt it travel through his whole body. He hissed, tightening the grip on your jaw. 

“I want this,” you repeated firmly, moving your head closer to his ear. “You can take whatever you need…”

You moved your hips again, more deliberate this time, pulling a broken whine from him. The toxin made every contact feel like electricity racing down his spine, straight to the heavy, aching weight of his cock under you. 

“Yes…yeah just like that…” he panted. “Just let me…”

His hands landed on your waist, moving you back and forth at a quicker pace over his bulge. You gasped at the friction, fingers digging into his shoulders, while he let out a collection of muffled words you could barely understand. 

“...M–more…” he whined, throwing his head back against the couch. “I can’t–I need…”

“What do you need? More what?” 

“More contact.”

His hands left your waist to grab the hem of your shirt. 

“Can I?” He whispered.

You nodded eagerly, gasping when his hands shifted to the collar of your shirt instead, ripping it off your body with a sharp pull. 

“Oh fuck,” he cursed when he realized there was nothing under that shirt, and saw your nipples hardening instantly under the cold air. 

He resisted the urge to bite them through the mask. 

His hands, however, wasted no time to cup your breasts with a broken whine. His thumbs played with your nipples, tugging at them as hard as he could allow himself to without hurting you. 

“Fuck you’re perfect…you’re so perfect…” he whispered, more to himself than you, pulling some soft whimpers out of you when he tugged a little harder. His hands drifted to your lower half, to the hem of the last piece keeping your body from his greedy eyes. “These too,” he said, “please, can I? I want to feel you.”

“Yes,” you nodded, already out of air. 

You didn’t even know why you tried to get off his lap to take the shorts off properly, when he just did the same as the shirt: ripped it in half where it rested on your hips, yanked it off from your body and threw the ruined pieces far away. 

You weren’t wearing anything underneath. 

“I can smell you. God, I can smell you. You’re so–oh God…”

Now he could feel your wetness drenching his boxers, dripping onto the fabric. He could almost taste it in his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to drown in it for hours. 

“Can–can I–?”

You didn’t even let him finish, you grabbed his hand and placed it right between your legs. 

Water. He found water in the middle of the dessert. 

His hand moved carefully through your wet folds once, twice, delighting in your warmth, the way you felt, the way you let out the prettiest sound he had ever heard in his miserable life. 

“Fuck…” you cursed softly, moving your hips eagerly when he kept stroking slow. Too slow. “Touch me, please.”

He obliged, fingers finding your clit in movements that had you gripping his shoulders tighter, eyes fluttering shut so beautifully he had to bite his lip to not let out a pathetic sound. 

“Been wanting this,” he mumbled. “Longer than today. Longer than tonight.”

His finger slid inside of you, making you moan when he curled it just right. 

“There were…there were nights I thought about you riding my hand,” he kept going, voice cracking as he added a second finger, stretching you more. “I’ve wanted you for so long–not just because of this shit in my blood. Because it’s you.”

Every word made you clench around his fingers. Every admission pulled another shaky moan out of your throat. You were a mess already, breathless, hips rolling down to meet the thrust of his fingers. 

“Oh my God–don’t stop, please don’t stop–”

“Not stopping, baby.” 

He kept working you open, the white lenses of the mask never leaving your face. His free hand slid up your chest, settling between your breasts. 

“I’m–I’m close,” you managed. “I’m so close–”

“Come on…you’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect like this.”

The heel of his palm lifted to press against your clit. You were right there, right on the edge, about to come on his hand and drip down his boxers–

“Please,” he begged, unable to keep it in. “Let me fuck you after this…please. I need to be inside you. I’ve needed it for so long–just let me, after you come, please, please–”

The plea undid you.

You came with a broken cry, stopping your movements as your walls pulsed around him. The sound you made against his shoulder nearly finished him right there. 

It took you a second to just breathe again, your chest synching up with his in the search of oxygen. He kept rocking his hand slowly, not just to work you through the aftershocks, but because the friction of your pussy in his hand brought the tiniest relief to him. 

You just stayed there as the last soft waves rolled through you. 

Once you were able to see clearly again, you let out a breathless chuckle and straightened back up. 

He needed you. He needed you so badly you really thought he was going to die if you didn’t help him. 

You placed one hand on his chest as the other reached under you, slipping inside the fabric of his boxers without breaking eye contact. 

The second your bare fingers brushed him, his hips jerked hard under you. 

“You said please,” you whispered breathlessly. 

You wrapped your fingers around him and pulled him free.

His cock sprang out, heavy and flushed between your bodies, so thick and hard and painful. The head was red and shiny, with precum dripping down the vein that ran along his length. The tip brushed the skin of your stomach, leaving a warm, wet patch that made the hair on your arms go up. He could smell the small flicker of intimidation sparking inside you, but the want that followed was stronger. 

You stroked him a few times, slowly just as he’d touched you at first. 

“Oh my God, your hand–your hand–”

Another thick bead of precum welled up and spilled over your fingers. Whether it was the toxin or just his enhanced physiology, he was dripping for you.  

Flustered wasn’t enough of a word when you had his leaking cock in your hand. 

His hands slid down to your hips, gripping tighter, guiding you up as if he was about to lift you then pulling you back down immediately. 

Fuck her. Fuck her right now. 

“Please, I need–I need to feel you…” he cried out. “Let me…let me…”

You nodded just as desperately, lifting yourself up as he helped, steadying you with shaking hands until the thick head of his cock nudged against your entrance. You both exhaled hard at the same time when you started to sink down, taking him inch by inch.

He was big. Almost too much. The burn of it made your breath hitch, but the way he cursed under his breath multiple times, completely at your mercy, made you keep going until he was buried balls deep.

You sat there for a moment, breathing heavily, and so full of him. 

When the initial sting faded away, you started moving. He let you set the pace as you adjusted, holding back his need of thrusting up. His fingers dug on your skin, not lifting just holding you, but the more that you moved, the more that control started to waver. 

He could feel it coming. The change. 

You kept moaning, bouncing on top of him, completely unaware of his self restraint crumbling away. 

His grip slowly tightened when his eyes began turning completely black under his mask. That careful, pathetic boy who’d been begging disappeared beneath something more…primal. 

Fuck. Whatever had been holding him back finally snapped.

The next thing he knew, his hands slid under your thighs with sudden strength. He lifted you up in one motion until only the thick head of him remained inside you, held you there for a second as the last part of him tried to remember how to be gentle–then snapped his hips up hard.

That first thrust pulled a sharp moan out of you, but there was no chance to adjust this time. He set a relentless pace almost immediately, using pure strength to bounce you on his cock while he drove up to meet every drop of your body, buried so deep it stole your breath every time he bottomed out. 

“Oh my–May…Maynard–” the name you barely used on him slipped out in the middle of the frenzy, but his hand reached behind your head to pull your hair back slightly as he kept thrusting up. 

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, his voice so different from just minutes earlier. “It’s Peter. Call me Peter when I’m inside you.” 

He didn’t even give you time to process, still lifting and dropping you onto his cock at the exact hard rhythm he wanted. The only one that satisfied the need inside of him. Your hands instinctively reached for the edge of the arm of the couch he was leaning against, fingers digging into the worn fabric as he hit that spot inside you over and over again. 

“Of fuck…Peter–fuck…yes…”

“That’s better,” he approved. “I was right, you’re so so perfect…taking every inch like you need it as bad as I do…”

A desperate sound slipped out of you at the praise, he could feel your walls clenching tight around him as your body went for that second orgasm, your eyes were fluttering shut, almost there–

“Nuh–uh,” he denied immediately, stopping mid thrust, holding you pressed against him as you gasped, surprised and confused. 

“What–what happened? I was about to–”

“I want you to hold it for me. I know you can.”

That twisted part of him enjoyed the slow realization on your face. 

Even if you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew the same spiderman he’d been without the inhibitor, was the one with your body at his mercy now. 

Good. 

He stayed buried to the hilt for a moment, breathing hard behind the mask. When your breathing finally slowed down and accepted that the high never came, he stood up. Still inside you, he walked you to the bed in the corner of the room. 

His bed.

He pulled out with a wet sound that made both of you groan, then laid you down roughly near the edge of the mattress. He kneeled down, strong hands hooking behind your knees and dragging your legs over his shoulders, folding you open for him completely.

“Look at the ceiling,” he ordered. “Don’t look at me.”

You obeyed, staring up at the wood beams high above you while he tugged the bottom of the mask just high enough to free his mouth. 

Peter leaned down and pressed a few soft kisses to your swollen folds. He wasn’t necessarily eating you out, just giving a few loud smooches that felt good enough to make you grip the sheets. 

“M’sorry, you were so perfect there…” he mumbled condescendingly against your most sensitive spots. “But I need you to hold on a little longer. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?” 

You nodded, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. Maybe too eager. Maybe too pathetic. Just like he’d been. Had he pumped that toxin into you? 

Either way, you didn’t care. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like this version of him. 

He laughed right over your clit when you moaned loudly, after he moved his tongue in a slow, torturous swipe over it. 

“Was back there too much?” He cooed. “Maybe I just need to stretch you more...”

Two fingers slid inside you, so easily, but the sudden stretch still dragged a whine out of your throat. He curled them immediately, finding the spot that made your hips jerk. 

“Peter…” 

“Huh?” He acted coy, pumping his fingers with a rhythm that kept you right on the edge without letting you tip over. He added a third finger, making your back arch from the mattress. “Keep holding it in.”

Every shake of your body fed the stupid toxin inside him. Having you like this…really trying to keep your body from coming apart because he said so. 

God. He was never going back. 

“You just took my cock. I think you can take three fingers with no problem.” 

He kept the same relentless pace, chuckling when your body started twitching again. 

“Shhh, you’re perfect, absolutely perfect…”

“Peter…” you called out again, hand dropping the sheet to find his shoulder instead. “I need…need…”

“Need what?”

“Need you inside me…please I won’t–I won’t hold for much longer just–fuck me.”

He stopped altogether, a smirk you couldn’t see stretching the corner of his mouth. He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, licking them clean before tugging his mask back in place and standing up. 

“Yeah?” 

Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed for a moment before his hands gripped your hips and turned you over. He moved you higher up the bed, grabbing one of the pillows, and shoving it under your hips, tilting your lower body up for him. 

He then climbed onto the bed behind you and knelt between your spread thighs, the mattress dipping under his weight as one hand stroked down the length of your spine. 

But something made him stop. 

“This fucking mask–” he cursed under his breath. “It’s suffocating me.”

The sweat on his forehead had pooled under the mask, making it so sticky over his eyebrows that it was affecting the lenses he was trying to see you through. 

“I need you to be a good girl for me,” he added breathlessly, yet still commanding enough. “Keep your head on the mattress. Ass up. Don’t turn around.”

You nodded. Too eagerly again. Couldn’t care any less again. 

He didn’t think twice, just yanked the mask off and tossed it aside. It landed near you, making you bury half your face on the sheets as if staring at the mask alone would be disobeying his commands. 

The sound he made when the cool air hit his face was pure relief. He swiped the sweat off with his forearm, finally seeing you clearly. Face down. Eyes squeezed shut. Already clutching the sheets. 

“You look so pretty like this,” he mumbled. “All spread out for me…waiting.”

“Peter…” you whined, lifting your ass slightly from the pillow. 

“I know, I know. You’re okay.” He couldn’t keep the smirk away when he added, “you said please.”

He reached between you, guiding the thick head of his cock between your thighs until it nudged against your entrance. You were still soft and ready and perfect. 

Peter pushed in slowly, letting you feel every inch as he sank deep and deep and deeper. 

He braced one hand beside your head and kept the other on your hip, pushing you into the mattress as his thighs hit the back of yours. Slap. Slap. Slap. The position left almost no space between your bodies, with Peter pressing his chest against your back. 

“Fuck…you feel so good like this…so pretty taking me.”

He kept going, making the mattress creak and the base of the bed hit the brick wall repeatedly. Your desperate moans ran through his body like electricity, making something inside him crack open again. 

What? What is–

The moment his rhythm stuttered, he shook his head, trying to clear it. Beads of sweat flew from his hair to your back. 

“God–you…you’re making me–” The roughness of his thrusts slowed down immediately, inhaling a sharp intake of air as he felt the change again. “I can’t, I can’t…”

He lifted his gaze to the window behind the bed and noticed his eyes had turned back to its original color. 

“Oh my god,” he gasped, stopping altogether. He straightened up, still kneeling and inside you, but panicking. “I’m…I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened I–“

“Peter!” You cut him off, pushing yourself back, closer to him, without turning around. “Shut up and fuck me.”

The order left your mouth breathless, pushing back against him even more to make the point clear. His hands twitched when they gripped your hips again. 

“Okay, okay…” he panted, groaning when you dropped back on the bed and his cock almost left the warmth of your pussy. “I’m sorry–if I was too rough, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

He picked up the pace again, but the words tumbling out of him now were pure pleading Peter again. 

“Don’t turn around–don’t turn around–fuck, fuck…” slap, slap, slap. “You can come now. Please. Please, I want to feel it–you’d come apart so pretty on me, I know you would…pleasepleaseplease–”

His final permission and the desperate way he said it made you crash harder than the first time, crying out into the mattress. The second he felt you coming around him, he knew he couldn’t last much longer either.

“Can I–inside…please, can I??…let me fill you up–”

“Yes–inside, Peter, do it inside me…” 

He buried himself to the hilt with a strained groan and finally came. The orgasm tearing out of him was harder and longer than anything he’d ever felt, holding you there, filling you up. 

You gasped against the sheets, breathless, as the waves of cum seemed to go on forever, flooding you with warm and thick ropes in every spurt as he emptied himself inside you. 

“Thank you…thank you…” His forehead dropped between your shoulder blades, sending broken gasps against your skin as he kept coming. “You are so perfect–fuck…so perfect…thank you…”

The pollen wrung him dry until he could barely breathe, and even then he kept rolling his hips weakly, chasing the last of it while he slowly softened inside you. 

When it finally eased, the pain, the need, the hunger…he pulled out slowly with a whine, and half collapsed over you. His arms held most of his weight as he planked above you, but you could feel every ridge of his muscles brushing your sweaty skin. 

Peter’s eyes fluttered shut, feeling exhausted and aching in the best way, almost lulled by the sounds of your agitated breaths. 

You both felt the warm trail of liquid leaking out between your bodies and neither of you moved or said anything for a while. He could’ve stayed like that forever, really. With your naked body under him, no masks, no barriers, just your swollen pussy leaking out his seed–

“Successful ejaculation brought down the arachnid hormone levels immediately. Inhibitor working within regular parameters now. Congratulations, Peter.” 

EV’s monotone voice cut through the silence. 

It took two seconds of shock before you both broke into breathless laughter. His teeth grazed your back as your bodies vibrated in sync from the amusement and overall flustering after everything that happened. 

“Thank you, EV,” Peter muttered. 

“You’re welcome. I gathered data and the released semen volume exceeds standard parameters by two hundred and twenty six percent due to the high hormonal concentration. Hydration, clean up and rest are advised.”

“For fucks sake…” Peter cursed under his breath. 

“Oh god…” you mumbled against the sheets. 

That was your call back to reality. 

Peter felt you move under him, reaching blindly to the side until your hand found the mask. You lifted it over your shoulder, offering it to him without looking. 

“I don’t want to,” he said, too quickly, then cleared his throat. “I…I don’t want to put it back on.” 

“Then I’ll close my eyes,” you offered instead. 

“No–I mean…you don’t have to. I don’t want to wear it around you anymore. Not after…all of this,” he admitted sheepishly. 

“But you told me to not turn around,” you reminded him, dropping the mask on the mattress again. “And that was you, not the darker you.”

He chuckled, nodding even if you couldn’t see him yet. 

“Yeah, because if I saw your face while I was balls deep inside you I would’ve busted before you came.”

There it was. He said it. No turning back now. 

At least it got a chuckle from you too. 

“Listen I…I meant everything I said. Everything. The wanting, the nights I thought about you,” he confessed. “I don’t want you to feel like I just used you when…when there was always a reason why I needed you like oxygen tonight.”

Your breath hitched, and his hand found your waist, pulling you closer to him, and when you didn’t push away…he exhaled in relief behind you. 

“So maybe…you can turn around now. If–if you want to. Know the real me.”

“I would really like that,” you whispered without hesitation. 

You tried lifting yourself up to turn around, but he did most of the job, moving away the pillow he had placed under you and helping you roll onto your back. You closed your eyes, at least until you were facing him completely, and took a deep breath. Holding onto his biceps for moral support, you finally opened them again. 

Seeing his face for the first time felt so intimate, even after everything you just did. 

There he was. The same guy who just fucked you into next week, looking more shy and boyish than you could’ve ever imagined. 

Brown eyes. Dark, curly hair sticking to his forehead. A nervous smile tugging at the corner of his gorgeous mouth. 

So young. So earnest. So yours. 

No spidey anymore. Just Peter. 

Your Peter. 

Thank you so much for reading 🤍 I used to write Peter so much back in the day (shoutout to my starktonyx era) and I’ve missed him dearly.

Feedback is always appreciated 🕷️

Divider by @andromeda-graphics

Tags: @johnnyfuckingsexystorm @harryplzruinme @jellyfishjpeg @tatumrileyslover @kg0626

[midniqhtt]

girl bye. my clothes are gone, hormones are high, but no spidey to help 😭 fuck me. can’t get enough of your sex pollen fics. feel like you release you’re own toxins in your fics making me want crave more 🤭 loved every minute of it

[straykidsmedia]

© My angel [1, 2] preview

[everyonewooeverywhere]

[chxrryangel]

hyunchan bodyguard/president's son minor update !!!

hi loves! i know i have not talked about my hyunchan bodyguard fic in a HOT minute but i want to let you know i am actively working on it. however, in the mean time i wanted to ask your opinions on a minor plot twist for the fic

if you DO NOT want to be spoiled, do not extend this post, if you're okay with that then proceed <3

i think i want chan to have previously been part of the mafia or currently part of the mafia

previously idea: he got out and coincidentally started working for the president to guard his son from stalkers. while on the job the mafia gets in contact with him and blackmail him into giving them hyunjin (haven’t deciced what the blackmail will be but i'm think something to do with his brother, idk which member yet lol). he gives into it, but then rescues hyunjin later and there's lots of angst and groveling and yada yada

current member idea: the other idea is that he is currently a member and that’s why he got the job as hyunjin’s bodyguard in the first place. but then he starts to fall for hyunjin and doesn’t want to take him (or kill him) so he protects hyunjin and again there’s lost of drama and angst

i am leaning more towards previous member, but i wanna know what you guys think

love hearing from you, i promise things will happen soon with the first chapter but i wanna make it good and decently long so BEAR WITH ME

Chan should be a…

Previous Member

Current Member

Voting ended onAug 3

[chxrryangel]

am i an asshole if i do the opposite of the poll results 😂

[chxrryangel]

hyunchan bodyguard/president's son minor update !!!

hi loves! i know i have not talked about my hyunchan bodyguard fic in a HOT minute but i want to let you know i am actively working on it. however, in the mean time i wanted to ask your opinions on a minor plot twist for the fic

if you DO NOT want to be spoiled, do not extend this post, if you're okay with that then proceed <3

i think i want chan to have previously been part of the mafia or currently part of the mafia

previously idea: he got out and coincidentally started working for the president to guard his son from stalkers. while on the job the mafia gets in contact with him and blackmail him into giving them hyunjin (haven’t deciced what the blackmail will be but i'm think something to do with his brother, idk which member yet lol). he gives into it, but then rescues hyunjin later and there's lots of angst and groveling and yada yada

current member idea: the other idea is that he is currently a member and that’s why he got the job as hyunjin’s bodyguard in the first place. but then he starts to fall for hyunjin and doesn’t want to take him (or kill him) so he protects hyunjin and again there’s lost of drama and angst

i am leaning more towards previous member, but i wanna know what you guys think

love hearing from you, i promise things will happen soon with the first chapter but i wanna make it good and decently long so BEAR WITH ME

Chan should be a…

Previous Member

Current Member

Voting ended onAug 3

[heholiestbitch]

Eat me alive (swallow me whole)

Pairing: cult leader!hongjoong x reader

Word count: 6.6k

A/n: this was supposed to be a rewrite, but I basically made an entirely new fic but with the same premise. Hope you still enjoy it. - from the writer formerly known as m1rotics.

Warnings: Dubcon, Reader is implied to have been given up to Hongjoong, Power Imbalance, Manipulation, Light Misogyny, Exhibitionism, Forced Caretaking, Pussy Inspection, Degradation, Groping, Body Worship, Light Fear Play, Dumbification, Slight Intoxication Play, Spit Play, Threats, Orgasm Control, Virginity Kink. Religious imagery is used + it gets blasphemous in usual cult fashion.

The room is neat and monochromatic. 

The bed cover is black, the curtains are a dark grey, and the sheets are a lighter shade. The only dashes of color are from the nick-knacks lined up on the dresser and the books lining the shelves. It's a contained portion. All of it pressed against one wall; the desk tucked between the shelves. 

The bed has its own wall, coupled by a single, smaller dresser on its right. It's a nice room. If the situation were different, you'd go so far as to describe the room as comfortable. Cozy, even. They clearly keep it tidy and ready to receive guests, but you can't admire that right now. Your palms are sweating and your stomach is churning. There's a layer of sweat forming all over your body. You're trembling. You want to hurl. You might pass out, or you'll save yourself the embarrassment and skip to choking on your own tongue.

Everyone's leering at you, watching, observing you like some kind of fidgety animal or a shiny, new toy. It's so quiet, you can distinguish each one of their breaths. 

It's like the world is at a stand-still. The ground is minutes from crumbling beneath your feet. The calm before the storm.

Hongjoong hands rest on your hips, and he draws himself closer until the two of you are slotted together. He purrs, low in your ear, "they're going to get you ready for me. Prep you, pamper you, all those courtesies."

You swallow. The nerves lodged in your throat make it hard to speak. Stress rendering your tongue incapable. Hongjoong doesn't seem to care, nor want a response. You let your eyes wander, aiming to ignore the others. Eight men. There's eight people in here, and you only know one of them. 

It makes you nervy. You've never been in a room with so many men—you were never allowed to. Hongjoong claimed the title of the first man you were left alone with besides your father a few weeks ago. Now you're up to eight.

Yet, they all know you. 

Hongjoong presses his cheek to yours. "Isn't she pretty?" 

When no one answers, his hand grips your chin to force you to look at them. Your gaze locks with Seonghwa. The other person you know, barely, but you've heard of him. You know him mainly by name; Hongjoong speaks of him a lot, is near him a lot when you aren't around, so you've seen his face in passing. However, you haven't really gotten to know anyone but Hongjoong. Not through your own volition, but because it's a part of the rules. To bond you and Hongjoong closer.

It's important for you to form that trust with him, is what they told you. This is sacred.

You're getting special treatment from what you've heard. Not just anyone gets to experience this. Only the worthy. Only the chosen. 

Your parents were jubilant. Their little girl favored by Hongjoong. Hand-picked to be by his side. 

Nobody new has gotten this close to him. Nobody but you.

"Don't look away again," Hongjoong mutters. "I taught you how to listen, didn't I?"

"You did."

Hongjoong's hands trail up to your waist, dipping underneath your shirt. Warm hands kneading your stomach. "She's quite soft, I think you'll like her." His hands go further up, groping your tits, and yanking a yelp out of you. Hongjoong keeps you pushed against him. He noses at your temple as he says, "Especially here." 

Your face burns, but you don't protest. You don't attempt to get away from him, you stand and take it. Nobody speaks, but it's not like they were intended to. No, they're taking to their role just as they're supposed to. Silently waiting. He peels himself away with a one last squeeze to your breasts, pulling your shirt back in its place. 

"You're gonna be good for them, right?" He asks. "I don't want to hear any complaints about you later." 

"Yeah," your voice is subdued, hushed. "I will." 

"Good," he pushes you forward.

You flounder, and it takes everything to keep yourself from falling onto your knees.

"Be nice to her, 'kay?" He lilts, flippant. 

Everyone takes it as the warning it's meant to be. 

You hear the door open, then shut, solidifying the fact that you're alone with them. It's suffocating. You're so nervous, it's making you sick. You've never been anywhere without Hongjoong acting as your buffer. 

You've been left in a lion's den. 

They don't bother with any niceties. They move quickly, working as units. One person takes your back, pulling your shirt up and above your head. When you're able to see again, the prettiest man you've ever laid eyes on is standing in front of you, beginning to unbutton your pants. His hair is a vivid burgundy, and it matches the birthmark under his left eye. 

Your mouth opens. He leaves before you can speak.

It's hard to catch up. When one leaves, another one takes their place. The man in front of you is tall. Tall enough that you have to lift your head a bit to look him in the eye. He's intimidating. His eyes are dark and intense. His plump bottom lip pulled between his teeth. 

He gropes your chest through your bra and groans at the give. He steps closer. You attempt to step back, but the man at your back prevents that. 

"Don't get too handsy, Mingi," he chides. Although, it's too light to be a true scolding.

The man—Mingi—chuckles, deep and syrupy, but his hands don't move. He doesn't show any remorse. He licks his lips, eyeing you down. 

Your breath hitches. There's a pit in your stomach you can't shake. Apprehension riding your heels.

"Look at her. She's practically begging to be fucked." A finger traces up the length of your spine, stopping at the clasp of your bra. You whimper when your bra strap hits your back, jolting at the spritz of pain. He unfastens it. Mingi slides it off your shoulder, letting it fall onto the carpet.

A man with fox eyes and a lazy grin saunters up to you next. His hair is long enough to tickle his neck. His hands settle on your waist, thumbs pressing into your stomach. He squeezes.

"She is soft," he murmurs, pouting. "This is making me jealous. He's so lucky. I want-"

Seonghwa kisses his teeth. "That's too bad, Woo. Get on with it."

The man, who you now know as Woo, guides you to the bed. He keeps physical contact the entire time: a hand on the small of your back, on your arms to spin you around, and on your shoulders to push you down until you're lying on your back. He coaxes your thighs open, careful and slow, as if he's savoring the process. 

You see him swallow, and his head falls back with a tiny groan. Then, he's back to it. His fingers latch onto the band of your underwear. He drags them down your legs treacherously slowly, and you don't see where they've been discarded when they're finally off, but you figure it's none of your concern. He inches closer, and you can feel the heat of his breath now. Fanning over you. 

Seonghwa wrenches him up by the hair.

 "Hwa, don't-" he whines. "Please I need—" 

He gestures for someone, and two men wrangle Woo out the way, so that Seonghwa may take his place. 

"Yun, hold her open," he murmurs.

Two large hands peel your thighs apart, keeping them there. Seonghwa brushes over your pubic hair. He pauses for a moment, then calls for someone. They bend down and he mutters something to them. 

"I think he'd prefer her clean."

Seonghwa takes a moment to consider. Then, he turns back to you. The man stands to full height and backs away. The conversation, or lack thereof, makes you dizzy. His finger swipes through the lips of your cunt, and by the slide, you know it's damp. He hums, seemingly pleased. 

You twitch, thighs flexing as they try to close.

It isn't until then that you realize you've been staring off into space, into the man above you. He's handsome. Soft features and coffee brown eyes. Dark blue hair shrouding his face. Your struggle draws his attention, and he clicks his tongue, scolding you without words. Your mouth opens, a question on the tip of it. 

Yun grins, shaking his head. 

You don't say anything. You almost forgot there's no need to. Best behavior. Don't talk. Don't fight.

You're doing so well. Hongjoong will be pleased. There will be no complaints if you can help it.

You jump when Seonghwa spreads you open. Slick folds completely on display now. He stops to look for a moment, inspecting you. No notes at the end, so you assume he doesn't find anything. You hope his silence is a good thing. He taps your clit, and your hips jolt. He doesn't say anything about that either. He runs a finger through the slick dribbling from your hole, and you whimper.

"Sensitive," he comments, sinking a finger in. The apology you had on the ready dies on your tongue. You gasp. You hear someone titter, a few whispers. It slides in easily. He curls his finger and your toes bend.

The pleasure is plucked away, fast as it was given.

"Everyone out. I'll do the rest myself," Seonghwa declares, rising from his knees.

There's a plethora of muttered curses as they go. A couple pleads to stay. Seonghwa staunchly ignores them, keeping his focus on you.

"Come," he orders.

You clamber off the bed and onto your feet, trailing after him like a lost puppy. He doesn't go far. He opens one of the two doors in the room. 

It's a bathroom, so the other must be a closet.

 It's beautiful. Spacious. Just a tad bit smaller than the actual room. The entire thing is marbled, and the tiled floor makes you shiver. It follows the coloring of the room, blueish-grey splattered with black. Black steel faucets and the wall art. The white clawfoot tub sits on its lonesome.

Seonghwa collects everything he needs and lines it up on the counter—body wash, lotion, oils, and shaving cream. 

"Is this your room?"

He gives a noncommittal hum, ignoring you in favor of filling the tub with water. He pours in a pink liquid and some type of oil, swirling his hand around to help get it all foamy.

"Get in," he instructs.

You hesitate, waiting for Seonghwa to leave, or walk away. He doesn't.

"Are you going to watch me bathe..?"

"Of course not," Seonghwa says. "I'm going to bathe you."

When he puts it that way, it makes you sound stupid. You should've put that together. You should've known. He's already done so much, this was only natural.

You amble closer. 

Gingerly, you dip your feet into the water. He must have been mindful of the temperature, because it's perfect. Neither too hot nor too cold. You sigh, leaning back, allowing yourself to relax. Your legs stretch as far as they can. Which is actually pretty far. This is quite a large tub. 

"Comfortable?"

You can't tell if he's being condescending or not, but Hongjoong told you to be good, so you will.

"Yes, it is."

It's not like you're lying. It really is comfortable. The water is scented. It's warm. There's space for you to stretch out, and it's doing wonders for your nerves. All that apprehension pushed to the backdrop, so that you can focus on the now. Plus, you don't have a crowd of people leering at you anymore. 

If you were Hongjoong, you'd go crazy. He's constantly being watched. Constantly being waited on. 

Seonghwa doesn't reply, but he reaches over and tugs one of your legs out of the water. He washes you in sections— legs, neck, and arms. He has you stand up to reach your torso. It goes quickly with Seonghwa being surprisingly thorough. Goes over your entire body twice. He dries you off too. 

"Sit here."

He pats the free space beside the sink. You listen, propping yourself up and powering through the chill of your bare ass on the counter. It's unsanitary and vaguely disgusting, but he hadn't handed you any clothing, so you deserve some grace.

Seonghwa lotions you from the soles of your feet to the skin of your neck, gently, nearly massage-like in nature.

"You're really good with your hands," you mumble. "Did you learn this for Joongie?"

That puts the smallest hint of a smile on Seonghwa's face. Despite his silence, you can tell he appreciates it. You're too busy admiring him to care about the lack of response. Up close, he's stunning with high cheekbones and honey-gold skin. A straight nose bridge and nice plump lips.

Seonghwa taps your thigh. "Wider."

So, you listen, spreading your legs. Seonghwa rubbing something on your cunt makes you jump. Oh. Right, there was a can of shaving cream. He's planning to shave you. That's why that guy said he'd prefer it bare—they were talking about your cunt. The realization makes you shiver. Enough to catch Seonghwa's attention. 

"Be still." 

"Sorry. I'm nervous. I've just-" you stammer. "I've never.."

Seonghwa stops you. "I know."

You mutter another apology. Shame boiling your blood. It's hard to stay put when he begins to slather you in it. The shaving cream is warmer than you expected. Maybe, Seonghwa warmed it up for you. It's still weird. You wish you could kill this restlessness. The difference of energy between the two of you is jarring. Seonghwa doesn't seem to hold any of your woes. He moves with precision; purpose. He lathers it everywhere he needs to. The creases of your thighs, the lower stomach, mound, and folds. 

There's a gentle quality to it. Careful as to not hurt you, or he doesn't want to hear you complain. Daddy always told you to be wary of men. That they almost always have ill intent. He dips lower to get your taint and asshole too. Stops to wash his hand before he continues. Then, he's picking up the razor and sinking to his knees to get a better view. 

You have to ask. "Have you done this before?"

Seonghwa pauses. His eyes flicking up to your face, and you see him deciding if he'll answer. "Something like that."

You figured. There's no reason to be this good if you've never done it before. 

"Remember, it's very important you don't move. I trust you can do that."  

He speaks to you like a kid, like you're stupid, drawing the words out. Honey cascading off a spool.

He waits for you to nod. 

Indignation simmers in your gut. You're not stupid. You know the importance of it. It's common sense. 

He starts from the top, below your belly button, beginning to work his way down. Uses his thumb to anchor the skin in place. He shaves you slowly, working down in the creases. Then moving back to the top to go down again. He goes with the grain, never against it. Seonghwa is methodical. He doesn't rush. He doesn't nick you. There's no wasted movements. He doesn't do anything he doesn't have to. 

Occasionally, he halts to dunk the razor and wipe it off. It turns into a routine. A few swipes, dunk, wipe, and continue.

"Hold yourself open."

You do. 

Like this, it's nearly impossible to stifle your tremors. There's an itch in your body. A tickle beneath the skin. Something that you continuously have to smother. You've never had anyone look at you so intently, or be this close to your privates at all. It must be the intimacy of it that's getting to you. The sheer amount of care that Seonghwa is putting in this. Slick is leaking out of you, pooling onto the counter and almost to the edge.

If it gets in the way, Seonghwa doesn't mention it. He doesn't even acknowledge it. He just readjusts his grip to get access to the bottom of your cunt and your crack.

When he's done, he wipes the rest off with a washcloth. Then, he's leaning closer to hike himself off the ground, and you flinch at his breath blowing over your clit. 

Bewildered, you stare at him for a moment, waiting for him to say something, to berate you, or do anything at all.

He does none of those things. He just looks at you, cryptic in that way you've come to expect from him. 

You relax, chalking it up to an accident. 

Something akin to what could be a chuckle leaves him, but it also just sounds like a puff of air through his nose.

"Stay right there."

You lightly swing your legs as you wait for him, counting the streaks in the marble to quell your he comes back holding a translucent robe. You hop down to let him slip it on you. 

He escorts you to Hongjoong like that. Barefoot and dazed. Hongjoong kisses you silly while you wait for them, asking questions about how it went and if they were nice to you. Trivial things to pass the time. 

"Do you like them?" 

You blink. A pause. You don't really like them. You don't know if you're allowed to not like them. Hongjoong wouldn't like it if you said that. Nobody likes when you have an opinion on anything.

Obedience is key. Compliance is indispensable. 

"Yeah, I do."

Hongjoong smiles. "I'm sure they like you too." 

You lean into him. "I hope so."

Anxiety doesn't catch up to you again until your lying on the stone with Hongjoong standing at the base of it, and all of his men standing a few feet away. They're all wearing the same thing—a black long sleeve, black leather pants with a matching mask, silver accessories—it's intimidating. The ambiance. The scrutiny of it. 

It's odd to see all of them so quiet, stock-still, statuesque in their silence. 

Your parents warned you about men, about their licentiousness, about what happens when girls like you stray. They told you that your husband is the only one who should see you like this. You wonder if they're aware that Hongjoong has turned you into a proper spectacle. If they'd still follow him despite.

You wonder if this is wrong.

You aren't quite sure anymore.

"Has anyone ever touched you before?" 

Hongjoong murmurs, peering down at you. It's a question he's asked before. He knows what you'll say, but you must answer.

"No, I've never…" you whisper. "I've never been touched before."

"Have you ever wanted to know a man?"

"Only you," you confess.

Hongjoong grins, flashing white teeth. 

"Then you shall." 

Hongjoong's hands are hot when he touches your skin, settling on your ankles—warm like freshly spilled blood, staining your skin, permeating your body. You allow yourself to melt under his palms. 

In the candlelight, he is nothing short of saintly. His hair is so close to white, it glows in the light. Forming a little halo around his head. His skin a beautiful shade of ochre. His eyes, in contrast, are black. Hunger dwells within them, hidden just below the surface. He crawls closer, and through the gap you could see the soft swells of his pectorals. His robe is the color of lapis, of clear skies. Though, it looks darker in dim lighting.

Hongjoong pushes your legs apart to slot himself between them. His hand trailing from your thigh to your hip, while the other hikes your leg up to bend your knee. 

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your stomach. You squirm, eyelashes fluttering. He chuckles into you, planting another an inch higher. Then an open-mouthed kiss to your sternum. Another in between your clavicles. He doesn't worry about removing your robe, doesn't even try. He doesn't have to. 

It's thin enough you can feel through it. You can feel everything. The heat of his breath, his plush lips, and his heavy hands on your hips.

Sporadically, he rakes his blunt nails up and down your sides to tempt more reactions out of you. 

"D'ya like it?" He breathes, tongue laving over your ear. "Does it feel good to be under me?" 

You shudder, hiccuping. It feels weird. Wet and warm. Ticklish. "I dunno. It feels… odd." 

"You'll like it," he promises. Kisses the spot below your ear. "I'll make you like it."

Hongjoong swoops down, attaching his mouth to your tit. His tongue swipes over your nipple and your body trembles. Your thighs rub together, and you can feel the wetness collecting between them. It embarrasses you. The crest of arousal, wetness blooming between your legs. His free hand provides your neglected nipple with attention. He cups your breast in his hand, squeezing. Absently rubbing your nipple, tugging on it. It sends tingles of pleasure through you. 

Your head lifts. You have to blink away the film to see. Hongjoong's rosy mouth latched onto your breast. His eyes half-mast and murky. 

It's not long until he switches to the other side. His hand pinches your spit-soaked nipple. He sucks hard and you gasp, chest stuttering. Your hips buck. One of your hands buries itself in his hair, wedging yourself against him. Hongjoong laughs into you, and it ripples through you. Traveling all the way to your cunt. Your other hand rests on his shoulder, and you have to stop yourself from digging your nails in.

"Want more," you huff, petulant. 

The sounds coming out of you are obscene. Things you couldn't have imagined. You didn't know your vocal cords could produce these noises. You hadn't realized you were capable. 

Hongjoong pulls of a with a pop, panting. His lips swollen and bruised. His lips pucker, and the gush of air that follows is enough to tug a whine from you. He ducks down to bite at your rib. You whimper.

"See how needy you are from me playing with your cute tits," he titters, lapping at the teeth marks left behind. "I can already imagine how good my tongue could make you feel on that pretty cunt of yours, doesn't that sound nice? I could make you feel so good. You'd love it. I think they'd love to watch me eat you, too." 

The reminder of the audience is sobering. White-hot humiliation floods your veins, inundating your brain. They've all lost that larkish edge, giving way for something far more decadent; they look like they're starving. A newfound tension riddling them. Your mouth clamps shut, stifling your moans.

If Hongjoong weren't in the way, you'd cover yourself. 

He sinks his teeth into the fat of your breast. Lightly at first, slowly increasing the pressure until you cannot muffle your cry. You yank at his hair, attempting to dislodge him, and he groans. 

A string of spit connects him to your nipple when he separates from you. 

"Don't get shy on me now." His tongue lolls out to circle your nipple as he looks up at you. A feral glint in his eyes. 

"I'm not," you mumble.

Hongjoong rises, running a finger down your middle. He pushes your robe off to drape over the slab beneath you. "If you say so."

His thumb peels your pussy open. Watches it contract, pulsing. He murmurs, "there you go. All pretty and puffed up down here." 

His middle finger teases your slit, watching it quiver around nothing. Your hips chase after it, trying to press yourself into him to push his finger in. 

Hongjoong tuts, "you're so desperate to be filled. Have patience."

"I do," you huff. "I just-" 

Hongjoong smacks your thigh, hissing. "Quiet." 

You shut your mouth.

"Keep up the attitude, and I must just stuff this little hole full with no prep," he grumbles. "Rip your virgin cunt in half. Fuckin' ruin it." His hand encases your pussy, three fingers pressed to your slit, threatening. "Is that what you want? Want me to break you so early on?" 

You panic, thrashing. "No, no, no. I'll be good. I'll be perfect—don't do it. Don't. Can't take it."

Hongjoong's head tilts. "Does what you want matter?"

Fear chokes you. It hunkers down inside your chest and makes it hard to breathe. Your heart rate is picking up. A sheen of tears coating your eyes. You shake your head. 

"So you're not stupid," he comments. "Do you think I should be nice to you when you're being so rude to me in front of my men?"

You're scared. You want to flee, to run. It's not like you're tied up. There's nothing holding you here. Yet, you don't move. You lie there, trapped, staring into the dark oblivion of Hongjoong's eyes. 

There's nowhere to go. Nowhere you'd rather be. 

At this moment, you realize that this is the closest Hongjoong has ever gotten to God. He looks like Him. With his violence and obstinacy—his overwhelming nature. Him in the flesh. You can feel it. That dreadful awe. Righteous terror. You, the sacrifice. The sinner and the feast. Him, the blade. The hand of judgment. 

A tear slips down your temple. "No, I don't. I don't know anything. I'm sorry. Sorry for thinking."

Hongjoong coos, seemingly placated. "That's okay. You know better now. Girls don't think. That's not what you're made for."

He slides his index in. 

"You're meant to appreciate, to take what I give you." He intones. "You're made for me, so I'll decide what you get and what you'll give. I own you. Every single inch. From that silly brain to the tips of your toes. Do you understand?" 

You nod emphatically. 

Hongjoong's fingers aren't long, not like Seonghwa's had been—they're shorter, just a tad longer than your own, but they're thicker. One is hardly anything but it's still noticeable. His finger flexes, bending, grazing something inside of you. Your hand scrambles for something to hold onto, scratching uselessly at the slate.

Hongjoong laughs. 

A playful, lilting thing. Any signs of anger disintegrated. It's so dissimilar, so antithetical to what you've witnessed, it frightens you. 

It chills you to your core. You've never understood the meaning of God-fearing, not in the way everyone else did, but you do now. It's impossible not to looking at Him, at Hongjoong. Divinity oozes off him. You clench around his finger, unthinkingly. He shoves another finger in. There's a faint stretch. 

Hongjoong's pace is languid. Shallow thrusts that are angled to constantly bump that sensitive spot inside you. Your head is spinning, dizzy. Your hips are undulating to seek more pleasure, to press yourself against him. It is humiliating. The utter amount of need that pours out of you, leaking out your cunt and your eyes and your open mouth. You hadn't realized anything could whittle you down to this.

It's undeniably pleasant. Far better than what your parents taught you. Procreation was always described as perfunctory. For utilitarian purposes only. Strictly for the bedroom and no prying eyes. 

His thumb brushes over something and you seize. 

"What was-" you gasp, strained. "That felt-"

"Amazing, I know," Hongjoong fills in for you, does it again to hear you mewl. "I knew you'd love it. Never doubt me again. You don't know what's good for you. You don't know anything, but since you want to know I can tell you. That was your clit, baby."

Flattening his thumb against it, he strokes it absentmindedly. Rubbing up and down. Down and up. He's stopped thrusting, focusing his attention on your clit. Pressure builds in your tummy. A distinct tightness in your lower abdomen. Forthcoming. It's approaching faster than you can think. Your moaning, writhing. Hongjoong uses a hand to capture your hip, curbing your movements. 

"Beg me." Hongjoong says. 

You reach out for him, but he slaps your hands away. Tears blur your vision. Your chest is heaving. Your heart a hammer in your ribcage. 

"Please, Joongie. Please," you babble. "I need it. Need you. I can't do it without you."

Hongjoong giggles. A boyish, fleeting sound. "Please what? You don't even know what you're asking for."

He's right. You don't know what you're asking for, but you know that you want it. You want it so badly. You want so much it hurts. An ache only he can fix. You know that it's coming, and Hongjoong's not stopping.  He's still rubbing sticky circles into your clit. His fingers jammed inside you.

You know that you don't want him to stop.

"I'm gonna- I'm gonnna- I don't know." 

He stops.

The comedown is harrowing. It leaves you empty. Gutted and barren. Sanity spilling out of you. Coherence is hard to come by. Pushing out and taking in puffs of air feel Olympian. As if your chest with collapse in on itself. Tears glide down your temples. 

"Hongjoong," you mumble, imploring, watery and low.

"Poor thing," he croons. "You don't know what to do with yourself, do you? You don't even know to ask for something. What you want is to cum, baby." His hips roll into you, and you can feel the imprint of him. Blaring and incessant. "Do you know what this is?"

You gulp, fluster. "Your penis."

"No, dummy," he chides. "There's other words."

Your eyebrows pinch together. You weren't taught anything else. 

"I don't know."

"There's two different words," he murmurs. "You can either call it a cock or a dick. That's what big girls call it. That's what you'll call it."

"That's so… vulgar." 

"Say it." 

"Say what?"

"Ask for my cock," he clarifies. "Ask me to fuck you and make you cum on my fingers."

Your mouth shuts, opens. Shuts again. Then opens once more. The words gumming up in your throat, sticking to your stomach lining. You parents were strict about the words you used. You weren't allowed to be crass. You weren't allowed to be dirty. They made sure you always acted like a lady. You weren't even supposed to know cunt or pussy. You found out when something explicit came on TV.

"Please f-"

"I want you to look at them while you do it." Two fingers tapping your cheek. "Show them how pretty you are when you use your manners."

You have to steel yourself. 

Gradually, you turn your head, shuddering when you meet their eyes. It's hard to pick one to look at. They all blend together. A black smear in your vision. Sliver glinting like stars. They look ravenous. Their fists balled. Their breathing is deep and intentional. You're debauched, shameful and lewd. Your mouth moves anyway, "please f… fuck me. Please make me cum on your fingers.

"Only my fingers?" he sighs, sulking, plunging three fingers inside you. You jerk at the stretch. More than what you're used to. Is he mad at you again? Is he teasing you?

You can't tell.

"No, no, I want your cock," you amend. "I want all of you. I want everything."

Hongjoong motions for something. Someone places a cup of red wine in his hand. It sploshes around, nearly spilling. He throws his head back and half of it is gone. He bends forward, pursing his lips. He sets the glass down to tap your cheek. Your mouth opens. He spits it into your mouth, and it comes down like a waterfall. It's tart. Gross. You don't like it.

You swallow what you can, but it dribbles down your cheeks. Hongjoong happily laps up the excess. Ending it with a messy kiss, slurping what he can out of your mouth and stealing your breath.

He leans back to pour the rest from the glass, taking advantage of the leverage to quicken his thrusts. He's snapping his wrist now. Lugging you to the edge. You try to lurch forward, but Hongjoong puts a hand to your chest. He sets the cup back down when you're done.

Sputtering, your cheek bulging around your mouthful. It's so gross. It's absolutely disgusting, but you have to do it. Hongjoong told you to, so you must. He pinches your clit between thumb and pointer, and you gurgle pathetically. Desperately trying not to choke. You're dangling off the edge, and you blubber out a plea, but it comes out wrong. Unintelligible.

"Such a sloppy girl," he tuts, pulling his fingers out of you and breezing past your pleas for more. He grabs your face, smearing slick on your skin. He shakes your head from side to side. "Getting me all dirty."

"Sorry." 

“You'll clean it up, won't you?” he coos, sugar-sweet; light as créme. 

"Yeah." 

His skin tastes like you. Tangy and evidently human. It's not that bad. It's certainly not something you'd do on your own, but you don't hate it. Hongjoong latches his finger onto your tongue, pressing on it. You suckle at them. He thrusts them in. Once, twice. Just to make you gag. He yanks them out, and you smack your lips. The taste lingers.

"What does it taste like?"

Unsure, you answer. "It tastes like me." 

"Let me see." 

For some reason, your vision is fuzzy, and it softens Hongjoong. It makes him look cherubic, light limning his body and radiating off of him. 

Hongjoong's mouth is wine-warmed and bitter. His lips are velvety and nice. It's a sweet kiss. It's more tender than what you'd expect from him. His mouth tastes like salvation; deliverance. Like love, Like being lured to the light at the end of all roads. It's a comforting thing. As if you're being bled so gently, you don't realize you're dying. It is dreamy, untouched by reality. Hongjoong draws back. His cheeks are flushed pink and his lips are ruby red. 

Deliberately, Hongjoong unties his robes, and it rolls off his shoulders. Showcasing his pectorals and the divots of his collarbones. He opens it up to reveal his cock. It's not long, but it's thick. Wide. His tip is ruddy and glistening. 

He taps his cock against your clit. You twitch, hole clenching around nothing. He spreads you open, presses the head of his cock against your pussy, thrusts to coat the underside of his cock in your slick. The tip bumping your clit at every pass. He's taunting you, keeping you on the brink but never giving you enough. 

"Joongie," you hiccup. "Don't do that."

“Don't do what, baby?” he says, jutting his lip out in a faux pout. Another thrust. “tell me what you want. Tell me and I'll think about giving it to you, how about that?"

"Want you to fuck me," you snivel.

Hongjoong lays a kiss on your open mouth. 

“One more time,” he breathes, nearly reverent, a touch whiny. 

“Fuck me, please,” you wail, sniffling.

With a startling amount of strength, Hongjoong flips you onto both knees. There's dull pain in your knees, but it gets eclipsed by the sudden fullness. He rams his cock in with one stroke. It aches. It hurts. He's so thick. He's tearing you open, splitting you apart.

He doesn't let up, doesn't grace you with any reprieve. He moves immediately. Drilling a hole only he can fill, branding you. He's trying to gut you, to make you into a proper sacrifice, you think. That must be it. That must be why. You're ripping. Your hole is so full, too full. Stretched to its limits. 

You scramble, blubbering. "Hurts. It hurts. S'too much. Can't take it."

Your slobbering, drool trickles out your parted mouth, pooling on the stone beneath you. It mixes with the tears running down your face. Your eyes snap shut. 

Hongjoong grunts, "open your eyes." 

Your eyes peel open, and you blink away the tears obscuring your vision. It doesn't work. The force of his thrusts jerk you forward, scraping your knees. You can do nothing but sniffle, whimpering. He pulls your head to the side, gritting out, "look at them while I fuck you." 

They're nothing more than a bunch of splotches. Hardly resembling a human anymore. It doesn't hurt anymore. It's starting to feel good. The drag of him against your wall. The sting of his skin hitting your skin. His balls smacking against your clit. Your cries have shifted into moans. 

"Look at them." He grips your hair. "Fucking look at them. Don't look away. Don't close your eyes."

You hadn't realized your eyes were closed. Keeping them open is harder than you thought, but fear is a great motivator. You're not looking at them—not really. It's unseeing, practically looking through them. 

“Come closer.” he orders. 

It takes you a second to realize he's not talking to you. The sound of their boots hitting the floor is deafening, bouncing off the walls. Echoing. Although, it gets muffled by the squelching of your pussy, the echo of your desperate moaning, his deranged rambling. 

“Isn't she the perfect whore?” he asks, voice thick. “Her virgin cunt takes my cock so well. She was born for this. Made for me.” 

Your cunt quivers around him, at how crude he is, at how he talks about you. The praise sears through you, caramelizing your blood. Melting in your mouth like chocolate.

"You're so tight," he groans. "Tell me you're mine. Tell me how much you love it."

"Love you, love your cock," you squeal. "I'm yours. Jus' yours. Forever."

Hongjoong's pace increases inexplicably. Without rhyme or reason, he fucks into like he's gone feral, like he's trying to dig into you. His hand splays out over your back, pushing your chest down. Your back cracks. Your lungs ache from the strain. It's hard to breathe like this. Worsened by the fact that like this, he's going impossibly deep that it knocks the air out of your lungs. 

“You're mine. All mine.” he chants, slowing down. "Fuck, m'close. Gonna cum inside you. Gonna make you mine in every possible way. Breed you full."

He curls over you, wrapping his arm around you to hold you to his chest. He's scorching to the touch. Molten-gold. Bleeding-sun. He can't truly thrust anymore. There's not enough room. He can't pull himself away to fuck you anymore. Instead, he grinds into you. Quick, shallow bunny humps. He brings to fingers to clumsily rub your clit. 

"You come after me," he breathes. "Not a second before."

The pleasure grows needling. You convulse. Your toes curl and pop. Your eyes roll up into your skull. You howl like a wounded animal, trying to run from the pleasure, from the intensity of it all. You want to get away. You want to be obedient, but it's difficult. 

Hongjoong's hand leaves you and comes down with a wet smack. You yelp. Your entire body is taut from the strain of holding it in. The pleasure takes you hostage. It keeps you suspended. Your cunt clamps down on him like a vice, slick trailing down your thighs.

He cums from that, bores his teeth into your shoulder. He lets out tiny huffs through his nose. Slaps your cunt again, angling it flat over your clit. Your orgasm spears you, cleaving you in half, cracking through your bones like a spatch-cocked chicken. Euphoria. Pure ecstasy. That's what this is. It feels like warmth, like love. Like everything you've ever wanted. 

Hongjoong doesn't stop until you've gone limp. Dried out and boneless. Little, gaspy moans escaping you. Too tired to attempt to squirm away from him or knock his hand off your tender clit.

Steadily, his breath evens out, and allows your body to drift away from his own. You slump, sagging onto your stomach. Peering between your legs, he grins. "Make sure all of it stays inside of her. I don't want a drop wasted"

He doesn't have to look at them for them to know who he's talking to. After all, they're the ones in charge of your aftercare. 

Petting your head, Hongjoong says, “don't worry, they're going to clean you up. I take care of what’s mine after all.”

[lesbinluv]

i need to be overstimulated so bad. tie me up and use toys on me. edge me. eat me out. do whatever you want to me. please please please please please just use me all you want

[chxrryangel]

‧₊˚ ⏾ ˚ ꌗ꓄ꋪꋫꌩ ₊‧˖ ⏾ ˚ [Five]

𓂃★ no copies, adaptations, or translations are allowed. I hope you like it ₊˚ 1.3k+ words ☆𓂃

pairing ⋆ ˚. werewolf!chan x fem!reader genre ☆・₊ werewolf!au, angst warnings ₊ ★ ˚ yelling, panic attack, the dog returns <3, descriptions of injuries, chan scares and reader, reader gets seven years back luck ;), lmk if i missed anything a/n: this might be the final part for a while (sorry it's so short) but i promise to come back to this series soon SKZ Masterlist Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

not proofread

You were surprised you were able to fall asleep, it was almost five in the morning when Chan finally shifted back, but the weight and comfort of him next to you had pulled you into one of the most restful sleeps you’d had in weeks.

When you did finally open your eyes, Chan was still out cold next to you. You let yourself linger, turning on your side, letting your eyes trace over his face. Slightly smooshed into the pillow, all you wanted to do was squeeze his cheeks. It was hard to believe this was the same person as the tortured animal from the night before. He was still your Channie.

Carefully pulling the covers back, you slid off the bed and crept out of the room, making your way into the bathroom. You washed your face and brushed your teeth using the toothbrush Chan had bought to keep at his house.

Maybe this could become your normal? You could help him with full moons, and then recover the next day. Felix could give you more tips, and maybe Chan would be open to it.

Felix seemed less inclined to include you, seemingly at Chan’s behest. But you had to find out sometime right? Maybe this was better. Just get it over with. You don’t know how you would’ve responded had Chan tried to tell you outright. You probably would’ve laughed in his face.

Flicking off the light, you step back into his bedroom to see Chan’s bleary eyes slowly opening.

“Hey, how you feeling?” You ask, smiling down at him.

All you hear is the sound of wood cracking and Chan is suddenly out of bed and across the room. He was practically hyperventilating, looking between you and the door and his bed. His hands grip his torn wrists, mostly healed but still raw looking.

“Chan, I—”

“N-no, you weren’t supposed to—you can’t—you can’t be here, Y/N! Why would you—Felix—did he—no, don’t get near me!” The second you take a step forward he scrambles backward, slamming hard against the wall of his bedroom. You pull back your hands, pressure building behind your eyes.

“Channie…” You didn’t know what to say, hopeless and heartbroken. He looked so betrayed, he’d never looked at you like that before.

“You can’t—Y/N, this isn’t how I… you can’t be here!”

“Chan, baby, just take a breath. I’m okay, nothing happened.”

“When what’s that?” He pointed a shaking finger towards your leg, the pale pink punctures still fresh on your skin.

You hesitate, “I… that wasn’t, you didn’t mean to—”

“I hurt you, Y/N! I did that.”

You couldn’t refute it, he had hurt you, knowingly or not. But you knew he wouldn’t hurt you now.

“This is why I didn’t…” His voice cracks, head falling forward as he stares at the floor. “Just go.”

“Chan, please.” You take another step forward, “Don’t do this. I was just—”

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” He whips his head up, eyes flashing yellow as his snarl ripped through the air. His teeth were noticeably sharper than normal, nails turned to half-formed claws.

A small scream escapes your lips as you stumble back towards the door, you almost trip, reaching out to the wall to keep yourself from falling to the ground. Fingers hook around something smooth and heavy, wrenching it from the wall.

CRASH

Mirror shards scrap across the wood floor, you step back, slipping on one of the pieces and landing hard on the floor. Catching yourself on your palm, you yelp as another piece of the mirror cuts into your palm. Ignoring the red dripping onto the floor, you open the door with your other hand and scramble out of the room.

Down the stairs, out the front door, the wind whipping your hair around your face as you quickly moved outside. The sun was high in the sky, though you hadn’t checked what time it was. You didn’t stop running until you got to your own front door. Chest heaving, you try to open the door but the tears start coming. Your legs give out under you and you crumple to the floor, sobs wracking your body.

You were scared of him, at least in the moment. You didn’t want to be scared of him. He was Channie. Your Channie. 

He’s a monster.

You stared down at the shallow pool of blood on your palm, it’d dripped onto your welcome mat.

No. Don’t say that.

He was just scared and hurt and confused. He’d never hurt you. Even in his… wolf form, he hadn’t hurt you. Not really.

He’d scared you though.

What were you supposed to do now? You could call Felix, explain what happened? Would he be upset with him too? Or would Chan want to call him as well? Surely Felix would pick his long time friend over you.

Once you pulled yourself together enough, you slipped back into your house and shut the door behind you. It felt so empty. Not that it shouldn’t be, you lived alone aside from Posey, but something about the dark house—curtains closed and lights off—filled you with dread.

The floorboards creaked as you made your way upstairs, finding Posey asleep on your bed. She’d had a long night, you weren’t shocked she was still asleep. You couldn’t help but feel bad you’d had to leave her for the night. You snuck past her and into the bathroom, running the tap over your palm and hissing at the sharp sting.

It wasn’t deep, but you’d always been a bleeder. You couldn’t help but recall the time you’d been playing badminton with Felix, Jisung, and Chan in his backyard and Jisung had accidentally hit you with his racket. You said over and over you were fine, despite the blood trickling down your temple. Chan had made such a fuss over it. 

You eyed the scar, hardly noticeable anymore and mostly hidden under your hair. You wanted to smile, willing yourself to find comfort in the memory. But it felt tainted now.

You quickly wrapped a bandage around your hand before slipping back out of the bathroom.

“Hi, baby.” You cooed, kneeling next to the bed and running your hand over Posey’s head and down her back. She perked up, giving you a soft yip and nuzzling into your hand. “Sorry I was gone so long. Let's get you some breakfast, yeah?”

As you prepped Posey’s food, you suddenly realized how hungry you were yourself. You hadn’t eaten since mid afternoon the day before and your stomach growled at the thought.

Setting Posey’s dish on the floor, you walked back into the kitchen and opened your fridge. There wasn’t much, you’d been eating a lot of take out, and leftovers were sparse, most of your nights were spent at Chan’s—at least for dinner.

Your mind continued to wander, reminding you how much red meat Chan served. You hadn’t thought anything about it until now. What did his diet look like? Did he have to change it after he turned? Has he ever eaten a… person?

Nope. No. Don’t go there.

You took a deep breath, moving to your cabinet to pull a cup of ramen from the shelf. Your heart was still pounding in your ears, it was hard to concentrate. You watched the kettle boil, the screeching steam hardly phasing you.

Pouring the water into the ramen cup, you almost spilled it on your hand when your phone pinged with a message. Covering the top, you put down the kettle and walked to your phone—still sitting on your counter from last night.

Lixie I’m so sorry! Please tell me everything is okay How are you? How’s Chan? Hyunjin is fine before you ask

…

Ring ring Ring ring Ring ring

“Channie?”

“Felix… I fucked up.”

let me know what you think! if you have any requests or ideas for this series i'd love to hear them. keep an eye out for the next part (idk when that will be sorry) and thanks again for reading

taglist(sorry for the delay lol): @fanficwriter5 @idiotmaterial @franaby @angrygardendeer @nostalgicartemis @maddy24207 @str4yk1dzstan 

dc: @/strangergraphics

[yungistiny]

TROUBLEMAKER

[ S. Mingi ]

╚═════════

summary: in which watching your boyfriend throw ass at seonghwa has never left you more turned on in your life

warning: sub bottom mingi, top reader, oral, pegging, anal fingering, anal

genre: smut

pairing: idol mingi x afab reader

word count: 2.1k

masterlist

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

You watched. Its all you could do. You could vaguely hear Wooyoung squealing somewhere around you backstage. Mingi had told you days ago that him and Seonghwa would do troublemaker for the fanmeet. He had been vague about it. Had joked to atinys that they would yell at him to stop. But nothing…. Nothing prepared you for the actual performance.

Your boyfriend was throwing ass at Seonghwa who was trying very hard to not laugh as Mingi did the woman’s part of the performance a little too well. And you were frozen to the spot. Just…. watching. The laughter of Yunho, San and Jongho joined Wooyoung but you ignored them. Because…. It wasn’t funny. You were unknowingly clenching your thighs together as Mingi dropped down low. “What the fuck….”

“You’re telling me.” Wooyoung nudged you with his shoulder. “Your man is in heat or something.” Another round of laughter came from him and Yunho as all you could think about now as your boyfriend pulled Seonghwa closer, smirking, biting his bottom lip…. was that little box at the bottom of your closet you bought months ago. Sitting untouched. Unused. Mingi had no idea about the contents of that box. No idea you bought it because after watching him during dance practice one day…. watching the way his hips move…. the way his ass moves…. made you want nothing more than to fuck him like he fucks you.

And you knew he’d come home with you after the fanmeet was over. He always did when they had no major schedules consistently. You blinked as the fans cheered loud as Seonghwa and Mingi finished their performance and came giggling and laughing together backstage. You watched Mingi accept a towel from Yunho, wiping at the sweat that had gathered on his face and suddenly avoided his gaze when he looked towards you. Because he’d know. He would take one good look at you and know you were turned on.

“Baby…”

Fuck! He made his way towards you, hands sliding around your waist before moving to grip at your hip much like the way he had done in the choreo with Seonghwa. You could feel him lean his head down, nuzzling at your neck, planting a soft kiss there. “Another hour and we’ll be done.” Another kiss. “Mhmm… I’m going back to your place. Pretty sure I can’t look Hwa in the eye again for a while.” He was joking, still kissing at your neck when you said. It hadn’t registered you said anything at first. “I want to try something tonight.” Mingi smirked, hand coming around gently grab your chin and tilt your back to make you look up at him. “Yeah?”

You stated up at him, watching the way a lone drop of swear traces down the side of his face. “Yeah.” You returned his smirk. He had no idea what he was in for. “Remember…” you searched his eyes, gaze falling to his lips. “That time you joked about…” you bit your bottom lip and waited until Hongjoong passed by. “wanted to be pegged?”

Mingi’s smirk vanished. He blinked once. Twice. Your words resurfacing a memory he had forgotten about. Then, much to your surprise, he grinned, lowering his face right to yours, nose touching. “You want to fuck me, baby?” Now your smirk vanished. “What?” He teased. “You watched me out there…. all that turn you on?” You didn’t answer. Instead, you tugged his bottom between your teeth, reaching back to palm at his bulge in his pants. You let his lip go and breathed against his mouth. “You gonna scream for me tonight, Mingi?”

Seonghwa, who had just walked by the two of you, froze. “I’ve heard too much.” He avoided looking at either of you as continued towards Hongjoong who handed him a bottle of water.

Mingi didn’t even acknowledge him. His eyes had darkened and that damn smirk returned. “If you think you can make me.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The door to your apartment clicked shut behind you both, the sound of your footsteps leading the way down the hall. Mingi followed close, his tall frame moving with that easy grace, eyes fixed on you as you stepped into your bedroom and went straight to your closet, pulling out the box you had tucked away, and set it on the bed. When you lifted the lid, the strap on lay there in clear view, the thick purple dildo attached and ready.

Mingi stepped forward without hesitation, long fingers closing around the harness, lifting it to examine the silicone shaft. He turned it in his hands, gaze running over every inch before he started buckling the straps together. Once it was assembled he looked at you, voice low and steady. “Just so you know… I wasn’t joking about wanting this.” You moved toward each other at the same time. Your hands found the hem of his shirt while his reached for yours. Clothes came off in quick succession, his still sweat damp shirt peeled away to reveal the lean, cut lines of his torso, your own shirt and bra following until skin met skin.

Mingi’s pants dropped next, then his briefs, leaving him bare as he sank to his knees in front of you, palms sliding up your thighs as he looked up at you. “Need to taste you first.” He leaned tugged at your shorts, dragging them and the black lace panties you had in off before leaning in, tongue dragging a slow, wet stripe through your folds before pushing inside you. The heat of his mouth sealed over your clit, sucking firmly while his tongue thrust deeper, curling and stroking. Your fingers threaded into his short hair, gripping tight as you rolled your hips against his face making Mingi moan into you, the vibration traveling straight through your core.

He kept the rhythm steady, tongue fucking you open while his lips worked your clit, sucking harder each time you ground down and your thighs started to shake. Pleasure built fast and sharp until it crested and you came with a broken sound, hips jerking, holding his head in place as your pussy pulsed around his tongue. He stayed there, licking you through every aftershock until you finally loosened your grip and let him pull back.

Mingi reached for the strap on as he stood just long enough to fasten the harness around your hips himself, adjusting the buckles until the dildo sat snug and ready. His hands lingered on your waist, thumbs stroking your skin before he dropped to his knees again and looked back up at you, eyes locked on yours, then leaned forward and took the head of the silicone dick into his mouth. His plump lips stretched around it, tongue swirling as he worked more of the length inside, sucking wetly until spit glistened along the shaft as he bobbed his head, taking it deeper each time.

You watched your 6ft boyfriend on his knees, throat working around the toy, and felt heat flood between your legs all over again. “You really did want this, didn’t you?” Mingi moaned around the dildo, the sound vibrating through the silicone as his hands slid up to cup your breasts, palms rubbing over your nipples, squeezing gently. The dual sensation, his mouth working the strap and his fingers teasing you, pulled a moan from you as he kept sucking, cheeks hollowing, taking the toy until his nose nearly brushed the harness.

You let him stay there a moment longer before tugging him up by the hair and kissing him. It was messy and urgent. Tongues sliding together as you both stumbled backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed. You broke away just long enough to reach into the nightstand drawer and pull out the bottle of lube you kept there. Mingi watched you a moment before he turned without a word, crawling onto the mattress and presenting himsel as he lowered his chest, arching his back so his ass lifted, long legs spread. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes half lidded and waiting as you coated the dildo generously, then used the same slick hand to part his cheeks.

One finger circled his rim before pressing inside making Mingi’s breath hitch and a low moan slip out as you sank your finger to the knuckle. You worked it in and out slowly, feeling him clench and relax around you. When you added a second finger he pushed back, taking both easily as you scissored them open, stretching him, prepping him thoroughly until his hole glistened and he was rocking into your hand. “Good boy.” You praised as you pulled your fingers free and lined the strap up. The blunt tip pressed against his entrance and you pushed forward steadily and slowly.

Inch by inch the dildo sank into him as Mingi’s fingers twisted in the sheets, a long, shaky groan leaving his throat as you bottomed out. You stayed still, letting him adjust, hands smoothing over the curve of his ass until he nodded, hips shifting back in silent invitation. You started with slow, deep thrusts. Each push dragged the toy almost all the way out before sliding back in and Mingi met every movement, rolling his hips in that fluid dancer’s motion, taking you deeper. The sight of his ass swallowing the strap making your own arousal spike. “Look at you,” you murmured, voice low and filthy. “Taking every inch like you were made for it. Such a good boy for me.”

Mingi’s moan was louder this time as he pushed back harder, meeting your thrusts with increasing urgency. “I thought you wanted to make me scream,” he managed, voice strained and you gripped his hips tighter at that, picking up the pace. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room as you fucked him in earnest. Mingi’s body moved with you, hips rolling back to take every thrust, long legs braced wide. “That’s it, princess. Fuck yourself on it.“ And oh did he. Mingi pushed himself up, hands flat against the mattress and bounced his ass back, taking the dildo all the way, crying out a little before you pulled out suddenly, slapping his ass, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “Turn over.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. Mingi rolled onto his back, legs falling open as you grabbed his thighs and spread them wide, pushing them toward his chest so he was completely exposed. The strap slid back inside him in one smooth motion at the same time your hand wrapped around his leaking dick, stroking from base to tip in time with your thrusts making Mingi’s head fall back against the pillows, a broken “Oh… fuck…” tearing from his throat as you set a relentless rhythm, pounding into his ass while your fist worked his dick. Precum slicked your fingers, making each stroke glide as Mingi’s moans turned into whimpers. His hips jerked between the two sensations, caught between fucking himself back onto the strap and thrusting up into your hand. His dick throbbed, aching and swollen, the tip shiny with cum.

You could feel his ass clenching rhythmically around the toy. “Such a pretty mess,” you were almost consumed by the sight of him. “Look at you leaking all over my hand while I fuck your ass. You love this, don’t you? Love being filled and stroked at the same time.” Mingi tried to answer but the words dissolved into helpless sounds as his body trembled, muscles flexing under sweat damp skin. His thighs shook in your grip as you kept the pace steady, driving the strap deep with every thrust while your hand twisted over the tip of his dick on each upstroke.

His breathing turned ragged and you could see the moment he tipped over, his ass clamped down hard, his dick jerked in your fist, and he came with a raw scream of your name as thick ropes of his release shot across his stomach and chest, his whole body locking up as his orgasm crashed through him and you fucked him through it, slowing only when his spasms started to ease. Your hand released his spent dick, letting it twitch against his abs as you leaned over him, pressing soft kisses along his jaw while you carefully pulled the strap free.

Mingi’s eyes stayed closed, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. Sweat cool on his skin as you brushed damp strands of hair from his forehead. “You took that like a champ, princess,” you murmured against his ear and Mingi groaned, a tired but satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

He cracked one eye open, voice hoarse but laced with promise. “Wait until I can move… then your ass is mine next.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

permanent tag list: @hannahlilibet411 @xh01bri @jintastic-yuyu @seungminniemin @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @wooyoungsbrat @lucid-galaxys-world @ecriggs1990 @straytiny127 @sannies-tiddies @hannahstacos @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets @love--in-stayville @hartsablaze @remi-young @bubbly-moon @fvxyxnh0 @herpoetryprincess @prchiquita8 @dreamgirlevilera @booposaurusrex @onecursedkitty @dvrktvnnel @atinynoona @metalheadatiny @uchihabbynic @eggielix @dodot04lover @thenumberoneangelcollection-blog @navydotz @auxiny

@showmedemkittiesss @yungi-bby @wont-you-guide-my-gay-tonight @tianahawk21 @thirstyybitch @monicatiny @goblin-pop @sunflowers-and-rainy-days @ateezbbys @piecessoull @tinyuyireads @ackermansass @shootforthestar8 @chaoticwonderertale @shuelyneon @thenumberoneangelcollection-blog @barbtiny @lucadeeeeznuts @yungisworld @minyunsan-kitten @fixonmingi89

[everyonewooeverywhere]

i need to watch the “rehearsals” for this

[chxrryangel]

not the abo tag 😂

[kenforty]

⋆.𐙚 ̊ Yours.

firelord zuko and his penchant for quick kisses that usually turn to much more, between his duties.

warm hands grappling at the fabric of your dress, eyes soft and focused on the furrow between your brows, cheekily grinning as you tried to pry yourself from his grasp, palms pressed against his chest, firm and insistent. "fire lor—"

"call me by my title and I'll sink to my knees, right now."

you stopped fidgeting, going completely still as you stared at him bewildered, watching as his own eyes widened and warmth blooming on his cheeks as his words registered in his mind.

he shook his head, cheeks rosy and plush, hands slipping from your waist and limply hung by his side, "i didn—" before he could finish, you interrupted.

"you did." you stated, lips pursed together, "you very much did mean that." neither of you spoke for a moment, letting the silence linger, his eyes scanning the wall behind your head, while you focused on him. finally after a beat of silence, you murmured, "shameless."

he pouted, cheeks puffed up as he reached for your wrists this time, tugging both your palms to his chest, "tell me, wife, did you or did you not promise yourself to me under the vast sky?" he huffed, bringing your vows into the conversation.

"...I did." you sighed, defeated as you lean against his chest, hands squished between your bodies, "but that doesn't mean you can have me under it."

"it means, that I, as your husband can give and take as I wish." he voice low and firm, reverberating through your palms, it's authoritative, the same voice that passes commands as the fire lord, "only when I have your permission though, your husband after all."

that's zuko, your husband, not the fire lord, just your zuko.

Dividers by: @/somebitchprobably-graphicdump✨

[eu-nicola]

Your dad's best friend picks you up from a party so you don't get in trouble and you reward him for that

unprotected p in v, age gap, oral sex (2.7k) i’ve been consumed by tiktok povs

The music was blasting so loud you could feel the bass in your teeth. Colored lights swept across the crowded room, and the smell of cheap beer and sweat hung in the air. You'd lost count of how many drinks you'd had, but you knew it was too many.

Your phone vibrated in your hand. You answered without looking.

“Dean?”.

There was a second of silence on the other end.

“Where are you?”, his voice sounded tense, he already knew something was wrong.

You gave him the address between the music and the laughter. You didn't have to explain much; Dean just let out a long sigh and said.

“Don't move from there. I'll be there in twenty”.

Twenty-five minutes later, the black Impala pulled up in front of the house with a deep roar. You descended the porch steps as quickly as your balance would allow. Dean was already out of the car, leaning against the driver's door with his arms crossed and that expression that promised a storm.

He opened the passenger door without saying a word. You got in, and the familiar smell of leather, oil, and his cologne enveloped you instantly. As soon as he closed the door, Dean walked around the car and sat in the driver's seat.

Neither of you spoke for the first few minutes. All you could hear was the purr of the Impala and the sound of the tires on the asphalt.

Until Dean broke the silence.

“Seriously?”, his voice was low, but loaded with anger. “A drunk party on a Tuesday? You?”.

You glanced at him sideways. His jaw was tense and his knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

“Your dad is going to kill you if he finds out”, he continued, not giving you a chance to respond. “And with good reason. What the hell were you thinking?”.

He turned his head for a second to look at you, his green eyes shining with a mix of concern and annoyance.

“Anything could have happened in there. Anything. Do you know how hard it was for me not to tell your dad?”.

The car filled with a heavy silence. Dean looked back at the road, but his voice lowered a bit, hoarser.

“Tell me you at least didn't leave with anyone.”.

You looked at him directly, your heart beating hard from the alcohol and something much more dangerous.

“I almost did”, you said, almost in a whisper, but clear enough. “There was a guy… handsome, persistent. I was about to leave with him”.

Dean didn't say anything right away. His hands tightened more on the wheel, but his expression remained almost neutral. Only a slight tic in his jaw gave him away.

“That was stupid”, he continued, his voice deeper than usual. “That kind of parties are full of idiots who are only looking for one thing. They could have drugged you, taken you by force… It's not a game, princess”.

The affectionate nickname he always used with you sounded different this time. Hoarser.

You weren't planning to stay quiet. The heat from the alcohol and the built-up tension gave you courage. You slowly slid your hand across the seat until you brushed his right thigh. Dean visibly tensed, but he didn't move his leg away.

“I'm sorry…”, you murmured, not sounding sorry at all. Your fingers went up a little more, feeling the hard muscle under the jeans. “Really, Dean. I didn't want you to get mad. I just… wanted you to come”.

He let out a long, heavy sigh, glancing briefly at your hand on his leg before looking back at the road.

“You're playing with fire”, he warned, though his voice no longer sounded as firm as before.

Your hand didn't stop. You moved it up a little more, caressing the inside of his thigh with deliberate slowness, feeling how his breathing changed.

“Maybe I want to burn”, you replied softly, looking him in the eyes when he turned his head again.

The silence that fell between you was dense, loaded with everything neither of you had ever said.

“Dean…”, you said in a soft, almost sweet voice, while your hand continued to caress his thigh. “Let me make it up to you. For not telling my dad and for coming to get me”.

He shook his head, staring fixedly at the road.

“No. I'm going to drop you off at your house and we're not going to talk about this again. End of discussion”.

But you weren't going to give up that easily. With your pulse racing, your fingers moved up to his belt. You started playing with the buckle, pulling it slowly, teasing him.

Dean went rigid.

“Hey…”, he warned, but his voice was already hoarser.

You didn't stop. You unbuckled the belt with skillful fingers and lowered the zipper with deliberate slowness. You felt how his breathing became heavier.

Suddenly, Dean swerved and stopped the car abruptly on the side of the road, in a dark and deserted stretch surrounded by trees. The engine was still running, but the lights were off, only the dim dashboard light illuminating the interior.

“Stop”, he ordered, grabbing your wrist firmly, though not hard enough to pull you away completely. “You have to stop now”.

You looked him straight in the eyes, not withdrawing your hand. Instead, your fingers intentionally brushed the bulge that was already visible under his jeans.

“Don't you want to?”, you asked in a low voice, almost innocent.

Dean let out a low growl, closing his eyes for a second.

“It's not that”, he said through gritted teeth. “Of course I want to, damn it, but it's wrong. You're Bobby's daughter. If he finds out…”.

“He won't find out”, you whispered, leaning closer to him. “Afterwards we'll forget about everything. Just… let me make it up to you”, 

The silence stretched between you. You could see the internal war on his face: guilt, desire, loyalty to your father clashing violently against what he really wanted.

Finally, Dean released your wrist. His hand fell onto the seat, surrendering.

“Fuck…”, he murmured, leaning back a little against the seat. “Do whatever you want”.

A victorious smile appeared on your lips upon hearing his words. Dean Winchester, the man who always seemed untouchable, had just surrendered to you. Without wasting another second, you leaned over him, lowering your head to his lap.

You freed him from his boxers and paused for a moment to look at him. He was bigger and thicker than you had imagined. For a second you felt a slight nervousness, but the excitement was much stronger. You wrapped your hand around him, feeling his heat and how hard he was, and started stroking him slowly up and down.

Dean let out a low growl, one hand resting on your hair, not pushing, just holding you.

You lowered your head and ran your tongue along his entire length, from base to tip, savoring him. Then you took him into your mouth, little by little, feeling how he filled you. It was an intense sensation, but you continued, moving your head with a slow rhythm at first.

“Am I doing it right?”, you asked in a whisper, pulling away for barely a second, with shiny lips.

“Fuck, yes…”, Dean responded in a hoarse voice, breathing with difficulty. “You're doing it too well, princess”.

His words filled you with confidence and excitement. You smiled around him and continued with more enthusiasm, going deeper, using your hand on the part you couldn't reach with your mouth. Your movements became faster, wetter. The obscene sounds you made filled the inside of the car along with Dean's deep growls.

He tightened his fingers in your hair, but never forced you. He just accompanied you, murmuring between his teeth.

“Like that… shit, just like that…”.

You felt powerful. Every time he moaned or cursed under his breath, you continued with more enthusiasm, sucking and licking with devotion. His hips began to move slightly upward, seeking more friction.

It didn't take long. His breathing became ragged and his hand closed tighter in your hair.

“I'm going to…”, he tried to warn you.

You didn't pull away. You kept him in your mouth as he came with a long, hoarse moan, feeling him spill down your throat. You swallowed everything, without stopping to look at him.

When you finished, you slowly sat up, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. Dean looked at you with half-closed eyes, still catching his breath. His expression was a mix of pleasure, surprise, and something deeper.

“You're the most beautiful thing I've seen in my fucking life…”, he murmured, almost with reverence.

You didn't give him time to say more. You moved closer and kissed him, Dean responded instantly, one large hand holding the back of your neck while his mouth devoured yours hungrily.

Without separating from your lips, Dean grabbed you by the waist and easily sat you on his lap. The steering wheel pressed a little against your back, but you didn't care. You laughed softly against his mouth.

“This doesn't have to be known by my dad either…”, you whispered, biting his lower lip.

Dean let out a low, hoarse laugh, his hands lowering to your hips, pressing you against him.

“Definitely not”, he replied, kissing you again, slower this time.

You settled better on him, feeling how his body was still hot and sensitive beneath you. His hands moved up your back, slipping under your shirt, caressing your skin with calloused fingers while you continued kissing.

“Dean… can we go further?”, you whispered against his mouth.

He stayed still for a second, his hands still on your hips. His green gaze darkened.

“Are you sure?”, he asked in a deep voice. “I don't have anything here to take care of you, princess. No condom or anything”.

“I don't care”, you responded without hesitation, rubbing slowly against him. “I want to feel you. Everything. Nothing between us”.

Dean let out a shaky sigh, clearly fighting his own desire.

“Fuck… you're killing me”, he murmured. Still, he pressed you tighter against him. “If at any moment you want to stop, just say so”.

You nodded and settled better on his legs. You lowered a hand between you, guiding him toward your entrance. You were very wet, but you still felt the pressure as his thick head started to open you.

“It's… big”, you gasped, biting your lip.

“Relax”, Dean whispered against your neck, kissing you softly while one of his hands lowered to caress your clit to help you. “Breathe. You're made for me… you're going to take it all”. 

Little by little, inch by inch, you sank down onto him. The sensation was intense, almost overwhelming. You felt how he stretched you inside, filling you completely. When you were finally fully seated, with him buried to the hilt, you let out a long, trembling moan.

You smiled, resting your forehead against his.

“I've waited so long for this…”, you confessed in a low voice.

Dean smiled, that crooked, sexy smile you loved so much, and kissed you hard.

“Me too, baby… even though I shouldn't admit it”.

He started moving you with his hands on your hips, guiding the rhythm. You went up and down slowly at first, getting used to his size. Every time you lowered, you felt how he filled you completely, brushing that sensitive spot inside you. Soon you started moving on your own, faster, deeper.

“Like that… good girl”, Dean growled, biting your neck.

The heat inside the car was suffocating. Without stopping riding him, you took off your shirt over your head and threw it to the back seat. Dean helped you unhook your bra, freeing your breasts. His large hands covered them instantly, squeezing them, pinching your nipples while you continued riding him harder.

Completely naked on top of him, with your skin shining with sweat, you felt exposed, vulnerable, and terribly aroused. Dean couldn't stop looking at you.

“You're fucking perfect…”, he murmured.

The pleasure grew quickly, each deep thrust making you moan louder.

You started practically crying out his name, your voice broken by the pleasure.

“Dean… Dean!”, you moaned over and over, almost sobbing as you moved desperately on him.

He hugged you against his chest, one hand on your back and the other on your hip, thrusting into you with strength and precision. The sound of skin against skin, your moans and his deep growls filled the entire car.

“Like that, princess… let me hear you”, he whispered in your ear, picking up the pace.

The rhythm became wilder. Dean held your hips firmly, thrusting up from below while you moved on top of him desperately. Sweat pearled your naked skin and steam fogged up the Impala's windows. Every time you lowered, he thrust up hard, hitting deep inside you.

You were close, very close.

Dean was too. His breathing was ragged, his muscles tense, and his grip on your waist increasingly firm.

“Princess… I'm going to pull out”, he growled, trying to control himself.

“No”, you gasped, pressing tighter against him, moving faster. “Don't pull out. I want to feel all of you”.

“Fuck, it's risky…”, he tried to reason, though his voice sounded broken by pleasure. “We're not being careful”.

“I don't care”, you moaned against his neck, biting him softly. “I want you to cum inside. Please, Dean…”.

He let out a deep growl, almost defeated, and hugged you tighter. He no longer tried to pull out. Instead, he started fucking you with more intensity, as if he could no longer contain himself.

Pleasure hit you like a wave. You came hard, screaming his name as your inner walls squeezed him rhythmically. Dean followed just a few seconds later. With a long, hoarse moan, he buried himself to the hilt and came inside you, filling you with pulsing heat.

He kept moving slowly, prolonging both of your orgasms until you both trembled.

When you finally stopped, you stayed on top of him, completely naked, with your head resting on his shoulder and his member still inside you. His arms wrapped around you tightly, one hand slowly caressing your back as you both tried to catch your breath.

Neither of you spoke for a long minute. All you could hear was heavy breathing and the Impala's engine still running.

Finally, you lifted your head and looked him in the eyes.

“I don't want this to be the last time…”, you whispered, almost afraid of his response.

Dean watched you in silence for a moment, then smiled softly, a tired but sincere smile, and brushed a damp strand of hair from your face.

“It's not going to be the last time”, he responded in a hoarse voice, kissing you tenderly on the lips. “Not after this”.

He kissed you again, slower, deeper, as if sealing a silent promise.

After a few more minutes hugging each other, catching your breath and sharing lazy kisses, Dean gave you a soft pat on the ass.

“Come on, princess. We have to get you fixed up before someone sees you like this”.

He helped you put your clothes back on between low laughs and stolen kisses. You dressed quickly, though your legs were still trembling a bit. Dean adjusted his jeans and belt, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He looked at you sideways with a smile.

“You're a mess”, he murmured, but his tone was affectionate.

“Your fault”, you replied, leaning in to kiss him once more.

The rest of the drive to your house passed in comfortable silence. Dean drove with one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, gently caressing it with his thumb. Every now and then he looked at you and smiled, as if he still couldn't believe what had just happened.

When the car stopped in front of your house, he turned off the engine and turned toward you.

“See you tomorrow”, he said in a low voice. “Your parents invited me to dinner”.

You smiled, moved closer, and gave him a slow, deep kiss, holding his face with both hands.

“I can't wait”, you whispered against his lips.

Dean returned the kiss with the same intensity, as if he wanted to memorize your taste. When you finally separated, you got out of the car and closed the door carefully.

You entered the house trying not to make noise. As soon as you closed the door behind you, you heard the familiar roar of the car driving away down the street.