Foodie’s Thirst Show

‘05

[wanderingquillarchive]

Dragons and Steel

Masterlist :-

Pairing :- Baelor Targaryen x oc, Maekar Targaryen x oc, Lyonel Baratheon x oc, Valarr Targaryen x oc, Daeron Targaryen x oc, Aerion Targaryen x oc, Ser Ducan The Tall x oc

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Credit for divider :- @feimingo

[junieperlily]

˖ ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ luke castellan who just wants to breed you and overstimulate you

MINORS DNI, 18+, smut

cws: breeding, overstimulation, size kink, tummy bulge, cockwarming, praise kink, oral mentioned

💌 masterlist

he's behind you, your back arched as he enjoys the view of your ass repeatedly slapping against his thighs. he pounds into you so fucking hard. he needs to be inside you, he craves the feeling of your warm, tight hole around his strained, thick cock.

"fuckkk, you're so fucking tight, baby." he moans as you clench around him. you whimper at his words, feeling yourself getting closer to release.

his face is flushed and his fingers are etched onto your skin as he grips on your hips to keep fucking into you. he's fast. he's relentless.

"l-luke, harder please." he smirks to himself.

"so needy, baby. you want me to fuck you harder, huh? want my cock in you?"

you could only nod, a string of babbles leave your mouth as he kept thrusting. his grip tightens and he angles his thrusts differently, pounding into you in the same fast pace but this time with more intent.

"yes, yes, yes, fuck! luke.. so good." he throws his head back in pleasure. one of his hand leaves your waist, pushing you down onto the bed as his chest pushes on your back. he bites down into your shoulder, leaving a mark on you before whispering to you.

"i'm going to fill this pretty pussy with my cum," luke whispers in your ear. "you're going to fucking take all of it, right?" you nod furiously. "good girl."

his swift thrusts continued, hitting your cervix repeatedly with fervor. your slick coated his cock as it disappeared into your tight heat. his orgasm was fast approaching; he couldn't wait. all day he's been stressed. all he wanted was to fuck all his cum into you and fill you up.

his other hand leaves your waist and pushes down onto your lower tummy. you groan. luke revels at the feeling of his cock just going in and out of you; his big, thick cock was bulging up in your small body.

it turned him on even more. "fuck, baby. taking me so well. best fucking pussy ever." you cry out. you came at his words and his unstopping hard thrusts.

"s-sorry— fuck." you moan. luke holds your chin and forces you to look at him. he presses a deep kiss into your lips, shoving his tongue in your mouth to suck on your own. "don't be sorry, baby. i'll make you cum over and over until you pass out, hm?"

you whimper. his thrusts start to become sloppy as his cock twitches inside your cunt. fuck, he's cumming. "gonna fuck my babies into you, sweet girl... fuck, you're so good to me."

you feel something warm fill you up. your legs spasm as you took in luke's warm, sticky cum. "s-so much... so good to me, lukey..." you say. luke coos and hushes you and his cock continued to twitch inside you, still not done giving you his load.

after a few seconds, luke slaps your ass before he pulled out. your lower body crashes onto the bed. soon, you feel his cum drip down your pussy, slowly sticking to your skin and staining the covers.

it wasn't a while until you felt luke manhandle you, his hands holding your hips to flip you over. your back was now on the mattress as you stared up at luke.

he looked back at you with a hungry, primal look in his eyes. he studied your flushed, fucked out face, enjoying the red tint on your cheeks, your quivering lips that matched your shaking legs, and the way your bare tits heaved up and down.

he wasted no time. he spread your legs open as he position himself in between them, your legs bracketing his torso.

luke began to stroke his still-hard cock, biting his lip as he imagined fucking more of his cum into your soft, tight pussy.

"need to be in you so bad, baby." he leans down to kiss your lips hard before he thrusted back into you, his lips muffling your moans.

he doesn't take his time to let you adjust to his incredibly thick cock again; he just resumed to thrusting in a hard, unforgiving pace.

mind you, he was big. no matter how many times you've taken his cock, you still felt dizzy as his cock split your pussy lips open. he always hits your cervix; he was so long and thick that you felt him in your throat.

luke made you go so stupid on his cock—you were just so cockdrunk! you thrashed and clenched around him before he pulled away from your kiss. his hands found your hips once more, pulling you to meet his thrusts.

"you're always so tight, could never loosen you up, fuck. just how i like it," luke groans. "could never get enough of this fucking pussy. fuck, this pussy's all mine."

he looks down at where you're connected, witnessing all your juices coat his cock while his own cum formed a white ring at the base of his dick. he groaned, the sight pushing him to thrust even faster, treating you like you're his personal fleshlight—a pocket pussy meant to satisfy him. you cry out.

"shh," luke hushes you. "you're doing so well." he notices the bulge appearing in your stomach. his hand presses down on it again just as he did earlier, this time more satisfying as he could actually see you take him. he is so deep in you.

your body convulses at the touch, feeling oh so sensitive. you cum on his cock again, your whole body shaking and almost going limp. luke doesn't stop. his hands make their way to your chest, taking your tits in between them as he squeezed.

"l-luke, s-sensitive..!" he smirks. "i know, baby." he is fucking sadistic. he plays with your nipples for a bit while he continued thrusting. your moans and mewls only served as fuel for him to keep going

"such a pretty slut, taking my cock like this." you moan and close your eyes as you feel your consciousness slipping away. it was too much pleasure.

but luke couldn't have that. how could you tell him he was making you feel so so good if you were asleep? :( how could he fuck his cum into you if you were completely gone?

a sharp sting on your face jolts you awake as luke slapped you. "stay with me, baby." you whine, feeling overstimulated and frustrated.

a few more thrusts and luke is cumming into you again, holding your hips down as he filled you up once again. "take it, just fucking take it." it was so shameless in how he fucked into you, making sure you took all of his cum.

you thought it was over, that sleep was finally in your reach. but you were dead wrong. you feel luke's hands lift you up from the bed, straddling you on his lap, his cock never slipping out of your pussy.

"luke, n-no more..."

"just one more, baby. you can take one more, i know it."

you were so spent, but your pussy just felt so good around him :( you were still clenching his needy cock like you never wanted to let him go. you were so warm and soft and tight.

your head rests on his shoulder while your arms wrap around him. "that's my girl." luke praises before he started thrusting upward into you.

your moans released directly into his ear. he was in heaven. your tight cunt wrapped around his own sensitive cock while your sweet moans blessed his ears. fuck. if he could, he'd have you like this forever.

your fingers claw on his back, sure to leave angry red marks that would serve as evidence of your love making tonight. your legs lock around his hips as his hips never stopped fucking up into you.

"that's it, baby. taking my cock like you're supposed to." he thrusts a bit more, but it wasn't long until he was cumming into your hole again. you cry out so loudly, and luke just basked in it.

"so much cum in me, lukey..." you whine with a pout, nuzzling your face into his neck.

he rubs your hips as a way to calm you down as he shushes you. "you're so so good to me, my sweet girl. do you love feeling my cum in you?" he feels you nod into his neck.

he was just going to let you cockwarm him for the rest of the night. that was his plan because truthfully, he couldn't handle being out of your pretty pussy. but he felt a little playful.

one of his hands sneaks in between your bodies. the tip of his finger touches your clit and you wince, your body jolting at the sudden touch.

"l-luke..!" you were just so so sensitive at this point :(

"shh, baby. let me take care of you." he coos. luke's fingers continue to rub on your clit as you let out sobs. your body was shivering and shaking from so much stimulation. luke just couldn't leave you alone. you bit into his shoulder.

you cum hard on his cock—you still felt that it was hard inside you—your body convulsing on top of his. he rubs circles on your hip with one hand while the other rubs your back.

after you stop shaking, he pulls you away from him so he could look at your face. it was red and tear-stricken, your eyes glassy. drool was on the side of your lips.

you looked so majestic that luke had to physically stop himself from thrusting into you again. fuck, he just wanted to breed you over and over, but he knew you were spent for the night.

he cups your face before he peppered kisses all over it. he paid special attention to your lips, kissing them so passionately. the small, soft moans you let out made his heart flutter. you were so cute.

he presses one last hard kiss on your lips before placing one on your forehead. "my good girl. all for me, hm?" you nod tiredly.

"i'm all yours, lukey."

he smiles before he fixes your position. he lays you down on the bed, super careful as he knows your entire body is tired and sensitive. you shudder as your body touches the cold covers.

luke's cock was still inside you. he still intended to cockwarm with you. he really just couldn't leave your pussy, okay?

you whine as you feel his cock twitch inside. "sorry, baby. you feel too good." you look back at him with a playful scowl that made him laugh.

luke hugs you from behind, nuzzling into your neck as his hand gropes your breast. you hum in satisfaction, allowing the exhaustion wash over you as you and luke cuddle to sleep.

you were going to suck his cock so good tomorrow.

lol can u tell i'm ovulating. ws just supposed to be a short blurb but i got carried away.

[jaysbaefie]

bullshit | sjy

synopsis: in which months of mocking jake online comes back to bite you, and he makes sure you regret every single word—on your knees.

genre: idol au

pairing: idol!jake x blogger!reader

warnings: dubcon? bratty!reader, petty!jake, mean!jake, big dick!jake, kidnapping (sort of kind of??), oral (m.rec), cum swallowing, reader grinds down on jake’s shoe, mention of daddy kink (but it’s not used), forced submission, manhandling, titty sucking, marking, begging, degrading. self degradation, rough and unprotected p in v, orgasm denial, overstimulation, light spanking slapping and chocking, creampie, spitting, recording for blackmail purposes. i think that’s it….

wc: 15.1k

a/n: this took a lot more time that i initially thought it would … but it’s here now! this draft has been sitting in my archives for years like literal years. back when i used to write on wattpad for bts i had this plot written for tae but scrapped it because i lacked creativity to make it happen. but here we r ! also side note this is not edited to the best of its abilities so if u c a mistake… im sorry :D hope you enjoy, notes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. enjoy :)

✎﹏﹏

the dorm door slammed open, the sound of sneakers dragging across the floor echoing behind it. the 7 exhausted boys spilled into the living room, all drained and sweaty from the insane dance practice that had run two hours longer than scheduled. jake collapsed face-first onto the couch, groaning into a throw pillow as he stretches his limbs before he feels a cramp in his leg.

"i think my spine is permanently bent," he mumbled, not moving an inch.

sunghoon flopped onto the floor, using his hoodie as a pillow. "i think i disassociated during 'bite me.'"

"you always disassociate during 'bite me,'" heeseung shot back, tossing a towel at him making sunghoon scowl.

jay, meanwhile, had his phone out, thumb lazily scrolling through twitter as he half-listened to the chaos around him. he was about to put his phone down when a thread caught his eye.

"kpop idols who probably have the smallest dick (a very unserious thread)"

"...oh?" jay blinked, intrigued for all the wrong reasons. a grin formed on his lips as he clicked, the list started off wild.

1. jaehyun nct - idc what y'all say. he screams below average. 2. jeno nct - this is a hater post. cry about it. 3. jake from enhypen - golden retriever energy but gives micro vibes. sorry not sorry.

jay let out a loud, sudden laugh at the description given for jake—catching everyone's attention.

"yo, jake," he wheezed, turning the screen toward him. "look what someone said about you."

jake rolled over lazily, half hazy, "what?"

jay shoved the phone in front of his face. jake read the tweet once, then again. then a third time. his brows furrowed deeper with each pass, almost as if he couldn't believe what he was reading.

"...are you serious right now?"

he sat up, yanking the phone from jay's hand to read it himself. his eyes scanned the username, the post and then the likes. 10k likes for a bullshit post, jake scoffed in disbelief. he scrolled down to read the replies which were full of people either agreeing or arguing like their lives depended on it.

"no because she's right and she should say it louder" one of the comments read, jake furrowed his eyebrows before scowling.

"i love him but... yeah."

"nah he gives big dick energy actually"

"this is so mean LMFAOOO"

jake's mouth opened in shock. "why am i even on this list? what did i do to deserve this? how does someone look at me and go, 'yeah, micro dick.' what the hell?"

jay couldn't stop laughing. "it's so random, too. like. where did they get the data? did they run a poll?"

"this isn't funny!" jake snapped, slapping jay's shoulder with the back of his hand. "i'm being slandered in front of thousands of people. tens of thousands!"

sunoo peeked over jay's shoulder. "ooh. and someone made a follow-up post. wait—found their tumblr. they said he looks like he apologizes after missionary.'" sunoo cackles, "i can totally see that."

jake nearly choked on air, "what?!"

he snatched sunoo's phone this time, heart pounding as he scrolls violently across your twitter page. he followed the breadcrumb trail from twitter to a tumblr blog: @s0ftbrat666.

the header was a blurry photo of a cunty hello kitty, and the bio just said: "unserious about everything but dick size."

"who the hell is this? why do they hate me so bad?"

niki, who had been quietly sipping water from the kitchen, muttered, "maybe they're a fan of yours. like, weirdly obsessed. reverse psychology or something."

"no. this is personal. this feels targeted," jake muttered, already downloading and opening the tumblr app on his phone. "i'm not letting this slide."

he made a new account. he picked the most ironic, absurd username he could think of: @goldenjake420.

because that screams, 'i'm the real jake sim!!'

he messaged you immediately, his hands shaking in rage as he smashes his fingers into the screen.

@goldenjake420: hey just saw your post about me having a micro dick on twitter. not sure why you said that but i can assure you that it's not true kinda rude ngl maybe take it down?

"this is so stupid," he muttered, tossing his phone beside him.

jay raised a brow. "you really just dm'd a twitter troll on tumblr?"

"yes. because the truth matters, jay. i do not have a micro dick!" he exclaims, clearly frustrated from his group mates lack of empathy. he looks around the room in hopes of his members reassurance, only to receive looks of disturbance.

"cmon guys, you know i don't have a micro dick.." he trails off when he sees sunoo grimace at his words.

heeseung smirked from the other side of the couch suddenly sitting up right, ignoring his aching body. "you should send a pic to prove it."

jay cackles before agreeing, "yeah, downwards angles always make that shit look like a tower."

"SHUT UP!" jake shouted, face red in a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

the room erupted in laughter as jake sat there fuming, arms crossed, waiting for a response. he had no idea the person he messaged was already rolling their eyes and preparing to block him.

and this was only the beginning.

you were no stranger to the occasional deranged and delusional fan losing their mind over a post. it was social media, not a diplomatic summit. if you said someone's fave had bad fashion sense or gave off weak dick energy, it was bound to stir drama—but you thrived in it.

what you didn't expect, though, was to get a dm from an account called @goldenjake420 claiming to be jake himself. not just a fan defending him. not someone crying in your inbox about how you were "too mean."

no. this person had committed to the bit.

@goldenjake420: hey just saw your post about me having a micro dick on twitter. not sure why you said that but i can assure you that it's not true kinda rude ngl maybe take it down?

you blinked at the message, snorted, and sat back in your chair.

"okay..." you muttered under your breath. "we've reached new levels of delusion."

you clicked the profile. no posts. followed no one. default layout. pfp of a blurry golden retriever. and the username?

goldenjake420.

"oh my god," you wheezed. this was peak fandom brainrot.

you stared at the message for a minute, thumbs hovering over your keyboard before you decided, you know what? fine. you wanna play jake sim? let's play.

you typed:

@s0ftbrat666: omg jake??? THE jake sim??? i am so sorry... i didn't know you had a tumblr account i feel so bad now omg i'll take it down right away thank you for being so mature and respectful about it... ugh i feel terrible lol

you hit send. then burst out laughing, eyes watering as you cackle alone in your room.

and five minutes later, you posted a new post on your blog.

—— post by @s0ftbrat666

just got a dm from someone PRETENDING to be jake sim because they were mad i said he has a micro dick LMAOOO. like babes be serious... jake sim is not on tumblr dot com messaging me with a blurry pic of a golden retriever and the username @/goldenjake420. but since he's here reading my posts, hey jake! if u're mad now wait til u see what i post next

anyway updated my list: "kpop idols who give off submissive missionary micro dick energy: extended version" jake is now first on the list. i've added footnotes and gifs as evidence. enjoy :] ——

you tagged it: #jake sim #enhypen #pls don't take this seriously #except jake if ur reading this then yeah take it seriously

you sat back and refreshed the notes every few seconds. it was already blowing up. likes, reblogs, someone screaming in the tags: "NOT THE FOOTNOTES."

you were thriving, satisfaction filling you as the comments seemed to hype you up.

unbeknownst to you, somewhere in a dorm across the city, jake was screaming into a pillow.

jake was laying on his stomach, face shoved into a couch cushion, aggressively refreshing your tumblr page like a man on a mission. the first message he sent you hadn't gone exactly how he expected. he thought maybe—maybe—you'd feel a little guilty, take the post down, maybe even apologize. instead, he was met with:

"omg jake??? THE jake sim??? i am so sorry..."

at first, he blinked. then smiled. you were going to apologize and take it down..great!

okay, he thought, that was easier than expected.

but then he saw the post you had published just a few minute later.

—— "kpop idols who give off submissive missionary micro dick energy: extended version." jake is now first on the list. i've added footnotes. and gifs. enjoy :] ——

"NO I AM NOT," he yelled into the pillow, voice muffled but full of sheer disbelief.

he rolled over and shot upright, shoving his phone in jay's face. "do you SEE this? i was already called micro dick jake, but now i'm a submissive pillow princess? where is she even getting this from?"

jay looked over the post with a calm expression and said, "well... you did say 'ngl' in a tumblr dm. that's kinda submissive."

"jay."

"i'm just saying."

jake's blood pressure was actively rising. he was pacing the living room now, phone clenched in his fist. "this isn't a joke anymore. she's making footnotes. gifs, bro. there's like a whole academic paper on my dick energy. and worst of all, PEOPLE ARE AGREEING."

sunoo peeked around the corner. "maybe just let it go? like... it's tumblr. no one's gonna remember next week."

"it's twitter too! no. no, she wanted to make it personal. it's personal now."

he went back to tumblr, typing furiously in your dm's.

@goldenjake420: okay first of all?? i was acc being really nice u said some really rude stuff and i still tried to talk to u calmly but now ur doubling down with footnotes?? idk y ur so convinced i'm a submissive pillow princess but ur wrong like so wrong scientifically inaccurate levels of wrong

he hit send. then stared at the screen.

nothing. no response. refresh. refresh.

"error: message could not be delivered."

"...what?" jake frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he desperately tried sending his messages again.

he clicked your profile.

"you've been blocked by this user."

the silence that followed was deafening.

"she blocked me," he whispered, staring at his phone like it had personally betrayed him. "she actually blocked me."

jay cackled from across the room. "maybe now you'll stop fighting the tumblr girl who thinks you're a bottom."

"i'm not a bottom!" jake snapped, defensive. "and i'm definitely not a pillow princess!"

jay peers over jake's shoulder, his face pulls into a grimace as he reads jake's messages. "maybe it's a good thing that those didn't deliver... you're proving her point." jake rolls his eyes in response, not wanting to deal with his friend.

he opened twitter, then paused. was he really about to tweet about this?

he closed the app.

instead, he opened his notes app and started typing:

"debunking tumblr slander: why i, jake sim, am not submissive nor do i have a micro dick."

this wasn't over.

if he had to write a dissertation, he would. he was reclaiming his name. one footnote at a time.

you were in bed, face smushed into your pillow, scrolling aimlessly when the tag notification came in. you were about to ignore it—probably another reblog of your cursed "submissive missionary micro dick energy" thread—but the caption caught your eye:

@s0ftbrat666 you need to see this LMAOOO he made a THREAD. a whole thread.

confused but curious, you tapped the post.

and there it was.

a full thread. by a tumblr user named @truthaboutjake, which already gave deranged energy, but it got better.

"debunking tumblr slander: why i, jake sim, am not submissive nor do i have a micro dick (a thread)."

you nearly dropped your phone, a giggle leaving you as you excitedly click on the thread.

the first slide was formatted like a presentation. bolded title, bullet points, and an unnecessary amount of spacing like someone had spent way too long formatting it.

—— slide 1: addressing the accusations • the tumblr user @s0ftbrat666 has made multiple posts claiming i am submissive • she has also accused me of having a micro dick • both of these are false, offensive, and based on no real evidence ——

no real evidence, he said. like you were in court.

"what in the deranged.." you muttered to yourself, re-reading the text a second time to make sure you were hallucinating.

you snorted, swiping to the next.

—— slide 2: rebuttal • i've been told i give off dominant energy • no one who owns a denim jacket collection that big can be submissive • as for the size... let's just say i've never received complaints ——

you had to pause there, hand over your mouth, wheezing. "denim jackets radiate peg me," you cackle to yourself.

this wasn't a thread written by a deranged fan. no, this was someone personally offended on a soul level. and the way it was written? the tone? the wording?

it was giving him. it was jake.

no one else would be this pressed.

you laughed so hard you had to sit up.

this man had been so insulted by your dumb, unserious thirst post that he created a whole alternate account, wrote a google-doc-tier thread, and was now trying to clear his name in the notes app format. you were obsessed.

you hit reblog.

—— @s0ftbrat666: i have never in my life witnessed a man fight for his dom rights this hard the denim jacket argument almost had me convinced ngl

jake sim if this is actually you: 1. calm down 2. you're literally proving my point 3. post the evidence since you're so confident ——

the comments came flooding in:

"NOT HIM MAKING A PRESENTATION" "'never received complaints' is CRAZY" "he could've just logged off but now he's in too deep" "@truthaboutjake is shaking"

you weren't done though. oh no.

you clicked the original post again and dm'd @truthaboutjake directly.

@s0ftbrat666: wow a thread? you really sat down and made a powerpoint about your dick this is the best thing that's happened to me all week but you still haven't proven anything so until i see hard (and i mean HARD) evidence you're staying in your submissive micro dick era i'll wait <33

you hit send with a shit-eating grin.

this was your roman empire now. you were going to be thinking about this thread forever.

jake stared at your message like it physically slapped him.

"so until i see hard (and i mean HARD) evidence you're staying in your submissive micro dick era"

his jaw dropped.

"e-evidence?!" he sputtered aloud, standing up in the middle of the dorm living room like he'd just been accused of murder.

jay, sitting across the room with earbuds in, pulled one out and glanced up. "what now?"

"she wants evidence."

jay blinked. "like...?"

jake gestured wildly at his phone. "like evidence evidence!"

jay raised both brows before grinning "...so what i said about the downward angle, i'm telling you jake that shit makes it look h—"

"NO!" jake practically yelled. "i'm not sending a picture of my dick to some random troll on tumblr!"

he fumed. typed. deleted. typed again. then, finally, sent:

@truthaboutjake: okay. listen. i'm not sending you a dick pic. i don't care how much you want "evidence" that's weird. this whole thing is weird. i'm literally just trying to correct a false narrative about myself

you saw the message and immediately rolled your eyes so hard you almost saw your brain. you were curled up on your couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, typing with vicious speed.

@s0ftbrat666: omg. are you serious right now?? NO ONE asked for actual dick pics. what the hell is wrong with you. you're literally so deep in this delusion you really think you're jake sim like?? be serious for once you are a grown man on tumblr dot com pretending to be an idol and defending your imaginary dick size this is next level behavior. you need to touch grass and maybe talk to a therapist jake sim would never you are EMBARRASSING yourself rn.

you hit send and sighed, rubbing your temples. it was funny at first but the more you interacted with this person the more brain cells you lost, it shocked you that people would go to such lengths to defend their favs.

this was beyond fandom drama now. this was a case study. and the worst part? you were kind of impressed with how committed he was to the bit. concerned of course, but impressed too.

like... he was spiraling. but passionately.

still. you weren't going to let up. because whoever this man was, he needed to be humbled.

you opened a new post draft and typed:

—— @s0ftbrat666: update: he dm'd me again and accused me of demanding dick pics because i said "evidence"

i rest my case. this is not jake sim. this is some 32-year-old man who unironically uses reddit and thinks being called "submissive" is a slur

log off, drink some water, and go outside before you get a nosebleed from rage

#jake sim #not the real one obviously #this is tumblr not onlyfans relax ——

✎﹏﹏

jake tried to move on.

he really did.

after the dick thread. after being labeled a submissive missionary pillow princess. after the fake fan accusations and being accused of roleplaying as himself—he made the conscious choice to stop checking your blog. he muted your username. closed tumblr for a solid 24 hours. he even turned off his notifs.

he was healing. growing. rebuilding his sanity.

until a member sent him a screenshot.

it was sunghoon.

of course it was sunghoon.

sunghoon: yo y tf she got sm time on her hands icl tho she funny asf

attached was a photo of your newest tumblr post.

jake opened it, eyes squinting. then he saw it.

—— @s0ftbrat666: watched enhypen's most recent stage and i just wanna know WHO chose those pants for jake like bffr. i can see his entire situation

the dick print? front and center. and it's not giving what he thinks it's giving

it's giving: he begged the stylist to let him wear those pants so he could prove me wrong and i'm here to tell you... babe... don't ever do that again.

i'm LAUGHING.

#enhypen #jake sim #pls don't wear tight pants if ur not ready for the scrutiny king #it's not looking good ——

jake froze.

his phone was literally vibrating with how hard he was gripping it.

"she's watching performances now?" he whispered to himself, horrified.

jay looked up from across the room, warily. "...oh god. again?"

"she's analyzing my crotch, jay. she made a post about my dick print."

jay blinked. "that's... new."

"and she said it's 'not giving'!" jake practically screamed, spinning his phone around to show him. "not giving what?! not giving big dick energy?!?!"

jay read it silently, lips twitching. "...it does kind of sound like she thinks you're trying to prove her wrong. which, to be fair, you kinda are." he pauses for a second, "but i thought she deemed you as a deranged fan, does she think that you're actually texting her?"

jake shrugs, "who knows what she's thinking, clearly way to much of this is the shit she posts. also i wasn't even thinking about her when i wore those pants!"

"you literally made a thread defending your dick size last week."

"NOT THE POINT."

jake felt like he was going to combust. it was like every time he clawed his way back to peace, you dropped another post from hell and dragged him back into the pit.

and this time?

this time you targeted his outfit. his styling choices. his crotch visibility. he couldn't even enjoy the stage anymore without wondering if you were out there in a hoodie, behind a screen, zooming in on freeze frames of his pants.

"this is psychological warfare," jake muttered.

sunghoon looked up from his phone, his face annoyed. he was tired of hearing about this, "just block her again."

jake clenched his jaw. "she'll post about it. she'll brag."

he scrolled back up, reading the caption again. and again. his fingers hovered over your username.

he didn't message you. not this time.

instead, he posted on his burner account:

—— @truthaboutjake: some people spend their lives spreading negativity online because they have nothing else going for them. if you spend your free time zooming in on people's bodies just to make fun of them, seek help.

also, the pants looked fire. ——

he hit post. and then, two minutes later he opened the group chat.

jayke: whoever styled me last week. never again. we're going back to loose pants. i'm not doing this with tumblr anymore

✎﹏﹏

jake tried to stay composed. he tried.

but every time he opened tumblr, there you were—lurking in his psyche like a demon with wi-fi.

at first it had been a few jabs, sprinkled here and there between your usual posts about other idols. someone's hair, another's dance move, one guy you kept thirsting over for his "evil smirk" and "long fingers." whatever. jake didn't care.

until suddenly—your entire blog became about him.

not in a cute, stan-like way.

no.

it was relentless.

"jake sim update: still looks like a man who apologizes during sex."

"new era, same micro dick energy."

"his pants looked like they were holding in a lie."

"i know he fumbles the aux every time. just look at him."

your followers ate it up. reblog after reblog. tags like "#he's just so bashable" and "#jake sim slander is self-care" filled the notes.

there were polls. there were graphics.

you made a tier list of idols based on who looked like they cried after sex, and jake was placed right at the top with the caption: "he looks like he'd say 'was that okay?' while tucking his soft dick back in his briefs."

jake was spiraling.

the worst part? you didn't even seem like a hater. you didn't hate him.

you just... targeted him like it was your job. your content was crafted with care. effort. borderline affection.

jay leaned over one afternoon while jake doomscrolled through another one of your polls—this one titled "which idol do you think would last the shortest in bed (no offense)", where jake was winning by 68%.

"you know," jay mused, "i think she actually likes you."

jake looked up, eyes wide with horror as he looks at jay disgusted. "what?"

jay shrugged. "she's obsessed. it's giving weirdly specific attention. enemies-to-lovers coded."

"jay. she made a gifset of my crotch."

"exactly."

jake nearly threw his phone across the room.

it wasn't just slander anymore—it was becoming personal. and the most infuriating part?

you were so sure. so smugly sure.

every post was laced with casual cruelty and the sharp confidence of someone who truly believed they knew him. his vibes. his music taste. his dick size. like you'd studied him and filed a damn report.

and the urge to prove you wrong? it was eating at him.

he'd see one of your posts and get this itch. this slow, simmering burn in his gut. like he had something to prove now. like he wanted to walk up to you and say—

"say that shit again. to my face."

he'd fantasized about it more than once.

cornering you at a fansign, maybe. or catching you backstage if he ever figured out who you were. you with that smug little expression, your arms crossed like you knew everything. and him, leaning in, low and sharp, and making damn sure you knew you were wrong about everything—especially that.

he wasn't even mad anymore. not just mad. he was determined.

this wasn't just tumblr slander. this was a challenge.

and jake sim? he didn't lose.

✎﹏﹏

jake laid in bed, phone hovering above his face, lit only by the blue glow of tumblr's godforsaken app. it was well past 2 a.m., and he'd already scrolled through your entire blog—again.

he told himself it was just to see if you'd posted anything new. which, of course, you had,

but really, he was spiraling.

another post. this one read:

—— @softbrat666: something about jake sim just screams whines when it doesn't slide in all the way like he'd pause mid-thrust to ask if you're okay because he came too fast

he'd definitely say 'but you just feel so good...' as an excuse ——

and the worst part?

jake read every single reply. studied them, even. like they held some kind of twisted insight into how you saw him. how you imagined him. you were building this whole persona of him in your mind and then broadcasting it to thousands of followers like it was gospel. and the most messed up part?

you had just enough accuracy to make it sting.

and yet—you remained anonymous.

faceless. untouchable.

he'd tried to find out who you were. he dug through old posts, clicked your tags, searched your url on twitter and insta.

all he found was:     •    you lived in seoul     •    you were 21     •    you drank too much iced americano     •    and you had audacity in excess

that was it. no selfies. no personal posts. no full name. you were just a sassy username and a collection of jake sim hate posts.

meanwhile, he was a public figure with his whole government face on blast while you dragged him through the mud constantly.

he hated how much he thought about what you looked like.

were you soft and bratty, like your tone suggested? did you smirk when you wrote those captions? were you the type to twirl your hair and say, "what? it's not that deep," while ruining a man's reputation?

he imagined you walking around seoul, laughing with your friends, ordering overpriced coffee with that smug, evil-little-gremlin energy.

he imagined running into you.

he'd play it cool at first—polite, casual, maybe even a little flirty.

watch you ramble. watch you squirm. and when he caught you slipping—maybe when you made some offhand comment about k-pop or tumblr—he'd hit you with it:

"so how's that blog going? still think i'm a submissive pillow princess with a micro dick?"

he rolled onto his side, fuming into his pillow. you lived in his head rent-free and you didn't even know what he looked like at night when he was losing sleep over your bullshit posts.

it was unfair.

you got to stay invisible while he was out here analyzing his own stage outfits to figure out what clip you were gonna slander next.

he scrolled back to that gif set you made of his recent performance. paused on the close-up. the zoom-in.

the goddamn caption: "not jake sim trying to start a dickprint redemption arc. spoiler: it's not working."

his eye twitched.

"this girl is the devil," he muttered.

and yet... he couldn't stop checking. he needed to know what you'd say next.

✎﹏﹏

you wake up to absolute chaos.

your phone is buzzing. not one or two notifications—hundreds. group chats. twitter and tumblr dms. unknown numbers. missed calls. it's like your phone caught fire overnight.

you blink against the morning light, groggy and confused, heart picking up speed. something's wrong. you can feel it. you squint at the screen, drag down your notifications, and the first notification you see makes your stomach drop.

"girl you're trending rn... what did you DO???"

then another.

"is that actually your name???"

your pulse is pounding before you even open twitter. your fingers shake as you type your own @ into the search bar, and the second you hit enter, your breath catches.

it's you.

your name. your photo. your phone number. everything.

someone—no, a group of people—had clearly gone full fbi. they'd taken all your casual, dumb little posts over the years and pieced them together like a fucked-up puzzle.

and now your full name was in a viral thread titled: "this the girl behind the jake sim micro dick blog?"

with a photo of you at a party two months ago, smile beaming.

people were quote-tweeting it with comments like: "she built like someone who'd have beef with jake sim for no reason." "oh she definitely owns a stan twitter burner too." "her blog is my roman empire i need her in therapy immediately."

your blood turned to ice. you were exposed.

fully.

not just as a shitposter but as the jake sim hater. your inbox was flooded—death threats, confessions, apologies, people asking if it was really you. tumblr dms screaming:

"TAKE THE POSTS DOWN BEFORE HE SEES THEM."

too late.

you scrambled to log into tumblr. your hands fumbled across the keys. it took three tries to get your password right.

the second you were in, you did the only thing you could do.

you hit deactivate.

the blog was gone. years of posts. thousands of notes. all of your followers, your drafts, your hate-poll templates.

deleted.

and then the panic really set in.

your hands were trembling. your ears were ringing. and all you could think about was @truthaboutjake, your mind racing. it was him, you realized that it was him.

"he knows. jake sim fucking knows who i am."

and the worst part?

you had no idea what he'd do with it.

✎﹏﹏

jake found out the same way everyone else did—waking up to a string of texts from jay and sunghoon absolutely losing their shit.

jay: bro. check twitter. sunghoon: she got exposed. jay: HER NAME IS OUT LMAOOO jay: bet she's sweating rn sunghoon: she's kinda cute tho

he blinked hard, still groggy, and tapped open the thread that seemed to be trending.

your face stared back at him.

his heart flipped.

you looked... nothing like what he expected. he'd imagined someone smug. cold. maybe with villain bangs and a cigarette habit.

but no—there you were, face flushed in a group photo, laughing mid-sip of iced americano. you looked normal. it almost hurt to admit, but you were pretty.

you looked real.

and now, you were reachable.

he did what anyone would do: searched your name on instagram. he found your linked facebook.

scrolled. scrolled.

paused.

you had your workplace tagged in an old comment.

"juniper bean café - seoul branch."

he stared at it for a long moment. then, very calmly, he stood up, threw on a hoodie, cap, and mask, and left the dorm.

✎﹏﹏

the café was a little tucked away spot with plants hanging from the ceiling and a chalkboard sign outside that said "kiss me, i'm caffeinated."

jake walked in, glancing around. he spotted you immediately, behind the counter, head down as you punched in an order.

he could tell that you had a rough morning, good. your posture was tense. your hair was pulled back messily. your voice was strained. you looked tired, your eyes that seemed so full of life in your leaked photos had disappeared.

he stepped up to the counter. waited. his eyes trailed down your figure, your frame was draped with a loose fitted sweater and some baggy light wash jeans. you wore a black apron, cinching at your waist—allowing his hungry eyes to capture your curves.

you were trying to look invisible. trying not to stand out. but to him—you were glowing with guilt.

he watched you fumble with a stack of napkins, pretending you didn't feel his eyes burning into you. finally you cleared your throat, still not looking up.

"hi, what can i get you?"

he smiled behind his mask, slow and wicked. he pulled it down just enough to speak—voice dripping low, sharp with mocking sweetness.

"you gonna spit in my drink too?" he asked. "or just keep running your mouth somewhere i can't see?"

you froze.

head snapping up. eyes locking with his. and there it was—that flash of horror, recognition, disbelief. it was him.

you had to admit, he was just as if not more handsome in person. your mouth dried up when you watched his lips curl into a smirk and his eye twitch.

your mouth opened. closed. no sound.

"hi," he said, almost sweetly. "miss me?"

you fumbled a reply—something, anything—but he leaned in, resting his elbows on the counter like he had all the time in the world.

"you disappeared fast. what happened? got leaked and lost all your guts or did you burn through all your micro dick material?"

your coworker looked between you both, utterly confused and in awe that jake was standing in front her. you took a breath. straightened your spine. tried to salvage your dignity.

"this is harassment," you muttered.

"this is karma," jake shot back, his smile dark. he twitched in anger, how dare you call this harassment—what about what you had been doing for the last couple of weeks? "i wanted a latte, by the way. no sugar. unless you're finally ready to be sweet to me."

you nearly dropped the milk jug.

he didn't care. he was so amused. you were the girl who wrote entire essays dragging his dickprint and his imagined bedroom habits? you, flushed and stammering behind a café register?

he wanted to laugh. he wanted to lean in closer. he wanted to ruin you back.

and this? this was just the beginning.

your hands were shaking. milk frother sputtering. heart pounding in your chest like it wanted to escape. and he—jake fucking sim—just stood there.

smiling.

smug.

head tilted slightly like he was thrilled by your discomfort. "you gonna make that latte, or you gonna keep fumbling around and glaring at me?" he drawled, voice low and casual.

you gritted your teeth, turned back to the machine, and fumbled through the motions of making the drink. you could feel his eyes on you the entire time—watching, drinking you in like you were the fucking joke.

you finally slid the drink across the counter, trying not to slam it.

"here. now leave."

he didn't move. just sipped slowly, then licked a bit of foam from his lip like it was the most dramatic thing anyone had ever done in a coffee shop.

and then—he leaned forward. elbow on the counter. voice quiet, words slow and deliberate:

"what time do you get off?"

you blinked, "excuse me?"

"your shift. when does it end?"

"why the fuck would i tell you that?"

his smile widened, all teeth now, sharp and smug. "because there's going to be a black car waiting for you outside." he continues, "when you clock out, you're going to get in. and then you're going to follow instructions."

you stared at him, genuinely floored. "are you insane? what the hell are you talking about?"

he tilted his head, mockingly sympathetic. "i get it. you're scared. probably embarrassed." he grins, "but see, that's the thing about defamation—once it's public, i can take legal action. and you've been very public."

your stomach dropped, "you're bluffing."

he shrugged. "wanna bet your savings account on that?"

you opened your mouth. closed it again. because—fuck. he wasn't bluffing. he didn't have to. you'd posted too much. said too much. and now he had your face, your name, your location.

"you can't just—kidnap me," you said, weaker than intended.

he laughed.

"it's not kidnapping if you get in willingly, sweetheart."

then he slid the latte off the counter, turned, and started to walk toward the door. before he left, he glanced back, over his shoulder.

"9 p.m., right?" he called out. "don't be late. i hate being stood up." he grinned, fuck him.

the bell jingled as he left. the door shut behind him.

and you stood there, in your apron and sneakers and sweaty palms, absolutely rattled. what the fuck did you just get yourself into?

✎﹏﹏

9:03 p.m.

you were pacing behind the café. your shift ended three minutes ago, but you hadn't stepped outside yet. you couldn't. your feet felt like bricks. your stomach twisted with anxiety, hands clenched in the pockets of your jeans.

what the fuck am i doing?

you shouldn't go. you know you shouldn't go. this was literally stranger danger 101, except instead of a stranger it was a kpop idol whose dick size you flamed online for weeks.

your brain was screaming at you. your nerves were a warzone. your inner monologue sounded like one long anxiety spiral:

"you're insane." "this is how people get murdered." "he's rich. he could make you disappear and blame it on anxiety meds." "but also... maybe he just wants to talk?" "or maybe he's gonna sue you in person with his scary legal team and laugh while you cry." "or—worse—what if he takes a picture with you and posts it with some shady ass caption like 'finally found her :)' and now you're really cooked?"

your fists clenched tighter.

this was your own fault. you were the one who made that blog. you were the one who said he looked like a pillow princess. you were the one who photoshopped a pacifier into that one fansite photo and captioned it "baby boy can't handle coochie."

and now?

now he knew your name. your face. your shift schedule.

and there it was, waiting on the curb like a horror movie prop—a sleek black car, windows tinted, headlights glowing like eyes.

you stared at it.

and then, finally, took a deep breath and walked towards it.

the back door opened before you could even touch it. you slid inside, hesitating, clutching your bag to your chest like a shield. you looked around the dimly lit interior. leather seats. no jake.

just a stone-faced driver in a black cap.

"um," you said cautiously. "where are we going?"

no response.

you leaned forward slightly. "hello? i just—can you at least tell me if jake is—"

silence.

he kept driving.

great.

you sat back, heart still racing. the lights of the city blurred past the windows. you couldn't even track the direction—you were too jittery to focus. every turn felt like it took you farther from safety.

and god, the silence was suffocating.

you hated it. you hated him.

jake sim and his smug face and his legal threats and the fact that this whole thing was so humiliating.

how the hell did he turn it around on you? curse those people who leaked you.

you were supposed to have the power. the upper hand. you were the one who had thousands of people laughing at his expense. you were the one whose posts got quoted like bible verses on stan twitter.

and now?

now you were alone, in his car, being driven to god knows where because he told you to.

you should've never fucking posted about his dick. you should've stayed anonymous. kept your mouth shut. deleted the pacifier post when it hit 10k notes.

the car slowed. you peeked out the window. it wasn't some mansion, like you feared. wasn't a dungeon either—at least you think so.

it was a private-looking building—modern, sleek, tucked down a quiet alley with a gated entrance. definitely expensive. definitely secluded.

you were dropped off at the curb. the driver didn't say anything—just nodded toward the front door.

you stepped out slowly, phone gripped tight in your hand, ready to fake an emergency call or scream if necessary.

a man, different from the driver, opened the front door. another silent guy in all black gestured for you to follow.

you hesitated, then followed him down a short hallway, up a narrow flight of stairs, until you reached a door with a single number carved into it: 17.

he knocked once, then opened it.

you stepped in—and stopped.

jake was inside.

he was leaning casually against a wall, dressed in all black—hoodie, chain, jeans, hair tousled, like he hadn't even tried and still looked like a good.

he was scrolling on his phone when you entered, then looked up.

and grinned, "hey." he stops, letting his gaze travel down your trembling form, "glad you could make it, hate blogger."

you wanted to punch him. you wanted to turn around and leave. but most of all—you wanted to know what the hell came next.

and by the look on his face?

he was very ready to show you.

room 17 is quiet. too quiet.

you stand near the door, gripping the strap of your bag like it's your last line of defense. jake hasn't moved from his place against the wall, but his eyes haven't left you for a second. he looks too calm. like this is just some casual meetup and not the most batshit confrontation of your entire life.

"you still haven't told me why i'm here," you say finally, voice tight, trying to sound unbothered even though your throat is dry.

he doesn't answer right away. he just studies you, eyes flicking from your clenched fists to your shifting posture to the tiny, almost-invisible tremble in your knees.

then he lets out a soft little chuckle, the kind that feels mean. smug and quiet and condescending.

"you really don't know?" he asks, stepping away from the wall at last. his strides are slow, deliberate, like he knows you won't run—but that you should.

you take a step back automatically, bumping into the door behind you.

"if this is about suing me," you mutter, chin lifting defensively, "you could've just emailed your legal team. this whole drama king act—" "i'm not suing you." he cuts you off, voice calm but sharp. he walks past you and locks the door with a soft click. your stomach flips.

"then what the hell is this?" he turns back to you, expression unreadable, "this is about correction."

you blink, "what?"

"you posted things that were... inaccurate." he steps closer. you press yourself further into the door. "about me. my body. my performance. my preferences." another step. you swear you stop breathing, "so now i'm giving you a chance to see the truth."

you stare up at him, wide-eyed, "you're joking."

"does it look like i'm joking?" he murmurs.

you're momentarily speechless. your brain is whirring, trying to process what's happening. jake sim—international idol, global heartthrob, the man you've memed within an inch of his digital life—has dragged you to a private room to debunk his dick size?

you should laugh, but you can't.

because he's standing too close. because he's looking at you like prey. because his voice is dipped in amusement but his eyes are furious.

"you're out of your mind," you whisper, eyes wide and your jaw slacked.

he shrugs, "maybe."

his hand lifts, knuckles brushing your chin—just enough to make your breath catch.

"but you made this personal. you dragged it out. you turned it into a running gag." he leans down slightly, until your noses are nearly brushing. "and now you're gonna watch what happens when you say shit you can't back up."

your throat works around a swallow. your persona starts to crack.

still—you can't not be a brat.

"so what, you're gonna just pull your dick out like some frat boy in a scandal?" you snort. "you're so mad over a joke, you're—"

"baby," his voice cuts you off again, soft but dangerous.

"a joke is calling me clingy or annoying. a joke is editing me into a pink onesie." he steps even closer, "but accusing me of being a submissive pillow princess with a dick that couldn't break a hymen?" he tilts his head, mocking, "that's slander."

you flush. deeply, "you saw that post?"

"i've seen every post," he says coolly. "and the reblogs. and the tags. and the memes."

you suddenly feel so small. not because he's taller—though he is—but because you'd spent months building this image of jake sim as a joke. a punchline. a target.

and now he's right here. and he's pissed.

"you're really that bothered?" you ask, but your voice is quieter now, unsure. "bothered?" he repeats, almost scoffing. "sweetheart, i was obsessed." his hand lifts again, brushes your hair away from your face, fingers dragging a little too slow behind your ear.

"you don't understand what it's like to be degraded by someone who's too cowardly to even show their face." he pauses, his eyes dropping to your lips, "but i'll show you."

you swallow hard. "so what?" you ask, trying not to waver. "you want me to apologize? to... take it all back? post a formal retraction about your dick?"

he grins. slow and sharp, "nah."

"i want you to see it," he pauses, lets the words sink in. "and then i want to see the look on your face when you realize you were dead fucking wrong."

your mouth opens. no sound comes out. your heart is pounding so fast you think you might throw up. because there's teasing and there's joking and there's flirting with danger—but this? this is crossing the line, and you don't know if you want him to stop.

you laugh, it comes out breathy and nervous and completely unconvincing. "okay," you say, holding your hands up a little, trying to cut the tension with sarcasm, "haha, very funny. you got me. you've officially scared the shit out of me, and if that was your goal, congratulations."

jake just stands there. watching you. expression unreadable, unreadable and dark. you shift on your feet, trying to find a way out of this, trying to reclaim some sense of control.

"look," you continue, "i'll take everything down, okay? every post. every meme. every stupid out-of-pocket caption." you swallow. "i'll issue an apology. hell, i'll write a thread. a whole google doc. whatever you want."

you inch away from the door, toward the side of the room, trying to put some space between you.

"i crossed a line. i get that now." you laugh again, weaker this time. "like—clearly."

jake still doesn't speak, he starts walking.

slow. silent. like a cat with its prey cornered.

your back hits the wall.

"i'll stop posting about you," you rush out, your heart beating frantically when you feel jake's breath fan against your cheek. "seriously. no more degrading content. no more jokes. you win, okay?" his palm hits the wall beside your head with a sharp thud.

you freeze.

he leans in.

"i don't want a fucking apology," he murmurs, voice thick and low, the sound of it making your legs weaken. you try to hold his gaze, but it's hard when he's this close. when you can smell his cologne—clean and warm, like cedar and skin. when you can see the heat in his eyes, the tension in his jaw.

"i want you to look at me," he says, "and admit you were wrong."

"i just did—" "no." his other hand comes up, fingers ghosting your chin, tilting it up. "not because you're scared. not because you think i'm gonna sue your ass. i want you to say it because you know."

you suck in a breath as his fingers graze your throat. not squeezing. not threatening. but claiming, staking a presence.

"you think i'm some submissive little pushover," he whispers, "who just lays there and takes it. soft. boring. harmless."

your heart pounds in your chest so loud you swear it echoes. "you think you own the narrative. that you get to decide who i am, what i'm like in bed, how big my fucking dick is."

you flinch at the way he says it, so vulgar and harsh it shoots straight to your core.

"but the second i show up—" his thumb brushes your bottom lip. "you're quiet. nervous. twitchy. like you already know you were talking out of your ass."

you suck in a shaky breath and try to bite back the heat that's crawling up your neck. "you're insane," you whisper, but there's no bite behind it.

his body is so close now, you can feel the heat radiating off him. he hasn't even touched you properly and you already feel like your knees are going to give.

"what do you want from me?" you ask, voice barely holding together. he leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"i want to fuck the lies out of your mouth." his voice is so low, it vibrates down your spine. "i want you to choke on everything you said about me and realize i was never the one being dominated."

you let out a small, shaky sound—and that's when he finally kisses you.

not soft.

not slow.

possessive. like he's claiming what he's owed.

like he's trying to shove every insult back down your throat, one filthy kiss at a time.

your mind blanks the second his mouth claims yours. his tongue pushes past your lips without hesitation, his hand gripping your jaw to keep you right where he wants you, and you feel it deep—too deep. like he's trying to crawl inside your ribcage and brand himself there.

his kiss isn't gentle. it's punishment. all teeth and tongue, your back shoved harder into the wall as he presses against you. his body completely, deliberately dominating yours.

"still think i'm soft?" he growls against your lips when he pulls back, breath ragged, thumb digging into the underside of your chin to keep you looking at him.

you don't answer. you can't.

your mouth is open, panting, lips wet and swollen from how violently he just kissed you. your knees barely hold.

his gaze drops to your mouth. then lower, and lower.

he smirks.

"you look scared," he says, tilting his head slightly. "thought you liked writing filthy shit about me. what happened to all that confidence?"

you swallow hard, still in absolute disbelief, "you're—you're actually insane."

"and you're actually still turned on." his hand drops to your hip, gripping hard, pulling you flush against him—and fuck. he's hard. painfully hard. pressing right against your lower stomach. and he knows you feel it.

your eyes widen. you try to squirm away but there's nowhere to go, your back hits the wall again and his thigh wedges between your legs.

"not so micro now, is it?" he breathes against your neck. you let out a broken sound—half gasp, half groan—and that's when jake loses it.

he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, other hand sliding beneath your shirt, grazing skin and pulling a shocked noise out of you. he doesn't give you room to breathe.

"say it," he growls. "say you were wrong."

you shake your head. still stubborn. still you.

"no?" he scoffs. "fine." his thigh presses harder between your legs, rocking up once. your clit throbbed pathetically at the feeling, it was just enough friction to make your eyes roll back. you try to keep your composure, but he watches your face change—watches your pride falter.

"don't lie to me, baby." his voice drops lower—hungrier. "you're dripping. over the same guy you dragged for months."

you gasp, trying to turn your face away from him, but he leans in again, his nose brushing your cheek.

"you gonna blog about this too?" he whispers. "tell your little followers how jake sim manhandled you and made you eat your words with his cock halfway down your throat?"

you whimper and it disgusts you how fast your body betrays you. how wet you already are. how much you want him to ruin you just to prove you were wrong.

and he can tell.

he sees the shift in your expression. how your resistance is slowly, deliciously, falling apart.

your wrists are still pinned, your breathing uneven, chest rising and falling fast as jake leans in like he owns the air around you.

"i'm done hearing you talk," he mutters, dragging his mouth along your jaw. "i think it's time you showed me just how sorry you really are."

he releases your hands and steps back. you don't move. your legs are trembling, your pride hanging on by a thread.

"on your knees," he says simply.

you scoff, arms folding defensively across your chest, "you can't be serious—"

he tilts his head, "i'm not asking again."

there's no loud threat. no yelling. just the terrifying calm of someone who already knows he's won. you hold your ground—barely. but something about the way he looks down at you, already palming the bulge in his jeans, makes your body respond before your mind does.

you sink, slowly. knees hitting the floor like it's a confession. he watches you with quiet satisfaction, like he's waited for this exact moment.

he had been dreaming about the moment he would get you to himself, on your knees—right where he wanted you.

"look at me," he says, and you do—eyes meeting his as he unzips, the sound ridiculously loud in the silence.

he's already thick in his hand when he pulls it out, and your mouth goes dry. you don't want to admit it, but fuck. it's big. way bigger than you ever gave him credit for. your throat tightens at the sheer weight of it, thick and flushed and veined.

his smirk deepens when he sees the way your eyes drop.

"what was that again?" he mocks, giving himself a slow stroke. "micro?"

you glare up at him, heat crawling up your neck. "i was clearly misinformed."

"say it properly."

you hesitate, his free hand tangles in your hair—firm, but not painful. just enough to tilt your face up toward him.

"say. it."

you grit your teeth, "i was wrong."

"about what?"

you groan. "about your dick. okay? you don't have a micro dick."

he raises an eyebrow, "that all?"

"it's big," you mutter, cheeks burning. "you made your point." he laughs—low and satisfied—and guides your face closer, "not yet."

you gasp when you feel his tip touch your cheek, he grins at your expression—feeling satisfied with your shock. he does a few experimental taps, dragging his length over your lips. you hold in a whine when he smears his pre cum over your bottom lip, almost as if he was applying lipgloss on you.

and then he pushes in.

there's no easing into it—he gives you the thick weight of his cock all at once, making you choke. your hands scrambling to grip his thighs as he holds you there, watching with dark, satisfied eyes.

"look at that," he murmurs. "mouth so full of me you can't even talk shit now." you gag again, but his grip stays steady, fingers flexing against the back of your head as he rocks his hips in slow, controlled thrusts. just enough to make you feel how deep he is and prove how wrong you were.

he could feel how warm your mouth was around him, basking in the feeling of not only pleasure but the satisfaction of shutting you up.

"this what you wanted?" he groans. "to see what i've been hiding in those pants you loved to degrade?"

you can't respond. not when he's using your mouth like a cock sleeve, fucking every insult out of you with a punishing rhythm. spit drips from out of your mouth and onto your chin. tears prick at your eyes and yet—somewhere deep in your gut—you like it.

jake's grip on your hair gets stronger, the pain causing your jaw to slack as you continue to take his brutal pace. you could feel the head of his cock  rub against the back of your throat, the force not strong enough to make you gag but enough to cause a stream of tears to run down your face.

your nose touched his pelvis with every thrust, indicating how deep he was going. "fuck. look at you, __. who knew cock being in your mouth is the only way to shut you up."

you whine at his words, looking up at him with pleading eyes—yet you didn't know what exacting you were begging for. you rub your thighs together in hopes for some temporary relief, the scene so lewd that you could feel yourself gush in your panties—holding in the urge to let your hands wander down to touch yourself.

jake looked down at you with hungry eyes, his lip twitching as his grip in your hair grew tighter with each thrust. he let low moans slip from his mouth every time his dick grazed the back of your throat.

"aren't you a dirty little whore.." jake drawls out, his chest heaving with pleasure when he notices how tightly you have your thighs clenched. "getting all worked up for someone you've publicly shat on for having the least sex appeal."

you moaned around him when suddenly he pushed your thighs apart with his foot, wedging his sneaker between your legs—giving you something to ease up the tension in your core.

you mewl when he pushed against your clit, almost urging you to grind down against him while he used your mouth to his hearts content. slowly, but surely—you allowed yourself to ground yourself against him. it sickened you how desperate you had become in just a span of a few minutes.

jake almost cums when he sees you move your hips, desperate for any kind of friction to relieve you from your throbbing clit.

the familiar feeling in his stomach begins to tighten, his grip on you becoming unforgiving as he loses self control and allows himself to push himself into your mouth as much as he could. his tip hits the back of your throat repeatedly now, a mixture of his cum and your spit dribbling out of your mouth.

"f-fuck," he groans. "m'gonna cum.. you're gonna take it? yeah? take it in that bratty mouth, hm?" jake murmurs to what seems himself just before he combusts in your mouth. you swallowed a chocked moan when you feel his warm cum coat your mouth, gagging around him as he twitches.

jake felt as if he was on cloud 9, his head lulling to the side as he keeps your head planted where it is—ensuring that you swallow what he gave you fully.

when he finally pulls back, cock glistening with your spit and his cum, your jaw aches as you swallow the salty yet sweet taste of his release.  your chest heaving like you've just survived something.

"mouth open and tongue out," he demands. you hesitantly open your mouth, your tongue out as you show him that you swallowed everything.

you whine out desperately when he slides his foot away, leaving you aching again. jake tsk's, "desperate slut."

he crouches down to your level, thumb wiping the corner of your mouth.

"still think i'm a pillow princess?" his voice is a little breathless now. dark and smug. "or you finally ready to admit you don't know shit about me?"

your throat still burns. your lips are swollen, coated in spit and shame, and jake's leaning over you like he's just getting started.

"on your feet."

you hesitate, still panting, still dazed from the way he fucked your mouth like it was owed to him. but something in his voice—firm, expectant—makes you move. your knees tremble as you rise.

jake doesn't give you time to adjust. the second you're upright, he steps in close, hands on your waist, guiding you backward until your thighs hit the edge of the bed.

you're pressed back against the mattress, thighs parted under his hands, still catching your breath from how rough he'd just been with your mouth. but instead of backing down, you do what you do best—deflect.

"look—how about this," you say, voice shaking but holding onto some scrap of cocky defiance. "i'll just say the blog was satire. irony. you know, performance art or something. no one has to know i meant any of it."

jake's expression doesn't change.

"or better yet—i'll make a new post trashing someone else. redirect the attention. easy." you flash a grin that's all teeth. "maybe i'll even throw in a little praise for you. balance it out."

he just blinks at you. slowly.

"you think you're negotiating right now?" his voice is calm, but the grip on your thighs tightens.

you blink. "i mean, i'm trying to be reasonable—"

"reasonable?" he laughs, but there's no humor in it. "you publicly dragged me for weeks. humiliated me. and now that you're caught, you want to rewrite the narrative?"

"i'm offering solutions—" "you're offering bullshit," he snaps, and in a second he's climbing over you, his body slotting between your legs like it was made to be there. "and you think you still have leverage? cute."

your breath hitches. your hands push at his chest, but he grabs your wrists and pins them down again, harder this time—your body arching into him involuntarily.

"here's what's really gonna happen," he says, leaning in, nose brushing yours. "you're gonna try to flip this. act like you're still in control. try to turn the tables on me."

your throat tightens.

"but you won't. because the second you try, i'll remind you who made you beg. who had you gagging on the dick you said didn't exist." his voice drops lower, dangerous. "and then i'll ruin you all over again."

you glare up at him, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and defiance."you know what? fine." your voice is sharp, shaky. "you wanna play games? i'll play. let's see how fast you fold when i turn this around."

he raises an eyebrow. "is that right?" you reach down between your bodies—slow, deliberate—wrapping your hand around him. he's still hard. unfairly so. hot and heavy in your palm.

"maybe i was wrong about the size," you murmur, stroking him slow, his breath hitching. "but maybe you really are just a pillow princess. maybe you like being praised more than you like fucking."

his jaw ticks.

you press a kiss to his neck, voice a taunt against his skin. "what happens if i ride you instead? if i make you cum all over yourself."

he freezes.

"what if i write about that next?" you sit up dragging your tongue along the edge of his jaw. "'jake sim—big dick, zero stamina.' think the internet'll love that?"

you think you've got him.

until suddenly—he flips you.

you yelp, back hitting the mattress again as he rips your hand away from his cock and shoves your thighs up around his waist. the shift is fast, dominant, practiced.

"you really thought that'd work?" he's laughing now—mean, breathless, hungry. "thought you'd rile me up and get the upper hand? you forget who tracked you down and got you here in this room." his voice is pure venom now, thick with want. "who had you gagging and drooling on your knees while you fucked yourself on my shoes not even 5 minutes ago?"

his hands expertly yank off your jeans, his thumb hooked around the waistband of your baby pink cotton panties—teasing you. you writhe beneath him, but he doesn't budge—he presses into you, cock sliding between your clothed folds just to tease, just to show you what you don't get to control.

"you wanna test stamina?" he growls. "i'll fuck you 'til that smug little attitude disappears. 'til you're begging me to stop. 'til you're crying and calling me daddy."

you gasp—rage, arousal, panic blending in your gut—but you can't deny the throb between your legs. the way your body betrays your pride.

he feels it too.

his free hand runs up your sweater, your breath shaking as you feel him run his fingers up your stomach and make themselves comfortable on your tits. letting your hands go momentarily, he's yanking your sweater off and throwing it across the room.

"didn't know bratty girls like you wore baby pink. ruffles, lace trim—bows?" he grins, his hands playing with the frills of your bra as you twitch beneath him.

"fuck you," you spat out, voice coming out weaker than you wanted it to. jake only smirks, his hand reaching up to pull the straps of your bra down—letting your tits fall out. "oh i will," and with that he's taking one of your nipples hostage in his mouth. his grip on your wrists stays planted, not allowing you to move or struggle against him when he nips at the sensitive skin of your breasts.

he switches from left to right for a few minutes, basking in your whimpers and mewls before he kisses down your stomach. pulling away he's back to being face to face with you, a smug look on his face before he plants a kiss to your jaw. the kiss turns into bites, nipping at your neck and chest as he leaves behind purple splotches.

"maybe you can post the marks i left and then bash me," jake grins against your skin. you roll your eyes in response only for jake to shoot you a look that says: behave.

he moves your underwear to the side, exposing your cunt to his hungry eyes. he runs his thumb through your slit, gathering your slick.

"so wet," he mutters, dragging the head of his cock against your slit. "guess your body knows who's in charge, even if your mouth doesn't." he slams into you—deep, all at once—and you scream.

no teasing now. no easing in. no prepping.

just punishment. just proof. just him, ruining you from the inside out like it's the only way to shut you up.

"gonna make you forget every insult," he grits, hips snapping into yours over and over. "gonna fuck the hate right outta you."

he could feel your velvet walls convulse, sucking him in like a vacuum as he thrusts into you. you cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders, back arching, mind blurring. you hate how good it feels. how right.

"gonna ruin you," he whispers, lips at your neck. "and you're gonna thank me for it." his mouth traveling down to your tit to engulf one of your nipples once again.

your body jolts with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping and moans filling the room as you struggle to adjust to his girth.

you're still trembling when jake lifts your chin. his touch is deceptively gentle, but there's nothing soft in his expression. smug. commanding. dangerously patient.

"you still think you were right?" he asks lowly, voice scraping down your spine like velvet over steel. you blink up at him, lips parted, but your throat is dry. no sass now. not with the way your body's still recovering, knees weak, throat raw from every choked sound he pulled from you.

when you don't respond jake stops his movement, his hips go still as he simply stares down at you with a dark look in his eyes.

you were falling apart.

his cock was deep inside you, filling you so completely you couldn't even think straight— but jake wasn't moving. he just held you there, pinned beneath him, wrists trapped against the mattress, his hips grinding slow and mean against yours.

you whimpered, hips twitching up against him helplessly, desperate for more. he smirked down at you, cruel and smug, loving the way your body shook, the way your face twisted in frustration.

"what's wrong?" he murmured mockingly, leaning in so close his lips brushed your ear. "thought you'd be tougher than this."

you rationed with yourself for a moment, were you really going to beg? yes.

you tried to twist your wrists free but his grip only tightened. "please," you gasped out, tears welling in your eyes from how badly you needed to cum. "please, jake, i need it—"

he laughed, low and sharp, and snapped his hips forward once—deep and brutal—making you cry out. but then he stilled again, ignoring your desperate whines.

"you need it?" he repeated, pretending to think. "need my cock? need me to make you cum like the stupid little whore you are?"

your cheeks burned, shame rolling through you, but you nodded frantically.

"say it," he ordered, voice dropping, rough. you squeezed your eyes shut, humiliated, but the words still poured out.

"i need your cock," you sobbed. "please jake, please—i'll do anything, i'll be good, just let me cum—"

he laughed again, so fucking satisfied with himself.

"should've thought about being good before you started running your mouth online," he muttered, dragging his cock slow and deep inside you, making you arch and cry out.

you were shaking now—your whole body burning, every nerve stretched tight and ready to snap.

"you want it that bad?" he asked casually, grinding his hips just enough to make you sob.

"yes," you choked out. "please, jake—please, i need to cum, i can't—"

he grinned wickedly and finally, finally started fucking into you hard—deep, punishing thrusts that made you see stars. your walls clung onto how dick like a suction in attempt to milk him dry.

your moans spilled out loud and wrecked, your whole body bowing off the bed.

"good girl," he murmured darkly, "you're gonna cum when i say. not a second before." you nodded frantically, not trusting yourself to speak without crying. and when he finally, finally leaned down and growled, "cum for me, slut,"

you shattered.

you came so hard you were sobbing, spasming around him, your body giving out completely under his.

jake fucked you through it, laughing under his breath, dragging every last bit of pleasure and humiliation out of you until you were left shaking and gasping for air.

and even then, he wasn't done with you yet. he hadn't cum yet, and at the end of the day that's what you were here for—to be his little cum slut.  you barely had time to breathe—your body still spasming from the orgasm he tore out of you before jake grabbed your hips and pulled you back down onto him, grinding even deeper.

you yelped, broken noises spilling out of your mouth, trying to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation.

"no," he snapped, voice sharp and final, one hand locking tight around your waist to keep you from moving. "you don't get to run."

your head lolled back, tears slipping down your cheeks, your body a twitching mess.

"too much," you sobbed, trembling violently.

he laughed—laughed—at your misery.

"too bad," he muttered against your ear. "you're not done." he set a brutal rhythm, fucking into you hard, fast, merciless. your thighs shook, your nails dug into the sheets, your mouth fell open in helpless, gasping cries. you could feel yourself spiraling again—pain and pleasure tangled together until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

"you think you're in control?" he grunted, slamming into you harder, making you scream. "you think you can say whatever you want about me and not pay for it?"

your whole body jolted with every thrust, the humiliation making your head spin.

"say it," he growled. "say you were wrong."

you whimpered, stubborn even now, biting down hard on your lip. he slowed down, grinding his cock against your sensitive walls in deep, deliberate circles that made you keen helplessly.

"say it," he repeated, cruel and low, "or i'll edge you until you're fucking crying."

your pride crumbled fast.

"i was wrong," you gasped out, voice cracking. he smirked, hips snapping forward again. "about what?"

you squeezed your eyes shut, shame flooding you. "about—about your dick," you choked out. "i lied, you're big—you're fucking huge—"

he chuckled darkly, like he already knew. "good girl," he breathed, voice dripping with mockery. "what else?"

you shook your head frantically, body jerking with overstimulation. he pulled almost all the way out—your cunt squeezing around nothing— before slamming back in so brutally you cried out.

"what else?" he hissed against your throat.

"i—i'm just a stupid bitch who doesn't know what she's talking about," you sobbed, face burning hot.

he laughed again, so fucking satisfied, so cruel.

"that's right," he murmured. "a stupid little whore who can't stop begging for the cock she said was too small."

you whimpered, broken, humiliated beyond repair. and still—your body clung to him, desperate for more. you realized with a sick twist in your gut that you would do anything—say anything—just to have him fuck you harder.

and jake knew it too.

he leaned down close, mouth brushing yours cruelly.

"beg," he whispered. "beg me to ruin you."

you could barely think. your body was burning, trembling, stretched tight around him— your mind a broken mess of shame and need. and still jake kept fucking you deep, rough, relentless.

his hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, your throat, your jaw—manhandling you like you were nothing more than a toy for him to use.

you whimpered when he grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him.

"beg," he ordered again, voice dark, breathless with lust. "beg me to ruin you, slut."

you shook your head at first, a broken little sob tearing from your throat. he growled low, slammed into you even harder—your back arching, a scream ripping from your lips.

"you don't get to say no," he hissed. "you wanted this." tears streamed down your cheeks, your body trembling violently.

"please," you gasped out, the word slipping before you could even think. "please jake..ruin me, use me. fuck me however you want—"

he laughed, so fucking smug, dragging his cock out slow just to make you whine. "good fucking girl," he murmured. "finally learning your place."

you babbled desperate nonsense, sobbing into the sheets, your pride shattered into dust.and jake fucked you through it all—using you like a fleshlight, pounding into you until your legs gave out, until your voice was wrecked and broken.

"this what you wanted, huh?" he sneered, slapping your ass hard enough to leave a sting. "to get fucked dumb? to get put in your place like the stupid little whore you are?"

you nodded frantically, gasping, sobbing, brain completely mush. "can't even speak anymore," he muttered, mocking. "just a cockdrunk mess." your nails clawed helplessly at the sheets, your cunt squeezing him so tight he groaned.

you felt another orgasm building—sharp, unbearable—but you were too gone to even ask permission. you just sobbed and gasped and let him take everything from you.

"yeah, that's right," he growled, voice thick with pleasure. "cum all over my cock, slut. make a fucking mess."

you shattered, your whole body convulsing around him, screaming his name like a prayer, a curse, a broken confession. and jake fucked you through it, dragging every last bit of your pride and resistance out of you, until there was nothing left but a crying, ruined mess on his cock.

you were shaking. your body was limp, wrecked, trembling under the weight of everything he made you feel.

and jake still wasn't satisfied.

he kept moving, grinding his cock deep inside your overstimulated cunt—mocking every broken sob that fell from your lips.

"what's wrong?" he said, voice dripping with fake sweetness. "too much?"

you could only whimper, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. he grabbed your face again, rough, forcing your glassy eyes to meet his.

"you wanted to run your mouth so bad," he sneered. "now you can fucking thank me." your brain barely processed the words, too fogged with shame and pleasure. he slapped your cheek lightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to snap your attention back.

"say it," he barked. "say thank you."

you whimpered, tears spilling down your cheeks.

"th-thank you," you stammered, voice barely a whisper.

he smirked, cruel and satisfied.

"louder," he ordered, snapping his hips forward viciously, making you cry out. "thank you!" you sobbed, your voice hoarse and broken.

he chuckled darkly, his hand sliding down your throat, pressing lightly just enough to make your head spin.

"thank me for ruining you," he muttered, rolling his hips slow and deep, dragging another helpless moan from your lips.

your pride was turned into ash, your mind gone.

"thank you for ruining me," you gasped out, shaking uncontrollably, completely destroyed. he groaned, clearly getting off on how ruined you were—your body slack, twitching, drooling, your cunt spasming weakly around him.

"pathetic," he muttered against your ear. "look at you." you could feel how wet and messy everything was—your thighs sticky, the sheets underneath you soaked.

and still—still—he wasn't finished.

"gonna fill you up," he rasped, voice rough with the effort of holding back. "gonna fuck you so full you'll be leaking for days."

you sobbed, the humiliation sinking deeper into your bones.

"please," you whispered, because you didn't know what else to say anymore. he grunted low in his chest, thrusting faster, chasing his release. he could feel that familiar tinge in his stomach, he was close.

"such a good little cumdump," he growled. "just a hole for me to use." you broke again, another weak orgasm rolling through your abused body.

and jake finally spilled inside you—deep, hot, filling you up exactly like he promised.

he didn't pull out immediately. he stayed pressed deep, making sure you felt every drop. when he finally did pull out, you collapsed completely, a ruined, twitching, crying mess.

and jake just chuckled, so fucking smug. running his fingers down your slit before plugging your fluttering hole, making sure that his cum stays in you for as long as it could.

"maybe next time you'll think twice before running your mouth about me," he said, releasing your wrists before he gets off the bed. he left you there, spread open, dripping, humiliated beyond repair.

and you realized with a sick twist of your gut— you liked it.

you fucking loved every humiliating second of it.

✎﹏﹏

your body aches.

not in the romantic, soft-lit, post-orgasm kind of way.

no. it's raw. it's degrading. it's embarrassing.

your legs are trembling so badly you have to lean on the sink just to stay upright. your thighs sticky, sore. your throat dry and stretched thin from the pathetic, wrecked sounds he pulled out of you.

you yank your clothes back on as fast as your shaking hands allow, muttering curses under your breath. you can't even look at yourself in the mirror. because you know what you'll see: the ruined, wrecked version of yourself jake created.

and you hate him.

you hate how smug he looks when you finally stumble back into the room—hair mussed, shirt untucked, standing like he didn't just break you open with nothing but his cock and his fucking mouth. you hate how he leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with a look that says he's already won.

you hate that he was right.

and you really, really hate that you liked it.

you roll your shoulders back, force yourself to stand straight even if your body is begging you to drop.

"that what you wanted?" you rasp out, voice wrecked and scratchy. "you win. congrats. want a trophy or something?"

jake doesn't say a word. he just watches. calm. amused. smug.

and it pisses you off. burns you alive from the inside.

"you got what you wanted. you ruined my pride," you snarl, stepping closer even though your knees are ready to give. "so what now? supposed to kneel and thank you? beg you to keep ruining me?"

he cocks his head slightly, lips twitching.

you hate how unbothered he looks. you hate it so much it makes you reckless.

"you don't actually believe i meant all that, right?" you spit. "you really think i meant it when i said you're big? when i cried about how good you fucked me?"

you scoff, shaking your head with a cold, sharp laugh.

"you're pathetic. you got played because i moaned a little."

and that's when everything shifts.

because jake steps forward—smooth, controlled—grabbing your jaw so hard you gasp, slamming your back against the wall without even looking like he's trying. his face is inches from yours, breath warm, eyes dark and furious.

"still lying?" he murmurs.

your heart pounds wildly. you try to twist away but his grip on your jaw tightens, bruising.

"you begged for my cock," he hisses, thumb dragging across your trembling bottom lip. "you fucking cried for it. and you're gonna stand there and lie to my face?"

you choke on your words, humiliation pouring down your spine in cold waves.

he laughs bitterly, the sound vibrating low in his chest. "guess you really are as dumb as you look."

you flinch.

and jake leans in closer, voice dropping lower, meaner. "you wanna pretend you're still in control?" he taunts, dragging his fingers down your throat slow, almost tender. "you wanna act like you didn't cum so fucking hard you couldn't even say my name?"

you tremble.

but you don't back down—not yet. pride and fear tangled up, keeping you frozen.

he chuckles darkly.

"fine," he says, voice a low threat. "i'll remind you."

his hand snakes between your thighs, shoving your jeans down again, your underwear dragging with it, baring you completely in seconds. you gasp, struggling—but he's too strong, too fast. he grabs you by the hips, throws you onto the bed like you're weightless.

and then he's on you.

he presses your wrists to the mattress with one hand again, his weight pinning you down, his other hand roughly forcing your legs apart.

you barely have time to gasp before he's inside you again—deep, brutal, fucking the defiance out of you one savage thrust at a time.

you cry out, throat raw. he fucks you like he's furious, every slam of his hips meant to punish. "not so fucking smug now, huh?" he pants against your ear.

you whimper, broken sounds spilling out without permission.

"what happened to all that fake confidence, princess?" he mocks, rolling his hips harder, forcing your body to take every inch. "thought you said you could handle it."

you sob, writhing under him, but he doesn't let up. he leans down, dragging his teeth across your jaw, making you shudder helplessly.

"gonna make you beg again," he growls. "gonna make you say it like you fucking mean it."

you try to shake your head—but you're drowning. he's everywhere. he's everything. and no matter how much you try to cling to your pride, it crumbles between your shaking hands.

you're crying now—humiliated tears streaking down your flushed face—as he pounds into you mercilessly.

"please," you choke out, voice cracking.

he chuckles, cruel and satisfied.

"please what, baby?" he taunts, slowing his thrusts to a deep, punishing grind that makes your whole body twitch and seize.

"please," you sob again, shame burning you alive. "please let me cum."

he leans back slightly to look at you—hair a mess, eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction.

"you don't deserve to cum," he says, voice mocking. "whores who lie don't get rewards."

you whimper, hips stuttering against his, desperate, broken.

"but," he adds slowly, almost lazily, "if you beg real nice... maybe i'll consider it."

you sob harder, pride shattered into dust. and then—you beg.

you beg like a good little whore.

"please, jake," you cry, voice wrecked and hoarse. "i need it—i need to cum—please, please—"

he grins, dark and cruel, and finally—finally—lets you fall apart again, your body convulsing, cunt clenching around him helplessly as he fucks you through the brutal, soul-crushing orgasm. and you barely have a second to breathe before he's moving again—pulling out, grabbing your face in both hands, forcing your mouth open.

"open wide," he orders.

you're so wrecked you don't even think to disobey. you just open—lips trembling, eyes wide and glassy.

and jake leans over—spits straight into your mouth, thick and wet and humiliating.

you gag slightly, tears burning your eyes.

"swallow," he commands sharply.

you do.

you obey without even thinking.

and he smirks—grabbing his phone, flipping open the recording he just made of your pathetic begging, letting you hear it on loop while you lie there ruined, body trembling, throat raw.

he tucks his phone into his pocket, grabs your chin again, forcing you to look up at him. "remember this next time you wanna talk shit," he says, voice low and smug.

he kisses you—mocking and possessive—and leaves you there: used, wrecked, humiliated, and so thoroughly owned that you can't even pretend anymore.

jake sim ruined you and there's no taking it back.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

[jaysbaefie]

slide into me | pjs

synopsis: in which your night shift ends in the backrooms and the only way out is through him.

genre: backrooms au

pairing: entity!jay x afab reader

warnings: dubcon, very weird descriptions of places, descriptions of flesh, mean dom!jay, gaslighter!jay, mocking, teasing, invisible binding, oral (f. rec), fingering, clit slapping, spitting, manhandling, overstimulating, dirty talk, degrading, dacryphilia, unprotected p in v, jay has a demon dick!!!! lowkey a breeding kink sprinkled in there, creampie, i think that’s it..

wc: 9.1k

a/n: look who’s back…anyways i felt inspired after reading @gyuuberryy ‘s fic ‘don’t look back’ so i decided to write one w a bit of my own twist. this is such a fun concept of writing i feel like i should write more horror esk concepts even though this is very tame. anyways..enjoy. comments,reblogs and notes are always appreciated!

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you took the job because it was supposed to be easy.

midnight shifts, half-asleep mall rats, and a paycheck big enough to cover your rent and leave you just enough for junk food and gas. it was supposed to be quiet. boring, even. which it was—until tonight.

the mall had always been unsettling after hours. too quiet. too still. the overhead fluorescents hummed above you like a dying animal, and the janitor's closet on the second floor always reeked of bleach and something else you couldn't place. but still, nothing that screamed danger. nothing you couldn't handle with a flashlight and a firm tone.

until tonight.

it starts with a sound. soft and distant. like the scuff of a shoe on the squeaky floor tiles of the place.

you pause by the entrance of the food court, your flashlight flicking over darkened storefronts and plastic chairs stacked like bones. the noise comes again, this time sharper—like fingers dragging across metal.

your stomach tightens.

you pull your walkie to your mouth, whispering a check-in to your partner on the other end. but no response comes back, just static.

okay, you tell yourself. don't be dumb. don't go towards it. you're not in a horror movie.

you step back. your sneakers squeak on the floor, loud in the quiet. you turn on your heel and start walking the other way, fast. maybe it's a rat. maybe it's some idiot hiding in the dark and doing one of those '24 hours in the mall challenge' from 2016, or maybe it's nothing.

whatever it is, you just want to get to the office, call it in, and get the hell out.

but the air shifts.

it feels... wrong. heavy. thick, like walking through water. the hum of the lights grows louder, buzzing at a pitch that makes your jaw ache. something flickers in your peripheral. you spin, flashlight jerking toward it—nothing.

your knees suddenly give out.

no warning. no pain. just a dizzy, stomach-dropping sensation like the floor disappeared beneath you—and then black.

▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬

when you wake, everything is yellow.

the world smells like mold. not fresh mold—old, dead mold. the kind that's lived too long in dark spaces and grown stale with time.

you're lying on cold carpet, face pressed into a nauseating mix of damp fibers and dust. fluorescent lights above you stutter and blink, buzzing in intervals that sound almost... rhythmic.

you sit up fast, heart slamming in your chest as your eyes struggle to adjust to the stale brightness of the unknown place.

this isn't the mall.

you're in a hallway. no windows, no doors. just endless, repeating yellow wallpaper—peeling in places, patterned with some ugly 90s texture—and identical hallways stretching on in every direction.

you push yourself to your feet, head spinning.

"hello?" you call out, voice cracking. nothing. just the hum. you turn a corner. then another. and another.

it feels like walking in circles, except every hallway is just different enough to make you doubt it. a different stain, a different pattern in the ceiling tiles. but always the same walls. the same lights. the same sickly yellow glow that makes your skin look waxy.

where the fuck are you?

you start to run. but the halls go on. and on. and on.

and somewhere behind you, a shadow moves. you've been walking for what feels like hours.

your legs ache. your throat is dry. and the lights—god, the lights—never stop humming. they flicker sometimes, almost rhythmically, as if reacting to your breathing.

you gave up calling out 20 minutes ago. the silence that followed every "hello?" was worse than nothing. it felt... intentional. like something was listening. choosing not to respond.

you stop to rest against a wall. the wallpaper peels beneath your touch, crumbling like dried-out skin. the carpet squelches faintly underfoot. it's damp now. damper than before. it didn't start out that way—you're sure of it.

you close your eyes. just for a second. then you hear it.

click.

a tiny, impossible sound. like a nail tapping on glass. you spin around fast—nothing behind you. just more yellow, more humming.

you swallow hard and start walking again, faster this time.

the whisper comes a few minutes later.

faint. garbled. like a voice behind a wall.

you stop cold, "...can you hear me?"

you whip around—heart hammering, chest heaving—but the hallway is empty. it sounded so close. like someone just on the other side of the wallpaper, lips pressed to the wall, whispering into your ear.

"don't run."

your breath catches and you take a step back. then another.

a low, almost inaudible rustle drifts from behind you, like fabric dragging along the floor. you don't look back this time, you run.

you sprint down the endless corridors, turns blurring together. every wall looks the same. every shadow stretches too long. the humming of the lights becomes deafening, almost sentient—rising and falling in sync with your panic.

and then—a corner.

you turn it too fast, shoulder slamming the wall. and there he is.

a boy.

he's standing halfway down the corridor, backlit by the same yellow haze, dressed in black and hunched slightly, like he's been walking for days. he looks up, his eyes hollow and lifeless.

you freeze.

he looks just as scared as you. "wait—" he says, breathless. "you're real?"

your heart nearly caves in your chest.

finally—finally—someone else.

you don't know that he's been waiting here for you. you don't know that the whispers were his. you don't know that he's the reason you're here at all.

you only know relief and that's exactly what he wants.

he's standing in the middle of the corridor like he's been waiting there forever. just... still. as if he knew you were coming.

your feet skid to a stop, sneakers dragging against the damp carpet, chest heaving from your sprint. his head lifts slowly. your eyes meet.

he's beautiful.

not the kind of beautiful you expect in a place like this—no, he looks too clean, too human, too painfully real. black hair falls across his forehead, his eyes wide and startled, like he hadn't seen another living thing in years. his frame is lean, shoulders hunched slightly with tension, a black jacket clinging to him like a second skin. he looks tired.

his mouth parts, stunned. "you're... real?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

you don't answer at first. you're still frozen. still trying to figure out if this is a hallucination. if the place has finally cracked your mind open and spilled delusions into your skull. but he takes a hesitant step forward, hands raised as if to show he means no harm.

"i—i heard someone running. i didn't think... i thought i was alone."

you nod, slowly. your throat is too dry to speak. he sees it in your face, that fractured look of someone at the edge—and his features soften.

"hey, it's okay. i'm not gonna hurt you," he says gently. "you've been here long?"

your voice finally stirs. "i don't know. not long. maybe an hour?"

he winces. "i've been here days," he says, lowering his gaze. "maybe weeks. it's hard to tell."

you want to ask where is this and how do we get out, but the words collapse in your mouth. he seems just as lost. just as scared. and if there's one thing you know about surviving fucked-up situations, it's that panic spreads like a disease. and right now, he's the only person tethering you to something human.

"what's your name?" you ask, voice hoarse.

he smiles faintly, "jay." you give yours in return. and somehow, it feels sacred. the first time you've said it aloud since waking up here. it tastes real again.

you walk together.

not aimlessly—jay says he's mapped a bit of the place out. that some corridors loop, some don't. he tells you he's found areas with flickering lights and strange noises. some that smell like burnt plastic. some that feel colder than others, like they're not finished forming.

"sometimes i hear things," he says, tone hushed. "but i try not to listen."

"you hear them too?" you ask, something cold settling in your bones.

he glances at you. then gives the smallest nod. "they whisper your name, don't they?"

you don't answer, but your stomach twists.

you keep walking. you try not to notice the way the lights don't flicker around him like they do when you're alone. how his shadow always falls in the right direction, no matter where you turn. how his footsteps are too quiet—too synchronized with yours.

you try not to notice how his eyes flick toward your throat when you speak. how he never really seems out of breath. how the carpet never squelches beneath his feet the way it does yours.

he keeps asking you things.

where you're from. how you got here. what you remember.

and every time you answer, he watches you like he's cataloging each word. storing it. savoring it. but his smile is kind. his laugh—quiet, sweet, disarming. it feels like warmth in this place where nothing is warm.

hours pass. well, you think.

the corridors have started to change. the wallpaper grows darker the deeper you go, browner. as if stained by time or something else entirely. the lights flicker longer now and shadows linger too long at the edges of your vision.

you want to stop walking, but jay touches your arm—gentle, reassuring—and murmurs, "we're close. i think i found something a while ago. it might be a way out."

your chest stutters with cautious hope.

"really?"

he nods. "i didn't go alone. i was scared. but with you—" he breaks off. his voice turns soft, "—i feel safer with you here."

you look at him. he seems so genuine. eyes big, expression honest. he says it like it's a confession. like he needs you. you nod. "okay. lead the way."

and so you do. deeper.until the lights above flicker one final time—and die.

time doesn't pass here the way it should.

you think it's been days. maybe a week. maybe more. but there's no sunrise, no clocks, no hunger cues to guide you. only the flickering lights and the ever-stretching corridors—yellow fading into brown, into olive, into something sickly gray.

but you stop counting the days. because now, you have jay.

he stays close. always at your side, quiet but attentive. sometimes he hums under his breath—soft, tuneless notes that lull your nerves. sometimes he tells stories about his old life: a little apartment with too-thin walls. a sister he hasn't seen in years. a favorite café with mismatched mugs. things that feel so vividly real you almost forget where you are.

you learn his quirks. how he hates the buzzing lights more than the silence. how he taps his fingers on his thigh when he's thinking. how he always walks slightly ahead of you, like he's trying to shield you from whatever comes next.

"you know," you say one 'day' as you walk together through a hallway tinged orange by dying fluorescents, "if you weren't here, i think i'd have lost my mind already."

he glances back at you, lips quirking into a small smile. "same."

"really? you seem like you've got it together."

"nah," he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "i'm just good at pretending."

you don't think about it much. but the next time the lights go dark for a stretch of corridor, it's his hand that finds yours. warm. solid. grounding.

and you don't pull away.

you have moments like that now. tiny, precious ones that feel stolen from reality.

he finds a corridor with walls covered in strange drawings—childlike scribbles in charcoal, some of them humanoid, some not. you sit with your backs to the wall and pretend you're at a museum, whispering critiques and giving the "artists" fake names.

you laugh together. it's a rusty sound at first—too loud in the quiet—but jay laughs too, soft and real.

sometimes, when it gets too quiet, he'll ask about you.

your job. your family. the place you grew up. and he listens—really listens—with his whole body, eyes fixed on you like you're telling him the most important story in the world. when you falter, he encourages you. when your voice cracks, he gently changes the subject.

and when you dream—because you do, sometimes, in flickers and fits—he's always in them. guiding you through endless rooms. catching your hand. pulling you close before you fall.

you wake up and he's right there, watching you with a worried expression like he's been guarding your sleep.

"you talk in your sleep," he says once, voice quiet.

"oh god," you groan, rubbing your eyes. "what'd i say?"

he pauses. smiles faintly.

"you called my name."

▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬

somewhere around day fourteen—or what you think is day fourteen—you stop hoping for a way out.

not because you've given up, but because this, whatever this is, doesn't feel unbearable anymore. you eat the ration bars from your security belt. you sleep curled near jay in corners that feel less watched. you follow his lead because he always seems to know where to go, which halls to avoid, when to turn around.

you stop asking questions.

and you start looking at him longer. watching the way his profile softens when he's not speaking. how his hair falls into his eyes. how he always reaches for you first when the shadows flicker too close.

he never tries anything. never crosses a line. he treats you like something breakable.

so you start crossing those lines yourself. a teasing shoulder bump when he's zoning out. lingering touches when you pass him supplies. once, you fall asleep with your head on his thigh. when you wake, he hasn't moved an inch.

"you could've shifted me off," you mumble groggily.

"i didn't want to."

but still... there are moments. strange ones.

times when the lights flicker a little longer when he walks through. when the hum syncs to his steps. when he looks ahead into the darkness a beat too long, his expression unreadable. once, you see something in the wall—a smear of something dark, a shadow stretching toward you—but jay turns his head at the exact moment and it disappears.

you blink. it's gone.

and he's already holding his hand out to you again, voice soft. "this way."

you take it. you always take it.

"i think we're close." jay's voice is quiet, but it cuts through the murky silence like a flare.

you blink up at him, wiping the sleep from your eyes. your back aches from the floor. the light above your heads flickers with that same electric buzz, only softer now—like it's struggling. failing.

"close to what?" you murmur, throat dry.

he glances down the corridor ahead. you follow his gaze.

it's different here. the walls have changed again—duller, the yellow wallpaper turning jaundiced and blistered, warped like water damage has soaked through the structure itself. the ceiling is lower, and the light is dimmer. there's a smell now. faint. metallic. wrong.

"a way out," he says softly. "or... something. i don't know. i didn't go in before. i found it a while back, but i was alone."

"but you didn't try?"

he shakes his head. "i was scared." his voice wavers, just a little. you look at him closer, and it feels like the most human you've ever seen him—shoulders slightly hunched, jaw tight, eyes dark with something you can't place.

"but i'm not now. not with you."

you believe him. how could you not? after everything, all the ways he's kept you calm, grounded—safe.

so you follow.

the deeper you go, the more the backrooms begin to rot.

the wallpaper falls away in strips, revealing a glistening material beneath—like old flesh or wet clay. pipes jut from the walls now. some of them drip. the air is heavy, saturated with warmth, as if something is breathing in these corridors right along with you.

"do you hear that?" you ask quietly.

jay tilts his head.

there's a sound behind the walls. a low thrum. a rhythmic thud-thud-thud—like a heartbeat. like footsteps. but not yours.

you grip his sleeve.

"don't worry," he says. "just a little farther."

the hallway finally ends in a door.

not a real one—just an opening. the trim is darker here, almost black. the light inside pulses faintly, like it's trying to lure you in. and the smell intensifies.

when you step through, you find yourself in a new chamber.

this one is wide, circular. walls curved and smooth, lit by a single humming bulb that swings slightly above your head. in the middle of the room are three slides—long, slick, and strangely out of place, like they were built into the floor of a decaying playground.

one is white, polished like marble. one is red, chipped at the edges, with a faint dark smear down the middle. one is black, dull and velvety, almost absorbing the light around it.

you stare at them. "what... is this?"

jay exhales next to you. "i don't know. i found this place once before. didn't stay long enough to figure it out."

"you said it could be a way out."

"i think it is. maybe."

his voice is unreadable.

you turn to him. "do you know where they lead?"

he shakes his head slowly. "no. but we have to choose. eventually."

you look back at the slides. something deep in your stomach curls. they feel alive somehow. waiting. "what if it's a trap?"

he doesn't answer right away. then softly says, "then we face it together."

you look at him. he looks calm, soft-eyed—safe. just pick one, you think. you're not alone. he's here.

your eyes fall to the slides again. white. red. black.

your fingers twitch toward the black one. the surface almost shimmers. you step toward it.

and jay smiles. not sweet. not warm. sharp.

but you don't see it, not yet. the moment your foot touches the black slide, it shudders beneath you.

not visibly. not violently. but it reacts—subtle, like something flexing beneath its skin. the surface isn't hard plastic like you expected. it's soft. pliable. warm. like flesh left out too long.

but jay is right behind you. watching. and something in your chest tells you to keep going.

so you sit and push off.

the slide isn't straight. it twists. drops. swells and curves like a throat swallowing you whole. the walls are too close—pressing in—and the material isn't smooth. it pulses. you think you feel something breathe against your shoulder.

your hands sink slightly as you try to brace yourself. a slick, wet sound echoes all around you. like something digesting. and then—black.

pure, absolute black. no light. no air. no sound but your own blood roaring in your ears.

you try to scream—but nothing comes out.

you fall forever.

and then—you land.

hard.

but not on carpet, on something alive.

it shifts beneath you, twitching like muscle memory. the ground is slick and damp, lit by dim red bioluminescence leaking from the walls like infected wounds. it smells like copper. salt. something rotten and sweet.

you stumble to your feet. the slide behind you is gone. there's no way back.

you're alone. or—you think you are. until you hear his voice. "you chose it, you know."

your head snaps toward it.

jay.

but he's standing different now—spine straight, head tilted at an unnatural angle, like his neck is made of wire instead of bone. he's watching you. not with the wide, soft gaze you've grown used to.

with something else. something ancient.

"you could've picked any of them," he says quietly, stepping forward. "safety. death. or this."

you shake your head, backing away. "what are you talking about?"

"you picked me." his voice is still warm. still familiar. but too steady. too calm.

"i don't—this isn't—what the fuck is this place?"

"it's mine," he says simply. "or, more accurately... i am of it."

your stomach turns, "i don't understand—" he smiles. soft. so soft. but something ripples beneath his skin, like muscle twitching beneath stretched fabric.

"i made it easy for you," he murmurs. "you wouldn't have followed me if i wasn't kind. if i wasn't... safe."

your knees nearly buckle, "you're lying."

"no. i've never lied to you. not once." he pauses, his mouth curling into a cruel smile, he steps closer. "you just never asked the right questions."

your heart is in your throat now. the walls pulse with it—thump-thump-thump—like they're echoing your fear.

"this isn't real."

"it's more real than where you came from," jay says, almost tender. "you just don't want to admit it."

"what are you?" you whisper.

his smile widens, just slightly. his teeth look too white. too straight. too perfect.

"hungry."

you've never felt cold in the backrooms. until now.

the air is still warm—wet and clinging to your skin—but your body is shaking. not from temperature. from something else entirely. from the kind of fear that curdles in your gut and hollows you out.

you stagger back, but the ground beneath your feet pulses with every movement. it's not carpet. not even earth. it's... him. it's part of him. you don't know how you know that, but you do.

jay stands in front of you, his expression peaceful. soft. like this isn't a reveal—like it's a gift.

"you were always going to end up here," he says gently. "i just helped you make peace with it."

you shake your head slowly, the world pitching around you. everything's wrong. everything's been wrong.

his kindness. his patience. his restraint.

"you lied to me."

"i didn't," he replies, stepping closer. "you just believed what was convenient." and that, that—breaks something open inside of you.

because he's right. you never questioned him. not once. not when he always walked ahead of you, somehow always knowing where to go. not when his eyes flicked toward the shadows before you noticed them. not even when he told you "i feel safer with you here" and never let you see him afraid.

you wanted to trust him. you needed to.

and now you realize: you told him everything. your childhood, your family, your fears, the dreams that had started to fray in the real world. every scar. every vulnerability. you poured yourself out like an offering because he listened. because he looked at you like you mattered.

but what did he tell you?

his name. that he had a sister. a favorite café.

things you can't prove.

"i asked you what you did before this," you whisper, more to yourself than to him. "you said it didn't matter anymore." you could feel a stream of tears begin to pour down your face like a facet, and you could only imagine how ridiculous you looked right now.

"because it didn't."

"you said you couldn't remember how you got here."

"i didn't lie."

you can't breathe.

you remember how he always turned questions around on you, how he always made you feel like the one in control. and you fell for it. every time. he played the perfect companion, the kind stranger, the fragile survivor. but he was leading you. grooming your trust. guiding your hand to this exact moment.

and you never saw it.

"you were watching me this whole time."

his smile doesn't change. "since before you fell. you were marked the second you stepped out of your world."

you try to move, to turn, to run—but the room itself responds. the walls bulge inward, not closing, just guiding you back toward him. toward the center.

and now, behind jay, the ground shifts, ripples, and 3 new openings emerge from the flesh-like floor. 3 more slides, each one glistening in the low red light.

white. red. black. again.

but this time, they're not clean. they're not innocent. they're organic—like veins, like tongues, like they've grown from the very bones of this place.

"you made me choose," you whisper. "back then."

"i had to. i needed your consent. your fear. your longing." you flinch at his words, your body twitching with fear.

"you could've picked safety," he continues, voice low. "you could've chosen death."

"but you picked me."

you can't speak. you can barely stand. the pressure in the room is like a hand on your throat.

"and now," he says, walking toward you slowly, reverently, "i'm giving you a second chance."

he gestures to the slides behind him, and you realized what each colour had represented.

white is safety. "you'll wake up in your home. you'll think that this is all a dream and if you tell anyone they'll never believe you."

red is death. "not metaphorical. not symbolic. ending. i promise it will be quick."

black is to stay. "with me. not just in this place. part of it. bound. fed. worshiped."

your knees nearly give out, "why me?"

he stops. looks at you—really looks at you.

"because you were lonely," he says softly. "you needed to be wanted. i felt it when you fell in. all that ache, all that heat under your skin, how badly you needed something to hold you down, claim you, keep you."

he tilts his head.

"i just answered the call."

you want to scream. you want to cry. but deep down, under the panic, under the betrayal, under the spiraling horror— a part of you remembers how safe he made you feel.

how warm his presence was. how seen you felt when he looked at you. and that part of you doesn't want to leave.

jay sees it. he senses it.

he steps closer, close enough for you to see the subtle shifts in his face—something beneath his skin twitching, pulsing, like he's holding back something monstrous, waiting to be chosen.

"i'll let you go," he whispers, "if that's what you really want."

you stare at the slides.

white. red. black.

you step toward one of them and your fingers brush the edge. behind you, jay's breath hitches. soft. hopeful. and you fall forward—into white.

you don't land. you arrive.

the slide disappears beneath you the moment your body releases into it—no momentum, no tumbling drop. just a blink—

and then you're standing, a chamber breathes around you.

walls of dark, glistening flesh, lit by a muted, red glow that pulses like a living heartbeat. the air hums. it tastes of copper and warmth. there's no door. no light above. no escape.

you turn in a slow, stunned circle.

what is this? where is he?

and then you hear, "you picked well." jay's voice cuts through the silence like silk dragging across bone.

you whip around. he's behind you. standing too close.

his features are familiar, still mostly human, but they don't move like they used to. his limbs are too fluid. his eyes glow faintly with something primal and ancient. there's no tension in his body now, no hesitation—just the unshakable stillness of a predator who has already won.

your chest tightens. "what is this place?"

he just smiles. not cruel. not mocking. patient. "home."

you stare at him, heart thudding, breath shallow. your mind races back to the moment at the slide. how he'd waited. watched. how he hadn't even followed. he knew.

"you said... you said it was a choice."

"and you made one."

"but the others—" your voice cracks. "white was supposed to be safety. red was death."

his expression softens ever so slightly in faux sympathy, "white was suppose to be home, this is home."

you step back like you've been struck, "you said—"

"i never said which realm," he interrupts gently. "i just said they were options."

you feel like you're floating—adrift in something sick and sweet. "then why—why offer a choice at all?"

he tilts his head, gaze tracking you as you retreat another step. the chamber pulses around you, sensing your panic. the walls twitch with each heartbeat. the floor beneath your feet trembles in response to your breath.

you are not in control.

"because you would've run, if i hadn't made you feel like you had a say." his voice is calm. steady. "but this way—" he closes the distance in a single, quiet step, "it's consensual, isn't it?"

your breath stutters. "you tricked me—"

"no. i led you. there's a difference." he begins to circle you.

his movements are slow. languid. like he's savoring your fear. not in a sadistic way—but with intimacy. like he's memorizing every tremble, every shake of your breath.

"i listened to you. i protected you. i let you tell me every little thing that made you feel small. and when it was time to choose... you chose me."

the walls around you shiver. something stirs beneath the floor.

"there was no way out," you whisper, horrified.

"no," he confirms. "but if i told you that from the beginning, you wouldn't have been ready for me."

"you used me."

"i wanted you," he corrects softly. "and i waited until you wanted me back."

he's right in front of you now. you want to scream, but it catches in your throat. not because of fear.

because somewhere, deep down—beneath the betrayal, beneath the horror—you still remember how it felt to be seen by him. how safe you felt when he looked at you like you were worth something.

"you never had a choice, little one," he murmurs. "but the moment you believed you did... you became mine."

you don't run. you can't. your feet won't move, no matter how loud your brain is screaming. because it's not just fear anymore.

it's confusion. it's betrayal. it's the bitter taste of something that once felt safe now turning rotten in your mouth.

your breath stutters, but jay doesn't move. he stands there, gaze quiet, composed—like he's waiting for you to catch up. like he wants you to take your time. let it all sink in.

and oh god, it does.

your thoughts tumble out in a frantic stream:

he never told you anything real. he always let you talk first. he dodged questions with smiles. he cried once, remember? but his face never wrinkled. not really. he held your hand when you were scared, but his skin never sweated. never shook. he never ate. he never slept. but you trusted him anyway.

you think of the stories he told—the apartment, the sister, the café with mismatched mugs—and how vivid they seemed at the time.

but now?

you realize... none of them had names. not the street. not the city. not the sister. just placeholders. just enough to fill the silence you gave him.

you built him. you projected goodness onto something hollow.

and he let you.

"i thought you cared about me." your voice is hoarse, barely audible.

"i do," he says.

and it sounds real. but so did everything else.

you stagger back a step, and the floor beneath your feet shivers—soft, slick, and alive. you suck in a breath, but the air's too thick, syrupy and humid. every inhale feels like it costs you something.

your body is overheating.

you can feel your heartbeat pounding behind your eyes. your chest. between your legs. like the atmosphere itself is stroking your nerves raw.

"why does this feel like—"

you cut yourself off, horrified. because it feels good.

your body—traitorous, stupid—responds to his closeness. the heat, the scent of him. the pull. and it disgusts you. it shames you. but it also excites something low in your gut that you can't name.

jay sees it.

of course he does.

"the backrooms don't just shift for anyone," he murmurs. "they respond to what you feel. what you want."

you shake your head, frantic. "no. i didn't want this. i didn't want—"

"didn't you?" he steps forward again, slow, like he's taming a wounded animal.

"you followed me. you chose me. you let me in."

your vision sways. your breath shortens. because some part of you is still clinging to the way he held you when you were scared. the way his voice calmed you. the way he never pushed. never demanded. he earned your trust and now he's twisting it in his palm like a flower's stem, bending until it snaps.

you sink to your knees, shaking.

you can feel the pulse of the room rising—thump-thump-thump—the walls breathing with you, the floor cradling your body like it wants to hold you. trap you. keep you soft and helpless and pliant.

jay crouches in front of you.

he doesn't touch you, not yet.

his voice is quiet.

"you can cry. you can scream. but it doesn't change anything." he continues, "you're here now. with me. where you were always meant to be."

your vision swims. the fear twists into something else. something hotter.

is it adrenaline? arousal? both?

you hate it but you want more. and that, more than anything else, breaks you.

because now you're not scared of jay. you're scared of yourself.

"you can't move, can you?" jay's voice is soft. breathy. too close.

your limbs won't respond—your legs twitch, your fingers curl—but you're locked in place. not harshly. not like restraints.

like... longing.

your thighs ache to part. your back arches just slightly. it's like your body is moving on instinct, reacting to him.

he circles you slowly, steps silent. the walls pulse with a deep, ambient thrum, responding to the rise in your breathing.

"look at you," he murmurs from behind, his palm dragging down your spine. "so sensitive. like your skin's just waiting to be touched."

you shudder under his hand, eyes fluttering closed. you want to deny it, you should—but all you can do is feel.

heat. tension. craving. your own body is betraying you.

"you think it's just arousal, don't you?"

he appears in front of you, crouching. his eyes glow faintly in the red light. there's something predatory in the way he watches you—like he's savoring a secret.

"you think it's just the moment. adrenaline. fear. me." his hand slides beneath your chin, tilts your face up."it's not."

he smiles, slow and indulgent. "you're already bound to me. you just haven't noticed yet."

your breath catches. "what are you—"

but you stop because you feel it now—subtle threads under your skin, like the gravity in the room is focused only on you. like something invisible is holding your wrists, your thighs, your breath, and telling it to stay. to obey.

"you gave yourself to me the second you believed in me," he whispers. "and now you'll let me take everything."

his hand falls between your thighs, and your knees instinctively try to close—but they don't. you're wide open. exposed. desperate.

he chuckles low in his throat. "see? not even trying anymore. your body knows who it belongs to."

you gasp as his fingers stroke the inside of your thigh, slow and torturously light.  he leans in, pressing his mouth to the shell of your ear. "you don't want gentle, do you?"

his other hand rises. fingers grab your jaw—firm, but not painful. he turns your face toward him. you meet his eyes and almost flinch. they're burning.

"you want filthy. you want my hands on you. my spit in your mouth and my cum slipping out of your cunt. you want to be ruined by something that doesn't even pretend to be human anymore."

you whimper, but your hips rock forward—helpless, aching. he grins. a flash of something sharp behind his lips. "good girl."

then—he spits. right between your parted lips.

you choke on your breath, stunned, but you don't pull away. you can't. you swallow without thinking, dazed, flushed from the heat crawling across your skin.

"that's it," he breathes. "so easy now. so eager."

he pushes you down, palms skimming your thighs as you sink. you don't even realize you've dropped to your knees until you're looking up at him, blinking like you've come undone.

the floor pulses under your skin. the room is watching.

his hand cups your cheek, thumb rubbing gently at your lip like he's wiping you clean—but you both know better.

"no one's ever gonna take you like this. no one else could," he murmurs. "you were made for this. for me."

his voice is velvet-wrapped venom. his gaze pins you in place.

and you? you're no longer sure if you want to be free.

"that's what i thought."

jay sinks down in front of you—slow, deliberate, like he's descending into worship or war. his knees press into the pulsing floor, and your breath catches the moment he pushes you back and his hands come to your thighs.

his eyes trail down. he grabs the waistband of your pants—your last piece of dignity—and pauses just long enough for the panic to rise in your chest. then he rips them down, dragging your underwear with them in one fluid movement.

you gasp, hands moving to cover yourself—but something catches your wrists and forces them above your head, pressing them down into the floor.

the bindings return. invisible, pulsing. your arms are trapped, held still by nothing you can see — just the air around his body thick with power, with control, with him.

"still crying a few minutes ago, weren't you?" he murmurs, voice low and cruel. "sobbing about trust and betrayal and 'how could you do this to me, jay?'" he mimics your tone mockingly, a smirk curling his lips.

you turn your face, burning. but he grabs your chin—firm, sharp fingers tilting your gaze back to his. "look at me when i speak to you."

your breath stutters. his hands slide downward again, slow over your thighs. your skin trembles beneath him. and when his fingers graze over the soaked heat between your legs, he lets out a laugh—soft, delighted, mean.

"oh, sweetheart..."

he drags two fingers slowly through your slick, watching the way your hips twitch, how your mouth parts on instinct.

"you really let me break you that fast?"

you squirm, but the invisible binding tightens. you're not moving unless he allows it.

"so wet for the monster who lied to you," he taunts. "the same one who's been watching you, stalking you, baiting you since the moment you stepped through that yellow door."

he presses his fingers against your clit—just enough pressure to make you gasp. "and now look at you."

he leans in, lips brushing your cheek. "so needy. so fucking ruined."

his free hand grabs your thigh and pulls you open wider, like he's claiming more of you by the second.

"don't you dare pretend you don't like this. your body's too honest, baby."

he spits again but this time low, messy, right where you're dripping—then drags his fingers through it and back onto you, rubbing it in like something unholy.

"i should keep you like this," he whispers. "on your knees. dripping. trembling. always ready for me." your head drops back, a moan torn from your throat.

"that's it. make those pretty little sounds—show me what a filthy thing you are now."

his mouth replaces his hand and he devours you. he licks a thick strip up your slit, enjoying the way your body twitches when he slides over your clit. he ditches the teasing fairly quickly, his mouth engulfing you whole.

not gently. not lovingly. like he's starving and this is what he's been made to eat. his tongue drags through every inch of you, relentless and skilled, and you can feel his power tightening around your limbs every time you twitch or buck.

he's not holding you down with strength. he's holding you down with want. and you can't fight it anymore, you don't want to.

not when he pulls back and looks up at you, mouth wet, eyes gleaming with something dark and endless.

"say it." his voice drops to a growl. "say you want to be mine."

your lips tremble, your chest heaves, and all that comes out is a whimper—but you say it.

"yours."

his smile is all teeth, "that's my girl."

"pathetic little thing." jay's voice is rich with amusement, a low rumble in the thick air around you. he's still crouched between your thighs, fingers gliding lazily through your slick heat, but he's not focused on pleasuring you—he's toying.

his hand moves away. you gasp at the loss, but he's already reaching higher.

"take this off."

you blink through the haze. "what?"

he leans in. slow. terrifying. "your shirt. now."

your hands move on instinct. you tug it up, trembling, but your fingers fumble and you wince when the fabric catches. your eyes blur with tears —again.

jay clicks his tongue. "unbelievable." in one swift motion, his hands are on you, tearing.

the sound of fabric splitting echoes like a scream in the pulsing room. your shirt is gone in seconds, shredded, forgotten and he tosses it aside like trash.

"you can't even get undressed without crying?" he laughs, shoving you back. the warm, fleshy floor catches you like a cradle. "were you always this helpless, or do i just bring it out of you?"

his hand grabs your jaw. not hard enough to bruise, not yet—but enough to make your breath hitch. "you were so loud before. crying about betrayal. sniffling like i ruined your life." he leans in. voice dropping. "but your nipples are hard and you're soaking through your panties. want to explain that to me, baby?"

you turn your face, humiliated. his grip tightens, "look. at. me." you do. your eyes sting. your bottom lip trembles. you hate this. you love it.

he sees everything, "you don't get to hide anymore."

he leans back on his heels, gaze raking over your fully bare body, and groans like he's witnessing something sacred.

"fuck, look at you. trembling. dripping. thighs shaking like you've been begging for this since the day you met me."

your face burns. you try to squeeze your legs together but he slaps your inner thigh.

not hard. not painful. but enough to sting. to make your hips jolt. "spread. them."

you don't obey fast enough so he grabs your knees and forces them open. "you want to cry again? go ahead. i like the way your tears look when they roll into your mouth."

you let out a shaky sob, frustration and arousal eating you alive, but jay just leans down and licks the tear from your cheek.

"sweet little mess," he breathes, lips ghosting over your skin. "this is what you were made for."

he kisses down your neck. your chest. your stomach. his teeth graze your hip. "tell me you want it, or i'll stop."

you squirm, humiliated, raw, "say it."

"i want it," you whisper.

"say it louder."

"i want it."

he smiles. mean. sharp. perfect, "good girl."

he presses his mouth to your heat again. tongue flat, slow, claiming. and this time, he doesn't stop. his tongue slides over your center like he's savoring something expensive.

slow. wide. cruel.

you arch under him with a soft cry, body already raw from how he's stripped you down—not just physically, but completely. nerves exposed. pride shattered. his now, and he knows it.

"mm," jay hums against your core, licking you again, slow and deliberate. "sweet little thing... this what betrayal tastes like?"

your thighs twitch. his grip tightens.

"thought you hated me just ten minutes ago. now you're dripping like you've been waiting your whole life for my mouth."

you whimper, hips twitching. he doesn't give you relief—just more pressure. too slow. too controlled. like he's building something just to tear it down.

he pulls back, licking his lips lazily. his mouth shines.

"you gonna cry again? huh?" he coos, one brow raised. "go ahead. doesn't matter how much you sob, this pretty cunt's still begging me to fill it."

you suck in a breath as his fingers trail back down between your legs. he teases you—barely brushing the slick entrance with two fingers, then pulling away.

again. and again. you try to buck your hips and move your arms but the invisible bindings at your wrists tighten.

"stay still." his voice darkens. and something shifts in the air.

he presses two fingers in—finally—but only halfway.

your eyes roll. your mouth drops open. he watches you, eyes filled with amusement. "that desperate for my fingers? not even halfway in and you're already squeezing like a whore."

you squirm as he thrusts them deeper. the stretch is overwhelming, so sudden after being teased for so long, and the heel of his palm grinds down against your clit until your vision blurs.

"feel that?" his voice is right in your ear now—he's everywhere. "that's your body saying yes while your head's still pretending to be innocent."

he curls his fingers just right and you scream. he grins like the devil himself, "there she is."

he thrusts faster now, fingers soaked, the sound of it filthy in the quiet, pulsing space. his palm slaps against your clit with every movement. your thighs shake, your hips jerk—but you're bound. you're stuck.

"how long do you think you'll last?" he murmurs. "how many times can i make you cum before you forget your own name?"

you whimper, breath hitched. "please, i—"

"please what?" he slows. again.

you almost sob.

"please let you come? please wreck you harder? or maybe you just want to be filled up like a good little toy."

you moan, body straining. the bindings tighten again—not painfully, but enough to remind you that you're completely his.

he leans in, fingers still deep, curling slow and mean. "you're not cumming until you admit it."

"admit what—?"

"that you like this."

you freeze. breathless.

"say it. say you like being used. being ruined. say you like being owned by the thing you were so scared of."

you hesitate, so he stops. fingers still buried inside you, but unmoving. "say it or i leave you here. trembling. soaked. aching."

you bite your lip. humiliated. soaked. desperate. and then you whisper it, "i like it."

"louder."

"i like it. i like being ruined. i like you owning me."

he smiles and fucks you hard with his fingers, curling, thrusting, his mouth back on your clit as he laps at you hungrily. you feel a foreign feeling build in the pit of your stomach, your body shaking and twitching.

you cum fast. loud. messy. completely undone. your body shakes, back arching, a loud sob tearing from your throat as he holds you through it—mouth locked to you, tongue relentless, fingers fucking you through the aftershocks.

and when you collapse?

he doesn't stop, "you thought i was done with you?"

jay's voice is thick with amusement, warm breath fanning over your thighs as he stays buried between them. his fingers don't stop moving. his tongue is still licking.

slow, lazy, like he has all the time in the world.

you're shaking. sobbing. your thighs twitch with every tiny stroke to your clit, and your hips jerk helplessly, but you still can't move—not from exhaustion, not from the invisible force that keeps your wrists pinned above your head.

"don't squirm," he mutters, licking a long stripe up your oversensitive center. "you said you liked being ruined. so now i'm going to ruin you right."

you choke on a moan, head thrashing. "too much—"

he laughs. "too bad." his fingers thrust again—deeper, meaner now. the squelch of your slick, the wet drag of his knuckles, the obscene slap of his palm against your clit—it's all loud now. deliberate. degrading.

"listen to that," he sneers. "your messy little cunt can't even pretend to fight me anymore. soaked. swollen. like it's been waiting for me for years."

you gasp, mouth open in a silent cry as he flattens his tongue against your clit again. but this time, it's not slow. this time, he devours you—relentless, tongue dragging tight circles, fingers curling into that sweet, ruined spot that makes your whole body seize.

"you're gonna cum again," he growls into you, voice muffled by your skin. "don't care if you're ready. don't care if you're crying. this little pussy's mine now, and i decide when it stops."

your eyes roll back and you can feel it—already. your legs shake violently, breath catching in short, high-pitched gasps as you spiral toward a second orgasm.

"that's it. you're close, aren't you? fuck, look at you—" he slaps your clit once, sharp, just to watch you jolt. "—so easy now. so fucking weak for me."

you scream. you thrash. but the bindings hold.

"you gonna cum again, baby? gonna soak my hand like the needy little hole you are?"

your voice breaks, "jay—please—"

"beg louder."

"please! please, i—" but you never finish.

he fucks his fingers into you deeper, thumb circling your clit, tongue flicking across your folds like he's marking you with every stroke—and it tips you over.

the second orgasm crashes into you like a wave of white heat. you scream—louder than before—head thrown back, thighs quivering, tears spilling freely as your body locks and trembles and pulses around his fingers.

and he doesn't stop.

"yeah, that's it," he growls, watching the way you break apart beneath him. "fucking cum for me again. make a mess. cry about it. you're not leaving this floor until i'm finished with you."

your chest heaves, mind blank.

and jay? he's just getting started.

"look at you." jay's voice is velvet-coated filth. he's above you now, body heavy between your thighs, pinning you to the pulsing floor with casual, crushing dominance.

you can barely see him through the blur of tears. your face is hot, your lips swollen, your chest heaving with hiccuped sobs—and he's smiling. like your wreckage is beautiful. like your suffering is his reward.

"crying again, angel? didn't i just give you everything you begged for?" he reaches down—grips himself—and your breath stops.

because that's not human. not anymore.

you hadn't realized when he got the chance to slip off his pants, your eyes immediately zeroing in on what was clenches between his fist.  his cock is thick. veiny. too hot. it pulses in his hand like it has a heartbeat of its own, the head flushed darker than the rest, slightly curved, the base wrapped in ridged muscle you've never seen on anyone living. it looks designed—to stretch, to bruise, to own.

"don't pretend you're scared now," he huffs, pressing the thick head against your drenched entrance. "you begged for this. cried for it. soaked my face like a desperate little whore."

you whimper as he shoves in the tip.

your back arches, and your mouth drops down to an 'o'. "too big?" he mocks. "what a shame." his hand clamps down on your waist. you try to pull away—reflex—but he drags you back down like your body belongs to him. because it does.

"this body's not made for anything soft anymore." he pushes deeper and you scream. it burns. it stretches. he's so much, and you're still raw, still trembling from the last orgasm—and he knows it.

"so fucking tight," he grits. "like you were waiting to be split open."

he bottoms out and you sob again and jay laughs. "god, you're crying again. what's wrong, baby? can't handle being filled by what you gave yourself to?"

your fingers claw the air, wrists still bound, whole body shaking as his hips start to move—slow at first, dragging every ridge and vein against your walls, pulling back just enough to make you feel the loss before slamming back in deep.

"this pussy's mine now." he pounds into you again, "say it."

"j—jay—"

he grabs your jaw, forces your mouth open. "say it or i'll cum inside you and keep you full forever."

your cunt clamps down on him tight and he groans, low and dangerous. "fuck. you liked that, didn't you? thought you'd hate being ruined, but now you want it dripping down your thighs."

you choke. your legs are shaking again. your mind is gone. he keeps fucking into you—hard, brutal, possessive.

"i'm gonna fuck you until you forget you ever had a name. until the only word you know is mine."

your body convulses and another orgasm hits you, this one violent and sharp—rips through you as his cock drags over every spot that shouldn't exist inside you. it's like he's built to keep you on edge, to ruin you forever.

and when you cum, crying, broken, babbling nonsense—he smiles. "good girl."

he thrusts once. twice. and then he growls, a sound inhuman and deep, filling you with a rush of heat so intense your whole body trembles.

his cock pulses. deep inside. and he doesn't pull out. you could feel yourself dripping with him, your cunt clenching pathetically around him like a vice.

"mine now," he whispers into your ear, licking the sweat from your temple. "forever."

you don't respond. you can't.

and jay? jay just watches you twitch beneath him, a satisfied god feasting on the wreckage he made.

▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬

no one finds her.

not the mall staff. not the cops who skim the grainy security footage with bored eyes. not her family, who post missing posters no one reads.

there's no door. no sound. no sign.

just static on the feed where her flashlight dropped. just silence in the halls where she vanished.

but sometimes—if you're unlucky— if you wander too far past where the lights flicker and the walls feel too soft you might hear something.

a voice.

a moan.

a laugh, low and sweet and wrong.

or maybe you'll see something flash by—dark hair, bare feet, eyes too wide, a figure slumped against yellow walls with something crawling beneath her skin.

you won't know if she's alive.

you won't know if she's alone.

and the worst part? she might smile at you.

soft. slow. dreamy.

like she's waiting. like you're next.

because the backrooms keep what they're given. and they remember every sob, every scream, every second of surrender.

and somewhere inside them, in the red-lit heart of something ancient and hungry—he's still fucking her open. still whispering in her ear.

still asking the same question, over and over again: "do you want to be mine?"

and maybe—just maybe..

she said yes.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

[jaysbaefie]

nerd | pjs

synopsis: in which you push the schools nerd past his limits, resulting in you being bent over his desk with your hands behind your back and your butt gleaming red.

genre: highschool au

pairing: nerd!jay x bully afab!reader

warnings: where to begin… mean dom!jay, bratty!reader, sub!reader, egotistical!reader, dubcon(ish), teasing, name calling, reader punches jay, tormenting, spanking, oral (m and f rec.), choking, gagging, slapping, orgasm denial, forced submission, restraining, pussy spanking, fingering, usage of ‘sir’, titty sucking, rough p in v, hair pulling, marking, slapping, blackmail, threats…i think that’s it :D

wc: 12.1k

a/n: new big fic out. i can’t lie ive been procrastinating so hard but this is a small make up fic because i wont be very active for the next few weeks because of finals :( uni is kicking ass rn so hopefully this will keep yall satisfied for the next few weeks! thank you for over 350 followers that’s so insane. i am also looking for an editor/proof reader for fics because i hate to proof read. if ur interested pm me! anyways, enjoy <333

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

you walk down the semi-busy hallway, clutching your books to your chest in a tight and unforgiving grip. your day had already started off rough, with your little brother slamming his fist into your cereal causing the milk to splatter all over you.

you had to remember that he was 5 years old and your brother in order to not lose your shit on him. simply brushing off the incident and changing into your spare old school shirt which fit you a little to tight.

"fucking math class is going to be the death of me," you mutter to yourself with a scowl as you take a right and walk past the seemingly never ending line of lockers.

stomping through the door you're met with several familiar faces, one particular face causing an almost evil grin to take over your face.

jay park.

the school's biggest nerd, but your favourite play thing.

oh how fun it is to bother him and get him all flustered and shy, and suddenly your mood has shifted. "at least i have some entertainment," you think to yourself as you makes your way towards the boy.

passing by him you make sure that he sees you, his expression dropping as you watch his adam's apple bob.

cute.

you brush up against his arm as you walk by, deciding to sit right behind him. you lean back, placing your books onto the table with a soft thud.

"uhm, hi?" the girl who you hadn't noticed sat beside you uttered. you mentally roll your eyes before giving her the fakest smile you could muster up.

"hi, uh.." you take a second to look the girl up and down, trying to figure out her name. your eyes eventually land on a worksheet of hers which laid on the desk, "vicky..?" you question with a squint of your eyes as you attempt to read the name that was messily printed on her paper.

she nods before smiling brightly, bringing her hand up to shake yours, only for her to be turned down.

"not interested," you quip your eyes squinting as your fake smile extends, "so, stay in your lane vicky."

yes, that was a bit harsh. but you had a reputation to live up to and you weren't going to let this irrelevant girl be comfortable with you.

the girl lets out a small gasp, her mouth falling agape unattractively before letting out a small 'hmph', turning her head away. it almost insulted you that vicky thought that you'd even consider being friends with her.

"dramatic bitch," you mutter, rolling your eyes as you rest your cheek on the palm of your hand.

you pull out your phone, noticing that you had a few minutes before class started. a small smirk graces your face, you had time for some fun.

you peer up from your phone, staring down the back of jays head. his hair was dark and neatly brushed back, all you wanted to do was run your hands through it to ruin it as he scrambled to fix it.

slowly lifting your leg you rest it on the back of his chair, making sure to give the chair a little push to make your presence known as if jay wasn't already hyper aware of you.

jay feels pressure on the back of his chair, letting out a small sigh before pushing up his falling glasses with his index finger—taking a deep breath through his nose as he tries to keep calm.

he already knew who it was and didn't bother looking up, continuing to scribble down on his work for another class.

your smirk stays intact, your foot tracing along the top of the cheap plastic chairs, knowing that jay could essentially feel your shoe on his back. you soon slip through the small gap in the seat, the tip of your sneakers gliding against his crisp white school shirt.

jay felt a shiver run through him, he held in his breath before shaking his head in annoyance—grumbling softly to himself.

he knew that you wouldn't stop until you got a good rise out of him, he was prepared for the worst.

"jongie," you whisper, leaning foreword against your forearms which were planted on the desk to keep you balanced and upright.

jay swallows harshly at his name coming out of your mouth in a low whisper, his hands clenching his pencil tightly as he continues to swiftly work through his sheets.

you knew that he was going to ignore you, which is why you decide to sit down again and lean back so your legs could reach further.

you kick the leg of his chair, which didn't end up moving much due to his weight holding the chair down firmly.

just before you could kick the back of the chair where his shirt was exposed, the teacher walks in. you pull your leg back under her desk and sit up straight, a low snicker being heard beside you. you turn your head swiftly, glaring down the girl that had tried to befriend you earlier.

"alright, class begins in," the teacher glances down at her watch before looking up again, "2 minutes, in that time please get out your work that should've been completed last night and have it on your desk ready to be handed in."

"crap," you murmur under your breath, realizing that you had only completed half of the homework last night before you decided to let sleep take over you. gnawing on your bottom lip you turn to your seat mate who was equally as flustered as you, you roll your eyes knowing that she too hadn't finished. useless.

you had only one option, slowly you reached your hand out to tap jays shoulder to ask for his homework. your chair screeching in the process but you paid no mind to that, however, the teacher did.

just as jay turned around to look back at you, he was stopped by the teacher.

"__, what are you doing? now is not the time to socialize, sit back down," she scolds, catching the attention of many other students who were now looking at right at you.

you flushed slightly at the sudden attention, remaining cool and intact on the outside but booking with rage on the inside. you clench your skirt in your fist as you retract your hand and sit back down.

how dare she talk to me like that.

if someone else had talked to you like that you would've put them in their place, but you knew better than to talk back to your teacher.

before you could cuss the teacher out mentally your gaze shifts towards jay who looked at you with pure amusement.

a small smile had crawled onto his face, his dimples making an appearance as he jaw line flexed, he was laughing at you.

you felt your blood boil as you watched him bite at his lip to stop himself from laughing. your eye twitched as you held in the urge to stomp your foot into his back. your pulled out of your thoughts when you see the teacher beginning to make her rounds to collect the homework.

"ah shit, my assignment," you say to yourself as you pull out your half-finished work.

you place the piece of paper onto your desk, glaring holes into the back of jays head as you wait for the teacher to reach you.

just watch what happens to you after class, nerd.

your hands gripped at your worksheet, almost ripping it in the process as you think of all the ways you'd make jay regret laughing at you.

the professor was right in front of you, standing at jays desk, "good job, jay. wouldn't expect any less from my star student," she praises softly before grabbing his work and the sheet from the student who sat next to him.

a disappointed look takes over her face when she walks over to your desk, wiping the previous happy smile off of her wrinkled face.

does she want to fuck him or something?

"incomplete."

"sorry ms-" you started but were soon cut off by the disappointed teacher, "i don't want to hear it __, detention."

you let out a small groan before leaning back in your desk, watching the teacher wear the same expression towards vicky before giving her the same fate as yours.

you continue to watch the teacher walk along the rows, anger bubbling in you.

with a sigh you snap your eyes back to the front, letting out a small gasp when you lock eyes with a pair of deep brown ones.

jay.

he looks at you with an almost smug expression, only fuelling your anger further. first, your little brother ruining your shirt, then jay laughing at you and now he had the the audacity to look smug about it? fuck no.

'your dead,' you mouth at him.

his eyes widen before he's turning around, leaving you fuming in anger as you begin to come up with ways to get back at him.

'oh god, save me,' jay thinks to himself, looking up as if god himself was staring down at him. if god was, he would be giving jay a look of pity.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

class had ended a few minutes ago and you were now making your way to your second class, english.

just as the bell had rung jay had made a run for it, he knew that he was in trouble and he was afraid for what was going to bite him in the ass.

you sat in your next class, plotting of ways you could get back at the boy. you smirk when images of jay looking up at you with apologetic eyes pop up in your head—punishing him will be fun.

if only you knew that you wouldn't be the one who would be doing the punishing.

you knew that jay was in your class and you knew that he was going to come in later than he usually would—even if it effected his perfect attendance record.

he was going to try and avoid you, try to run away from you—but you won't let that happen.

you mentally 'tsk' in your head, 'jay you can't escape me,' you think to yourself as you patiently wait for the boy to walk into class.

meanwhile, jay pants aggressively—trying to calm down his breathing from all the running he did. he had ran down the stairs and taken the long way to his next class, which he shared with you, trying to avoid running into you in the hallways.

he knew that you wouldn't bother him much in class, however, if you caught him the hallways who knew what you'd do to him.

he doesn't know what you're scheming but he wasn't excited. this was the first time that he had ignored you, typically he would just give you the work that you asked for—but this time he had chosen death. not only did jay not give you answers, he laughed at you.

this was the first time that he had gotten you angry, and he knew that you would take your anger solely out on him. he had seen you angry before, but never because of him.

he had seen you take out your anger on the people who caused the negative emotion, and it was brutal. to think that a girl your size was able to shit kick someone was scary and he hoped that he'd never be in the receiving end of that.

making his way into class he wipes the thin layer of sweat that had made its way into his forehead with the back of his hand, trying to slow down his breathing.

setting his backpack down onto the floor, he sits down and begins to unpack.

he could feel you burn holes into the back of his head, shivering slightly at the thought of turning around only to be met with your fist in his face and a black eye.

the teacher soon walks in causing jay to let out a small breath of relief, he knew that you wouldn't hurt him if the teacher was around.

'you're only safe for the next hour and a half, after that you're done for jay,' the poor boy thinks to himself nervously—sweating bullets.

"important announcement before we begin, starting tomorrow a new teacher will be coming in to teach for the next few weeks as you will be beginning your health unit. this unit will be a review about female and male anatomy and so forth, i beg of you all to be mature about this and not give the new teacher a hard time. please be on your best behaviour tomorrow", the teacher says quickly, the students not being able to understand half of what the she had yapped away.

you paid little to no attention to what the teacher was blabbering about, instead you glared down the boy who was sitting on the other side of the class. he held his book up close to his face, as if he was attempting to shield himself away from your scorching eyes.

snickering, you clenches your fists, a small smirk on your face as you lean foreword against the desk.

you can run, but you can't hide.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

"ow! ah! ouch!" the boy groans out, hitting the ground with a loud thud.

luckily, his arms had covered his face enough so he wouldn't break his jaw or mark up his pretty skin.

jay held in the urge to scream out in anger when he feels your foot on his back, pushing him down when he manages to get into a plank position in an attempt to get up.

the heel of your polished black shoes pushes into his crisp white shirt, leaving a smudge of dirt against the material.

you look down at the boy, feeling a sense of dominance seeing him at his lowest while you had all the control—just how you liked it.

were you a sadist? maybe.

"oh no! jay! i didn't see where i was going. silly me!" you coo innocently, a sly and evil tone present in your tone.

"didn't know i was so clumsy," you add on with a small snicker, your shoes still planted on his back.

jay grits his teeth, he knew that this was coming, but he didn't know that the humiliation would sting this bad.

he bit at his lip when he felt your whole foot slam him down onto the ground, as if he was a mere bug that you were trying to squash and kill.

"__, let me move," he grits out, harshly swallowing his embarrassment when he sees a few students walk by him.

the passers gave jay looks of sympathy, they all knew what it was like to get bullied by you, but they couldn't do much to help out—they didn't want to face your wrath any further.

if they intervened to help him out, they would become the next targets for your punching bags.

"hmm..how about, no," you snap back, there was no way you were going to let jay go after he had disrespected you. you didn't know where his sudden bravery had come from, but you were determined to shove it back where it had risen out from.

it was petty of you to do really, the poor boy hadn't even done anything besides laugh at you. however, you didn't take things like this lightly—and jay knew that.

he remembers how in junior year a girl had flaunted her grades in front of you when you told her what you had gotten on your science exam. the next day, her locker was stuffed with the frogs they had dissected in the class previously. to this day you passed her dirty looks in the hallway.

to simply put it, you held grudges—like really held grudges.

jay knew that if he didn't do something now, you would keep your foot pressed against his back the entire day while he laid on the dirty hallway floors for everyone to watch. he had to gather his courage before his thoughts would become reality.

pulling himself up he gets into a semi plank position, using all his strength to push up and off of the ground making you gasp in surprise.

standing tall his large figure intimidates your smaller one, the height difference making jay seem like the bully and you, the poor innocent victim.

stepping back slightly, you clenches your fists by your side, watching jay dust off his clothes.

"y-you-" you shrieked,  pointing an accusatory finger at the boy. "argh," you stomp down with frustration before scowling.

jay takes a moment unintentionally to look over your smaller frame, your dark messy hair to your neat and polished shoes that were on his back a few moments ago.

he would've thought you were cute if it wasn't for your nasty attitude. who was he kidding, you were pretty, but your actions made him forget from time to time.

balling up your small fists you do something that he would have least expected at that moment.

jay lets out a grunt when he feels your fist jam into the side of his face, falling right back where he had gotten up from originally.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

the day was filled with torture. jay, to say the least, looked rough.

he was tripped, punched,  shoved, and then he was smacked—but that was only the tip of the iceberg.

jay looked as if he was run over by a bus, his hair was messy and his usually crisp and neat attire and look was gone. the side of his face was bruised slightly, yellow and red marks splotched by his temple where you had landed your blow.

he was pretty sure that his glasses were broken, to afraid that if he took them off to inspect that they'd actually fall apart.

you had done it, you had made him miserable.

he ran out of class right when he was dismissed, not being able to take another beating—he just wanted to go home.

the bell rang and jay made a run for it, grabbing his books and heading out of the school doors and onto his bike—immediately cycling away.

he knew that this wasn't over just yet, he knew that there was much more in store for him—you weren't going to stop that easily.

if you had managed to make him so miserable in a span of a few hour, he only dreaded what you could do in an entire day.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

"hey! jongie! where you running off to? thought you were a good kid? we can't have you missing class, now can we?" you chirped with a plastic grin on your face, voice high pitched and squeaky.

jay had walked into school with his head held high up, he had science first block and he dreaded going in. he knew that you would make the 80 minute block last an eternity.

instead of walking in 10 minutes early like he usually would, he decides that he was going to walk in right when the bell rings. if you happened to be in class before the teacher arrived, a lot could happen in the short span of 10 minutes.

he didn't want to run into you in the hallways either, he knew you could have his way with him in the less crowded areas that lack teacher supervision. jay looked down at his watch, biting at his lip anxiously when he realizes that he still had a few minutes before class started.

he begins to walk to the boys washroom, thinking that he could hide out in the stalls to pass the time. unfortunately, he wasn't luck enough to make it there without being spotted.

you had found him, he gulped, mentally preparing himself for what was to come.

" jongie," you start with a coo, your voice sickly sweet, "are you avoiding me?" you finish off with a fake pout.

you stood in front of him, not much distance between the two of you and he could smell your lavender and honey-scented perfume.

he lets out a shaky breath when you take another step forward, your chests brushing against one another's.

you reach your hand out to grab at jays black school tie, fiddling with it between your fingers, slowly looking up to see that the boy was already looking down at you.

your eyes widened for a second when you realized how handsome he was, his features sharp and clean which were ruined slightly due to the bruise by his temple.

the one you caused.

you could feel your face flush before your forcing thoughts about finding jay attractive out of your mind.

jay held in his breath when you took another step closer, your chests now touching. he was sure that you could feel his heart beat wildly against his chest.

you internally smirk, biting your bottom lip as you give him a cheeky grin, "jongie, it's not nice to ignore people you know," you drawl out, your eyelashes fluttering as you draw small patterns on his chest with your perfectly manicured fingernails.

jay knew exactly what you was doing, you were seducing him. he wasn't sure what your game plan was, but he was starting to feel hot.

the boy stutters out your name, his eyes widening when he feels you drag your fingers down his chest, nearing dangerously towards his crotch when you make it past his black belt.

"w-what are you d-," he tries again but his words didn't seem to leave his mouth. your fingertips lightly traced his bulge, he could feel himself getting aroused—his breathing getting heavier and quicker.

he wasn't going to let you play around with him so easily, jay knew that you were only doing this to get back at him.

swallowing harshly he reached down to clasp his hand firmly around your wrist, yanking your hand away from him roughly.

he pushes you away, hearing you gasp in shock, "__, stop," he states firmly, his eyes shut as he mentally prepares himself for another blow to the face.

you feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment, no man had ever turned you down—the guys at school falling at her feet left and right.

clenching your teeth you pushed at his chest, forcing a smirk onto your pink stained lips—faking confidence as you tried to push past the rejection.

"you didn't actually think that I would be interested in you, did you jongie?" you fibbed, hoping and praying that jay hadn't picked up on the waver in your voice.

"i would never be interested in someone like you," you spit before turning around to walk away, having the last word.

you walk away with your head held up high, confidently strutting down the hallway before you disappear from jays vision.

you feel your cheeks heat up from rejection, feeling strangely hurt deep down that jay had stopped her advances. you mentally scolded yourself for letting something like this effect you so deeply, it's just jay.

with a scowl etched on your face you flip your hair over your shoulder, fists clenched as you make your way to the next class.

jay stood in the hallway, his mind still processing what had just happened. he didn't know if you were coming on to him or if you were messing with him, regardless, his pants felt tighter.

shaking his head he let out a deep sigh, "it's just a way to get back at you jay, don't fall for it," he says to himself.

he looks down to see an indent in his pants, mentally scolding himself for popping one for a girl who makes his school life hell.

"just get to class," he murmurs out loud, slowly making his way to science—the same class he shared with you.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

science class was an absolute disaster, the substitute was on the verge of crying. jay gave the woman a look of pity, watching her struggle to quiet down the classroom.

paper planes filled the classroom sky, students throwing scrunched up worksheets at one another, big groups of people talking loudly amongst one another.

a mess, to say the least.

a few minutes later the class settles down, the threat of giving everyone a zero caught the classes attention.

the substitute sat at her chair, a look of bewilderment on her face as she smoothens out her clothing and hair.

"good morning class, you may refer to me as mrs.jung and i will be your health teacher. i will be in the classroom for the next few weeks so, please, treat me well," she almost begs at the end, planting a small smile on her face.

she looked to be in her late 30s or early 40s, her black hair up in a sleek bun while she wore a blue denim dress that reached just below her knees.

"today we are going to be learning about the female reproductive system."

the class goes by like a blur, half of the students not paying attention to the substitute as she taught.

jay takes down basic notes, his thick black locks running into his eyes making him run his hands through his hair to slick his hair back.

suddenly, he feels something hit the back of his head. he looks down to see a pink eraser on the floor, already knowing the culprit without having to turn around to look.

picking up the object with a sigh, he places it on his desk—shaking his head in disbelief before he resumes his note taking.

it was quiet for a moment before your voice pulls him out of his trance, his ears turning a bright shade of red at your words.

"jays probably never made a girl cum before, never been able to find the clit," you snicker to your seat mate who looks around hesitantly when she realizes how loud you were.

you on the other hand gave no fucks about the volume of your voice, your laughter getting louder and louder every second.

you were so fucked.

the boy swallowed harshly, his hands gripping his pencil tightly—afraid that it would snap if he didn't ease his grip.

students near by heard the exchange, silent laughter being heard from around the room as they stared at jay. jay could feel his body flush, his cheeks hot as he purses his lips—staring down at his notes. he refused to look up, feeling embarrassed.

you watched jay closely, you could tell that he was uncomfortable but you felt no remorse for the boy—so you continued.

"he'd probably finish in seconds," you taunted, this time catching the teacher's attention.

"__, would you like to repeat that?"

you immediately sit up in your chair, clearing your throat before planting a small fake smile on your face, "no miss."

ms.jung gave her a knowing look, "thought so, now, please keep your comments to yourself."

you flush with embarrassment but the feeling soon fades, biting at your lip to hold in your laughter when you hear other students poke fun at jay.

you could hear whispers about the boy, some making fun of him while others expressed their sympathy for him.

you couldn't help but feel slightly guilty, you peek over to look at jay. you could see his fists clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white while his veins in his hands and forearms popped out. his thick muscles peeking from under his shirt as he flexed his arms tensely—your mouth watered at the sight.

jay then suddenly turns his head around, his dark hooded eyes looking into your. feeling flustered you try to avoid eye contact but were unable to, a small gasp emitting from your throat when jay gives you a bone-rattling glare.

you fist your skirt, heart beating quick when jay mouths, 'stay after class,' his lips curling into a smirk before he's turning away—tuning out everyone who was looking at him.

you look at him in shock, his sudden shift in attitude catching you off guard.

what the fuck just happened?

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

the bell rang and students trickled their way out of the classroom, leaving you, jay, and mrs.jung behind.

"jay, dear. are you planning on staying after class?" mrs. jung asks as she shuffles around the classroom, noticing that neither jay or you had packed your things.

jay forces a sweet smile, trying not to explode as he nods briskly, "ah yes, i have a few things to take care of."

she nods in response, "alright then, i trust that you'll be responsible. i'll give you the keys so when you're done, just lock the door," she says with a smile, before making her way out of the door—handing jay the keys.

she stops midway when she spots you still sitting at one of the desks, "and you, __? are you planning on staying as well?"

before you could open your mouth to answer, jay cuts you off, "yes, mrs.jung. __ here, needed help with some work so i decided to go aheadand tutor her. is that okay? it won't take us to long," he persuades, his grin cheeky as he tries to downplay his real motives.

mrs.jung felt as if she could trust the boy, so she nods.

"alright, just take care, okay? oh also once you've finished, close the blinds," she instructs, and with that, she waves goodbye to the both of you— walking out and shutting the door behind her.

you hold your breath, the sound of your shallow breathing sounding far to loud in the quiet classroom.

you and jay were sitting only a few feet apart, yet he made no attempt to move. the silence was beginning to get to you, rolling your eyes before you decide to break it.

"so nerd, why'd you ask me to stay?" you sneer out, placing your feet up on the table before faux inspecting your nails, you tried not to show it— but your 'tough' persona was crumbling by the second.

jays eye twitched at the name, "i'm sure you know exactly why, __," he seethes back, his head still looking at the front. the way he said your name made you shiver in delight, the hairs on the back of your neck standing as you felt yourself flush.

jay smirks when he notices you shiver from the corner of his eye, he knew that he had some sort of effect on you.

the way your name came out of his mouth sounded smooth and silky, the feeling making you jittery and restless.

you decide to act clueless, "no, actually. I don't."

jay could laugh, huffing before his chair is being pulled out and he's slowly making his way towards you—like a snake slithering to strangle its prey.

when he reaches you, you remove your feet from the desk, looking up at him curiously.

jays gaze made you feel small, looking away from him when you couldn't handle the intensity of his stare.

"it's not nice to comment on other people's sex lives,__. but I'm sure your bratty virgin self doesn't know better," he taunts, his thick arms coming to rest on either side of your chair so you were trapped in between them.

you gape at the name, "bratty?" you spit out, offended. "i'm not bratty, and i'm sure as hell not a virgin."

you swallow harshly when you turn your head to the side, your eyes almost bulging out of their sockets when you see his arms flex to show off his taunt muscles.

"oh really?" he fakes a gasp, lifting one of his eyebrows mockingly before grinning, "prove it."

your eyebrows shoot up in shock, uncomfortable with the switch in dynamics. not used to the confident and bold jay that was in front of her.

"w-what? how," you ask stupidly, unaware of what dirty thoughts had began to cloud jays mind.

he'd show you, he'll prove you wrong.

"get on your knees."

you stare up at him dumbly, failing to process his words. jay begins to lose his patience, threading his fingers into your hair before yanking your head back.

a small moan breaks out of your mouth, face flushing when you realize what you had just done. jays expression turning grim, "i'm not repeating myself brat. either you do it, or i make you do it."

your eyes widen at his words, a strange feeling of fear and excitements rush through you making you clench your thighs in anticipation.

slowly dropping down from your chair, sinking to your knees in front of the boy.

jay smirks, he had you right where he wanted you.

"what are you waiting for? unbuckle my pants and take my cock out, slut," he seethes, his eyes hooded as he stares down at you with pure lust.

you shiver at the degrading name, rubbing your thighs together as you shuffle closer so you could reach out to start taking off his pants.

your hands clumsily unbuckle his belt, letting the leather material hit the floor with a clack—flinching at the sound. you focus on the buttons of his slacks, hands shaking as you struggle to pop them open.

jay 'tsks' as he looks down at you with a faux frown, "useless brat, can't even unbutton my pants properly." with that he's popping open his own buttons and letting his pants fall.

his dark grey boxers came into view quickly before they disappear just as quick. jays hand yanks at your hair, pushing your head so your face was smushed against his hard cock. you gape at him, feeling his thick length grind against your cheek before you begin to struggle in his hold.

you try to show your protest but your words come out muffled, attempting to push yourself away with your thighs on his thighs—but your attempts went futile.

"what are you doing?" you try to squeak out only for it to come out as incoherent, making jay laugh mockingly.

"fuck are you waiting for whore?" he sneers his mood shifting instantly, his grip in your locks tightening making you hiss out— complying with his orders regardless.

he allows you to move your head back, your fingertips slipping past the band of his boxers—pulling them down all the way.

a small gasp left your mouth when his cock hit your cheek, his precum smearing against your skin.

he chuckled, watching you closely as you brings your shaky hand to grip at his girth—making him hiss.

your mouth salivates as you takes a few seconds to admire him. his tip dusted with a dusky rose colour and veins surrounding his thick and long length like a rose vine.

"go on then, take me into your mouth. prove me wrong brat."

that's all you needed before you engulfed his tip into your mouth before jay slams it in fully. you choke on it causing him to let out a deep and guttural groan.

the sound had you trembling, pulling him out of your mouth before slowly taking him in again inch by inch—trying hard not to gag.

he looked down, watching you bob your head back and forth, tilting his head back to let out small moans when he feels you swallow around him.

his grip on your hair tightened, thrusting his hips forward causing his tip to hit the back of your throat repeatedly—using you as a cock sleeve.

as embarrassing as it was, you were enjoying it far more than jay was. your thighs clenched together tightly as you attempt to relieve the pressure between your legs by pushing your gushing cunt against the floor.

"fuck, __! didn't take you for such a cockslut. thought you were more a receiver with your bratty attitude," he remarks, a choked groan echoing through the classroom when he feels you swallow around his cock again.

you look up at the boy, peering through your thick lashes as you hollow out your cheeks, your tongue running up his length.

your hand comes to wrap around the part that you weren't able to fit in your mouth, feeling his cock inch down your throat.

he felt your warm mouth surround him, the feeling smooth and velvety as he pushed his hips towards you causing you to gag.

you reminded yourself to breathe through your nose, your tongue lapping around his length as you pumps the remaining bit with your hand.

"oh-shit, keep going. just like that," he groans, bucking his hips as he desperately chases his high.

your eyes narrow, one thing was certain—jay wasn't going to cum. suddenly, you withdraw your effort and slow down your speed just when he was reaching his high.

jay stares down at you, frustration present on his face.

"did i tell you that you could slow down whore?" he sneered, his chest heaving and his face glistening with a sheen of sweat.

innocently, you peer up at him before going back to the pace you were at before, his eyes rolling back in pleasure instantly as he relished in the feeling of your warm mouth.

he was close, and you could tell.

your hand reaches up to cup his balls in your hand, slowly massaging as you try to get him closer and closer to his climax.

you held in your breath when his tip hits the back of your throat with each thrust, letting him use you like a rag doll.

the sound of jays moans and the wet sounds of his cock fucking your mouth echoed through the empty classroom—bouncing off of the walls.

"m'gonna cum," he grunts, a thin bead of sweat running down his face and then his neck, soon disappearing under his school shirt.

not on my watch.

you smirk to yourself , right when jay was about to bust you pull your mouth away completely—leaving him hanging and desperate for a release.

jays eyes snap open, "what the fuck!" he exclaims, his fists clenching and his face red in anger.

"you didn't actually think that i'd let you cum after the way you talked to me, did you jongie?" you tease, biting at your bottom lip to hold in your laughter as you start to get up from the floor—using the back of your hand to wipe away the spit and cum on your lips.

jay feels himself slowly lose his cool, he was being gentle with you even if you didn't deserve it.

"that's fucking it, __," he starts, his tone shocking you, never hearing him sound so angry. the once calm and collected boy was gone, his patience running thin.

"you've pushed me past my limits now."

he takes a second to look down you, you were now standing up with your face only a few inches away from his own.

"you're going to bend over the desk-" he grabs a hold of you, grabbing a fistful of your hair before pushing your body onto a desk so you laid on your stomach with your lower body handing uber the edge—your feet barely touching the ground.

a shriek leaves your mouth at the sudden change in position, trying to get your feet to touch the floor but fails when jay comes to stand to the side of you, "-and fucking count."

he flips your short school skirt up, which jay thought was pointless for you to wear. you hiked up the material to your upper thigh, leaving little to the imagination to whoever was behind you.

jay was guilty, he had peered up your skirt several times—his hands itching to grab at your soft flesh.

your behind was now exposed to him with your thin lace black thong being the only thing that covered you. it didn't cover much, actually, it didn't cover anything. he could see your cunt poke through the thin fabric, his mouth salivating as he watches you squirm in his hold.

"what the-" you start but are cut off by jay toying with your underwear, pulling it upward before letting it go so it would slap your skin.

you hiss at the feeling, trying to reach your arms behind you to push him away, only for him to grab ahold of both your arms and pin them firmly to your back.

"you've done this to yourself, __. if only you had behaved," he sneers, softly patting your underwear-clad core making you jolt up in surprise.

jay chuckles at the reaction, "sensitive, are we?"

"oh shut up you ne-"

smack!

you gasp, turning your head around to glare at him accusingly, "d-did you ju-" you get cut off again by another sting to your behind, your back arches as you unconsciously jut your behind out more.

jay smirks, watching your body squirm on the desk, his hand coming to softly massage your behind before he lands another smack down.

"i did, and you better get counting brat. you're far from getting out of this position."

"like hell i wi-" you try to protest only for him to lay another smack down, your body lurching forward with each hit. you suppress a moan when you feel jays hand roughly massage the cheek that he had hit, the feeling soothing but made your core ache.

"you want to try again? the more you act out the more hits i'll add on," he threatens lowly, his middle finger tracing down your covered slit.

you whine, feeling absolutely humiliated.

smack!

"i recommend that you start counting, brat," jay seethes lowly before he's landing another smack down.

"o-one."

smack!

"two," you mewl, eyes watering as you feel another smack lay down on you.

smack!

"three."

smack!

"four!" you shriek, that particular smack landing harder than the rest.

jay was taking out all of his frustration on you, his hand stinging at the intensity of the smack he laid down. it was as if he was getting his revenge for the torture he endured from her. he watched your ass bounce, landing smack after smack not letting you catch your breath in the slightest.

"ah, jay! s-stop," you cry out, your hands gripping the table tightly—knuckles turning white.

his hand grabs ahold of the back of your neck, pulling you up slightly as he bends down to catch your gaze. "do you really want me to stop, __?" he asks knowingly, a look of faux sympathy in his face.

"because-" he begins, his other hand snaking itself to your covered cunt—pressing against you. you were drenched, the fabric sticking to your folds as if they were a second skin. "-this tells me otherwise."

you hold in a whine, to ashamed to deny. jay had gotten his answer, letting go of his hold on your neck before he's going back to his original spot.

you look back at him, your eyes red and teary as you muffled a cry. jay holds in a groan when he sees your teary face, feeling his cock get harder—if that was possible.

"jay i-" you start but cut yourself off with a grunt when he lands his hand down on your behind once more.

"beg bitch," he sneers. this was the moment that all shame and self respect was let go.

"please jongie. i beg you," you cry out, jolting up when you feel his fingers circle your clothed entrance.

jay smirks, he had you wrapped around his fingers in minutes—literally.

"what are you begging for, hm?"

when he receives no answer he lands another smack down on to your behind making you whimper.

jay almost lets out a moan when he sees how red and bruised your behind was, splotches off blue and yellow complimenting your skin colour.

you look back at him, your face red and teary as you silently beg him to do something.

jay shakes his head at you, "you aren't getting anything from me till you ask me, nicely."

you whine, "jay, please."

"please jay what?" he mocks, his hand grabbing at your behind roughly—squeezing it making you let out breathless moans.

"please, fuck me," you wince, your bottom lip trembling as you look at him with big eyes.

jay feels his breath hitch at the look on your face, the faux expression of innocence you held making his actions stutter.

you were so full of shit and jay knew that.

he chuckles, "fuck you? so quickly? i don't think so slut," he says before he's flipping you over on the desk so your back was against the wood.

you gasp at the sudden switch of positions, holding yourself up by your elbows. you see jay in between your legs as you look up at him, his figure towering over yours.

you let out a pained whimper when your butt touches the desk, your behind stinging and sore after the amount of hefty smacks that he laid down on you.

"so wet.." he murmurs, running his pointer finger down your clothed folds, a shiver racking down your  spine at the sensation.

he lets out a soft hiss when he notices how sensitive you were, "jay, please."

"i've been through this before darling, please what? what do you want me to do, be verbal," he commands, rubbing small circles against your clit.

"fingers, in me please," you stammered, clawing at the desk as you spread your legs wider—no shame.

"good girl," he praises lightly before he's pushing your underwear to the side to expose your sopping wet cunt. the sudden exposure of the cool air making you shudder, shutting your legs on instinct. jay scowls, slapping at your thigh before forcing your legs wide open.

you let out a small moan at the feeling of his fingers touching around you, his hands sliding to the apex of your inner thighs.

he takes his time, making sure to have you crying by the end of it.

"jay, please don't tease," you whine, trying to buck your hips against his hand to try and get him to touch you where you needed him the most.

he hums in response, his thumb coming to touch your bare clit softly, slowly rubbing against it making you arch your back against the desk at the sensation.

jays smirk stays intact on his face, making eye contact with you all while rubbing you slowly—teasing her.

you shy away from his eyes, looking anywhere but at him causing jay to stop his actions. his free hand comes up to your face, squeezing your cheeks so your lips jut out in a pucker.

"keep your eyes on me, brat. as soon as you look away, i stop. got it?" he threatens lowly. you nod in response, locking eyes with his deep browns ones.

he slowly pushes a finger into your aching core, feeling you clench around his digit as he slowly pumps his finger in and out of you. he feels your walls tighten around him, "so fucking needy," he spits out.

you bite at your lip to hold back any moans that threatened to escape you, your hips bucking as he fastens his pace.

"don't hold in your moans, let them out," he demands, curling his finger in you before a second finger is poking at your entrance—threatening to be pushed in.

"ah-shit," you groan out when he inserts the second finger in, the thickness of his digit stretching you out. your eyes water at the pleasure, your eyes threatening to close to relish in the feeling—but you don't dare.

he holds your panties to the side so he could see his fingers pushing in and out of you, your hips bucking as you try to get him to sink his fingers deeper into your cunt.

"so wet and needy," he croaks, his thumb adding into the mix as he continues his pace—his thumb rubbing small yet firm circles on your clit.

you shut your eyes for a moment only for them to snap right open when you feel jay land a slap on your throbbing pussy. you squeal at the pain, trying to move away from his grip, his hand coming down to slap at your clit again. "behave," he warns before he's resuming his previous position with two of his thick digits buried inside you.

you couldn't believe the position you were in. sprawled up on a desk with your hair dishevelled, your shirt wrinkled and your school skirt hiked up to your hips while the boy you use as a punching bag has his fingers buried into your aching cunt.

if someone had told you that this would be the position you'd end up in by the end of the day, you would've had them on the floor.

you could feel every stroke of his fingers inside you clearly, desperately chasing your high as you feel the knot in your stomach tighten deliciously.

jay curls his fingers in you in a 'come here' motion, feeling you clench around his digits as he fastens his pace—he knew you were close.

his thumb starts to rub faster circles on your throbbing and aching clit, not giving you a chance to breathe as he feels your body twitch at the close release.

"ah, shit! j-jay m'close," you mewl, your eyes rolling to the back of your head—eyes white. you feel him stroke past a certain bundle of nerves, your head tilting back in pleasure as he continue to stretch out your gummy walls.

just as you felt your high approach jays pulling his fingers out of you , leaving you feeling empty and unsatisfied. you cry out in frustration, attempting to kick your legs at jay only for him to catch and stop them with ease—tossing you a stern look.

you watch him pop his fingers into his mouth, his tongue coming out to circle his digits all while maintaining eye contact with you.

"for a dirty bitch, you sure do taste good," he praises, a sly grin in his face as he digs his fingers into the plush of you thighs—making you wince.

when he gets no response he chuckles, "what? didn't think that i'd let you cum so quickly, did you?" he asks, using the same phrasing as you earlier.

you whine, "please." your legs shook with impatience.

"i'm taking my time with you, __. i've been waiting to get my hands on you. do you know what i go through whenever you open your goddamn trap and spit out insults at me, hm? it takes everything in me to not bend you over the nearest desk and fuck the attitude out of you, but not anymore. i'm having you whatever way i want, and you'll let me, isn't that right?" he hisses into your ear, the feeling of his cool breath making you shiver.

you look at him with red cheeks, your mind whirling with ideas of him taking you on the desk, against the wall, in the school closets, in the staff room.

jay grins, "you'd like me fucking your pretty little cunt, hm? wanna feel my fat cock stretching your bratty pussy out, yes?" he purrs as he gets up from his position in between your legs, looming over your smaller body.

"mmm, y-yes," you reply, still dazed from your denied release as you stare up at him with big eyes.

jay lets out a small groan before he's wrapping his hand around your throat, pulling you up so you're off the desk and standing in front of him.

you grab onto his shirt, not trusting yourself to stand properly as your legs trembled.

you let out a small moan when the grip around your throat tightens. "what a desperate little whore you are, __. who would've thought that the school's bully begs for cock, begs for my cock," he jeers as he weaves his other hand into your hair—yanking on it.

you mewl at the sensation, letting him use you as he wished—complying with all his actions.

"are you going to behave for me, hm,__?" he coaxes before he presses a quick peck to your lips, trailing small kisses starting from your tear stained cheeks, to your jaw and soon down your neck.

"yes," you respond, your voice coming out breathy and your vision hazy—the sensation of his lips on your neck leaving you trembling with need.

jay nips at the sensitive skin on your neck, a moan slipping out of your mouth as he continues to bruise up your skin.

"yes, what?"

"yes, sir."

jay immediately pulls away from you, his eyes widening in shock as he stares at you in disbelief. you on the other hand hadn't even realized what name you addressed him by, the thought of his cock plaguing your mind.

he soon came to the conclusion that he didn't mind the name, his mouth pulling into a sneer as he fists your hair harshly before yanking it back—your head tilted so your marked up neck was on full display for his hungry eyes.

"good, now—strip."

you immediately comply with his order, your hands fumbling with the buttons of your shirt, struggling slightly as you lean against him for support.

jay watches you struggle, his eyes narrowing impatiently before he's taking matters into his own hands.

"such a helpless little slut, can't even unbutton her shirt without my help," he murmurs angrily before he's helping you unbutton your school shirt.

his fingers graze your supple skin as he makes his way down your shirt, helping you take the white material off.

once he gets to the last button he yanks the shirt off completely, throwing it onto the floor making you gasp.

without a second to waste, he reaches behind you to unclasp your pink bra, the lanky article of clothing falling off of you.

jay sucks in a breath when your pert nipples come into his view, his hands reaching out to mound against your chest.

"so pretty," he praises softly before he's kneading your breasts with both of his hands. your grip on his shirt tightening as he continues his assault before he's leaning down and taking one of your buds into his mouth.

the feeling of his mouth touching your skin made you moan out, jutting your chest out to savour more of the feeling.

"needy little thing aren't you, hm? tell me, __, do you want my mouth on you? want me to make you cum on my tongue? " he drawls as he twists your nipple with his finger making you whimper.

you nod enthusiastically, "yes, please sir," you beg, your hands coming up to wrap around his shoulder as if you were hugging him.

"begging so nicely for me," he praises before he's slowly sinking to his knees, his head coming to be level right with your covered cunt.

you trembled, jays hands on your waist before they drag up and down your thighs. he's reaching behind you to drag your skirt down so it pooled at your feet.

your thin underwear was soaked from your previously denied orgasm, his fingers coming to grab at the band of your panties to push them down so you were completely bare to his eyes.

jay sucked in a breath, his eyes glazing over you before he uses his thumbs to spread apart your lips.

your hands reach behind you to grab at the wooden desk to keep yourself from falling—spreading your legs slightly so jay could fit better in between them.

the boy smirked at your actions, moving closer so his breath fanned against your most intimate bits—making you shiver.

"why so tense,__?" he teases before his tongue flattens against the apex of her thigh making you squirm.

"j-jay, don't tease—please," you begged softly as you jut your hips so your cunt was closer to his face—desperate to get him to touch you where you desired the most.

jay smiles against her skin, "do you deserve my tongue, huh?" he blows softly on your clit making you whimper.

did you deserve it? no.

were you still going to say yes? yeah.

"yes, sir—please." you pant, your left hand leaving the desk as you could run your hand through his dark locks.

the boy lets out a small laugh, "you and i both know you don't deserve this, yet here we are," he says lowly, his eyes zeroing in on your cunt.

you scrunched your eyebrows, "wha—oh!" you shrieked. his tongue flattened on your most sensitive area, your head tilting back as your grip in his hair tightens.

jay holds in a moan, his tongue gliding through your soaked folds as he holds your thighs open to make sure you don't try to close them.

your eyes roll to the back of your head as you pant the boy's name, your body twitching with each touch as you force yourself to keep as quiet as possible.

his tongue did figure '8's on your clit, your arousal soaking his nose and chin. jay peers up from in between your legs, watching your face contort into one of pure bliss as you start to roll your hips against his tongue.

he tongue drops to your clenching hole, teasing the entrance while his nose nudges your clit repeatedly.

he had imagined this exact moment, as creepy as it sounded—he had fantasied about this moment.

have you choke on his girth as he fucked your bratty mouth as he pleased—using you like a doll before throwing you away. bending you over his knee, letting his palms smack against your round and soft bottom as you cried out for him—begging him to stop. letting his hands roam down your body as he marked you with small purple bites, letting everyone know that the school's tormentor had been fucked into her place.

he was ecstatic when you had stayed behind, following his order.

he knew he had you in his clutches the moment you were on your knees, knowing he had full control over your frail body—he was going to take full advantage of it.

years of torment had led them here, his tongue deep in you as you wailed out in pleasure—clutching on to whatever you could grab onto.

he inhaled deeply when your thighs started to close in on his face, his hands not being able to hold them open anymore as his tongue ran over your clit repeatedly.

you were trembling, your legs shaking violently as you screeched when his tongue brushes over a certain bundle of nerves.

"shit! jongie," you gape, your mouth in an 'o' shape as your eyes shut painfully tight.

"m'gonna cum," you wail out as you grasp at his hair tighter, his tongue working fast and firm circles around your clit—getting you closer and closer to your release.

after the way you treated him, you surely didn't deserve to cum. yet, here jay was—his tongue delving in and out of you as you beg to cum for him.

your stomach tightened almost painfully as you reached your climax, your body trembling as you cum with a loud moan—not being able to hold back your sounds anymore.

even after your high had passed, jay hadn't stopped. his tongue still rolling around your clit as he helps you ride out your high before finally pulling away making you let out a sigh of relief.

jay watches your red face, "filthy little girl, absolutely filthy," he tuts, his tongue swiping his lips to savour any remnants of you before he's standing tall—his hand reaching out to wrap around your throat once again.

you choke a whimper, your hands coming up to grab at his wrist when his grip tightens around your throat almost painfully. you struggle to breathe and although this should scare you, you felt yourself hush with excitement.

you twitch, "s-sir, in me. please," you whine out, begging to be filled to the brim with thick cock inside of you.

"you're still not satisfied?" he teases as he slowly strips himself of his briefs—letting them fall to the floor.

you shook your head, clenching around nothing as you watch the boy carefully.

"bend over then, let's see how good you take my cock."

and that's how you ended up pushed against the desk with your stomach pressed against the wooden surface and your hands pinned behind your back.

you could feel jays cool breath fan against your ear as his chest planted firmly against your back—disabling any movement from your behalf.

you could feel his length against you, his tip poking at your entrance as you whine in desperation.

"sir," you mewl softly, your head twisting slightly as you begin to wriggle in his grip.

jay chuckles lowly, his hand reaching out to firmly wrap itself around your throat to keep you from moving your head as well as serve as warning to stay still.

"so desperate for my cock," he keens, planting soft kisses on you exposed shoulder making you shiver.

"imagine what your little friends would think of if they were to find out that you were being fucked by me. fucked by the school's 'nerd.' what would they say, huh? their little friends getting put into her place by the boy she torments," he sneers as his grip on your neck tightens for a fraction making you gasp.

"you'd like that though, wouldn't you? being fucked into submission by me, letting your little friends watch?" he continues, his tone getting lower and lower.

"jay," you moan, he suddenly starts to push his tip into your entrance—your tight walls immediately fluttering around him.

jay shudders, your velvety walls comforting him as he slowly pushes in—inch by inch. he tried to move slowly so you wouldn't feel any pain or discomfort, but soon that idea was disposed of.

you didn't deserve to be treated with such care.

he slammed himself in without slowly coaxing you like he had originally planned, the sudden movement causing a scream to erupt from the back of your throat.

the stretch was painful yet so good. your walls fluttered ground him as he fucks into you, his balls slapping against your ass as the desk shook with each rough thrust.

jay groaned, your walls hugging him as he quickly uses his hand to cover your mouth— you were a moaning mess as he roughly thrusts into you.

your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you held onto the desk for support, mewls leaving your mouth every time he moved.

the stretch of his girth was painful yet pleasurable, the burning sensation only adding to the enjoyment.

"f-fuck, sir," you mewled, your voice coming out muffled due to jays hand covering your mouth.

he could feel beads of sweat roll down his chest and back as he picked up his pace, small groans occasionally leaving his mouth every time he felt your gummy walls clench around him.

you had your eyes shut as you took each thrust, your stomach coiling wildly as you clenched around his thick girth like a vice.

you could feel your stomach bulge with each movement, a high-pitched squeal leaving your mouth when jays hand comes down to land a sharp smack on your behind.

abandoning your mouth, his hands gripped your hips in a tight hold, holding them hard enough to leave bruises and marks.

"feel so good, __," he murmurs, his pace swiftly quickening as he watches your ass bounce against him with each stroke.

you trembled, your mind hazy as you searched through your brain to try and put some words together to respond—but nothing coming to mind.

"m'close," you finally says, your previous orgasm only adding to this one as you try to buck against him.

just as your lower stomach starts to tighten, a signal of her now close high—jay pulls out.

you gasp, your high dying down quickly as you turn your head around to look at the boy.

instead of explaining why he had pulled out so suddenly, he grabs your forearms. pulling you up so you were now standing—your legs shaking violently as you try to hold onto him for support.

he makes you face him, chests touching, before hooking his arms underneath your knees so you were no longer touching the ground—hiking you up onto the desk so he could stand in between your legs.

"it's sad how such a pretty thing has such a rotten inside," he uttered lowly, letting you wrap your legs around his waist.

in the moment you decided to not respond to him, letting his degrading words fly past as you whined—needy and desperate for a release.

his hand comes up to wrap squeeze in your cheeks, yanking your head close so your noses brushed against one another's.

he smirked when he felt you twitch in his grip, moving his face away slightly so he could sink two fingers into your mouth.

"suck," he demands, feeling your warm mouth engulf his digits—your tongue soft against his rough fingers.

he watches you carefully, his grip on her cheeks tightening ever so slightly making you whine as you struggle to take his digits in.

removing his grip from your face, he takes out his fingers before using that exact hand to land a semi-hard smack onto your cheek—your head flying to the side as you let out a cry of surprise and pain.

"a-ah," you cried, your teary eyes catching his own.

"pathetic," he stated, reclaiming his grip on your face to fish you in so his breath fanned against your face.

he could see it on your face, you enjoyed it.

jay laughs in disbelief, "fucking filthy bitch."

"is that why you hit others? you want to be treated the same way, hm?"

you moan at his words, clenching your thighs together before they're roughly spread wide again by jay—positioning himself at your entrance, slowly teasing you.

jay raises his eyebrows mockingly before pushing in, filling you to the brim once again as you struggles to take him fully.

"f-fuck..how are you still so tight," jay swears, shocked at why he struggled to push into your walls when he was fucking into you just a few minutes ago.

you hold yourself up by your elbows, letting him use you as he pleased—as long as you got off.

"you're fucking desperate, huh? needy bitch," he snaps with his top lip turned in a sneer.

you mewl when he snaps his hips a little too hard at one point, his grip on your hips bruising.

you tightened around him, clenching each time he moved making him hiss.

"stop clenching so hard slut," he hissed maliciously before reaching one hand over to tangle itself into your hair—yanking your head up so jay could press his lips against your own.

"t-to fast," you whimper in-between the kiss when the speed of his thrusts fasten, your body trembling and shaking as you hold onto his shoulders to keep yourself from collapsing.

"shut up, brat. you're going to take what i give you," his pace getting faster and his cock plunging even deeper.

he could tell you were close, the way your eyes shut and how your bottom lip wobbled—he knew.

he continued to bottom out, his high nearing as he lets out inaudible grunts. his stomach tightens with each thrust, the feeling of your tight velvety walls tightening around his girth making him go crazy.

"m'gonna cum...p-please can i cum?" you babble, unable to push out words.

"cum for me, brat. milk my cock, s-so good f'me."

he watches your head lull back, "i-i'm cumming..o-oh," you climax with a loud moan, your head tilted back with your eyes shut and your mouth in an 'o' shape.

"so good for me," jay mumbles roughly, his pace now punishing as he desperately chases his own high.

you begin to whine from overstimulation, clenching around his cock unintentionally.

he could feel his stomach swirl, you squeezing him tight only adding to his building pressure as he grips your hips in a punishing hold.

his eyes flutter before a loud groan pushes out of him, his orgasm strong as his pace slows down to slowly ride out his high.

you squeal when you feel him shoot his load into you, feeling his warm cum coat your walls.

you watch the boy with wide eyes, feeling him rub against your sensitive walls—watching how his eyes closed once he hit his climax.

you close your eyes, relishing in the feeling of being full. suddenly, you hear click. your eyes snap open, mouth falling agape when you realize that jay had taken a photo.

"w-wait."

you feel him pull out, suddenly feeling empty and hollow before your watching him pull on his clothes. you feel his cum dribble out of your worn out cunt, looking down to see it pooling out of you and onto the desk.

confused, you hop off of the desk.

big mistake, you immediately fall to the ground.

you whimper when you feel jays hand grip onto her bicep, pulling you up and letting you hold onto him as he continues to dress.

"d-did you just take a photo of me?" you ask desperately, your eyebrows furrowed and the pit in your stomach fills with dread.

"w-here are you going?" you squeak as you watch him button the last button on his previously wrinkle-free school shirt.

"home," he answers nonchalantly.

"b-but the photo?"

"and you should too, wouldn't want daddy dearest to file a missing person report," he teases, ignoring the questions regarding the photo he had taken.

you stare at him, "w-wait," you start only for jays glare to shut you up.

"shut up and clean yourself up, my cum is oozing down your leg you nasty bitch," he snaps before he's bending down to grab your clothes, handing them to you.

you hesitantly oblige, "w-what now?"

jay lets out a small sarcastic laugh, "what now?"

you nod, your body still shaking as you start to slide on your shirt—your bra long gone.

"now, you behave. you don't taunt, tease or bully, understand? or else-" he pulls out his phone, a picture of you fucked out with his dick still in you. your hair was messy and your lips swollen and read, marks scattered all of your upper body. "this gets sent around. got it?"

you nod slowly, swallowing harshly at his threat. your bottom lip wobbled as tears threatened to spill out of your eyes making jay coo. using two of his fingers to lift up your chin, he leans down to lick away the stray tears on your cheek, "don't cry sweetie, just don't be a bitch and you'll be fine."

he then grins, "i think i made you cum a few times, no?"

"h-huh?"

"'jays probably never made a girl cum before, he probably doesn't even know how to in the first place'," he mimicked with a lazy look.

"j-jay-" you start only for him to grab the nape of your neck to pull you close.

"listen to me and listen carefully brat, tomorrow you're going to apologize to me in front of everyone and you're going to do exactly as I say, understood?" he threatens, his eyes blazing daring you to defy him.

"or else, you know what," referring to the picture on his phone.

you whine at his harsh grip before nodding, "words brat."

"yes, sir."

"good."

he harshly lets go of you, your frail body toppling back slightly—bumping into the desk you were set on top of only a few minutes ago.

he starts to walk towards the door of the class, the keys that the teacher had trusted him with in his palm.

he reaches the door and grips the handle, stopping for a second to turn and look at you.

"oh, and don't wear panties tomorrow—i have a few things planned. have fun cleaning yourself up, __," he grins before leaving you behind.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

[vaheempire]

݁ᛪ༙ PARTIES ARE FOR LOSERS

dom!nerd!heehoon x reader 𓄧 (threesome)

♱⃓ synopsis your roommate, jay threw a welcoming party for you, probably for his own convenience. but those weren’t your thing, you were wallowing in your party. guests weren’t your cup of tea, not until mr. share-my-rank-one-title and mr. rank two arrive to give you a taste of what life should be.

⚠︎ warnings ! smut. mdni! mean!dom!sunghoon, soft!dom!heeseung, cannabis consumption, vapes & cigarettes, semi-public, unprotected. filth. double-penetration, inflicting pain, all three holes used (anal, p in v, throat-fucking)

☠︎ word count 5.1k

⋆˚࿔ XOXO, CIRCE. i had fun writing this and i hope u enjoy it as wellll! not proofread :(

you didn’t even want to be here, a cheap frat party thrown by your dorm mates as a welcome to you. its not your thing, you’d appreciate it if they just left you in silence with your books and homework, but no. it was a tradition, they said.

now, you’re here, trapped in the living room by people you’ve never seen in your entire life. stuck at a party thrown for you. “e..excuse… excuse me.” you silently said, squeezing yourself in between warm bodies. smoke filled the room up, not a corner untouched of that unpleasant smell.

once you got out to the balcony, it felt like heaven— fresh air, muffled sounds from the inside, just you and the cold breeze hitting your face. that lasted for only 31 seconds, you hear the sliding door open, “heeseung, don’t be a bitch. i’ll buy you a new one.” a cold voice starts, followed by a soft whine from the person he’s talking to, “dude, i bought that in miami, i can’t find good shit like that here.” 

you turned your head to see two men who look familiar conversing about… something? they acted like you weren’t there, like someone else wasn’t listening to the conversation they were having. you swore you’ve seen these two faces before. 

you turn your face back to the city lights as you start to recall all events you’ve had in uni, the basketball game? no… oh! maybe the football game? wait, no… the science fair? maybe they’re the assholes who caused the horrendous explosion of elephant toothpaste… no, that was the australian guy… you started to get warm on where you’ve seen them, it’s at the tip of your tongue, you just can’t prove it. 

“the thermodynamics quiz bee?” you whisper out loud, you didn’t realize it before the two men’s conversation came to a halt. you heard ruffling before a; “y/n?” 

how did they know your name? you turn to look at them, scanning both faces in a study, then that’s where it hit you. they were your opponents in the thermodynamics quiz bee! 

“what are you doing here?” the one in the black jacket asked, wait what’s his name… heejeung? hee… heebung! no, heeseung.

“oh, uhm… my dorm mates threw this for me, i just moved in yesterday.” you explained, trying to swallow your prideful smile after seeing their faces once again since you crushed their asses in that quiz bee. “how about you? what are you guys doing here?”

they both turn to look at each other, “oh, we sorta get in these stuff as a breather from our academics. it tends to get stressful.” the guy in the white jacket answered, pushing up his glasses, before shoving his hands down his pocket. you noticed his change of demeanor, he looked confused before looking down and pulling something out of his pocket. a small, bright green device.

“oh, shit.” he chuckles as he holds it up to heeseung’s face. the man turned to him, gasping rather loudly before snatching the device from him. “MY BABY!” he cried, holding it to his chest. 

you laugh at his reaction, how could a man ever love an inanimate object. “what’s that?” before you even asked, heeseung was already placing it in between his lips, taking a deep inhale as the device lights up from the bottom.

“try it, it’s green apple flavored,” he hands it to you, you shook your head. “oh, you don’t do these?” earning another shake of your head. “sunghoon, she doesn’t do these,” he told sunghoon in disbelief, holding up his vape.

“how are you surviving college?” he jokes, you giggled at the casualness you three held. it wasn’t your first time meeting, but it was the first time the three of you actually spoke like human beings and not debating on how entropy— okay, zip it.

you turn to them fully, heeseung’s face was turned to the side as he blew the smoke towards the cold air, sunghoon was puffing on the same device before handing it back to heeseung.

“won’t this be bad in your record?” you start, “i mean, it’s against school policy.” 

heeseung wanted to pinch your cheek, you were so cute, all over-aware and conscious. “it only goes bad in our record if we get caught.” heeseung was now leaning his head towards you.

the sliding door opened, “yo, jake just rolled out 17 joints, want some?” your roommate, jay says as his head pokes out the door, “how many you got?” sunghoon asked.

“i don’t know, man. jake just smoked one and he’s passed out. we got like… 15 left.” jay laughs, “it was a the good shit, i took a puff and it’s already kicking in.” 

the three of you all look at each other, before sunghoon spoke up, “give me 3.”, getting a nod from jay, his head disappearing then it pokes out once again alongside his hand reaching out 3 sticks of… something, when heeseung took them, placing one in between his lips. jay digs in his pocket, then his hand is up with a lighter sitting on his palm. sunghoon took the lighter as he lights up the stick in between heeseung’s lips, he grabs a stick from heeseung’s palm, lighting up his own. 

you can’t explain it, but something about the way they know their way around in this is making you feel hot. the way they move in synchronization like they’ve done this a million times, like it’s a routine. the way sunghoon lights heeseung’s joint first before his, the way heeseung’s eyes squint a bit when the smoke it traveling upwards, the way they twist the joint out in between their fingers. 

heeseung was leaning against the balcony, his face scrunching up to the sudden flavor engulfing his mouth. he hold out his palm to you, offering you the other stick, “try”. 

sunghoon handed the lighter back to jay, “alright, enjoy!” then he’s gone, and the door’s closed. it’s just the three of you again.

“i don’t know how,” god, you’re in college and you’ve never smoked or drink. embarrassing. it was cute to the two of them, though, how you’re so clueless with their reality, to what they actually do to handle stress, to what they are beyond their titles. sunghoon wasn’t that perfect-good-boy he turns out to be. heeseung wasn’t that boy who used to get the same gpa as you, both having your names at the first ranking. 

they’re just boys too, behind their excellent academic performances, their untouched student record, their top-student facade. they’re different like this. like, they turn off a switch in their brain that stops them from being the top students in your school. 

“i’ll teach you how, get closer.” heeseung pulls you closer to him. he sets down your joint, as he took his joint from his lips to hold it up to your face. “this is where you put your lips, you take a small inhale, then hold it there.”

“in my mouth?”

“no, in your lungs,” he says as he points to the middle part of your throat, “you should feel something here, hypopharyx, yeah? then exhale when i tell you to.”

when i tell you to. boy, did that do something to you. you close your lips on the joint heeseung was holding out. you follow the steps he instructed. sunghoon was watching intently behind heeseung. 

the feeling was unbearable, the taste was yuck, the heat was unpleasant, yet you held it in, feeling it burn just at the back of your throat, hypopharyx.

“wait.” heeseung instructed, “ok, exhale.” you do as he says, exhaling the smoke. it became thin, almost transparent as your lungs has filtered it out. “good girl, no coughing.”

“you sure you’ve never done this before?” sunghoon rolls his joint in between his fingers as he smiled. impressed on how you didn’t even cough.

“again?” heeseung asks, keeping it just by your face. “try to inhale more, and keep it longer. when it gets itchy and you feel like coughing when it gets to your throat, just swallow on your spit continuously, it’ll go away eventually.” you nod to his explanation.

you were taking small puffs here and there, until you end up in this current state: sunghoon was leaning against the glass door, heeseung was curled up in a ball on the floor, and you were in between them. you guys were laughing at nothing, car horns, the light switch, heeseung’s shoelaces.

you felt carefree, like the world was floating away from your hands, the heaviness you carry is now vanishing. you want to stay like this forever.

“sunghoon… my vape,” heeseung pouts as he retracts the device from his lips to let it go, his vape went tumbling on the floor. “it died.”

sunghoon laughed—no, wheezed at heeseung’s complaint before turning to you, “y/n, can you ask jay to grab my coat?” which you immediately comply.

you twist your body, reaching for the handle of the door to pull it to the right, you scan the living room, spotting jay next to which you assume is sunghoon’s coat. “jaaay! can you pass that?” you point at the coat. 

“what?” he asks, bringing his hand up to his ear, “the coat!” you yell, “the what?!” 

you’ve been pointing at the coat, your back was straining from the twist, so you adjusted your position, you get on your knees, bending down to reach for the coat yourself, you wearing a skirt completely slipped off your mind.

heeseung, whose cheek is pressed against the concrete had a full view of your ass and green panties. “holy shit,” he muttered, catching sunghoon’s attention, now realizing what heeseung was so amused about, the way you looked so sexy this way, your back was naturally arched, the wind helping the both of them to get a better view of your ass, they were enjoying this.

“thank you!” you giggle, closing the door before going back to your previous position, your legs were clamped together as you straightened them again. “here”, you pass the coat to sunghoon, who immediately acted like he didn’t saw anything he wasn’t supposed to see. 

his hand searching for something in each pocket, he took out a box of cigarettes and a pocket lighter, and tossed it to heeseung, who gasped and smiled widely. 

“yey! thank youuuuuuu,” heeseung opened the box and took a cigarette, placing it in between in lips, he tried reaching for the lighter but it was too far, “your aim is shit, sunghoon.” his head was lowering. god, he’s so gone.

you laugh at heeseung, taking the lighter, lightly grabbing heeseung’s jaw, turning his head to face the lighter. despite his fucked out state, he got to ignite it before the cigarette died. 

you turn to sunghoon, “can i have one as well?” 

“take all you want, princess.” you smiled at the nickname, the three of you were now careless, with your actions, your words, your thoughts.

you were half-way into finishing your cigarette, the two boys you were with had their eyes closed, too high to stay awake. you took heeseung’s cigarette butt from his lips and burnt it on the ground, “mm” heeseung muttered.

you suddenly felt a hand on your thigh, “let me have some of that,” sunghoon says with his eyes closed shut. you took the cigarette to his lips, and he turned his head to the other side. 

“hm?” you question his sudden decline, sunghoon opened his eyes, his eyes blood-shot red and hooded. “get on top of me,”

“what?—“ then you felt his hands grip your him to place you on top of his lap, “you smell good, y/n,” 

you were shocked with the sudden sensation, you felt so hot despite the cold air whishing your whole body. 

“take a hit.” he instructed to which you did, then he took both your cheeks in one hand, squeezing it and letting it hover of his, you took this as a sign to exhale. he slightly opened his mouth to inhale the smoke you were letting out.

you did this multiple times until the cigarette reached its end. sunghoon’s hands were now toying the hem of your skirt. 

“you’re no fair,” you both turn to heeseung who was now lifting himself up, knee-walking towards the both of you, he then grabbed the end on your skirt and lifted it up, the sudden cold breeze sending shivers to every nerve you have. 

“you’ve got… really… cute panties on, hehe” he giggled, now pressing a soft kiss to your earlobe, the sensation was crazy, his hot breath made your back arch. 

“argh— don’t do that.” sunghoon said, tightening his grip on the fat of your waist. 

“let’s take this to your room?” heeseung peppered kisses down to your shoulders, your eyes fluttering shut.

“get up.” sunghoon instructed to both you and heeseung who was quick with it, he was lifting you up by your arms. you lock your index finger with heeseung, doing the same with sunghoon when he got up, leading them to your room.

they gave you no time to breathe, sunghoon locking the door behind him and pushing you to your bed. “heeeey, i can’t have outside clothes on my bed,” you whine. 

heeseung pulled you up to sit, “well, take your outside clothes off, then.” his voice was low and laced with lust. you were out of your mind, you started by taking your panties off first, shocking both men kneeling before you. your panties pooled by your ankle, sunghoon shook them off, and touched the pad of your underwear.

“wet? really?” he smiled, he tossed it aside and started to place a hand up your thigh, caressing the soft of your skin. you were reaching for your shirt when heeseung stopped you, “do it slowly, put on a show f’me.” 

the more it happened, the more confidence you get, you run a hand through your hair, letting it sit on the left side, you lick your lips before slowly lifting your shirt, just by your bra. heeseung grunts and shifts in his place. you lift your shirt over your head painfully slow. 

you threw the shirt over his shoulder, instantly getting a low groan from him, “fuck you.”

you stand up and turn around. you kneeled and bent your back, waving your bare ass on their faces, “can you help me? can’t reach,” you fake pout, looking at the both of them. 

you could hear sunghoon’s low growl before undoing the clasp of your skirt, and pulling the slider down. you could feel his hand grope your hips through the skirt before he pulls it down. 

fuck, they could smell your arousal. “jesus christ.” heeseung reached out to unclasp your bra, letting it freely fall down your shoulders. he takes your bra from your chest and throws it on the floor. 

you were just face down your bed, your elbows holding you up, none of you spoke. you sorta tensed, why are they so silent. just as you were about to speak up, you feel a quick, hot, and wet stripe up your pussy. 

“aah— fuck! what the—“ you’re now pulled up by your shoulders, looking up to see sunghoon towering over you, shirtless. you catch every dip of his abdomen, his skin white as snow. this was truly a sight. heeseung noticed the way the two of you were staring at each other deeply that you two didn’t even hear him pulling his pants down.

he grabbed a fistful of your hair, making you face him. “can’t forget about me now, do you?” he was slapping the tip of his cock on your cheek. “please me, baby.” the words spilling from his mouth like smooth wine. 

you shifted on your knees, now facing him. you started to pepper little pecks on his raging tip, making it twitch, “agh— don’t tease.” 

“‘m not teasing,” you flash a sweet smile to him, you hear unbuckling behind you. you kept on digging your tongue lightly at the slit of his cock, “god, fuck. i can’t— can’t… do…” heeseung stammers, his hand reaches your scalp again, fisting your hair, enough to hurt.

“stop,” sunghoon orders, pulling you off heeseung. he pushed you on your bed, forced you to lie down with your head hanging off the edge. “you’ve ever been eaten out before?” he asks.

you muffle a small ‘no’, sunghoon smiles. “well, i’ll make you feel how good it is. is that okay with you?” he was walking towards the other end of the bed. he was holding onto your ankles, separating them.

heeseung was now positioning himself in front of you, “hi,” he smiles. you feel comforted by the sudden sweetness, he bends down in front of your face, facing you. “you’re so pretty,” he admits before closing the gap between you. he was actually kissing you upside down. 

the kiss was so messy, full of teeth clashing, tongues everywhere, it was a call for desperation. your hands were traveling up to hold onto his neck, when you suddenly feel the wet warmth laying flat on your cunt. 

“mmmph!” you moan onto the kiss, you feel heeseung smile onto the kiss as grabbing chuckles against your folds, sending a vibration everywhere. you pull away from the kiss, “aah! oh, so goooooood.” 

heeseung stands up, grabbing the base of his cock, squeezing it tightly in between his index and thumb. “mmm, let’s finish off what we started, shall we?” he snickers.

you let you jaw fall slack at an instant, your tongue following suit. heeseung was playing with your tongue with the head of his dick, “oh, such a pretty face.” he reaches for his phone that was placed on your bed.

“smiilee!” he laughs as he snaps pictures of different angles, your face, your tits, his dick just laying heavy on your mouth, sunghoon lapping at your pussy. “fuck, i’m gonna jerk off to this.”

“shend ith to me, hmm,” sunghoon speaks over your core, you moan loudly at the shooting sensations. heeseung took the opportunity to shove inches in your mouth, muffling your sounds. 

you immediately gag onto him, the feeling unfamiliar. “i’m gonna show no mercy to this pretty little mouth of yours, yeah? just dig your nails here if it gets too much,” he guided your hand on his thigh. 

heeseung pulled out fully, roughly rubbing his head up and down your glistening lips, it felt so good for him, “aaaaargh! haha, god. oh, god.” he exclaims before shoving his entire length down your throat. 

“mmmhphh!!” you squeal, hand flying to heeseung’s thigh, not squeezing. he pulls out again, then slams back in. each time he does it, you feel lightheaded. the way he’s so rough with you, the way he’s knocking out every ounce of oxygen from you body, the way you could hear him moan. 

sunghoon on the other hand, felt your pussy fluttering and your clit hardening against his tongue, he laps at it slowly and precisely. your hips trying to chase his tongue unconsciously when it was away. 

“mhf clowsh, mmmh!” you gurgle against heeseung, your own spit flowing down you face, reaching just below your eye. sunghoon pushed his index finger in, “argh, so tight.” 

that was pushing you over the edge, the knot in your stomach about to unravel, you were moaning uncontrollably at the feeling. your whole body was tingling. when you felt sunghoon pulled away, his tongue, his finger, his whole body is away from you.

your hands slap against heeseung’s thighs, your nails digging onto his flesh. you were edged, edged so bad it hurt. “ow! her nails’ sharp.” heeseung pulled your hands away from him, you were now thrashing your legs, knuckles turning white from gripping at the sheets.

heeseung was pounding your face, even bringing his hand down to your neck just to squeeze. “oh, that feels so— so good, fuck, so good… god, i’m close.”

you were crying from the pain you felt at your throat, the loss of pleasure, everything. “mmffmp, shtop!” you begged, running your hands over heeseung’s thigh, desperate for a breath.

heeseung laughs, “you know what to do when you want me to stop, right?” his thrusts were getting sloppier, his own knees were buckling. “just— just hold on a bit longer, okay? i’m gonna shoot my load down… down this pretty pretty throat of yours.” 

you were starting to black out, your jaw going numb before you felt sunghoon crawling on top of you, “mmmmfhhh!” you were whining against heeseung.

“don’t worry, baby. my outside clothes are off,” sunghoon assured before you felt his hard-on grinding against your thigh. you were feeling so many things at once. sunghoon signaled heeseung to remove his hand from your throat.

he crawled up higher, before he licked a stripe up your neck, biting at the thin, stretched-out skin, then sucking it. it earned a moan from both you and heeseung.

“fuck! i feel it on my dick, dude.” heeseung throws his head back. “don’t— don’t stop… please, fuck.” sunghoon laughed at the desperation. sunghoon brought a hand up on your nipple, twisting and pinching at it, while he was sucking hickeys on your throat. heeseung was a moaning mess, and so were you. your hands fly down to sunghoon’s back, scratching at it. “oh, her nails are sharp, fuck. keep doing that f’me.”

“i’m cum— cumming. fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck!” heeseung's dick was pulsing in your throat, you felt how deep he was. he was shaking, wheezing, and his face was contorted, his mouth opened, his eyes shut closed. 

you gagged violently when heeseung was pulling out, nudging at your uvula. “AAGH!” you screamed before sucking deep and heavy breaths, heeseung’s cum spilling out your mouth. he scooped his cum that was trickling down your cheek, coating both his index and middle finger. he brought it up to sunghoon’s plump lips. 

sunghoon looked up at him, in shock. yet, he still stuck his tongue out, and lapped at heeseung’s cum-coated fingers. “that’s… fucking… disgusting…” you say in between breaths, laughing. 

heeseung pulls away from sunghoon, as the latter gets off you and pulls you by your legs by the edge of the bed, your head was now laid flat on the mattress, the back of it was now straining from the sudden change of position. 

“sit up.” he ordered, he was licking his lips, it took you a while to process and do what he said. you lift yourself up in pain. sunghoon grabs both your thighs and lift you up.

heeseung crawled on your bed, sitting just below you before sunghoon placed you onto heeseung’s lap.

you can’t process anything that was happening. until you felt sunghoon rubbing his tip up and down on your folds. “please us.” sunghoon said before shoving the head in. 

“OW! no, stop… stop, wait. wait, please, wait.” you were babbling sweet nothings, your misery was egging sunghoon on more. he pushed and pushed in until he was bottomed out. “p—pull… pull out, can’t—can’t take… it, no…” 

“that’s crazy, baby. your pussy’s sucking me in just right.” he pushed his body onto you, grabbing you up again, you felt heeseung’s head on your pussy too.

“no, no. not two, i can’t.” you were begging as you gripped on sunghoon’s meaty arm. causing him to chuckle. 

“oh, silly girl. of course, not.” sunghoon placed a kiss on your lips, the smell was compelling, the mix of weed, cigarettes, and cum was pushing sunghoon over the edge, he could cum just from that. he pulled you in deeper, licking the inside of your mouth, he laughed at your desperation when you immediately opened your mouth up for his tongue.

heeseung was rubbing his tip on your pussy, before dipping down to the curve of your ass hole. “it’s so fucking warm.” he was gliding his tip in your ass, “relax for me, baby. it’ll be easier for the three of us.” 

‘the three of us’, it kept replaying in your head. the thought of it was filthy, having sex with two men at the same time, having two dicks shoved in you. your mind was so cloudy, you didn’t notice the pain you should be feeling when heeseung shoved the head of his dick in your ass. “oh, fuck, it’s so tight, my dick might fall off.” he laughed.

you now felt the excruciating pain, like you were being sawn in half vertically. “heeseung, stop.” you said as you pulled away from sunghoon, a string of saliva connecting your lips. 

“you can take this, it’s mkaay.” he peppered kisses down your back as he slowly pushed in deeper. 

“mmmfph! i caaaan’t, it hurts so much.” you cry, sunghoon took this as a sign to move, to hush the current pain you were feeling. he pulled out all the way, the tip of head just resting in between your folds, you whine at the loss, closing your eyes. 

heeseung stared at sunghoon for a signal. sunghoon looked down at your core before looking up at heeseung, he nodded. sunghoon thrusted while pushing you down onto heeseung’s dick, your ass cheeks slapping onto heeseung thighs.

“FUCK!” your eyes shoot open, tears now falling down your cheeks, you didn’t know what to feel, heeseung hurts, sunghoon feels good, your nipples hurt, your throat aches. 

“shh, it’s okay,” heeseung moans behind you, you were crying onto sunghoon’s bare chest who was already thrusting into you. heeseung stayed in that position for a while. 

heeseung tried lifting you up, then bringing you down slowly, you moaned at the feeling, “so… good…” you whispered. 

“what was that, baby?” sunghoon asked, panting. his pace was quickening. “say it again, tell heeseung how it feels.”

you turn your head, meeting heeseung’s jaw, “mm, seungie… s—so good, you feel so… good, good, mhmmph.” you were so gone, you press open-mouthed kisses on his chiseled jaw. 

heeseung moans at the nickname, you were so submissive, so sweet. “i know, baby. it feels good for me too.” 

you smile at heeseung’s reply, leaning your back pressed against his chest. you lock eyes with sunghoon, staring deep into his dark eyes, “how about you, hoonie?” 

sunghoon grunts as he looks up, “hm? what about me?” he says in between his quiet groans. you bring a hand up to his mouth, forcing your middle and ring finger in his mouth. you were light with your actions, just coating your fingers in his spit. he bit your finger lightly before pulling it out. 

you bring that same hand down to your swollen clit, rubbing small 8’s onto it. you moan loudly at the sensation it brought you, “mm, does it feel good for you too?” you blink your wet eyelashes at him.

he swore he almost came to that, “of course, you’re squeezing me so good,” he grinds his hips deeper, hitting that spongey part in your pussy. you held onto him, arching your back at the pleasure that pound brought you. 

“oh, yeah? right here?” he smirked as he hit it continuously, you clenched around the both of them, heeseung grips on your hips. 

“sweetheart, don’t do that. i’m gonna cum.” he whispered, the tightness you suddenly made and the feeling of sunghoon’s balls slapping onto his was getting him closer. you were clenching on the both of them on purpose. 

“cum in me, then…” you said as you grind your hips in different directions, it was so messy but perfect, some sways pleased sunghoon, some sways hit heeseung’s soft spot. 

sunghoon’s thrust were so sloppy, you could hear your own slick, “cum with me, baby. please, please, oh, god.” 

you were so close, sunghoon’s grunts and heeseung’s moans were music to your ears, it just pushed you more on the edge. 

“hoonie, don’t stop this time, please? i’m gonna cum with you, i promise. just— just don’t stop please.” you begged. that made sunghoon’s dick twitch, ‘i promise’, you were so desperate. 

“i won’t stop, baby. i’m so close, so… close.” 

heeseung’s hold on you was losing, “i’m— i’m cum—cumming, cumming… oh, fuck!” you felt the warm feeling drip down your ass, that’s what did it to you. 

“me too! i’m cumming! oh— i’m… mmmph!” you cried out, squeezing down on sunghoon as you came. 

sunghoon thrusted onto you one last time before his whole body shook, biting onto your shoulder. “argh, fuck!” he was sloppily thrusting, riding his high. 

heeseung collapsed on the bed, causing you to fall back on him, sunghoon doing the same. the three of you laid on top of each other. 

sunghoon pulled out, watching his cum drip out of you, he bent down to lick the cum away, before shoving his tongue in you. 

“mmm…” you whined, the feelings were too much. heeseung was still in you, unable to move.

he flipped the both of you to your sides, still staying in you. “i can’t pull out, i’m gonna sleep.” he murmurs in your ear, spooning you.

sunghoon stood up, going to the bathroom to wash his dick off, “i’m gonna smoke.” he announced before picking his clothes up, and wearing them again.

you and heeseung stay in the same position when you heard the door closing. both of you were drifting away when you heard your door open again. “you gotta window in ‘ere?” sunghoon asks. 

you lazily pointed at your window, just in front of your bed. 

“i’m smoking here, i missed the both of you when i got out.” sunghood said as he placed the cigarette in between his lips.

“you fucking softie.” heeseung sleepily teased, you laugh at the both of them. 

“get up from there and smoke with me, asshole.” sunghoon rolled his eyes at the both of you before turning his back at you, he’s now leaning at the edge of your window, arms crossed before him.

heeseung whispered into your ear, “wanna smoke?”. earning a nod from you, “i’m gonna stay in you, okay?” 

“mkey,” you giggle as heeseung was hugging your hip before sitting up. you were on his lap, his dick still throbbing in you, “pass us that.”

sunghoon turned around, the sight in front of him made him hard again. you were on heeseung’s lap, you legs tightly shut. your tits were perky and red, hickeys covered your neck and chest, your hair was collected at one side. heeseung’s chin on your shoulders, his arms wrapped around your waist. 

the two of you were patiently waiting for him to pass the cigarette. 

“get off of each other, god damn.” sunghoon passed the cigarette to you before turning around. 

“don’t act all innocent, i saw your dick stand up in those pants.”

[blkkizzat]

❝ HIS CINDERELLA CAUSE I MAKE IT FIT ! ❞              ⤷ Enjin x Fallen Spherite!Reader

>>>>>> Apparently Enjin has all the 'luck' when it comes to finding Spherites in No Man's Land. This time he's found you—a stuck-up Spherite noble—cast out with the trash. You're prissy, needy and an overall pain in his ass. Definitely not his type—but that slutty pussy sure is. ♡

>>>>>> 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢 𝟏𝟖+ for filthy enjin smut. enjin & reader are delulu & down bad. big dick!enjin. size queen!reader. bimbo!reader. sex under the influence. public sex. breeding. bjs. enjin is overall diabolical. but there's also a bit of plot too with some romance/fluff/humor. no spoilers for anime/manga. >>>>>> 𝐰𝐜: 13.1k

𝐚𝐧: major special shoutouts to @honeybunnnnie my trash daddy partner in crime, who beta'd for me and gave me lots of good lil' gems I incorporated here. we share one horny brain cell when it comes to this man and the amount of headcanons we have made based on this that I didn't even include is INSANE lmfao.

You aren’t Enjin’s type. 

That much is certain the moment he stumbles upon you after being called to check out a disturbance in No Man’s Land. Scanning the terrain of garbage, Enjin wonders if he’s hallucinating.

Still high from the night before—or maybe there’s a leak in his full face?

Either way he had to be tripping absolute balls right now because what the hell else could explain the giant kaiju-like plushie with bunny ears, wide beady eyes, and jagged teeth ripping apart trash beasts in the distance like they were wet paper towels?

But blazed or not, Enjin still has a job to do. Umbreaker sweeps him across the trash dunes in a speedy blur, but by the time he arrives he is already too late and the show is over. 

All that’s left is you: a young woman passed out in a pile of demolished trash beast remains and other junk. The giant kaiju-like plushie—now inanimate and no bigger than a hand—lay beside you tethered to your person by a keyring. 

Happening upon another giver in No Man’s Land wasn’t out of the ordinary, sure, but if Enjin thought he was high from seeing your jinki in action he had to be damn near in the clouds once he recognized your clothes.  

Similar to when Enjin discovered Rudo, he could immediately tell by your dress you are a Spherite. But unlike the threadbare attire of the scrappy tribesmen teen, yours practically screams wealth. They are the finest clothes Enjin has ever laid eyes on. Appearing as if they are woven from gold itself, despite the fresh layer of grime that settled on them.

You aren’t just any ol’ Spherite—you’re a Spherite noblewoman.

Keh, interesting. 

With a shake of his head Enjin scoops you up, heading back to HQ. They aren’t gonna believe this…

Enjin digs out a backup mask from his satchel—clearly not made for your face, because it slides right off. With an annoyed sigh, he holds it in place himself. Guess that’s his job now… at least until you wake up.

Although Enjin soon discovers a pattern of how unnecessarily difficult Spherites can be upon arriving to the Abyss—as the first thing you do upon waking in Enjin’s arms is to slap the everloving dogshit out of him. 

Fuck, you have a mean right hand. 

Enjin tongues a tooth to make sure it’s still there. 

“Let me go this instant, you filthy kidnapping degenerate! I demand you to take me home!” You cry out. 

Tears fog up the mask on your face as you clearly mistook Enjin for some kind of criminal with his ‘full face’ on. Enjin sighs, tightening his grip on you and taking the not-so-painless beating you’re dishing out until you reach the nearest city. 

The very second you both are in a habitable area for breathing, Enjin unceremoniously dumps you to the ground. He catches the mask, yet he leaves you to fall straight on your ass. The fall shocks you but Enjin’s sure what’s really got you stunned is the strange bustling city surrounding you.

Removing his fullface, Enjin crouches down to eye-level with you. Overwhelmed and overstimulated by the foreign place, your eyes dart around helplessly. You’re frantic, looking everywhere for some sort of bearing of where you are and avoiding the man in front of you.

Yet Enjin just waits, clicking his tongue and rocking back on his heels, for you to quiet your hysterics enough for him to get a word in.

When your eyes, still wide with panic, finally meet, he has the nerve to raise a brow—like you’re the one being dramatic and not the guy who literally kidnapped you.

“So, as you may have noticed by now…this ain’t the Sphere,” Enjin says, balancing a cigarette between his lips. 

You look at him skeptically—he says it like it’s nothing, while your world is actively falling apart. What is he even talking about?!

“I know this ain’t the welcome wagon you posh Spherites are used to but…”

Enjin pauses, exhaling smoke to the sky. Your gaze follows up, widening once you see the oddly shaped dome covering the city, a strange yellow fog in the atmosphere.

“....welcome to the Abyss, Girlie. Name’s Enjin.” 

Blankly staring at Enjin, you say nothing. The both of you in a mini stare down. Although you’re the first to give by suddenly bursting into sobs.

Rolling his eyes, a thought briefly flashes in Enjin's head that he should have just left you for the raiders. Hell, he could still leave you now—you’re calling way too much attention to yourself.

However, Enjin also figures that with you all but swimming in luxury on the Sphere, you probably thought of the Pit—your so-called Hell, or its inhabitants as mere fairytale.

Enjin’s inkling is confirmed when you calm down enough to piece together that your now ex-husband had hired a bunch of shady tribesmen to kidnap and dispose of you—all to collect your inheritance. 

Yeah, not your fault.  Enjin thinks and cuts you a break. 

For your own sake, Enjin somehow convinces you to come back to Cleaner HQ with him. He can’t return you to the Sphere himself—but he knows another Spherite who’s trying to make their way back. That small glimmer of hope is enough to lift your spirits, just barely. This time, you follow him willingly—though you still cry the entire way to HQ.

Shame how prone to hysterics you are, otherwise Enjin actually thinks you’re pretty hot. Noting how the expensive silk of your dress clings so damn well to your every curve. He’d sell your clothes while you were near the shopping district—but unlike Rudo, he doubts he could talk you out of them. 

At least—not yet.

But that thought is drastically short lived as Enjin spends more time in your presence. Sure, you could have gotten along. You could’ve even been Enjin’s type. Yet there’s one glaring problem: 

You’re an annoying, needy-ass brat.  

Besides looks, you tick off nearly every one of his dealbreakers. You’re ditzy, dependent and whiny. Basically Enjin’s nightmare.

Plus your snobby little ass never once thanked nor apologized to him over the following weeks.

Not after he saved you.

Not after he brought you back to HQ where you were welcomed with skeptical, yet open arms—as a new, very reluctant (you had no other options really) recruit in-training.

And you certainly never thanked Enjin, even after all his shit luck, when he was assigned to be your teacher and look after your haughty ass. You have the most indignant pout on your face when Corvus announces that since Enjin found you, you're Enjin’s problem.

“You have to be kidding me? I’m stuck with Trashy Poppins here!?”

“Yo, Trashy—what!?” The reference doesn’t land with Enjin but he knows it isn’t good.

Semiu nods curtly in agreement of the pairing, amused that Enjin finally has someone to keep him on his toes as she ushers you off to get settled in.

The fuck?! 

Lamenting being stuck is supposed to be Enjin’s line. Enjin had figured the logical move was to pair you with Zanka—the closest thing to nobility among the Cleaners—and let you bond with Rudo, a fellow Spherite, even if he was a tribesman.

But it doesn’t take long to realize neither boy can handle a grown ass woman like you. One flutter of your lashes and they’re useless saps—like the big sister he never had, you could soothe Rudo’s worst moods with a mere head pat. 

While Zanka, older and appreciating your more ‘robust’ qualities, trips over his own tongue trying to talk to you.

Both ready to do anything just to earn a few sweet coos—unless someone steps in.

It had to be Enjin. He was the only one who could ‘resist’ your charms.

Still, Enjin’s got his work cut out for him when it comes to you—especially training you for combat and figuring out how the hell you’re supposed to use that so-ugly-it’s-almost-cute vital instrument.

He tries not to judge. Really, he does. Jinki are personal—he knows that better than anyone. But still…the fact that you even have one? That’s wild.

A Spherite? A noble Spherite, no less—the same pompous assholes who treat the Abyss like a dumping ground—actually caring enough about something to pump it full of anima?

Yeah, that’s impressive, he’ll give you that. What wasn’t though was the name you gave the lil thing: Bubu.

Tsk. Wack as hell. Vital instruments deserve names with some bite. Something like—Umbreaker.

Still, credit where it’s due—you’re picking things up faster than expected. 

However, that doesn’t spare him from your nonstop bitching, though. The complaints come daily: the strange smells your hair absorbs, the absence of your sacred skincare routines, not being able to take a 30 minute shower, and how everything down here always tastes just a little off.

But the most absurd? The cherry blossoms.

You complain the most about not being able to frolic in your lush, petal-covered garden full of rows of cherry blossoms. Enjin’s never even seen a damn tree like that, let alone the acres of grass and flowers you describe like some bedtime fairytale. You haughtily anoint yourself as a floral herbalist, an expert when it comes to your pretty little flowers.

It’s shit like that on top of everything else that irks Enjin when it comes to you.

And yet?

Enjin thinks the most irritating thing about you is the fact that he can’t seem to stay away from you. 

Sure, you’re annoying as fuck—but in spite of his own objections, Enjin keeps finding ways to keep your time occupied. He makes up excuses to train you longer and drags you along on missions that are solely meant for him. 

Moreover, since you can never keep that pretty little mouth shut, anyone you meet clocks you as a Spherite within seconds—which means you need Enjin’s constant protection, whether you like it or not.

Enjin ends up spending less time drinking or chasing women, finding a far more amusing pastime instead—the way your face twists in indignation every time the Ground doesn’t live up to your so-called “noble standards.” 

He gets a kick out of it, really. Agitating you on purpose, just to watch you squirm.

“Goddamnit, Enjin! Watch it!” 

You’d shriek every time your short skirt went flying from a sudden gust of wind he’d whip up with Umbreaker. Enjin saves that lil trick for No Man’s Land when the others’ backs are turned.

“That’s Enjin-sensei to you, Princess.” 

“Choke—slowly, Trashy Poppins.”

You’d lunge for his mask like you actually meant to rip it off, but at 6 '3, Enjin’s tall enough that you never have a chance at reaching it. It’s all worth it too—Enjin’s already got every pastel scrap of lace you own burned into memory, each one tucked away like a reward for getting under your skin.

It’s a little sadistic, sure—the way he taunts you nonstop, delighting in soiling that polished image of yours to grind you into the dirt of the ground right along with him. 

There’s a fire in your eyes every time Enjin dubs you as “Your Royal Trash Princess”—or just “TP” if he’s feeling lazy. You never fail to rise to his bait, eager to prove yourself—and prove him wrong.

Enjin feels he’s owed a bit of amusement for all his troubles.

Doesn’t mean anything.

Yet the more Enjin pushes, the harder it is to ignore that your bratty spark isn’t just an attitude problem. It’s energy. Real, raw passion. The kind that could actually cultivate anima. He sees it best when you’re snapping at him, flushed and defiant, too stubborn to back down.

It’s trouble to be sure, but fuck if Enjin doesn’t love coaxing it out of you.

All it took this time to get you going was him doubting your so-called knowledge of plants and remedies— “what kinda ‘floral herbalist’ hasn’t toked one?”  

So now here you are, in the HQ lounge, about to smoke your first joint as a ‘pre-game’ to the happy hour Corvus organized for all the Cleaners.

You and Enjin sit shoulder to shoulder on a worn, black quilted-leather sofa that’s seen better days. The cushions creak as you nervously smooth your skirt and settle in, unhooking your jinki—Bubu—from your belt to set her gently on the table.

Enjin rolls a few joints with unhurried precision—like he’s got all the time in the world, and watching you squirm is part of the ritual.

“Bet ya didn’t have anything like this in your lil’ garden, eh TP?” Enjin quips, breaking the silence.

Nose already upturned, your face scrunches as Enjin tosses an extra bud from his stash into your open palms. You hated the nickname ‘TP’ most of all, too easily mistaken for ‘toilet paper’ and Enjin knows that.

You shoot Enjin a dirty look before letting your focus drift back to the brittle sprig in your hands—the first real plant you’ve touched since becoming a Ground-dweller.

You think you actually recognize it. 

Back on the Sphere, your family was among the wealthiest, and your garden was massive. You took pride in your green thumb—like Delmon, whose garden you’ve been meaning to ask about. You want to help, if only to see what kind of plants can survive in conditions this toxic. But Enjin never gives you the space—always hovering, always cutting in before you can finish a full conversation.

You brush off those thoughts but your frown stays as your fingers trace the bud’s dry veins. Even for a dehydrated sample, it feels wrong—brittle in a way that hints of sickness. 

“Hmm. We had something like this—I think. But it’s just another weed.” You say shrugging.

“Heh,” Enjin smirks at your cluelessness, “Would you believe me if I told you ‘weed’ is exactly what we call it, Princess?”

You roll your eyes at the inordinately simple name. It probably has a proper scientific designation—but expecting Enjin to know it? Please.

“We always uprooted them—weeds are unsightly in gardens, you know. A weed, let alone one sick as this, would definitely be pruned right away so as to not syphon nutrients from the other plant life.”

“HAH?!”  

Mid-seal on his joint, Enjin stops cold, staring at you like you just dared to commit some sort of sacrilege before exhaling a theatrical sigh, shaking his head in pure betrayal.

He can’t believe Spherities are probably pissing away the dankest shit ever cultivated. The thought was maddening.

When Enjin’s eyes do meet yours again, there's no amusement as he takes a rather chastising tone with you.

“Princess, for your own good, never repeat that in front of anyone down here…I mean it.”

You huff, but Enjin doesn’t blink—just starts sealing the joint again, eyes never leaving you as his tongue drags slowly across the edge of the paper.

You squirm, and that’s all the reward he needs. 

“See somethin’ you like?” Enjin drawls, holding the finished joint out toward you like it’s a gift—and not a trap with your name written all over it.

Turning on teacher mode, Enjin decides to school you.

“I know we mostly have ‘reggie’ down here, but still, it’s worth its weight in gold for its purposes. Not just for fun ya know—chronic pain, nausea, anxiety—gives a bit of relief from the ailments of Abyss-living you Spherites have so graciously bestowed on us.”

From his pocket, Enjin produces a lighter, shoulders curling as he bows into the flame to set it alight.

Your eyes flick over the sinewy stretch of Enjin arms, the way his jacket strains across his shoulders—reminding you just how solid Enjin really is beneath all that shapeless fabric. Built like a weapon, hiding in plain sight.

You watch as his ringed fingers lift the joint to his lips. Drawing in a slow, steady breath, Enjin sinks back into the sofa like gravity’s got a tighter hold on him than usual. Smoke pools in his chest before slipping out in a long, deliberate exhale.

His gaze follows it, distant—like he’s chewing on thoughts far heavier than anything you said… but somehow still set off by it.

“That’s the problem with you Spherites….you don’t see things the way they are—you see things the way you are.” 

Enjin chuffs at his own words, closing his eyes to let his high settle. Not even completely stoned yet and he’s already spouting off pseudo philosophical one-liners.

“Everything else is collateral, amirite?”

Ouch.

Toeing at the floor, you sulk in silence. Wounded from the verbal licks Enjin just dealt you. Mulling over his words in silence though, you know it isn’t that simple. Horticulture can be complicated even in the most ideal conditions. Just because a plant is viable doesn’t mean it belongs in every garden—some plants are just incompatible.

However…

You sit silently, your teeth worrying your bottom lip as you study the brittle bud in your palm.

…that doesn’t make it worthless.

Instead of exploring any potential use, you tossed the so-called "weed" out—just like everything else the Sphere deemed useless. Not even considering how valuable it could be. You can see why Enjin wouldn't want you repeating that mistake. Enough people already looked at you with disdain as it is. 

Sure there’s a lot of things you miss about it, mostly superficial things that had to do with vanity, but overall life up there was super sterile and dull. You’d never say it out loud but you are glad you fell, it was hard on the ground but it was liberating.

Sighing, you quietly concede. You hate anytime Enjin actually has a point though. It’s the worst thing imaginable—for your pride and for his already unbearable ego.

Cracking an eye open, Enjin curses under his breath. Switching tactics, he decides to replace the long look on his Trash Princess’s face. Annoyance would do just fine. Besides, there was no need for you to pout over it, you actually had a shot at redemption here… heh, the kind that might just work out in his favor, too.

“Y’knowwwww, we’re always learnin’ better ways to grow things down here, faster too...”

Enjin moves so quietly, you don’t realize how close he is until you turn—and he’s right in your face, barely a breath away. Swiping his ringed thumb across your cheek, Enjin’s touch is surprisingly tender. However his expression is entirely obnoxious, full of amusement from how fast your pouty little face flusters.

“...could be a nice little hobby that would do alotta good…and if anyone could figure out how to grow this shit properly down here—”

Enjin plucks at the heat of your warm cheeks, pinching just enough to tease and drag the moment into something more lighthearted.

“—I do believe it could be you—Trash Princess.”

Your eyes catch something deeper than just teasing in his golden gaze—but before you can dwell on it, instinct kicks in. You jerk back, swatting his hand away, shoving whatever that was out of your mind.

Enjin just laughs, unbothered, as you glare at him.

“And why can’t you get Delmon to do it?” you counter, arms folding across your chest. By now, you’ve learned Enjin usually has an angle for everything.

Right on the mark, for a beat, Enjin actually pauses. He hadn’t expected you to bring up the obvious—Delmon, the gentle giant practically martyred to the idea of saving what’s left of the Abyss. But Enjin’s roguish grin slips back into place, spreading wider as he leans in, unapologetically invading your space.

“Why? Well...’cause I asked you, Princess. The ol’lug has enough on his plate as it is. You can handle it alone, can’t ya?”

Truthfully, even knowing your interest in Delmon never strays beyond roots and soil, it still irks every time Enjin catches sight of you with him. You look every bit the noble—graceful, composed, eyes soft and curious as you gaze up at Delmon, eager to learn. It grates on Enjin more than he’d admit, knowing he’s never once gotten that look, despite monopolizing most of your time.

“Ya know—unless, your skillset just ain’t up t’par?” Enjin finishes with a shrug.

Wholly unconvinced, you see this for the bait it is from a mile away. Nevertheless, you can’t deny that you are eager to get even the tiniest bit of normalcy back in your life from your old hobbies. Planting something, anything, would be nice—even if it ends up being contraband for Enjin. Although you still aren’t quite sure why you can’t consult Delmon. 

“Ugh! Fine!”

You fall back onto the sofa and Enjin follows, his arm settling behind you, practically draped around your shoulders. You don’t even flinch. He takes another slow hit, smoke curling toward the ceiling, but this time there’s a wicked glint in his eye as he watches you. Deciding he’s babysat the joint long enough, he leans in with a lazy smirk and holds it out to you.

“Enjin—your eyes!” You blurt out, disregarding his invitation. “Is that just from smoking!? I can’t go to happy hour looking like some kinda zombie!”

Enjin sputters mid-laugh, coughing as wisps of smoke leak from the corners of his smart ass grin.

“Eh, well duh. Why else would they get so red when I smoke?”

Enjin coughs out a few more chuckles. You roll your eyes.

“I don’t know, Trashy Poppins…I didn't make the connection since the air quality down here is 80% pollution! You could have anything.”

While Enjin is amused by your sass, the joint continues to burn down. Each second unsmoked is wasting precious bud. Leaning in, his voice drops to a low purr—the kind that makes your stomach flip.

Heh, time to pull out the big guns.

“Aht-aht-aht, c’mon now, Princess, you know the golden rule…”

You sigh, thinking you need that happy hour drink more than ever right now.

“You’re not serious.”

But you know he is, and of course you remember the silly motto Enjin makes an unspoken rule for his team. Although he mostly just uses it to get you to do something you’ll usually regret later.  You sigh, knowing you’ll never make it to happy hour until you appease the big man-child in front of you.

Enjin’s golden eyes shine with even more mischief than before and together like some damn mantra, you both repeat:

“...it’s not peer pressure—it’s just your turn.”

Resigned, you click your tongue, swiping at the joint in his hands. But Enjin is much faster as he pulls back with infuriating speed. You glower at him, snark locked and loaded.

“Nah, actually I’ll help you out since it’s your first time, Princess.”

Innuendo coils around his words, heat radiating off him as you tense under his gaze. You don’t want to argue with him though, the sooner you smoked, the sooner you both could be at happy hour.

“Open.” 

Enjin’s fingers graze the corner of your mouth as he holds the joint to your peach-glossed lips, eyes darkening when you part them obediently for him.

“Now breathe it in, nice and slow…deeper. Yeah, that’s it—hold it. Don’t let go until I say—good girl.”

You want to scoff at him, but you can’t—not with tears stinging your eyes and smoke burning its way down your lungs. By the time Enjin gives you the nod to exhale, you’re already choking, coughing it all back up in ragged plumes.

Yeah, this was nowhere in hell as easy as Enjin made it look.

The buzz rises in your head almost instantly, an airy haze creeping into your consciousness.

“See? Not a terrible cherry pop, eh?”

The glare you throw at Enjin is more of a squint. Still recovering from the fire tearing down your throat, your coughs earn you a few heavy-handed smacks on the back from Enjin. If it’s out of comfort or mockery, you can't tell. 

Everything in the room is spinning and becoming more distant, like a daydream.

“Easy there, breathe—it’ll hit easier when ya figure out how to grow it right, Princess. The dank shit won’t burn this hard.”

You want to bite back that even if you do figure out how to grow the damn ‘weed’ plant, you’d never touch it again. But the sudden heaviness seeping into your limbs drags you down, tilting your head on the axis of equilibrium.

“I think, no—I know, I need to lay down.”

Not waiting for permission, you flop down onto the worn cushions beneath you, curling up awkwardly with your head leaning against the armrest and your legs dangling off the seat at an angle. 

Enjin doesn’t miss a beat though—he scoops your legs into his lap, tugging off your boots so you can be comfortable.

Leaning back, perfectly at ease, Enjin holds the joint in one hand while the other rests on your stocking-covered shin, giving it a casual, reassuring pat. The way your arm drapes over your face tells him everything—yeah, you’ve got the spins.

“Keh, you’ll make it, Princess. Just let it all ride out.”

You’d make it alright, but not to happy hour anytime soon. Enjin supposes he might’ve let you take a bigger hit than you were ready for. 

Whoops.

Silence stretches in the aftermath but it’s not uncomfortable. Enjin takes a few more lazy tokes, one golden eye cracked open just enough to watch you, taking stock of your state. 

It’s in moments like this—rare ones, when you’re quiet—that he remembers just how fucking smoking hot you are.

Especially in that Cleaner uniform. Man, God bless August.

The eccentric tailor took special care in designing it thanks to a sudden burst of inspiration—August even convinced Enjin to allow him to keep some of the trim from your Spherite clothes that he repurposes. The outcome of your uniform is shinier, more fitted and much sluttier than standard issue. 

You took to it immediately, without much fuss and actually complimenting August. That was August’s gift though—whipping up pieces to suit even the finickiest of tastes—and Enjin had to admit, the man did his big one. 

But the real surprise wasn’t the craftsmanship. It was you—his oh-so-prim little Trash Princess—strutting around in something so damn naughty. Dressed up like a treat that Enjin can’t help but eat up with his eyes.

And whaddya know? Enjin has the munchies bad right now.

Left to his own devices, Enjin takes his time devouring the sight in front of him. His gaze lingers down the length of your legs sprawled across his lap, to the soft, exposed flesh of your thighs—spilling over the edge of your stockings just enough to make his jaw clench.

Fuck, they look so soft. He can't help but wonder how they'd feel locked around his head as his eyes climb to the next indulgence—your crop top. Rucked up to your ribs, the thin white cotton hugs just beneath your tits. Shit, the way your cute little nips poke through the fabric makes his mouth twitch with the urge to say ‘hi’ right back—with his tongue.

Is it hotter in here, or—?

Leering at you for too long is a surefire way for Enjin to pop a boner. Enjin knows he’s not alone in that either. That uniform of yours turns heads in every city you pass through. Consequently, Enjin has split more skulls because of idiots trying to hit on you or cop a feel than he ever has for anyone trying to snatch a Spherite.

Not that he’s jealous or nothing.

Nah. Just doing his job. Watching out for you. Plenty of unscrupulous assholes out there willing to pounce on a clueless little thing like you.

However, right now, Enjin’s just as unscrupulous—‘watching out’ only for a flash of your panties as each restless wiggle sinks you deeper into the lumpy cushions, bunching your skirt higher and teasing him with a glimpse of skimpy lace.

Man, just a little more and he’d know exactly which pair you picked today.

Sobering up a bit more, you sigh at your inability to get comfortable when you could feel the very springs in the sofa. Stretching, you straighten your leg suddenly and—

“Yo! Watch the feets, girl!”  

Though there’s amusement in his voice as he jolts upright, tatted hands grabbing your ankle before you’re able to land another blow.

“Ah, sorry—” You mutter sheepishly, reeling back your foot. “I didn’t mean to kick Umbreaker.”

For what it’s worth, the apology comes quickly—you’ve learned better than to mess with a man’s jinki, especially Enjin’s. You've nearly tripped more times than you can count over that bulky extension of himself that he always keeps within reach.

You know it’s serious too when he doesn’t even bother with the stupid nicknames he usually calls you. Nevertheless, you’re left puzzled when Enjin’s laughter comes out loud and sharp. 

“...that wasn’t Umbreaker, Princess.”

Huh? What does he mean that isn’t— 

You freeze. 

Carefully peeking out from under your arm, your reddened eyes squint down the length of your body and onto his. When the realization does set in of what exactly you kicked, it smacks you harder than any hit of ganja ever could.

“O…oh…—OH MY GAWD!”

Immediately springing upright, your vertigo swirls with how fast you’re scrambling to your knees as you gawk.

Time passes for what seems like a solid minute or two and neither of you speak. 

You’re staring at the crotch of Enjin’s baggy pants and Enjin is staring at you.

“Heh.”

The devious look on Enjin’s face right now could shame the devil himself. Yet you’re still in utter disbelief.

There’s no way that’s his dick!

Still, your brain won’t stop running the numbers—high girl math with clumsy calculations drawn from the fleeting brush of your toes against the long, thick mass hidden beneath the fabric of his baggy pants. Enjin’s words ring in your mind like a gong—‘that wasn’t Umbreaker…’

“You’re burnin’ a hole through my dick, Princess—”

Enjin’s voice unfurls seductively, like the smoke curling from his lips.

“—keep starin’ like that and I’m gonna think you wanna see it.”

Your eyes meet his dead-on. 

“I do.”

“Yeah, I’m sure yo—wait, come again?!”

Enjin’s grip goes slack, the joint slipping from his fingers. He was halfway to some sassy quip, ready to taunt your denial—but your delivery is so honest, with no teasing or angle to play off, he doesn’t know what to do with it.

The embers hiss against his thigh before he even registers he dropped it.

“Tch.” Cursing under his breath, he flicks it aside—it’s all roach anyway—and tries to pull himself back together.

You’re fucking with him. Yeah. That’s it. 

Smug again, Enjin leans into the bit you started.

“Ha ha…right. I know my stuck up lil’ Trash Princess isn’t asking to give me a dick inspection…”

Enjin adjusts his pants in a casual sweep that doesn’t fool either of you. He’s not brushing off the remaining flakes of ash—he’s palming his restless cock that jumped at the idea of you actually wanting to see it.

But both you and Enjin would quickly discover, despite your snobby Spherite upbringing, you lose any type of filter and sense of couth while high—blurting out your thoughts unabashedly. 

“I said I wanted to see it, Trashy Poppins. Or m’not gonna believe you’re actually that big.”

You fold your arms, huffing stubbornly.

There was no way an unbearably annoying man like Enjin was slanging actual horse cock! 

He had to be the one fucking with you here.

Well, wait, no—a cocky, stupidly sexy man having a big dick actually tracks, now that you think about it.

But still—you need to verify. For science, if nothing else. 

Yeah. Science.

Enjin blinks, taking stock of you—kneeling close, your tits straining like they’re about to burst free, and your skirt rides so high on your thighs this time, he swears one more millimeter and he’d see your panties for real. 

“C’mon now…”

Your sickly sweet coos needle at Enjin’s spine.

“...as if you aren’t always upskirting me just to see my panties.”

Shit. You knew it was intentional?

“At least you can show me your undies for a change. If you’re really that big, then I’ll be able to tell.”

The spark alight in your eyes is a challenge to Enjin, who loves pushing your limits. Now he needs to know how far you’ll go. Even if he’s completely unprepared for this turn of events, he’s sure as fuck not gonna be the one backing down first.

“S’that right, Princess? Well, I haven’t even seen yours today so—”

Enjin doesn’t even get the chance to finish before you’re lifting your skirt and spreading your knees wider. You stare up at the ceiling, the popcorn squares suddenly appearing super interesting to you. Enjin’s eyes however immediately zero-in on the pink lace stretched tight across your pussy.

Christ.

With a much closer view, Enjin picks up all the little details he usually misses—like how the hem digs into your soft curves or how the material is thin enough to see the split of your chubby lil pussy lips pressed underneath. 

Goddamn, are you intentionally buying them a size too small? 

Or is your pussy print just that fat?

Enjin gulps, mouth dry. 

His attention caught like a hook to your cunt, everything else is unimportant—including the irony of how he was just teasing you for the very same thing—it’s all utterly lost on him. His priorities shifting rapidly the longer he ogles you.

After a minute, giving him quite frankly more of his fill than he deserves, you let your skirt drop back into place. The alluring spell of your fatma breaks when your  knees snap shut and Enjin is yanked back to a world that doesn’t exist between the apex of your doughy thighs. 

All of his lecherous starring is worth it though—if only to be able to throw his own saying back at him for once.

“Now, how’s it go again? It’s not peer pressu—”

“—Yeah, yeah, I got it, Princess—My turn.” 

Enjin relents, cutting you off with a twisted grin as he shakes his head.

“Ya don’t gotta break my arm to see my dick, babe. Just makin’ sure you’re sure. Don’t need you runnin’ off telling Semiu I flashed ya.”

Semiu is already on Enjin’s ass for teasing you as much as he does. Something about him being ‘too grown’ not to ‘nut up’ and ‘come to terms with his reality’, but Enjin was never listening for long, zoning out as soon as a new lecture was underway. 

However, if your prissy ass really wants to see his dick that bad, of course he’d oblige. Hell, Enjin would get another kick outta watching your horror when you realize for real just how much he’s packing. It had been a minute since he'd seen that look on a woman.

For being as hot and charming as he is, Enjin didn’t get nearly as much play as he should’ve. He isn’t a virgin by any means, but too many women take one glance at his size and back off expeditiously.  

Life on the ground meant hustling to survive for most. Nobody could afford to be laid up for days just because Enjin’s wrecking ball of a cock tore through their walls, rendering them unable to walk—let alone go to work.

Yet with a clink, that all changes as the leather strap of his belt and gear slides free. Enjin lifts his hips enough to shove his pants down past his thighs and there it is—short red boxer briefs with a black waistband, the fabric stretched thin over the obscenely long, thick outline of his dick resting along his thigh.

Simply put, your jaw drops. There’s a static-like silence buzzing in your mind as you process the monstrous mass of phallic muscle before you.

You’ve never seen a dick that huge in your entire life. 

Clocking your shock, Enjin’s chest puffs like he’s just been crowned a king in the room.

“Relax, Princess…” he drawls, smugness saturating every word.

“I ain’t even all the way hard yet.”

Bullshit! 

Your eyes pingpong between his face and his cock before landing on the obvious conclusion—no overthinking this time.

“What are you waiting for then? Get hard.”

Enjin actually chokes for real this time, still not used to how blunt his demure lil’ Trash Princess gets when she’s high. He manages to laugh regardless once he finds his breath as he sure as hell doesn’t hate this new side of you.

“Hah?! It doesn’t work like that ya know…”

Enjin lies right through his fucking teeth. 

Just hearing that vulgar command from your prissy lil’ lips has his blood surging south, his cock swelling at rapid speed. Already on go, his dickprint thickens, straining against the fabric until threads stretch thin to form almost obscenely over him like second skin.

Yet unlike his past hookups you don’t flinch at the sight of him getting even bigger. 

There’s more than enough incredulousness on your face for sure, but Enjin half expected you to backpedal for the sake of your pussy’s self-preservation and book it out the door. Instead, the look you’re giving his dick is more akin to awe than fear.

Truly, though—you are in awe.

Men weren’t like this on the Sphere. Well, your husband certainly wasn’t.

Older than you by over a decade, your husband’s stamina was so poor he never lasted long. His size, his endurance, and his dismissive comments about your sexual appetite being perversely unbecoming for a lady of your station had you wondering if something was wrong with you this entire time—if you expected too much from sex.

But when your eyes drift back to Enjin—catching the thick vein running along his length, visible even through the fabric—you know better now. 

It was never you.

The realization brings a surge of boldness. Your gaze trails the pulse of his cock down to the wet patch blooming at the tip—so much pre spilling it seeps through the fabric. 

Enjin inhales sharply through his nose. He knows he’s proven his size, but your silence and the way you’re eyeing his cock like some kind of museum exhibit is starting to get to him. 

Enjin doesn’t want to back down as he impatiently waits for your final verdict of approval. But if you keep staring at him like that, with those big pretty eyes of yours, he’s going to come in his pants, untouched, like some fucking cuck.

“Well, Princess? Big enough for ya?”

You don’t even hear Enjin, too lost in your own thoughts. Your body, buzzed and reckless, has a mind of its own though. Reaching out, your hand leaves your lap to trace the thick ridges of his cock, mapping its shape through his briefs. 

“Oh, shiiii—” Enjin hisses. 

His lip catches between his teeth as all thoughts vanish the moment your delicate little fingers start stroking him.

“Argh—fuck. Can’t jus’ go grabbing a man’s dick like that ya know.”

Yet Enjin does nothing to stop you as your touch grows bolder. Your palm flattens around his girth—too thick for even your whole hand to wrap around, even through his boxers.

How would someone even get something that monstrous inside them!?

Encircling his leaky cockhead, you giggle as your index finger slowly tap-tap-taps the mess he’s made there, amused at how many of the small, sticky suds you can gather on your finger through the material.

Enjin’s own laugh is strangled. This can’t be real.

“Heh… fuck… you really tryna kill me, huh, Princess? Fuckin’ tease…”

You’re unfazed by Enjin’s provocations – too mesmerized by the obscenely large cock in front of you that has you squirming uncomfortably as your own panties turn swampy with heat. 

“May I?”

Meeting Enjin’s gaze, your polite innocence is accented by a wide-eyed pout that’s far too sweet for the filthy implications of your request. Like you’re nicely asking permission to play with your favorite toy—except you don’t even wait for him to give it,fingers impatiently snapping the edges of his waistband like some cockhungry slut. 

“Uh…” Enjin blanks while his dick is practically screaming at him to respond—even a damned head nod would suffice. Yet his brain blue-screens as it registers that look—the normally innocent, curiosity filled look that he's been craving since he found you in No Man's Land—now twisted into something debased and filthy.  And best of all?

Meant just for him.

Enjin’s so fucking hard right now it’s painful—and hell, if you’re planning to do something about that, he’s not about to stop you.

“Keh. Do you, boo.”

Enjin manspreads, giving you full access. You eagerly pull down his shorts just enough to release his cock, and it springs free, thick and heavy. 

Good God, he’s a big boy! 

Although you knew that, seeing the monster in all of its unleashed glory was an entirely different experience. Enjin’s dick bobs back to curve towards his abs, a shiny pubic piercing shining at his base under its shadow.

Panting, your previously dormant inner size queen activates. You have to swallow down the bucket of saliva collecting on your tongue before you choke—you can’t help but salivate at the thought of what a huge cock like this tastes like… what it feels like. 

You’re pretty sure it could break you in two, and surprisingly, the thought excites you.

Lowering yourself on all fours, the first tentative lick you give Enjin’s length has his toes curling as he grips the sofa, ripping a chunk clean off the decaying material. 

You moan out a depraved 'ahhh' once you reach the top, a little smile playing on your lips as you tongue down the hole at his tip.  Greedily, you lap up all the little dribbles of pre beading at the tip and flowing out.

“W-Woaaah—ugh. FUCK!”

Enjin’s hand flies into your hair as he clears his throat. Sure, your mouthwatering stares made a blowie likely, but diving in this shamelessly? It’s enough to make him feel like he’s losing his damn mind.

You grip his base—an insurance policy to keep him from cumming—while your other hand cups his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze. His thigh jolts beneath you and you simper at how sensitive he is despite his massive size.

“T-There’s no way in hell they taught your prissy ass how to be this much of a slut up there.”

Pouting, you release his balls to cradle his cockhead against your puffed up cheek, uncaring of the amount of pre seeping across your jaw. 

“D-Do…do you hate it? My hus—um, ex said it was a turn off. H-he'd say I have 'the depravity of a slums streetwalker.”

Staring up at Enjin, your eyes are clouded with lust, yet edged with worry—like he’d threatened to rip something precious away.  But it’s only his cock you’re coddling tighter against your cheek, your lips parting just enough to chase the beads of pre that drip close to your mouth.

If you weren’t gripping Enjin’s base so hard he definitely would have blown a load all over your face. Fuck, if the thought isn’t tempting to him though – he doesn’t think you’d even mind in this state.  

Goddamn, you’re so much sluttier than Enjin could have ever imagined. 

And he’d imagined it plenty. 

Especially on nights Enjin stumbled back to HQ drunk and alone, having closed down the bar with Corvus and Gris. Left to sate his own booze-fueled boner, he’d shamelessly rut into his pillow. Yet, no matter where his perversions strayed, every faceless fantasy in the dark insisted on transmuting into you. 

You seriously think he couldn’t match your freak? 

Oh, sweetheart, you have no fucking idea.

“Hate it?” 

Enjin holds back the growl building at the back of his throat. There’s a torrent of thoughts swirling with his high all at once—all coming to settle right back into his dick. 

“Never. Show me who you really are, Princess—n’ I’ll give it right back to ya tenfold—that’s a promise.”

If you weren’t already trembling with arousal—finally free to let your freak flag fly—you might’ve shied away. Enjin’s easy acceptance of you stirs something deeper, something messy that you usually ignore before it can settle. Now, with his scent thick on your face and tongue, you’re not thinking at all—aching with the urge to all but inhale his cock.

You merely nod, flashing Enjin a coy smile before stretching your plush lips to wrap around him. Slowly, you swallow down his girth, mouth hot with suction so deliciously moist Enjin’s hips jerk up. You gag, but his firm grip on your roots keeps your head in place, forcing his length to breach your throat.

“That’s it, baby…open up f-f’er me—g-good fucking girl, Princess…”

Tears prick at your eyes as his cock pounds back of your throat. The stretch is brutal—but some desperate part of you craves more of his filthy praise. What you can’t take with your mouth, your hands make up for—stroking every thick inch your lips can’t swallow.

“Shiiiit, girl! You’re a pro at this.”

If you ask Enjin later, he’d probably call you a throat goat, however most of your “experience” came from the smutty paperbacks high-society wives hid in corsets and swapped under tea tables—not actual practice. You don’t really know what you are doing. You’re just following the book's explicit instructions. 

Still, Enjin doesn’t seem to mind being your test dummy. 

On the contrary, Enjin is more than happy to let you do your thing and he does just that. Although, the longer your head bobs along his cock, the more your skirt rides up—until it finally flips over your hips, giving him a perfect view of the cheeky lace framing your ass.

Enjin groans, gripping your ass with bruising force before sliding his fingers down to palm your pussy over your panties—fuck, you’re already dripping for him.

“Hah—uppity cunt gets this sloppy just from a lil’ dick sucking, eh?”

Enjin laughs, yet the gravel rattling in his voice betrays him. No one has ever fearlessly tried to deepthroat him and actually fucking enjoyed it. 

Unable to respond with your mouth, too busy still trying to do the impossible and fit more inside your throat, your hips respond instead—wiggling desperately against his fingers, begging for more of his touch. 

Enjin doesn’t hesitate. Slipping a tatted finger into your panties, he drags it through your folds, marveling at how wet and scorching you are. Pushing into your core, your walls clamp down, fluttering around his digit.

Oh fuck, even his fingers are big! 

A second ringed finger follows – the rough, callous fingers of a man who's seen too many fights scrape so good against all your gooey spots. Lewd squelches echo from your pussy as your throat tightens around him in tandem. The sounds, the squeeze, the heat—all of it is driving him crazy.

Shit he’s gonna cum for real this time. 

To his credit, Enjin tries to warn you—tries to pull you off before it’s too late. 

He doesn’t wanna risk pissing you off and having you refuse to ever do this again. Enjin still wants to fool around more;, he wants to fuck you. It’s that thought—your pretty pussy lips splitting open to swallow him instead—that has him busting his hot seed down your throat in thick, hot pulses.

“HAHH—FUHH!”

Releasing your hair, Enjin half expects you to pull away, furious he hadn’t warned you.  Instead, your nails dig into his thigh, steadying yourself. You moan around him, the vibrations rippling through his sensitive cock while you work him for every last drop, his hips jerking beneath you.

Only when you’re certain you’ve drained him do you pull back, swollen lips coming off his cock with a wet pop. 

“Allll go-neee S-Sheee? HAhhhhh~♡”

Tits jiggling as you heave for air, you present your tongue to Enjin as proof you’ve swallowed all of him. Every. Filthy. Drop.

“Oh fuck me… you’re a nasty lil’ Trash Princess, aren’t you?”

You can’t help but agree—your throat’s wrecked and your pussy’s aching to be used just as thoroughly. Enjin’s fingers aren’t inside you any more, although they are still on your pussy, running through your folds absentmindedly.  

“Ngh—n-eed m-more,” you slur.

All your decorum was lost to the wind the moment you asked to see his dick—you don’t even care that it’s Enjin of all people that you just gave head to. Suddenly, the obnoxious pain in your ass seems like your only deliverance. Right now, you're more frustrated that you've spent so much time bickering with him when you could have been fucking him.

You much prefer his moans to anything else coming out of his mouth.

You need him to get hard again—immediately!

Enjin, mind mushy with release, takes another joint out to light. As much as he wants to return the favor after that kind of sloppy top, the man needs a minute.  His high has his whole body tingling from the post release sensitivity.

But you can’t wait any longer. It’s been god knows how long since you’ve had a proper orgasm and those were only from your own small, fumbling fingers. Throat achy and raw, you quiver at the masochistic thought of how his cock is going to absolutely obliterate your pussy.

You slide your panties down before flinging off your jacket and top.  Taking a seat on Enjin's lap, you're now clad in just your bra, your skirt that's bunched up at your hips, and thigh highs. Grabbing his cock, you give his soggy, half-hard girth a few encouraging pumps.

Your pussy is already slobbering, a viscous string of syrupy slick drips down from your slit to land on his cockhead, connecting you to him as you line him up. 

Feeling your fingers around his length, Enjin's eyes fly open, balancing the joint between his lips as he quickly shrugs off his own jacket, checking the pockets.

“Woah, woah. Slow your roll there sweetheart—you’re skipping a few steps.”

You aren’t listening though, not giving a fuck what Enjin is talking about as you cry out, grinding your clit against his fat tip, before running it back through your folds.

Enjin grits his teeth, coughing out smoke as he holds the joint in one hand and your hips in the other. You’re being a brat again, not listening to a single word he’s saying. 

“Gotta find my rubbers…also gotta stretch you out better, Princess—you’re gonna split in two if I don’t.”

You whimper, petulant and needy. You press his cockhead against your entrance, swiveling your hips like you’re going to recklessly sink down on him at any second.

“Huh? Rubbers?” You shake your head in confusion, pouting. “m’Ennnnjiiiiin…I can’t wait that long—puh-leaseee don’t make me wait s’long, Enjiiiiin. I can take it, promiseee!”

The way you sweetly coo his name is shattering any sense of self-control Enjin has left. The urge to submit you to the ultimate corruption surges hot through his veins, but Enjin knows how big he is and while he did want to break you, he didn’t want to hurt you in the process. You are absolutely nuts to want to ride him with so little prep—now, on top of everything else, you apparently wanted him to fuck you raw.

Wait—did you just ask what rubbers were? Did you not have condoms on the Sphere?

But any lingering concerns dissipate the second you start fighting to get his tip inside you.

“Too s-slow!” You groan.

Fear is the last thing on your mind—evident in the way you impale yourself on him, defiant even against the impossible stretch. Your pussy is tight around the swollen head of his cock, strangling it as your nails dig into his shoulders. You grind in slow, desperate circles. Tears roll down your cheeks as you bite them to keep from crying out, your body fighting against every inch.

Enjin watches with a dark glint in his eyes – you trying so hard for him makes him want to flip you over and fuck you into the cushions. But he’d let you have it at your own pace…for now. 

Releasing your hip, Enjin spits into his palm, rubbing his slick fingers over your clit in slow steady circles. 

“Such a hard-headed girl—c’mere…”

Enjin takes a long drag from the joint, balancing it between his fingers as he grabs the back of your neck. His lips crash into yours before you can think.

You gasp and Enjin takes the opportunity to exhale the smoke deep into your lungs, taking the harshest of the hit himself. You're left with only the smooth, earthy flavor warming your chest before it melts through your limbs.

But it’s the way he kisses you after that really knocks the ground out from under you. His tongue pushes past your lips, tangling with yours—hungry, messy, like he wants to steal the little air you have left until you’re only breathing him in.

Your arms wrap around his neck, hands buried in his soft buzzed undercut, anchoring yourself. You moan into his mouth and he swallows it greedily, teeth nipping your lower lip before diving right back in. All the while, his thumb keeps grinding into your clit, faster now, like he’s keeping rhythm with the pulse that’s beating under your skin.

Why does it feel this good? How is he doing this to your body? S’not fair! 

Not realizing you could feel this good from a kiss, you're unraveling in real time. Your mind goes blank with every pulse, every word, every inch. You’re not even fully seated yet, but you can already feel the blunt head of his cock grinding against your cervix, the pressure building with each centimeter you drop. You never imagined you could feel this full—like he might actually breach your womb.

The thought alone has you trembling, unstable, your aching thighs giving out, causing you to slide down a bit too fast. The thick veins along his length rake across your g-spot and your body snaps. A sharp, helpless spasm rocks you as your breath catches and a small, unexpected orgasm rolls through you.

Enjin pulls back just enough to let you breathe, though your body doesn’t stop shivering, lost in a blur of pleasure and pain.

“Eh... did you just cum, Princess?”

The question is rhetorical, full of smug amusement, as he can feel the increasing wetness leaking down his cock, making it all the easier for you to slide down.    

Teasing your earlobe, Enjin’s tongue dips in to flick at the shell of it, making you clench.

“HA! Good fucking girl! A lil’ more and I bet she’ll be a real squirter f’er me.”

Enjin beams, proud of his Trash Princess. No woman had ever taken him this deep—not even close. Enjin hadn’t expected you to be any different. And yet…when Enjin looks down, he releases a groan deep from his gut.

The sight alone almost has Enjin nutting in you -- your drooling cunt spread so wide around his girth, sitting almost at his base. A thought flashes briefly – it's kinda like he’s a virgin again. Parts of his dick had never experienced this kind of molten heat so maybe, in a sense, he is? Enjin didn’t fucking care if he was though, as he ain’t about to be with the way your pretty pussy is giving way like it’s made for him. 

“Run that back.”

Enjin takes the final drag, pinching the smoldering end of the joint between his fingers before flicking it aside. He leans in again, slower this time. There’s no rush in how his mouth seals over yours. The second shotgun is less about the smoke and more about the feel of you—your lips parting for him, your breath syncing to his, and the small whimper you make as he sucks slowly on your tongue.

The haze spreads between you both, thick and warm. Simultaneously, his knuckles tease your clit, a soft schlick sound filling the space between you from you getting wetter by the second. By the strength of some unknown force, you finally bottom out, immediately collapsing into his neck. 

You both moan. Enjin feels you quivering from the inside out and you feel him everywhere—shifting your guts into your ribs. 

“I…I did it.”

Your smile blooms soft against his inked skin, lips grazing the spot where you can feel his own pulse hammering wildly.

Enjin’s in no state to congratulate you on your impressive feat. Completely sheathed in you raw, coring out your gummy walls into the shape of his dick—something in his brain chemistry fizzles. Like a bit of pussy juice, acting as a catalyst, slipped into his dick and traveled straight to his prefrontal cortex to corrode all of his previous thoughts about you. The result is clear.

Enjin doesn’t give a fuck if you are a snobby, annoying, needy lil’ brat who never let him get away with shit and bitches at him constantly—the furtherest thing from his type.

Because honestly?

Motherfuck a bullshit-ass type. Your slutty ass pussy is fuckin’ perfect. 

For the first time, Enjin realizes he might be in love with you. 

How could he even look at another woman after this?

One thing if for certain—Enjin is going to make damn sure you never have the desire to even look at another man.

Both his hands trail up your hips, groping and squeezing the plump curves of your ass before settling at your waist. His blunt black nails dig into your skin to pull you back from his neck.

Enjin whistles, admiring the stagnant stream of spittle lingering on your chin. Look at you—cockdrunk just from sitting on him. 

Enjin doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look more beautiful.

“Enjiiiiiin,” you whimper, not being able to hold yourself up. 

But your cries for him only inflame the predatory smirk on his lips, your honeyed cunt hugging his cock so beautifully. 

“Makes sense you fell from heaven, huh Princess?” 

Whether you're ready or not, Enjin forcibly winds you on his cock in slow circles. Your clit brushes up against the well placed pubic ring like a reward for being the first to experience it.

“—cause this pussy’s a fuckin’ angel.”

Your eyes are already lodged in your skull so you can’t even roll them at his cheesy line. But if your pussy is an angel, then Enjin's dick is most definitely a demon—his sinful cock tearing through your insides and condemning you straight to hell.

Moaning loudly, your body moves on autopilot—chasing more friction from the rhythm Enjin set. Good thing everyone was at happy hour or you would for sure be attracting some major attention now.

Although, to be honest you probably wouldn’t notice anyway. You don’t even notice when your bra falls away, your tits spilling out just so Enjin could watch them jiggle in his face. You only register its disappearance once his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, his tongue finally saying it’s ‘hello’.

“Shiiiiit!”

Your hips stutter, then stall when Enjin tugs at your sensitive bud with his teeth.

“Hey…I know my Trash Princess ain’t tappin’ out just yet.” 

SMACK!

Enjin brings a heavy palm down on your ass and your pussy clenches tighter around him. Enjin relishes the way your plush curves mold to his hands, each smack adding to the wet, messy sounds between you. You’ve already leaked enough on his lap to stain the sofa beneath you.

“Nah, ya just got on the ride, baby. Giddy-up.”

SMACK!

“NNNGH!” You weakly glare daggers at him. 

Any softness on Enjin’s face has since been replaced by something far more mischievous. If you thought he was obnoxious before—you’re about to learn he’s a full-blown menace inside of pussy.

Wobbling, you gather together what little resolve you have left to roll your hips forward. 

“HAAH! S’too biiiiiig,” you whine but your body can’t stop.

The juices saturated between you grant enough momentum to finally get a good, smooth bounce going.

“Fuck—that’s it, ride it like it’s yours, baby.” Enjin encourages you.

The way you cream harder every time he calls you 'baby' doesn't go unnoticed.

“Oh? You like me talking sweet to the pussy, baby girl?—Or do you just like being my filthy lil’ trash slut, hm Princess?”

Gritting your teeth, you grab on to Enjin’s shirt like reins, pulling him closer to you. 

“Y-You’re…gonna—ahshiiiit—hafta f-fuck m’better than thisss…if you want m-me to be your ‘baby girl’—Trash Daddy.”

Unfortunately, your sass falls flat—you can barely keep your head from lulling to the side. But Enjin’s thoroughly entertained nonetheless—he’ll take ‘Trash Daddy’ over ‘Trashy Poppins’ any day.

“Bet.”

Electricity runs through Enjin. He’s all charged up—now it’s his turn to unleash.

Your brow furrows from the noise Enjin makes—you’re not sure if he just laughed or snarled. But it's the only warning you get. 

Sliding down the sofa a bit, adjusting himself for stability, Enjin spreads his legs, planting his feet firmly on the floor as he bullies his cock up into you like he's breaking in his own personal fleshlight.

All you can do is go slack, falling forward on his chest. His grip bruising your hips, not allowing you to run from the way his blunt cockhead plows into your womb like a battering ram. 

The couch beneath you groans, its frame creaking under the strain. The wood and leather protest like the entire thing might fall apart at any moment.

“Enjinnnnn, m’slowwww dowwwnnn!” 

Your cries only fuel his frenzy and Enjin knows from the way you’re gushing on him you can take it.

Fuck—this sweet lil’ pussy is just so good for him. Imagine if he never met you. 

If you never—

Enjin cuts the thought off cold. 

Moving before you can blink—your world flips. One second he’s pummeling up into you, the next you’re on your back. 

Enjin peels away his shirt, muscles flexing as he looms over you. His hands curl around your ankles to keep them pinned overhead. A single bead of sweat catches your bleary eyes as it slides down his bare chest, gliding over firm muscle. The bold ink patterns seem to come alive on his skin. He looks so fucking sexy right now and you can’t help but to shamelessly ogle him.

Yet, there’s something much too serious and somber about Enjin’s current demeanor. You’ve been staring at him far too long to go unnoticed. The highly expressive, sassy powerhouse is rarely this silent. He should be teasing you right now, asking some smartass shit like if you’re ‘enjoying the view’. 

“Enjin?”

Your sweet voice hits his ears and instantly you have his attention again. Enjin flashes you a pearly white smile.

“Heh, enjoy the break, Princess? You wont get another.”

Ignoring the question in your eyes, Enjin folds you into a mating press, thrusting to the hilt all in one motion. The sound of flesh lewdly slapping against flesh fills the room, as do your cries.

But there’s still something else burning in his eyes. Enjin knows it’s unfair not to be honest with you, but taking out his unspoken feelings on your pretty pussy is the only way he can express himself at the moment. 

Suddenly, there’s a loud creak followed by a decisive snap and two of the sofa’s legs give out. If your sweat and cum weren't like glue on the old leather you’d surely slide off head first. You yell out in alarm, but Enjin doesn’t give a fuck about the damn sofa.

His mood is still soured by the thought that wouldn’t be shaken away until he confronted it—

If you never fell.

But you did. He found you—and now that Enjin has you under him like this, he needs to fuck the point he’s concluded into you:

If Rudo ever finds a way to the Sphere, Enjin will personally travel there and see to your ex-husband himself. 

Hell, he might even rail you in front of him a few times—show him what a real man could do. Maybe even a real…husband?

If the sounds of sloshing fluids and skin slapping skin weren't ringing so loudly in your ears that it drowned out everything else, you would have thought Enjin had lost his mind with the way he was cackling above you.  He sounds completely deranged, laughing at the idea of him finally wanting to settle down all while continuing to pound you deeper into the broken sofa.

But despite being high off weed and your pussy, Enjin’s mind has never been more clear—he wants to lock you down.

“Hah… P-Princess, can ya feel me in your tummy? Right…” Enjin’s golden eyes lock on the ever-so-slightly distended bulge from the monstrous intrusion in your guts.

“....right, here.” 

Throwing your legs over his shoulders, his large hands splay across your sweat sheened belly. You’re squirming under the heat of Enjin sandwiching your guts between his palm and his cock. Its all far too much—you’re too full, unable to really focus on what Enjin’s saying.

“Ahh, E-Enj—m’ c-cum, g-gonna mmm…” you hiccup, swallowing your tears.

Your nails rake down his arm to ground yourself but your body is thrumming too hard, adrift in the rush rolling through every one of your wired nerves. Your tits bounce obscenely every time your velvety walls devour his cock back down to the base. Enjin’s pubic piercing bucking against your clit has you clutching onto his dick like you were about to break it off.

You feel so fucking good. Enjin desperately needs to feel you creaming on his cock, and you would be soon if your kitten nails raking down his arms– adding more red to his already inked skin– were any indication. 

“That’s it, Princess, hah—fuck, baby, I got you. Squirt for your Trash Daddy.”

As if on command, the knot inside you coils to its breaking point, prickling every nerve, releasing a warm rush of fluids. Your body tingling in ecstasy, you quickly tumble over your peak, eyes blinded by speckles of brightness as you cum.

Yet Enjin hasn't slowed, his continuous pounding forcing more of your cum and squirt to gush out of you—the melody of his now drenched balls colliding with your wet ass only growing loude

“Fuck, that’s it. Pussy cryin’ like she wants my cum, Princess…” 

You’re barely conscious from all the pleasure, eyes rolling back into your head. 

“She’s jealous that slutty throat of yours got all my cum, now it’s her turn to swallow, isn’t that right?”

It’s a rather roundabout way for Enjin to ask if he can nut inside you, but then again, he wasn’t really asking. The thought of breeding you makes him feral. 

“Ahh—f’nnghhhh!”

Non-verbal and fucked dumb, you’d probably agree to anything right now. You’re an utter mess–pussy stretched beyond anything you thought possible, face sticky with slobber rolling down to pool in the folds of your neck. 

“O’course it is…gonna dump all these trash babies into my princess’ sweet lil’ cunt.”

Although you are super turned on by the thought of Enjin breeding you, there's no way you have any idea how serious Enjin is about putting a baby in you. How could you? You don’t even realize the love confession his cock is professing to you.

“FUHHHH—take it!”

Enjin pumps thick ropes of his cum into your tummy as his body thrashes on top of yours. The primal intensity has you vibrating as another orgasm rips through your overstimulated and overworked pussy. Filled the brim, his spunk overflows, sploshing out of your pussy as he rocks his hips, urging his seed deeper to plant right in your womb.

In the afterglow, the two of you lie off-kilter in a tangled heap on the broken sofa. There’s blood rushing to your head— not the worst place for it, you think, all things considered. Enjin’s weight is heavy, his chest heaving into yours, warm and sticky as he wraps you in his arms. 

Just as you feel you both might drift off like this, Enjin stirs. Flinching, you whimper as Enjin wills himself up, his cock sliding out of your pussy with a squelchy suctioning noise. Your knees part for him with zero resistance as he inspects his handiwork, peeling apart your battered pussy lips to reveal your dug out slit. 

“Whewww,” Enjin whistles at the sight of the thick creampie glistening in your core. “All this cum your cute pussy pulled outta me—you’d think she was my jinki.”

Sober, you likely would have slapped him for referring to your pussy as his vital instrument. But ecstasy clouds your logic, so high off endorphins and other substances, you only giggle. It is kinda funny you suppose.

“Yeah—squirtin’ on command like that. Definitely an attack type.”

Spread open, the thick plug of spunk froths out of you. But Enjin simply tuts, pushing it right back in, not wanting to waste a single drop.

“Yeah, how about that, ’mma duel wielder! Yup, definitely gotta name ‘er now—what you thinkin’ I should call her, princess?”

Enjin sees the way your pretty cunny is twitching, and in his pussy drunk mind, it's an approval. The spasms that still quake through you are like tremors of Morse Code—your slutty pussy agreeing with him, begging for more. Flipping you over on your belly, Enjin is more than happy to fulfill any request of his new vital instrument.

“Got it! Cumbringer! The Umbreaker and The Cumbringer. Nice ring to ‘em, dont’cha think?”

Cumbringer!?

Later, you would definitely regret being so thoroughly fucked out of your mind you didn’t put a stop to this. Enjin is most definitely going to be insufferably proud of himself for the next 3-6 business weeks. He’d lord this over you and tease you with not-so-subtle hints around the rest of the cleaners. 

Yet, as Enjin is swabbing his huge cock through your folds, you feel the ache of loss in your core, wanting to be filled again and you can’t seem to find the fucks to care—you just needed more of his dick, like…now.

Pleased with your compliance, Enjin thumbs the dips at the small of your back, perching your ass up so your back arches real nice.

“Trash Daddy’s gonna take real good care of Cumbringer from now on, too. Make ‘er live up to the name.”

When Enjin pushes into you again, the new angle has him bullying against your g-spot with even more intensity than before. Seeing the way you jolt, he holds back from going as deep this time to directly abuse the spot. Slick runs down your legs and despite how slippery the ruined leather cushions are beneath you, Enjin still holds you firm as his cock sloshes through your ruined pussy.

“Say, how much anima you think is in my nut, Princess?”

You don’t respond but Enjin, proving to have the stamina of a beast, feels like he should give you at least two more doses just to be sure.

⛓

Fading in and out of a euphoric stupor, you’re unsure how much time passes. Absolutely cockdrunk, at some point, you’d simply just surrendered. Your pussy clearly has zero complaints about being a jinki for Enjin’s cock and you are too dumb once you get a lil dick to stop him.

Somehow, you’ve ended up folded over the wide coffee table. It’s unstable beneath you, but Enjin doesn’t seem to care what he breaks when he’s fucking you. He only moved from the sofa when the back of it finally broke.

Straining, you think you hear voices but everything feels so far away and fuzzy. The room gets darker and you realize Enjin’s thrown his coat over you. Still sheathed deep inside you, Enjin’s cock plants lazy kisses to your womb as he speaks rather casually to someone.

Hmm, did he get a call? Is that Semiu?

Semiu is likely calling, wondering why you both haven’t shown up to happy hour yet—shit. There’s no way you’re making it in this condition; your limbs are toast. You can’t even move the weight of Enjin's bulky jacket off of you, the heavy material trapping you in the humidity of your own breath and sweat. But in a way, the warmth is comforting. Your cheek resting against the wood, you allow the tent of muggy heat and his cock moving languidly inside you to lull you into complacency— in your delirium, everything feels like a nice dream.

Yet Enjin is fully alert, a shit eating grin on his face as he stares down Semiu and Gris who had just walked in on Enjin shamelessly beating your doonies down. Enjin only spared your modesty by covering you up, but he has no qualms with either Gris or Semiu seeing him in all his glory and doesn’t even bother pulling out of you.

A fact that is painfully clear as he pats the pockets of his jacket draped over you for his cigs—he might as well smoke if he’s giving you a break.

“I win,” Semiu turns to Gris, hand out expectantly.

Semiu’s cool expression never changes but there is amusement in her eyes as Gris fishes into his pockets and places a stack of bills into her hand.

“Tsk, damn…” Gris shakes his head, although he’s not shocked. 

The two of you are down so horrendously bad for each other that this should have happened long ago as far as everyone else was concerned. The tension has been at an unbearable level for those around you, the way the two of you picked at each other non-stop like a kid’s first crush.

Alas, you’re an airhead and Enjin is so stubborn he’s delusional. So the older Cleaner members couldn’t help, but place bets on when and where you and Enjin would finally slip between the sheets. Its a shame that you weren't in one of your beds right now--in between actual sheets--instead of the lounge becoming collateral damage.

“You know, after all the game you talked about winning your money back at poker tonight, Bro said you were a no-show because you knew you were gonna lose…” Gris eyes the boneless, quivering lump that is you under Enjin’s jacket. 

Enjin really did a number on you. Your nonsensical babbles pouting for Enjin to ‘make sure to tell Semiu to bring you back some fries from the bar’ obviously means you have no idea that they are actually in the room.

“But it looks like you have your ‘ace in the hole' for an entirely different game.”

Enjin chortles. His hips stutter forward a bit too hard and you squeak in protest, he just hushes you.

“Awe, so you came back all this way to check-up on us? How sweet,” Enjin says sarcastically, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“Hardly. Rudo accidentally chugged an entire beer he thought was soda—then proceeded to throw it all up over Zanka,” Semiu says flatly. 

Enjin attempts to hold back his laughter as Semiu continues with a sigh. She explains thatGris helped carry Rudo back, promptly putting his little blacked out ass to bed. Zanka locked himself in the bathroom immediately upon returning.

“Although they're sure to be occupied for the rest of the night, since the kids are back in the building you need to wrap this shit up Enjin—she looks like she could use the break anyway.”

Semiu casts a sympathetic look your way. She did warn you about Enjin though, so he was your mess to deal with now. 

“Sure thing,” Enjin says, patting your form underneath his coat, “I’ve trained my new jinki well enough for tonight.” 

Semiu takes one look at the absolutely diabolical grin on Enjin’s face and decides she's already had enough of his shit for the night.

She sighs again. “Just hurry it up, alright?”

Enjin gives Semiu a cheeky salute. Yet the second her back is turned, Enjin mimes a dramatic chef’s kiss to the air for Gris. Enjin’s eyes roll back like he’s just had the best meal of his life. 

Gris snorts, shooting him a wink and a thumbs-up for a ‘job well done’ like a proud teammate before heading out of the room as well.

“One more thing.”

Semiu pauses in the doorway, hands resting on the double doors, surveying the crime scene-like state of the lounge. The sofa is toast, the coffee table’s on life support, and there's a growing puddle under you, spilling over to slowly drip off its edge onto the floor.

“If you’re just going to recklessly rawdog her, at least get her on the pill. Alice can sort that out tomorrow—right after you replace every piece of furniture you’ve both annihilated.”

Enjin simply shrugs, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“I suppose…we can stop by Alice’s too.” 

Semiu just rolls her eyes, only to wrinkle her nose as a wave of stale air wafts by.

“And for the love of god—crack a window. Smells like fresh ass in here.”

Once the doors finally click shut, Enjin rips his jacket off of you and smiles. You’re still blissed out in lalaland while your pussy, Cumbringer, is clenching around him like she has one more go left in her.

Grabbing your arm, he pulls you up. Still sheathed inside you, he sits back on his knees, bringing you with him, your back pressed against his chest.

“Mmmm—*yawns* Was that Semiu on the call, Enj?”

Call? Oh, heh.

“Ha, yeah baby girl, just Semiu on the line,” Enjin lies too easily. 

It’s for your own benefit though–no need to ruin your bliss with anything silly like embarrassment or shame from being walked-in on. Hell, unless Semiu says something, Enjin might be able to get away with not ever telling you.

“She said they ran outta fries though. I’ll get ya some later, yeah? Jus’ need Cumbringer to clock in one more time, Princess...”

Enjin rocks his hips with yours in a slow wave and your pout melts, no longer caring about the fries. Your head tips back onto his shoulder as he wraps his arms around you.

“Ah, mmmm, b-but—ngnh!  She mentioned something about hotdogs and getting pills tomorrow? Is that a mission?”

Enjin hums to keep from laughing as he turns your face towards him. He smirks devilishly against your lips.

Distracting you with sweet chaste kisses, Enjin rubs gentle circles over your womb. You’re gonna be so fucking hot waddling around HQ in your slutty ass uniform, tits leaking and belly full with his brats. 

The only pill he’d get from Alice would be a fertility pill.

“Nothing my slutty baby girl or my Cumbringer gotta worry about, Princess. Leave everything t’me.”

𝐚𝐧: ahh tysm for reading, especially if you are new to my writing. enjin brain rot is lethal. i needed to get this outta my system! jjk girlies forgive me for straying from my wip list and kinktober lol. definitely down to write more of him. i have a p2 and another enjin story (an AU) idea. but i have to focus on my jjk kinktober now! ♡

also, in case anyone is wondering—yes, reader's jinki is a labubu and yes, enjin just guilt tripped reader into growing him his own personal stash djhscjhdfj. banner: mash up of official manga + rororogi mogera 'last mall' doujin panels.

[mssishipi]

life of parasites — pjs

Seven years ago, a parasite fell from the sky and rewrote the boundaries of biology, blurring the line between host and invader. Park Jongseong, now exists in the in-between, neither fully human nor entirely parasite, a hybrid organism shaped by adaptation and survival. Hunted by those who fear what they cannot categorize, he searches for meaning in the world—and finds it in you.

content tags/warnings: sci-fi— bio thriller, parasite hybrid pjs, parasite hybrid reader, they fight when they first met. body horror, graphic violence, injury and blood, death/near-death experiences, militarization, post-traumatic themes, mild animal endangerment. explicit content (smut): unprotected sex, fingering, cunilingus, multiple sex position (their refractory period is broken, they keep going and going), double penetration, tentacles (?), monster fucking. READER DISCRETION IS ADVICED. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!! WC: 23.1K

note: the idea of monster and parasites in the story is inspired by the kdrama and anime: parasyte. but the biology, and how they merged was slightly different and some of it was my own writing.

Human psychology is deeply rooted in a survival mechanism that instinctively reacts with fear toward the unknown.

This fear, often manifesting as hostility, arises when individuals encounter phenomena that defy their understanding. When faced with the unfamiliar—particularly that which cannot be categorized within existing frameworks—the response is often defensive aggression. The unfamiliar is perceived as a threat, and in the absence of comprehension, elimination becomes the perceived solution.

Approximately seven years ago, Earth began experiencing a biological incursion in the form of a parasitic organism of unknown origin. This entity operates by infecting human hosts, initiating a fatal transformation process. The host is systematically destroyed at a cellular and cognitive level, as the parasite integrates with and ultimately overrides the nervous system and bodily structure.

Upon successful assimilation, the parasite reconstitutes the human form into a highly adaptive biomechanical entity capable of extreme morphogenesis. These entities exhibit advanced shapeshifting capabilities, able to reconfigure their structure into a variety of forms and tools, limited only by mass and matter conservation principles.

Neurologically, the parasite erases the host's personality and emotional spectrum, replacing it with a singular directive: to propagate through predation and infiltration. These organisms display a rudimentary form of consciousness, retaining fragments of the host's memories for navigational or social camouflage but are devoid of empathy or emotional regulation. Their cognitive processes are entirely geared toward strategic murder and survival.

Park Jongseong is different.

He adjusted his glasses, eyes fixed on the monitor displaying his own cellular data. Streams of biological activity lit up the screen—cells dividing, mutating, adapting. He was lucky to have access to advanced medical equipment. After all, he was a doctor.

Humans are naturally afraid of what they don't understand. It's part of how the brain reacts to threats—if something doesn't fit into what's familiar, the instinct is fear, often followed by violence. That's how humanity responds to the unknown: eliminate it.

Jongseong had become the unknown.

He didn't know what he was anymore. His thoughts still felt like his own. He still felt emotion, empathy, fear, curiosity. Yet something deep inside had changed. His body was no longer entirely human. Something else lived in his blood.

But with Jongseong, something went wrong—or maybe something went right.

The parasite had merged with him, not replaced him. His cells had changed, yes—they were stronger, more adaptive. He could feel the shift in his physiology: faster reflexes, enhanced senses, the strange ability to alter parts of his body at will. Yet his mind remained intact. His identity remained intact.

He was both parasite and human. A hybrid. An anomaly.

From a biological standpoint, it shouldn't be possible. The parasite is known to override the host completely—shutting down the brain, rewriting the nervous system, restructuring tissue on a molecular level. But in Park Jongseong's case, the process didn't go as expected. His consciousness remained. His emotions remained. He wasn't fully human anymore, but he wasn't fully parasite either.

And that made him dangerous—to both sides.

Creatures like him were being hunted by the government. Classified as biohazards. The official statement warned the public daily:

"Be careful around your friends, relatives, family—anyone could be infected. Parasites look just like us, until they kill."

Murder cases connected to parasitic activity filled the news. Victims were often found mutilated beyond recognition, their internal organs rearranged, their skin marked with unfamiliar growths. Fear spread faster than the infection itself. Jongseong watched the reports from his house, barely breathing. Every passing day made it harder to stay hidden.

If the government found him, they wouldn't ask questions. They'd dissect him alive—tear his mutated body apart in the name of research and national security.

"How do you identify a parasite?"

That was the question echoed by media and scientists. For humans, the method was crude but effective: parasites can't fully mimic human hair. A simple hair sample under a microscope reveals the truth—parasitic tissue lacks keratin structure, instead made of a flexible protein-carbon lattice designed to replicate appearance.

But parasites had their own way of detecting each other. A subtle biological signal—an acoustic resonance picked up only through the inner ear. Like a hidden frequency, only recognizable to those with the altered cochlear structure. Jongseong had experienced it more than once. He would walk past someone, hear that strange, low echo in his skull—and feel a sudden, icy stillness in his blood.

He wasn't alone. Parasites were organizing. At first, they were random killers. Now, they were moving in packs—coordinated, methodical. Adapting. Evolving. And so is he.

"That'll be 700 won," the cashier muttered, not bothering to meet his eyes.

Jongseong kept his head down, slipping the coins onto the counter. No conversation. No eye contact. He took the plastic bag with a silent nod, his fingers tightening around the thin handles before he turned and stepped back into the cold night.

Even with the parasite inside him, he still felt hunger—raw, physical. His body demanded energy like any other, though now his metabolism ran hotter, faster. He still craved food.

He still felt the ache of sadness, the longing to return to something normal. Something human.

But that life was gone.

The night air of Seoul stung against his skin, the cold seeping through his coat. He moved with the crowd, head low, blending in with the blur of footsteps, voices, and passing cars. Every sound echoed. The parasite had enhanced his senses, and sometimes the world was simply too loud.

Then he felt it, a low, familiar vibration in his inner ear—a biological resonance only detectable by parasite-modified auditory systems. His breath caught, and a pulse of instinctual fear ran through him. He looked around carefully, eyes scanning faces, shadows, movement. One of them was nearby.

His pace faltered. That's when he saw you.

You stood out—not because of your appearance, but because of what you did. In the middle of the crosswalk, your hand casually brushed your ear. A subtle motion, barely noticeable to anyone else, but to him it screamed recognition.

You were a parasite.

His brows drew together. Something was off. Parasites usually acted in groups—hunting together, assimilating their targets with military precision. If you were one of them, you should've engaged him.

But you didn't. You kept walking, fast and purposeful. Almost like... you were running away.

Jongseong stayed still for a moment, the bag of food hanging from his hand, forgotten. His heartbeat was heavy in his ears, half fear, and half curiosity. Why would a parasite avoid confrontation?

Jongseong moved. Not fast, not slow—just enough to stay behind you without drawing attention. He weaved through the crowd with quiet precision, his eyes fixed on the back of your coat. The city noise drowned under the low pulse still humming in his inner ear. It wasn't strong. Just enough to confirm you were still nearby. Still parasite.

The further you walked, the thinner the crowd became. The bright shops faded behind them, replaced by rusted gates, shuttered storefronts, and flickering neon signs. This was the forgotten edge of the city. The place people passed through quickly. The place no one paid attention to.

You turned down a narrow alley.

Jongseong hesitated at the entrance. The cold bit harder here, funneled between brick and concrete. His fingers curled, feeling the familiar tension in his muscles—his body silently preparing to shift if needed. Bone could become blade in less than a second now. But he held it back.

He stepped in. The alley stretched narrow, damp, littered with the scent of oil, metal, and old rain. Pipes hissed from the walls. Ahead, your footsteps had stopped. You were waiting.

When he turned the final corner, he found you standing in front of a rusted service door leading into a forgotten subway access station.

You didn't move. Neither did he.

"If you're looking for another kin," you snarled without turning, "then get the fuck out and leave me alone. I'm not one of them."

Your voice was sharp making Jongseong's body tensed instantly. The shift in your tone, the unnatural dilation of your pupils, set off every instinct in him. His hand inched slightly to the side, fingers twitching, ready to reconfigure.

Then it happened. Too fast to follow with human eyes.

Your right shoulder warped violently—tissue splitting and reshaping into something jagged, organic, and grotesque. It extended outward, not as a limb but as a weapon—wing-like in structure, but edged with hooked thorns.

You lunged, Jongseong barely reacted in time, his arm snapping up, skin splitting as a skin liked carapace laced with tendon grew along his forearm—absorbing the blow with a sickening crack of thorn against hardened flesh.

He staggered back, eyes narrowed, breathing sharp.

"You kept your mind," he growled, muscles tensed, his cells humming beneath his skin, ready to shift again. "But you're still dangerous."

Your shoulder pulsed with unnatural motion, the wing-like appendage twitching as it began to fold back. "I don't want to be part of your kin," you hissed, your voice jagged with fury. "Leave me the fuck alone. I am not a monster like you!"

Jongseong's eyes widened. He barely had time to respond before you surged forward. The air tore around you as your body shifted mid-motion—bone spiking from your forearm like a serrated blade. You slashed.

He ducked, sparks flying as your weapon scraped against the metal wall. He twisted, arm reforming into hardened muscle and armor-like plating, launching a counterstrike aimed at your ribs.

You blocked with an organic shield that burst from your side—scaled and ridged like insect chitin. The impact sent both of you skidding back across the damp concrete.

Your eyes met again. Rage. Confusion. Pain.

Jongseong lunged first this time, his limbs reshaping with practiced speed—flesh snapping, tendons stretching. A blade grew from his wrist like a fang of obsidian, and he swung it toward your shoulder.

You caught it, barehanded.

Your arm, now half-shifted and armored, trembled with force as it held his blade in place. But what caught him wasn't your strength—it was your face. You weren't snarling anymore. You were breathing hard. Your eyes... they were terrified.

Your reaction wasn't instinctual. It wasn't predatory. You had hesitated. Controlled your form. Redirected the attack instead of going for the kill. Just like him.

Jongseong pulled back, staggering a step. His breathing slowed. "You're... like me."

You stood still, chest rising and falling. The bone blade on your forearm quivered, then receded slowly, melting back beneath your skin.

"Don't say that," you whispered, voice cracking. "Don't compare me to you."

But the truth was there—in the way your limbs didn't shift fully, in the way your face still held emotion, conscience, even after a violent clash. You hadn't killed him when you had the chance. You chose not to.

"I'm a hybrid," Jongseong whispered, "I'm not a monster. I'm not human either. I assume you are too."

You didn't answer right away. Your eyes flicked toward the tunnel, where the distant clicking echoed like something crawling just beyond the light. Then, slowly, you turned back to him. Your jaw clenched, the muscles in your cheek twitching like you were holding something in.

"I'm a human." It sounded more like a plea than a statement. "I was—" you paused, blinking hard, "—I was a person. I had a name. A home. I worked a job. I went to cafés and hated Mondays. I had a cat."

Jongseong didn't move.

"I wasn't this," you went on, your voice rising. "I didn't ask for it. I woke up one day and everything was... different. My skin felt wrong. I couldn't stop hearing things. Smelling things. My body... it started moving on its own. Changing. Splitting open."

Your breathing quickened. "And now I can feel it, all the time. In my bones. In my mind. Whispering. Pulling that doesn't belong to me."

Your eyes met his—wide, wet, terrified. "I don't want to be what you are."

Jongseong lowered his gaze for a moment. He understood that look. He'd seen it in the mirror more than once.

"I didn't want this either," he said quietly. He took a slow, cautious step forward, then crouched to your level, his voice soft—human.

"I was a doctor," he said, almost with a tired smile. "Worked long shifts. Rarely slept. I used to stress-eat... corn, of all things. Still do. I don't know why. Guess the parasite didn't kill that part of me."

You blinked, confused by the strange confession. But it grounded you, if only for a moment.

"I think about who I used to be all the time," he continued. "That guy who thought medicine could fix anything. Who didn't believe in monsters—just diseases, mutations, pathology." He paused, watching your face. "Then I became the thing we used to study. And I realized something... I'm still here. Somewhere beneath all of this."

His fingers lightly tapped his chest.

Your gaze dropped, lashes trembling as you stared at the space between your knees, the damp concrete still stained from your earlier strike. You didn't say anything right away. Your breathing was shallow—measured, like you were trying not to fall apart.

"I used to love the rain," you said quietly, almost to yourself. "Now it just smells like metal and rust and... blood."

Jongseong didn't interrupt. He stayed crouched, steady, watching you.

"I haven't slept in two weeks. Not really. I keep waking up in the middle of the night with my hands turned into something else. Blades. Claws. Once, it was... wings." You gave a bitter laugh, dry and hollow. "I think they were wings. They tore the ceiling fan clean off."

"I keep thinking if I ignore it, if I just pretend hard enough, it'll go away. But it's always there. Under my skin. In my head."

Jongseong's voice came calm, anchored. "You're not imagining it. It's real. And it's not going away."

Your hands clenched into fists. "Then what's the point of fighting it?"

He didn't answer immediately. He sat down fully, folding his arms over his knees, not trying to lecture you but to just exist beside you.

"I fight it because I still remember what it felt like to make people better," he said. "Because I don't want to lose that part of me. Even if it's buried under everything else." He glanced at you. "Because maybe... if I keep holding onto it, I can be something in between. Not human, not parasite. Something new."

You shook your head. "That sounds like a lie people tell themselves to feel less afraid."

"Maybe it is," he admitted. "But it keeps me sane."

Another silence settled in. Then, a small voice escaped you—quiet, brittle. "I used to sing. Just... badly. In the car. In the shower. Everywhere. And now when I try, nothing comes out. Like my voice doesn't belong to me anymore."

Jongseong looked at you. "That part's still there. Buried, but not gone."

You blinked rapidly, jaw tightening. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you carried a strange weight—grief, recognition, something neither of you could name but both felt. The bond of shared monstrosity. Of shared humanity refusing to die.

Then, softly, Jongseong added, "We don't have to be monsters, even if that's what we've become. We get to choose."

You were quiet for a moment, staring down at the cracks in the pavement. Your voice came small, almost like you were afraid the answer would make it more real.

"How long have you been... like this?"

Jongseong's gaze drifted for a second, remembering. "Two and a half years," he said quietly.

You looked up at him, your voice trembling. "Two months. That's how long it's been for me."

He nodded, listening.

"I ran away from home when I realized what was happening to me," you continued. "I couldn't stay. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I couldn't even trust myself." You exhaled shakily, brushing your palm across your face as if trying to wipe the memory away.

"I ran into a parasite once," you said. "Fully changed. No humanity left. Said he'd been like that for two years."

"What did he do?" Jongseong asked, already suspecting the answer.

"When he felt that I wasn't like him... he didn't speak. He just attacked. Like I was an error. A mutation. Something that needed to be erased."

Jongseong's jaw tightened. "You barely survived."

You nodded. "He tore my side open. I didn't even realize I could heal until after." The memory made you shudder.

"I thought maybe I could hide. Blend in. Pretend I was still normal. But that encounter changed everything. I knew then... there was no going back."

Jongseong looked at you, really looked, and said gently, "You've made it this far on your own. That counts for something."

You laughed bitterly. "Does it?"

"It does," he said. "Because most wouldn't have."

"The parasite in us... it doesn't understand mercy. Or hesitation. The fact that you've held on this long, that you chose not to give in—that means you're still you."

Your eyes flicked to him, unsure. "And if I stop choosing?"

"Then I'll stop you," he said, not as a threat, but as a promise. You blinked, searching his face for cruelty and finding only empathy.

It was strange, in a quiet way—comforting—to be near someone like you. Someone who understood. That's how you would describe it. A sense of relief wrapped in unease. You were still hiding, but not really. Not anymore.

You learned his name is Park Jongseong. He told you in passing, but you held onto it. Jongseong, meaning "collecting stars." It made you smile softly, secretly. How fitting, you thought, for someone piecing himself back together from fragments of something once human.

He gestured toward a small kit laid out between you. "Try to relax. I'm going to insert a needle—just a quick sample," he said, already prepping the syringe.

You stared at him, arching a brow, half laughing. "You know I merged my body with blades, right? A needle isn't exactly nightmare fuel, Dr. Park Jongseong."

He let out a quiet breath of amusement, the corner of his mouth lifting into a subtle, reluctant smile. It was the first expression that looked genuinely human since you'd met him. Still, he moved with the calm, clinical precision of someone who'd done this thousands of times. His hands didn't shake, and his voice stayed even.

You extended your arm, the skin unusually smooth where it had once morphed—no visible scars.

He carefully inserted the needle into your arm. The sensation was oddly muted—your pain receptors dulled, altered by the parasite. Your blood didn't flow quite like before; it was slightly denser and darker.

"This should be enough," Jongseong murmured, capping the vial. "I'll isolate the DNA structure, run it against my own. I want to see how your immune system adapted. If your T-cells underwent the same mutations."

You looked at him curiously. "You think we mutated differently?"

"I think we merged differently," he said, eyes flicking to his portable scanner. "The parasite doesn't always follow the same pattern. In most hosts, it hijacks the immune system completely—overrides all genetic repair functions, takes full control. But in us..."

"It coexists," you said softly, finishing his thought.

He nodded. "Exactly. It integrates rather than eliminates. Your T-cells should be producing chimeric proteins—part human, part parasite. Like mine."

You tilted your head, intrigued despite yourself. "You ever seen that happen before?"

He shook his head. "No. Just us."

You both sat in silence for a moment, the quiet hum of his scanner whirring softly as it began processing. Data streamed across the small screen, lines of genetic code scrolling faster than most could read.

"It's weird," you said. "I hated this thing inside me. Still do. But sitting here... I feel like I'm finally studying it. Like it's not just happening to me anymore. I'm taking it back."

Jongseong looked up from the scanner. "Exactly. That's what I've been doing for two years. Trying to understand it."

You watched him work. There was a quiet intensity to the way he moved, so focused, almost surgical. His fingers danced over the scanner's interface, eyes tracking streams of data with an ease. But your gaze wasn't on the screen.

You studied him. His nose was too pointed, almost sculpted. His jaw, sharp like it had been carved with purpose. The light caught on the angles of his face, shadows tracing across his skin like ink. His raven-black hair fell slightly over his brow, just messy enough to look deliberate, and yet... it suited him perfectly.

And his eyes, sharp, eagle-like. At first glance, they looked cold. Angry, even. The kind of gaze that could cut. But as you kept watching, you saw through it. There was no rage behind them. Only exhaustion and softness.

"I can feel you staring," he said suddenly, not looking up from the scanner.

You blinked, caught off guard. "You have a strangely symmetrical face."

He smirked faintly, still focused on the readout. "Years of stress must have evened me out."

"I think you're too pretty to be a walking biohazard," you added dryly.

That made him glance at you, a flicker of amusement breaking through the wall of control. "That's not usually the first thing people say when they see me split my arm open."

You tilted your head. "It's the second thing."

He huffed a quiet laugh. Just for a moment, you saw it—the man beneath the monster. The one who used to save lives, who still wanted to, even if he didn't say it aloud.

"I used to keep my reflection covered," you admitted, your voice softening. "Couldn't look at my own eyes. I was afraid one day they'd stop looking like mine."

He didn't respond right away. Just stared down at the glowing genetic map on the screen, jaw tight. Then he said, "Your eyes still look human to me."

Your cheeks flushed, the blood rising unbidden. A strange irony, considering how much your blood had changed, but it felt too human. 

After the blood draw, he insisted on running a full assessment—"purely diagnostic," he said, slipping back into the old habits of a physician. His voice turned more analytical. But his touch remained cautious, and gentle.

You sat on the metal examination table, legs swinging slightly, eyes drifting over the cluttered shelves and half-finished notes pinned across the wall. He moved in the background, scanning a new set of neural data. But your attention wasn't on the screen.

"Do you feel lonely in here?" you asked softly, not looking at him.

He didn't answer immediately. Just continued working for a few seconds, then said, "I don't notice anymore."

You didn't believe him. You don't think he did either.

After another minute passed, your voice returned, gentler. "What happened? When you first realized you were like this? Did you just... stop being a doctor?"

Jongseong paused, then turned slightly, leaning back against the counter. The light from the scanner flickered behind him, "I was attacked by a gang," he said flatly. "Back alley. They thought I had money. I lost count after the twentieth cut."

You stared at him, stunned.

"I had thirty-five knife wounds across my torso, chest, and abdomen," he continued, "deep lacerations. Organ damage. Multiple perforations. I was dying. I think... I was dead."

You swallowed hard, eyes fixed on him.

"I assume the parasite entered my body when I hit the threshold," he said. "Critical condition. Immune system collapsed. Internal bleeding. It's my theory that the parasite thrives more when the host is on the edge—when the system is weak enough to take, but not too far gone to recover."

His gaze lowered to your arm where the sample had been drawn. "My theory is... I wasn't strong enough to resist it. That's why I didn't die like the others. The parasite didn't need to fight me. It just filled in what was already broken." 

"So, you think it chose you because you were weak?"

He met your eyes again. "I think it needed someone weak. It needed space to grow."

A pause. His voice softened. "But maybe... maybe that's also why we didn't become them. Because we didn't fight it like a war. We... merged."

You shifted slightly, the sterile metal of the table cold under your fingertips. "You think that's why I'm still here, too?"

Jongseong nodded. "Your neural scans still show strong activity in the amygdala, the hippocampus. Emotional processing, memory retention. That's rare in infected hosts. Most show degeneration within a week of full takeover."

"And mine?"

He turned the screen slightly to show you. "Yours are still human. Intact. Maybe even more responsive than average."

You blinked. "So I'm... emotionally stronger?"

He gave a faint, crooked smile. "Or just more stubborn."

You laughed under your breath, soft eyes lingering on him, the curve of your smile not wide, but real. For a moment, Jongseong couldn't look away.

There was something in your expression that unsettled him more than any mutation, more than any parasite or hybrid anomaly. It was the trace of comfort. The ghost of peace in a body that shouldn't have had room for it.

On another day, beneath the soft whir of outdated HVAC vents and the mechanical rhythm of genetic sequencing equipment, your voice stirred.

"What happens to the parasite inside us?" you asked. "Where does it go?"

He didn't answer at first. Jongseong stood across the room, bare-chested, his skin partially illuminated by the sterile blue glow of the diagnostic interface. He was facing a mirror bolted to the wall—cracked slightly near the corner, the silver peeling at the edges. He hadn't looked into it for a long time. Not really.

But today, he was watching himself. And in the reflection, he saw you, standing behind him, the question still hovering in the air. He held your gaze for a second through the mirror, then turned back to his own reflection.

"I don't know," he said eventually. His voice was calm, but not detached. He was thinking—hard. "At least, in my case, I don't feel anything inside anymore. Not like those early days, when it felt like something was pushing... crawling beneath my skin. That pressure's gone."

He paused, lifting his hand, flexing his fingers slowly—watching the tendons shift under his skin.

"It's like... I consumed it," he said quietly. "Or maybe my body did. My cells stopped resisting. Stopped treating it as foreign. They absorbed it."

"You think your immune system... adapted?"

"Yes," he said, nodding faintly. "I've run thousands of blood scans. The parasite's original RNA is still there, but it's no longer dominant. It's dormant. Integrated. Like mitochondria."

You raised your brow. "You're saying it's symbiotic."

"More than that," he replied. "It's part of my physiology. My T-cells don't fight it. They use it. They've evolved—specialized to incorporate its functions. Shape-shifting, cellular regeneration, neural acceleration. My body didn't reject the parasite."

The parasite didn't dominate him. It became part of him.

You exhaled slowly, your voice soft, almost like you were speaking to yourself. "You're still human, after all..."

He didn't respond, his gaze lingered on you.

You looked down at your hands, turning one over, flexing your fingers. "You and the parasite... you didn't fight each other. You merged." You hesitated, the word strange on your tongue. "I don't even know if merge is the right term. That makes it sound clean. Voluntary."

Jongseong turned to face you fully now, taking a slow step closer. "It wasn't clean," he said. "And it sure as hell wasn't voluntary."

You looked up at him again.

"It was pain. Constant. Days of fevers, hallucinations, muscles tearing themselves apart. My nervous system was rewriting itself in real-time. I could feel my own memories slipping... then coming back sharper. Warped, like they'd been filtered through something else."

He tapped his temple once. "I didn't think I was going to survive it. I shouldn't have. But something inside me didn't break. It adapted. And when the parasite realized it couldn't overwrite me, it... integrated. Not by choice. By necessity."

Your brows furrowed slightly. "You're saying it didn't want you like that?"

"The parasite wants dominance," Jongseong said. "Control. But when it senses it can't win, it changes strategy. Tries to preserve itself through compromise. It's not a thinking organism, not in the way we are—but it learns."

You nodded slowly, eyes drifting to the cracked mirror behind him. "Then maybe it's not about merging or fighting. Maybe it's about outlasting it."

He studied you carefully, the muscles in his jaw flexing just slightly before he spoke.

"Exactly. If you can hold on long enough, if you can stay yourself through the pain... you don't lose. You evolve."

You looked down again, thinking of all the moments you thought you were slipping. All the nights your body changed without your permission. All the times you'd woken up shaking, afraid of your own skin.

And yet... you were still here.

You looked down at your hands, flexing your fingers slowly. The skin looked normal now. "My hand hurts sometimes," you admitted, voice quiet. "It's like... a pressure building under the bone. I can control my shifting, but sometimes it feels like something else is doing it for me."

Your eyes lingered on your arm as if it might betray you in the next breath.

"I feel like I'm not me."

"That's normal," he said. "You're still only two months in. Your body's not fully stabilized yet. It takes time. The neural pathways between your conscious mind and the parasite's reactive systems are still syncing."

You glanced up at him. "That sounds way too clinical for my hand turns into a blade without asking."

He smirked faintly. "Point is—you'll get used to it. Eventually, the signals align. You won't have to fight for control. You'll just be in control."

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. "But what if I don't?"

His smile faded, but his expression didn't turn cold. "Remember what I said when we first met?" he asked.

You nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as the memory stirred. Jongseong gave a soft tired smile. "I'll stop you."

You stared at him, reading the weight behind the words. "And you'd really do it?" you asked.

"If it came to that," he said, without hesitation. "If you lost yourself completely—if there was no coming back—then yeah. I would."

"But not because I see you as a threat," he added. "Because I'd want someone to do the same for me."

"I don't want to become something I'd have to be stopped from," you whispered.

"Then don't," he said simply.

Another day blurred into a week, and somehow, it became routine.

You and Jongseong were always near each other now. You simply showed up, and he never asked you to leave.

Every morning, without fail, you arrived at his doorstep. Sometimes barefoot, sometimes holding a plastic bag of random things you'd picked up—food, spare clothes, old electronics scavenged from forgotten corners of the city. Always with that same wide smile and a casual wave, like the world hadn't tried to erase you.

His home sat far from the crowded parts of Seoul, nestled in the quiet sprawl of the outer districts—secluded enough that no one asked questions, yet comfortable in a way that surprised you. It wasn't sterile or abandoned. It was... lived in. Warm wood tones, clean tile, books stacked in corners, a faint smell of roasted coffee in the mornings.

You didn't expect someone like him to have soft blankets and expensive sheets. But then again, he had been a doctor. Years of relentless work had filled his bank account even as it slowly emptied him. He rarely touched the money now, except to keep the house running and the lab functional. The rest stayed untouched, gathering dust, like a forgotten version of himself.

Still, his kitchen was well-stocked. His bed was always made. And now, somehow, you had become part of that space.

One quiet afternoon, sunlight filtered through the wide windows, casting long golden shadows across the hardwood floor. You stood barefoot in his living room, playfully holding your arm out as it began to shift.

Jongseong watched from the couch, sipping lukewarm tea, his eyes narrowed in equal parts curiosity and caution.

"It's my first time encountering someone who can shape their hand into wings," he said.

You smirked and raised your hand, flesh trembling, tendons coiling and restructuring. The skin along your forearm peeled open in seamless, silent motion, splitting into more organic. A full wing unfurled—sleek and wide, nearly as tall as you. Its edges were curved like a crescent, the shape aerodynamic but jagged, ringed with short, blade-like protrusions.

It was the color of your skin, yet it glinted faintly in the light.

"Most parasites use their heads," Jongseong murmured, leaning forward slightly. "They split open like flower petals—exposing core structures for attack or communication."

He stood and stepped closer, gaze fixed on your transformed arm. "But this... this is different. It's not just offensive. It's built for movement. Flight, maybe. Or at least gliding. Your body's adapting beyond the base strain."

You watched his fascination with a faint grin. He spoke like a scientist.

"Does your head still hurt?" he asked, finally meeting your eyes.

You hesitated for a moment, then shook your head. "Not anymore," you said softly. "I started doing what you told me. Focusing on breathing. Slowing everything down when it starts building up."

He nodded, approving. "The headaches come from pressure. When the nervous system tries to regulate a function it doesn't fully understand. But when you center your breathing, you give the brain a stable pattern—something to anchor the mutation against."

You laughed a little. "You sound like a meditation app."

"Doctor first," he replied, raising a brow. "Monster second."

You folded the wing back into your arm slowly, watching as the skin sealed over again, leaving no sign it had ever been anything else. Jongseong handed you a towel to wipe the sweat off your hands—it wasn't painful anymore, but it still took effort.

"Do you ever get tired of analyzing me?" you teased, dabbing your brow.

"Not yet," he said. "You're the only other hybrid I've ever met. Every reaction you have, every adaptation—it all tells me more about how this thing works."

You leaned back against the kitchen counter, looking at him with warmth. "So I'm your favorite test subject?"

He smiled faintly. "You're the only one who smiles back."

You started living around him—and it wasn't planned. It just... happened.

There was no formal moment when it became your place too. You simply never left. You came in, stayed for a while, and then stayed a little longer. Your bag ended up in the corner of his hallway. A change of clothes appeared on the back of his chair. Your toothbrush found its way into a cup next to his. No one said anything.

His laboratory is tucked beneath the basement. Stainless steel counters were cluttered with vials, blood samples, biofeedback equipment, and an old centrifuge that rattled every time it spun. Some walls were covered with whiteboards, sketched with frantic genetic maps, neural networks, protein structures, and lines of code that only made partial sense to you.

You stood in the doorway for a long time watching him. Despite not wearing a coat or a stethoscope anymore, he was still a doctor. He spent hours down there, alone, dissecting the mystery of what you both had become. Studying the hybrid genome, comparing tissue reactions, tracking metabolic rates, rebuilding broken sequences.

He never said it, but you knew he wasn't doing it for science.

He was doing it to keep himself sane.

So, you stayed. And while he worked, you started moving through the rest of the house. Dust had gathered in the corners of rooms he didn't use. Shelves were layered with months of settled particles, and forgotten books lay unopened beneath it. So you cleaned. One room at a time.

You cooked, mostly for yourself at first. But eventually, you started making enough for two. He always ate. Silently, usually. But he ate. Sometimes with a quiet compliment, sometimes with a small smile.

Later, you found the backyard—overgrown, wild, and tired. The flower beds were choked by weeds, the soil cracked from neglect. You didn't ask permission. You just started clearing it out. Pulling weeds. Watering the roots that still had life left in them. Then you bought seeds, colorful ones: snapdragons, asters, cosmos. Something bright. Something that still dared to bloom.

He noticed, of course. But he didn't stop you.

Sometimes, at night, when the house was still and the garden smelled faintly of wet soil, you found yourself staring at the ceiling of the guest room—Jongseong's oversized hoodie draped around your shoulders, warm with his scent—and wondered:

Is this what being human still feels like?

You asked yourself the question over and over, unsure of the answer. You still laughed. You still dreamed. You still loved food, flowers, music. You still worried.

Your mind drifted to things you hadn't let yourself think about in weeks. Your mother. Your cat. Your home.

The lie you told when you disappeared—telling your family you'd run off with someone. You'd sent one message. Just one. And never replied again.

Do they hate me for it? you wondered. Do they think I'm alive? Do they sit at the dinner table and leave your place empty, hoping?

The thought made you smile—but it was the kind of smile that didn't reach your eyes.

You snorted under your breath, turning onto your side.

Because now, in some twisted, literal sense, you were living with a guy. A guy who wasn't exactly human anymore. A guy who slept only four hours a night and spent the rest of his time trying to outsmart biology. A guy whose hands could become blades. Whose eyes still softened when he thought you weren't watching.

A guy who hadn't kicked you out. Who never would.

"You can shift your hands without blades?"

Your eyes widened as you stared at Jongseong, the question tumbling from your lips. The very idea felt foreign—impossible, even. Your own shifting had always come with sharp edges, bone-splitting pain, and the quiet terror that you might lose control if you shaped too far.

Jongseong glanced down at his hands, calm and controlled. Then, with a quiet exhale, he lifted one hand and extended it toward you, palm up. "Watch," he said simply.

His dark eyes shifted—pupils dilating slightly, the irises deepening in color until they almost looked black, consuming the natural brown. You knew what that meant. It was a physiological marker—hybrid activation. Your eyes did the same when you shifted. His were sharp, but not hostile, focused, but unthreatening.

The structure of his hand started to ripple not violently, not like yours usually did. No sharp angles, no sudden protrusions of bone or blade. The skin thinned and stretched, flowing in a fluid-like motion that reminded you of melting wax. It wasn't grotesque—it was graceful.

His fingers elongated and curved slightly. From the base of his palm, tendrils began to unfurl—slender, flexible, organic. Not quite like vines, not quite like tentacles, but something in-between. Soft ridges lined their surfaces. They pulsed faintly with life, reacting to the air, to temperature, to you.

They didn't glint like blades. They didn't threaten. They moved with purpose.

Your breath caught as you watched, caught between horror and awe.

"How...?" you whispered.

Jongseong didn't smile, but there was a quiet light in his eyes. "The parasite doesn't only build weapons. It builds tools—if you teach it to."

You stepped closer, cautiously, drawn to the strange, mesmerizing movement of his altered hand. "I thought it only knew how to kill."

"So did I," he said. "At first. But then I started thinking like it. Observing. Not just resisting. It reacts to survival instinct, yes—but it also responds to intention. Will."

He slowly closed his hand, the tendrils retracting fluidly, vanishing back into his skin as the flesh reformed and returned to normal.

You blinked, letting out a slow breath. "Wow. That's impressive but... completely useless," you said, your voice laced with sarcasm.

Jongseong's eyes returned to their usual deep brown, pupils shrinking, the hybrid dilation fading. He looked up at you, a beat of silence passing then he laughed.

It was soft, unguarded. A sound you hadn't heard often from him, but when it came, it felt genuine, surprisingly warm. "Well, thanks," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Glad to know my non-lethal biological innovation gets such rave reviews."

You shrugged, trying not to smile. "Sorry, Dr. Frankenstein. I just can't think of a practical use for creepy space noodles."

"Tactile sensory extensions," he corrected with mock offense. "They can be used to detect surface tension, pressure shifts, chemical traces—"

"So basically... weird science-fingers."

Jongseong gave you a long, theatrical sigh, one hand dragging down his face in mock despair, though the amused curve of his mouth betrayed him.

"You know what? Fuck it," he muttered, turning back to his workstation, but not before you caught the upward twitch of his lips.

Another month drifted by.

You woke, cooked, trained, experimented, and sometimes just existed with Jongseong in quiet companionship. The world outside still cracked and groaned with danger, but within the walls of his house, it was a different season.

And outside, life was starting to bloom.

The garden you once cleared had transformed. Where dry soil had stretched beneath tired weeds, color now flourished. The seeds you planted with no real hope had taken root. Soft petals in pinks, purples, and golds opened under the late spring sun, nodding gently with every breeze. You had come to love the quiet act of watering them in the morning, a grounding ritual. Something beautifully, stubbornly normal.

This morning, as dew still clung to the flowerbed leaves and your fingers dripped with the cool mist from the watering can, a small sound broke the usual silence.

A tiny cry. High-pitched. Fragile. You turned, instinctively alert. But it wasn't danger waiting for you in the corner of the fence.

It was a kitten. A small, orange-furred ball curled beneath the bushes—wide green eyes blinking up at you, damp fur clinging to its sides. It looked no older than a few weeks, its tiny ribs shifting with every shaky breath.

"Awww," you murmured, your voice softening as you crouched slowly to its level.

The kitten tilted its head but didn't run. You extended a hand carefully, fingers open, palm low.

"Hey, sweetheart... Where's your mommy?" you whispered.

It answered with a soft meow, barely more than a squeak, and nudged its head forward until it touched your fingers. Warmth bloomed in your chest, before you realized what you were doing, you scooped it gently into your arms, pressing it to your chest.

You didn't hesitate. You brought it inside.

When Jongseong stepped out of the lab hours later, adjusting the settings on his neural scanner, he stopped in the middle of the hallway.

You were sitting cross-legged on the couch with a towel-wrapped bundle in your lap. The orange kitten, freshly cleaned and fed, purred softly as it nuzzled your hand.

"You brought home a cat," he said flatly, blinking.

You looked up at him, eyes wide with innocent pride. "I named him Jongjong."

His expression flickered. "Jong... jong?"

You nodded with complete seriousness. "Because he's small. And soft. And a little grumpy."

Jongseong blinked again, then exhaled through his nose, half a laugh, half disbelief. "I can't decide if I'm offended or flattered."

"Oh, definitely flattered," you said with a grin. "He's the cutest thing I've seen since I moved in."

The kitten let out a mew, as if to confirm the sentiment. Jongseong stepped closer, crouching beside the couch to get a better look. The kitten stared back at him, unblinking, then gave a dramatic yawn and immediately fell asleep on your lap.

"He trusts you," Jongseong said, softer now.

You looked down at the little creature and ran your thumb gently between its ears. "He doesn't know what I am."

Jongseong was quiet for a moment. "Maybe that's the point."

You glanced at him.

"Maybe he just sees what's real," he added. "And not what we're afraid we've become."

You didn't answer right away. You just watched Jongjong breathe, tiny chest rising and falling against your arm, and felt the quiet weight of peace settle in the room like sunlight through the window.

Jongseong had spent years alone his house, surrounded by machines and memories. He thought solitude was necessary, that isolation kept him safe. That by keeping others out, he could contain the thing growing inside him, the part of him that wasn't entirely human anymore.

That was why, when you first asked him if he ever felt lonely, he hadn't known how to answer.

Now, he had an answer.

Yes.

Because since you arrived, he'd started to remember what it felt like not to be alone. And that contrast made the emptiness he'd grown used to feel sharper, heavier in retrospect. The silence he once embraced had been suffocating. But he hadn't noticed until it began to lift.

You filled the space with little things—sounds, gestures, life. The clink of ceramic mugs in the morning. The quiet murmur of your voice as you read out diagnostic data. The rustle of your clothes as you passed him in the hallway, always brushing just a little too close, like your gravity had started to pull on his.

He never told you that he started waking up before his alarm—not for research, but to hear you moving through the house. The sound of water boiling. The soft click of the stove. The faint hum of your voice when you thought no one could hear.

He never mentioned how he started leaving notes near your table. Little reminders. Jokes hidden inside formulas. Once, a crude sketch of a protein chain that somehow resembled a flower. You'd found it, looked at him with one raised brow, and said nothing, but your smile had lingered for hours.

Maybe you already knew.

Because some nights, when the house fell silent again—when the tunnel lights above the basement flickered and the lab's hum faded into a deeper hush—you would sit beside him on the couch, not asking questions, not filling the air with unnecessary words. Just being there. Shoulder to shoulder. Warm. Quiet.

And the silence didn't feel empty anymore.

"Peek-a-boo!"

Jongseong spun around and froze.

Your face had split clean down the middle, skin peeled open like flower petals under pressure, revealing the intricate folds of your brain, glistening and wet. Thorned tendrils coiled from within the exposed cavity, twitching slightly as if sensing the air. Despite the grotesque transformation, one half of your mouth was still smiling, playful, unbothered, as if this was just another joke between the two of you.

And somehow, impossibly, Jongseong found himself staring—not with fear, but with a strange, quiet awe.

Even like this warped, twisted, exposed, he still thought you were beautiful.

Terrifying, yes.

But beautiful.

Jongseong let out a sigh and pressed his lips to the rim of his coffee mug, hiding the curve of his smile behind it. He didn't laugh—barely. It wasn't that it wasn't disturbing. It was. You looked like something torn from a biology textbook on alien evolution.

With a twitch of muscle and membrane, your face knit itself back together, seamlessly folding in. The thorns retracted, the skin closed, the tremors stopped. You bounced on the balls of your feet, practically glowing with excitement.

"I learned that yesterday!" you said, beaming. "Can you do that too?!"

You looked at him like a child begging for a party trick, eyes wide, shining with that strange joy that came with discovering just how far the body could stretch before breaking.

Jongseong tilted his head, smile lingering at the edges of his lips. He set his coffee down on the lab table and stood slowly. "It's not exactly the same," he murmured, voice low and calm, "but... sure."

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, nothing happened.

Then his skin split—not down the middle like yours, but in five clean diagonal lines across his face. The motion was quiet, each line peeled open slightly, like vents adjusting to pressure. From the top of his forehead, the bone shifted and stretched, revealing a sliver of cerebral tissue beneath a thin veil of skin—pale, veined, faintly glowing. A single blade unfolded with a smooth, mechanical grace, jutting forward from the frontal bone, not sharp enough to kill, but certainly enough to threaten.

"That's... beautiful," you whispered.

He let the mutation retract slowly, each fracture sealing with precision. No blood. No pain. Just practiced control.

"I thought we were past the point of calling brain blades 'beautiful,'" he teased, reaching for his coffee again.

You shrugged. "I think we're past the point of pretending we're not fascinated with each other."

That silenced him for a second. You stepped in a little closer. Not touching—just close enough to share breath. Close enough to see your reflection in his eyes. "Is that why you looked at me like that?" you asked, voice quieter now. "When I split open?"

Jongseong didn't answer immediately. He studied your face—not the skin, not the features, but the you beneath it. The remnants of humanity still clinging to something that should've been lost. The way your voice still held inflection, still carried joy. The way your smile wasn't entirely biological, it came from memory, not muscle.

"Yes," he said finally. "Because no one's ever shown me something monstrous... and looked so alive doing it."

You didn't move. Neither did he.

You stood there, close enough that you could hear the soft intake of his breath, the quiet thrum of his altered heart beneath his ribs, beating in a rhythm that no longer matched human biology... yet somehow still made your chest ache.

You reached up slowly, not asking permission, not speaking, just brushing your fingertips along the faint lines that remained on his cheek. The skin was smooth, impossibly warm, as if something still lived just beneath the surface, twitching, waiting. He didn't flinch. If anything, he leaned into your touch, just a fraction subtle enough to be instinct, but intentional enough to mean something.

"You're always so careful," you whispered, your voice barely more than breath.

Jongseong's eyes met yours. "If I'm not, I might hurt you."

You smiled faintly. "Maybe I don't mind."

That earned a small, broken sound from him. He reached up, slowly, carefully, and took your hand in his. His thumb traced the inside of your wrist.

"I don't know what this is," you said softly, searching his face. "I don't know if it's real or just chemical—just mutation convincing us we're closer than we are."

His fingers laced between yours.

"Maybe it is chemical," he said. "But if that's true, then so is every heartbeat. Every kiss. Every touch humans have ever shared. Maybe we're just... another version of it now."

You stared at him for a long moment. Not a word passed between you. Then you leaned forward slowly, testing the air between your mouths like it was charged and he met you halfway.

It wasn't a desperate kiss. It wasn't rushed, or hungry, or tangled in panic. It was precise.

His lips were warm—almost too warm. His body still carried that inhuman heat, like the parasite burned deeper than blood. But you kissed him anyway, because in that heat, you felt something real. Something yours.

He drew you in gently, hand sliding behind your neck. You felt your body respond, you tilted your head, lips parting slightly, angling the kiss deeper, fuller. He tasted like cheap coffee and the metallic hint of sterile air, but it didn't matter.

"I used to think I'd die without ever feeling something like this again," he murmured.

You ran your fingers along his jaw, still touched by the faint lines of his previous transformation. "I thought I had already."

He smiled against your skin. "Guess we were both wrong."

Then his mouth was on yours again, this time deeper, more certain. Not rushed, but hungry. His hand slid down your spine, fingers curling at your waist as he drew you in until there was nothing but heat between you.

You gasped softly against his lips, the sound spilling from you before you could stop it. Your hands moved up, wrapping around his neck, fingers threading through his hair. He took that moment, his tongue slipped past your lips gliding against yours.

His hands were on your thighs, firm but gentle, and you responded without hesitation. In one motion, you jumped, legs wrapping around his waist, your bodies moving together. He didn't break the kiss—not even for a second—as he carried you with careful steps.

And then you felt it: the shift beneath your back, the familiar give of fabric and old springs. The soft mattress beneath you.

You exhaled as your spine met the bed, his weight settling over you. His lips moved from yours, dragging downward, slower along the edge of your jaw, then to the tender skin just below your ear, and further down to the place where your pulse fluttered.

"Jongseong," you whispered, your voice shaky, half-lost in the sensation, as his mouth lingered at your neck. You felt the sharp heat of his breath, then the sudden sting of teeth—not enough to break skin, just to claim it.

He groaned against your throat, the sound guttural, vibrating against your skin as his hips pressed down, grinding against yours with a rhythm that sent sparks through your nerves.

"Do parasites get this horny?" he murmured. You laughed, high and breathy, your hips tilting up to meet his. The movement drew a sharp moan from both of you as friction met heat, and the space between you disappeared again.

"Maybe it's just us," you said, fingers digging into his back. "Maybe we're the broken ones who feel too much."

His forehead pressed to yours, his lips hovering just above your mouth as he whispered, "Then I never want to be fixed."

He shifted his weight, sitting back just enough to reach for the hem of your shirt. You lifted your arms without hesitation, eager, your skin already humming with anticipation. The fabric peeled away easily, and the moment the cold air kissed your bare skin, a shiver ran through you.

Jongseong's gaze darkened.

"Shit..." he murmured under his breath, almost like he couldn't help it. Then his mouth was on yours again—hotter now, more desperate. His hands braced your hips as you reached between your bodies, finding the waistband of his pants and slipping your fingers underneath. You cupped him through the fabric, palm slow and the sound he made into your mouth was something deep. His hips jolted, twitching into your hand, hungry for more.

Your bra was the next to go, tossed carelessly across the room. The moment it was gone, his hands returned to your body. He paused, looking down at you. His fingers traced the lines of your waist, thumbs brushing the curve of your ribs, his breath shaking as though the sight of you unraveled something inside him.

He looked into your eyes—asking, without words.

And you answered. "Please... touch me more," you whispered, his mouth lowered, finding the curve of your breast, lips brushing the delicate skin before closing around your nipple. His tongue moved slow at first, teasing the areola in gentle circles, and then with more pressure—suckling, tasting, devouring.

Your back arched off the mattress, every nerve lit in a low, burning ache that made your breath catch in your throat. A breathy sigh slipped past your lips as you tangled your fingers in his hair, holding him there, needing more.

"God—Jongseong..." you moaned.

He responded with a groan of his own, vibrations rumbling against your skin as his hands slid down again. His mouth moved across your chest, his tongue leaving trails of heat as he worshipped every inch he could reach.

Beneath it all was something that had nothing to do with instinct. You weren't two creatures responding to any programming. You were two broken people learning how to feel again, how to love without shame—even if your bodies weren't built like they used to be.

"Remove it," you whispered, fingers curling in the fabric at his waist.

His mouth left your breast with a soft pop, his breath warm against your skin. He met your gaze and then rose onto his knees, hands moving quickly to strip the last layers away. Shirt, pants, boxers—gone in seconds, discarded to the shadows around the bed.

Your breath caught. Your eyes dropped, landing on his body, honed, powerful, beautiful in a way that bordered on unnatural. And then your gaze found his cock: thick, flushed, already aching for you. The sight sent heat spiraling through your core, a pulse deep between your thighs.

Your mouth watered.

You sat up, hands reaching for him, fingertips tentative at first, then bolder—wrapping around his length, feeling the weight of him, the twitch beneath your touch. Your movements were a little clumsy, a little hungry.

Your thumb grazed over the slick at the tip, smearing it down the shaft with a slow drag that made his breath hitch.

He was so hard. So warm. You could feel his pulse there, alive in your palm.

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his face. And God, how could someone look so divine?

The dim lights above caught on his sweat-damp hair, his chest rising and falling with every uneven breath. His lips were parted, his eyes hooded but fixed on you like he was watching a miracle unfold. Like you were the miracle.

You stare at him back, and it hits you. He wasn't human—not anymore. Because no human was this breathtaking. No man could look so effortlessly beautiful, even when his body was wrapped in scars, mutations, and power.

Ethereal, you thought.

You arched your back slightly as you leaned down, breath skimming along his length, and you kept your eyes locked on his. The second your tongue flicked out to lick the tip—slow, teasing—he let out a low, guttural sound that made your whole body throb with need.

His hands gripped the edge of the mattress, muscles tightening.

You ran your tongue along the underside of his cock, your lips ghosting over the sensitive skin, teasing him.  You loved the way he watched you.

"Fuck..." he whispered, voice hoarse.

You smiled against him, mouth opening wider as you took him in again—inch by inch, savoring the feel, the taste, the heat. Your fingers stroked what your lips couldn't reach, working in tandem as your pace gradually deepened, your body moving with quiet, desperate rhythm.

His hands found your face, thumbs gently cradling your cheeks as he looked down at you with that subtle, crooked smile—soft and filled with adoration. His gaze was half-lidded, dark with desire, but calm, too.

You hummed around his cock, the vibration making his stomach tense and his breath falter. You continued your rhythm, your head bobbing as your tongue worked him. Each motion earned a different sound from him, deeper now, breathless and ragged, his self-control rapidly fraying.

"Stop for a while," he breathed, voice tight, hand sliding to your jaw as he gently pulled you back.

You let him go, a thin string of saliva still connecting your lips to his tip, glistening between you. He didn't look away, his thumb brushed the slick trail from your mouth, and with a smirk, he pressed it between your lips.

You closed your mouth around it instinctively, eyes locked with his.

"Fuck," he whispered, as if the sight of you like that physically hurt. "You're so goddamn hot."

His hand slid from your cheek to your side. He guided you back down to the mattress, kissing you softly between each motion, your cheek, your shoulder, the center of your chest—as his fingers hooked the waistband of your pants and pulled them down, taking your underwear with them.

Cool air hit your thighs, and you shivered—but not from the temperature.

His breath hitched audibly as the scent of your arousal flooded the space between you. His cock twitched visibly, a strangled groan catching in his throat as his eyes dropped to the heat between your legs. And when he saw you—really saw you—his hands gripped your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he gently, but insistently, pushed them apart.

There you were. Glistening. Dripping. Your pussy visibly clenching, aching around nothing. Open to him.

"Haah..." he moaned. "You're perfect."

"Jongseong," you whined, hips tilting upward, searching for friction, for touch, for him. "Please... touch me already."

He leaned down, his mouth met your clit in one hot, wet stroke. You cried out at the contact, your back arching, fingers flying to his hair, gripping tight. He groaned against you, vibrating straight through your core.

His tongue moved with hunger, circling your clit, then flattening against it, then flicking with just enough pressure to make you gasp. His hands held your thighs open, possessive and steady, his mouth working you like he was starved for you.

Then he dipped lower.

His tongue slid down through your folds, gathering your slick, then pressing against your entrance—probing, pushing, entering.

You moaned, loud and breathless, as his tongue fucked into you, warm and firm and impossibly deep. It was intimate and wild, like he wasn't just tasting you—he was making out with your cunt. Every slurp echoed in your ears, every flick sent sparks crawling up your spine.

You could feel his tongue twisting inside you, exploring every inch, curling upward, coaxing you open in ways no one ever had. His mouth moved between your clit and your core, switching seamlessly, building pressure until you were panting, writhing beneath him.

"Are you gonna cum, my love?" Jongseong murmured, lifting his head just slightly to look at you.

My love.

The words hit deeper than his fingers ever could. Your chest fluttered, warmth blooming beneath your ribs. You couldn't answer with words—only a frantic nod, your fingers tightening in his hair, mussing it, holding him

His mouth returned to your cunt, tongue working your clit with firm, relentless pressure. He licked harder, faster, each stroke pushing you higher, your body already teetering on the edge.

You were twitching, panting, the heat spiraling out from your core in waves. You'd forgotten what it was like to feel so alive, so overwhelmed in the best possible way—like every nerve had come back to life.

You shattered with a cry, orgasm tearing through you like fire.

But Jongseong didn't stop.

Even as your thighs trembled, even as your body jolted with sensitivity, he kept his tongue swirling over your clit. And then, as if he knew just how to break you open all over again, he pushed two fingers into you, his middle and ring finger, long and strong and perfectly angled.

He curled them inside you, then began to thrust, steady and deep, knuckles brushing your entrance on every stroke.

"Ahhh! Jongseong!" You gasped, sitting up involuntarily, hips bucking against his face. Your body screamed with overstimulation, but it was too good to stop. Too much and not enough, all at once.

Back when you were still "normal," an orgasm like that would've left you limp and done. But now? Now you felt supercharged, every cell vibrating, your skin buzzing with more instead of fatigue.

You needed more and so did he.

The same fire burned beneath Jongseong's skin—evident in the way his hands gripped you tighter, in the flush blooming across his cheeks, in the heat radiating from his body like a furnace stoked too long.

He pulled himself up, chest heaving, and kissed you hard. Your tongues tangled instantly, messy and desperate, your panting breaths shared between kisses.

His fingers never stopped, still inside you, still thrusting, now with an animalistic rhythm that had you whining into his mouth. Each stroke sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through your core, your thighs twitching around his hips.

He swallowed every sound, every moan, and you could feel the satisfaction in the way he kissed you.

"More," you breathed against his lips.

His gaze darkened, his fingers thrusting deeper. "Then I'll give you everything."

He kissed you again, slower this time. You could feel his cock, hot and heavy, pressed against your thigh, throbbing with the need to be inside you.

He slowly slipped his fingers from you, your body twitching at the sudden emptiness, and shifted forward, positioning himself between your legs. His hand wrapped around his length, stroking himself once, then guiding the tip down between your folds. He didn't rush—he dragged the head of his cock through your slick, coating himself in the warmth of your arousal.

You whimpered, legs spreading wider, instinctively offering yourself to him, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

"Put it in," you whispered, desperate, lifting your hips to meet him. "Please..."

But he held you still, fingers tight on your hips. "Not yet," he murmured, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock. "I want to feel you beg for it."

You moaned softly, hips twitching, the heat between your thighs unbearable now.

He finally pressed forward, just the tip breaching you and both of you cried out in unison. It wasn't just the physical sensation. It was the shock of connection.

"God—your pussy's sucking me in," Jongseong groaned, his head tilting back slightly, neck tense, jaw clenched. "Oh, fuck..."

When he pushed deeper, you choked on a moan, head dropping back into the pillow, hands gripping the sheets. Inch by inch, he filled you completely, the stretch perfect, overwhelming. You could feel every vein, every pulse, your body clenching desperately around him as he reached places you forgot were there—almost brushing your cervix, almost too deep, but just right.

Jongseong leaned into you, pressing his body against yours, skin to skin, chest to chest. His arms wrapped around you. He hugged you—his full weight over you. His face buried in your neck, breath warm against your pulse as he finally began to move.

Slow thrusts, measured and deep. Every time he pushed inside you, it felt like a wave crashing over your soul—bringing back color, sound, breath. You clung to him, your arms around his back, legs locking around his waist.

"I feel so alive," Jongseong whispered against your ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin as he kissed it.

The room was filled with heat. The sound of breath, of skin meeting skin echoed through the space only the two of you could hear. Outside, the world moved—wind howling through the tunnels, distant animal sounds sharp on the air, senses heightened by your altered bodies.

But none of it mattered.

The only scent in the air was arousal—yours and his. The only sounds were gasps, moans, curses whispered into sweat-slick skin.

"Nghh... Jongseong..." you cried, voice cracking as you pulled him closer, fingers digging into his back like you could drag him deeper inside you.

His rhythm shifted, harder now. More forceful. And then he angled his hips just right—and hit you there.

Your scream tore through the room as his cock slammed into your g-spot, stars bursting behind your eyes. You clenched around him, tight and involuntary, your body no longer yours—only his, only this.

"Fuck," he cursed, head dropping into your shoulder as your walls fluttered around him. "You feel like heaven."

"Harder... please," you begged, your voice a broken whisper. "Want it harder."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his breath uneven, eyes blazing with raw intensity. "Yeah? This not enough for you?" he rasped.

You could only shake your head, tears brimming at the edges of your lashes from how good it felt. His hand reached up, fingers gently sweeping the damp strands of hair from your face. Then he kissed you again. Pouring every ounce of feeling into it, swallowing your moans as he slammed into you with brutal precision.

Each thrust shook your entire body. He moved faster now—faster than any human could. "Want more?" he growled against your lips. "You want to be filled, baby?"

You nodded desperately, too far gone to speak, your hips rising to meet every thrust, chasing the edge you could feel surging again. He groaned into your mouth, losing himself completely, fucking you.

When your orgasm hit, it tore through you, your whole body tensing, twitching, legs locking around his waist as you came hard, gasping his name.

And he felt the every pulsing wave, every clench of your slick, desperate walls around his cock—and he came with a broken sound, burying himself to the hilt as his release surged into you, thick and hot. You could feel him throbbing inside you, filling you deep, but he didn't stop.

Jongseong kept moving. His thrusts slowed but stayed deep, grinding into you. Your eyes rolled back, heat still pulsing violently through every inch of your body.

And for him—it was more than pleasure. He felt something inside himself realigning. Cells reorganizing, adapting again, responding not to survival... but to you. His body recognized yours, welcomed it.

The usual limits of human bodies didn't apply to either of you anymore. You should have been spent. Exhausted. But your broken refractory periods meant nothing now. The hunger didn't fade—it simply deepened.

He shifted without warning, flipping you effortlessly beneath him—then pulling you back, guiding you to straddle him instead. He collapsed onto his back, chest slick with sweat, arms open.

You took it. You climbed over him, breathless, body still buzzing, and sank down onto him in one smooth motion. A choked sound escaped both of you. You were so sensitive, your walls gripping him tight, but your need, your craving was louder.

You started bouncing, fast and messy, hips slapping against his thighs. "Fuck—yes, just like that," Jongseong growled, hands locking around your waist. His hips bucked up into you, matching your rhythm.

You braced your hands on his chest, fingers curling into his skin as your body began to spiral again. Your thighs trembled, knees shaking as your orgasm crept up again. You could barely breathe, barely think, only ride.

Jongseong shifted beneath you, planting his feet firmly into the mattress for leverage—and thrust up into you with such force you cried out, nearly collapsing over him. He fucked you through your orgasm, each thrust dragging the climax out longer, deeper, until your whole body convulsed, your cries echoing off the walls.

"Ahh—want more," you slurred, voice ragged, utterly cock-drunk.

Jongseong didn't speak. His breath came in hot, heavy bursts as he kept thrusting up into you. His hand reached up, slipping two fingers between your lips—quieting you. You moaned around them, muffled, your tongue swirling instinctively.

He watched you, eyes half-lidded, wild with lust. "You can't get enough, huh?"

Your moans vibrated around his fingers, still buried in your mouth, muffling your cries as your body kept bouncing on his cock, fast and needy.

You clenched around him again, and another guttural groan tore from his lips.

Jongseong slid his fingers from your mouth, glistening with your spit. He brought them to his lips and sucked them clean, eyes never leaving yours. The simple act made your pulse spike, your rhythm falter for a beat before you recovered.

Your hands slid back to brace against his knees, your back arching sharply. The change in angle made him slip deeper inside you, and you both gasped—his cock visibly outlined beneath your skin, filling you to the hilt. You saw the way his chest stuttered with each breath, eyes tracing every inch of your exposed body.

Then Jongseong laid back, propping himself up on his elbows to get a better view of you. His gaze locked with yours, you gasped softly when you notice the change in his appearance.

His pupils had gone completely black, pure darkness, blown wide.

Something else wrapped around your waist—slick, warm, textured like stretched skin, soft and strong at once. Your eyes widened as you looked down to see tendrils—tentacle-like extensions—curling from his body, wrapping around your midsection, your hips, your thighs.

"Jongseong..." you breathed.

He smirked and thrust into you hard enough to make your vision blur.

You cried out, body jolting, and then you felt another tendril—longer, thinner—slide between your legs. It pressed against your clit, stroking with an eerie, perfect pressure.

Your whole body keened.

"Oh—fuck!" you moaned, louder than before, your voice cracking as the sensation detonated through your core. It was too much. It was perfect.

Jongseong's other hand gripped your hips tighter, his fingers now stretching with inhuman dexterity, more of him wrapping around you, holding you. His cock kept thrusting up into you, the tendril at your clit stroking in sync, teasing the edge of your next orgasm.

Your breath hitched, your mind unraveling, the next orgasm building fast and hot, just out of reach.

"Need more?" Jongseong teased. More tendrils slithered around your body, responding to his command, flickering against your nipples—tight, wet licks of pressure that made you arch and whine, your chest thrusting forward instinctively. Your hands clawed at his shoulders, your head falling back, lips parted in wordless pleasure.

Your mind was far too hazy at this point, soaked in ecstasy and sensation.

Then you felt something soft and cool brushing the tight ring of your ass.

You flinched, hips jerking instinctively, but the tendrils around your thighs clamped tighter, anchoring you. Keeping you still. Keeping you open.

"Shh," Jongseong whispered against your neck, his voice patient, tender even as his body dominated yours completely.

The tendril at your ass was thinner than the rest, careful as it pressed inward—probing, stretching, sliding slowly. You gasped, muscles tightening, overwhelmed by the double penetration. His cock still thrust into your soaked cunt, fast and deep, while the tendril began to move inside you, teasing your second entrance.

You were so full, stuffed, surrounded, owned and every part of your body lit with fire.

"Why are you not talking?" Jongseong whispered, lifting his gaze to yours.

His eyes were fully dilated, pure black, wild and beautiful. You stared at him, mouth open, gasping—because God, he looked so hot. That face. That voice. That control.

The tendril inside your ass began to thicken, stretching you further, matching the rhythm of his cock as your body struggled to keep up. Your legs shook violently, your core fluttering as another orgasm surged too quickly to contain.

You were crying out, words lost to moans and breathless gasps. Jongseong thrust harder, faster; his hands, his cock, his tendrils working in unison. Every inch of you was stimulated. You were locked in his arms, caged in his grip, the hybrid strength in him overpowering but not brutal.

"I can feel you," he groaned. "All of you. You're squeezing me so tight, fuck—don't stop. Cum for me again."

And you did, you shattered, screaming his name, your entire body shaking as pleasure tore through you in electric waves. Your cunt clenched violently around his cock, your ass pulsing around the tendril still buried deep, and everything inside you collapsed into white heat.

Jongseong held you through it, driving into you with steady, desperate rhythm, chasing his own high, his body burning beneath yours, jaw clenched as he thrust one final time and groaned as he came deep inside you again.

Your head rested against his shoulder, your breath shaky in his ear. Slowly, the inhuman tendrils that had wrapped around you began to withdraw, pulling back into his arms, retreating beneath the skin.

His human hands replaced the tendrils, sliding around your back, palms soft as they cradled you. Then his lips pressed to your forehead, he brushed the hair from your face, fingers gliding through it carefully, over and over. The small, unconscious motion soothed something deep inside you.

The affection made you smile. You let your body melt into his, sinking deeper into the curve of his neck, where his scent surrounded you.

"Love you," you whispered in confession, your voice barely there . You felt the subtle shift in his chest, the rise of a soft laugh beneath your palm as he smiled against your hair. “I don’t want to regret any day I didn’t say that,” you continued. “Even if what I feel is just parasitological reaction, even if it’s some rewritten instinct pretending to be love—I don’t care. I love you.”

His hand pressed gently against the curve of your spine. "I love you," he whispered back, and the way he said it—so simply, made your heart throb.

You lifted your head slightly to look at him, eyes still half-lidded, dazed from pleasure and affection. You took in the mess of him: sweat-slick skin, tousled hair, the soft flush across his cheeks.

Beautiful, you thought again.

You smiled, lazy and warm. “More?”

Jongseong’s lips curved slowly into that familiar, crooked smirk.

The morning crept in quietly.

No alarms, no machines humming, no scans running downstairs in the lab. Just the soft amber light of dawn leaking through the half-closed curtains, casting warm streaks across the floor and the tangled mess of sheets.

You stirred first.

Jongseong’s arm was still wrapped around you, his chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of sleep. His warmth radiated through the blankets, his breath steady against the back of your neck. You could feel his hand resting against your stomach.

You didn’t move right away.

You let yourself lie there, blinking slowly at the ceiling, muscles pleasantly sore, body still humming in a low, contented way. You could still feel the echo of last night in your bones, in your skin. The way he touched you. The way he looked at you.

You turned slowly in his arms to face him.

He was awake. His eyes were open, soft with sleep but focused entirely on you. The moment your gaze met his, his lips curved into a small smile, tired but intimate.

“Morning,” he said, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Hey,” you whispered. “How long were you watching me?”

“A while,” he admitted. “You twitch when you dream.”

You groaned, burying your face briefly in his chest. “Great. Bet I looked terrifying.”

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through your cheek. “No. You looked... peaceful.”

You shifted, resting your chin on his chest to look at him properly. “You sleep?”

His hand brushed up your back in a lazy, soothing arc. “I do. When you’re here.”

That silenced you for a moment. “You always say things like that,” you murmured, “like you don’t expect this to last.”

Jongseong was quiet for a long breath. His fingers slid into your hair, combing it gently, thoughtfully. “I don’t take it for granted,” he said. “Not when everything about what we are could change tomorrow.”

You watched his face, trying to read between the words. “Do you think it will?”

He met your gaze. “Maybe. Our biology’s still in flux. Your last scan showed increased neural conductivity in your spinal column. Mine too. Whatever’s happening to us—it isn’t done yet.”

You nodded slowly, tracing the skin of his shoulder with your fingertip. “Do you think we’ll stop being us?”

He caught your hand and pressed it against his chest, over the steady beat of his heart. “I don’t know. But if I do change... I want to remember this. You. This moment.”

You leaned in, forehead resting against his. “Then let’s make more of them.”

His arm tightened around you, pulling you close until your nose brushed his. “Deal,” he whispered.

“Pathology of Parasites.”

You glanced up from your spot on the floor beside Jongseong’s lab table, brows lifted as you read the scribbled title on the datapad he'd just tossed aside.

“Wow,” you said, lips curving. “Very romantic.”

Jongseong looked up from his microscope, clearly unamused. “It was a working title.”

You held back a laugh as you pulled the datapad closer, scrolling through the contents—notes, schematics, overlapping neural maps. Some of it made sense, some of it looked like nonsense equations written in a fever dream. But it was his—every word a window into how his mind worked. Clinical. Focused. Relentless. And yet… there were margin notes scrawled in a different tone—curious, reflective.

One read: Subject B demonstrates emotional regulation post-mutation. Possibly adaptive. Possibly… intentional?

You knew Subject B was you.

“You study me a lot,” you said softly, setting the pad down beside you. 

Jongseong looked at you for a long moment, eyes steady, warm. “I don’t study you,” he corrected. “I try to understand you.”

You smiled faintly. “That’s somehow worse.”

He snorted. “Maybe. But you’re fascinating.”

You turned your head to rest it against the side of the table, eyes drifting upward to where he sat, perched in his rolling lab chair, hunched slightly over some slide under the scope.

“Do you ever miss it?” you asked. “Being a normal doctor?”

His jaw tensed, and he leaned back slowly, pulling away from the microscope. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “I miss helping people and knowing what I was fixing. Now... I’m just making guesses. Mapping new anatomy no one’s ever named. Studying nervous systems that grow new endings when I’m not looking. It’s not medicine anymore. It’s—”

“—exploration,” you finished.

He glanced at you again, his lips twitching slightly. “That’s one way to put it.”

You reached up and tugged at the end of his sleeve. “Come down here.”

“What, now?”

“Yes, now.”

He hesitated only a second before pushing the chair back and sliding to the floor beside you. You leaned against him immediately, head settling on his shoulder, your knees brushing his thigh.

“You ever think,” you murmured, “if we weren’t like this… if we were just two strangers in a city... we would’ve passed each other without a second glance?”

He was quiet for a moment. Then: “Maybe.”

You looked up at him. “Do you like that idea?”

He met your gaze, something soft flickering behind his eyes. “No.”

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

“Because if we were normal,” he said, “I wouldn’t have seen you split your face open like a flower. Or sprout wings. Or smile after turning into something terrifying. I wouldn’t have seen all the parts of you that are beautiful because they’re impossible.”

Your throat tightened. “You always say the nicest horrifying things.”

“I mean every one of them.”

You turned toward him fully now, your legs folding under you, fingers brushing against the back of his hand. “Do you think we’d still fall in love?” you asked.

He paused. “I don’t know. Maybe not. Maybe we’d never look close enough.”

You nodded slowly, fingers tracing invisible lines over the back of his hand. “Then I’m glad it happened like this.”

He turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through yours. “Even if it hurts?” he asked.

You looked up at him, smiling just a little. “Especially because it hurts.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and grounding. “You know what I think?”

“Hm?”

“I think our pathology isn’t just parasitic. It’s poetic.”

You laughed under your breath. “Are you writing love poems in medical terms now?”

He smirked. “Only when I’m inspired.”

You leaned in and kissed him. The kind of kiss that wasn’t about heat or need—but about knowing and choosing.

When you pulled away, you stayed close, your forehead against his.

“I like this version of you,” you whispered. “The one who smiles when I mess with your research notes.”

He chuckled, his voice low in your ear. “And I like this version of you—the one who pretends not to be touched when I leave you notes shaped like protein chains.”

“You thought I didn’t notice?”

“I was hoping you did.”

You smiled. The datapad beside you still read Pathology of Parasites, but under it, someone had added in smaller handwriting—And the ones who survive them together.

The weather was quiet—eerily so.

Outside, the garden swayed gently under a pale morning sky. The another flowers you'd planted weeks ago had begun to bloom in earnest, soft bursts of color dancing in the breeze. Petals fluttered open toward the sun.

Inside, the air was still. Calm. The kind of stillness that didn't last.

Jongseong sat hunched at his lab desk, deep in a web of data. The neural scanner whirred quietly beside him, tracking changes in his cellular rhythms. Graphs rose and fell on the screen. Numbers blurred into pattern. His brow furrowed, fingers flying over the touchscreen, eyes sharp with focus.

The sound of wheels.

Faint at first. Too faint for most ears.

But not his. Jongseong body tensed instinctively.

Wheels. Two vehicles. Tires on gravel. He closed his eyes for a second, counting. One... two… four sets of footsteps. Three kilometers. Getting closer.

Jongseong rose from his seat with calculated calm, brushing a hand back through his hair, then pulled off his glasses and set them on the desk. His movements were controlled, but fast. He strode to the reinforced lab door, locking it with practiced ease before tugging a small, folded rug from under the emergency shelf. He draped it over the entry seam, concealing the frame as if it were just a storage hatch, then adjusted a nearby cabinet to further obscure it.

Once satisfied, he stepped back, exhaled sharply, and turned toward the stairs.

By the time he reached the living room, you were already there.

You stood at the edge of the hallway, barefoot on the wooden floor, arms wrapped around Jongjong. The little orange cat was tense in your grip, ears back, tail stiff, sensing the same wrongness that you did. Your eyes met Jongseong’s—and they were wide with fear.

“Who are they?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I heard—cars, and footsteps. They're close.”

Your brow furrowed, panic rising, but Jongseong was already moving toward you. His expression was calm, but you could see the tightness in his jaw. He cupped your cheek with one hand, his thumb brushing gently beneath your eye. “Shhh… don’t be afraid,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “I don’t know who they are. But I’ll protect you.”

You swallowed hard, nodding once, clutching Jongjong closer to your chest.

The knock came sharply. Jongseong froze, he took a slow breath, then stepped forward, unlocking the front door with careful precision, standing just beyond the threshold was a man in a dark-gray uniform, flanked by two others. Another figure stood beside the nearest vehicle, partially obscured.

The man at the door wore a clean, crisp jacket with a silver emblem pinned near the collar. His expression was unreadable, polished. Government.

“Good morning, Dr. Park Jongseong,” the man said evenly. “I’m Lee Heeseung. Task Force Division Five. Anti-Parasite Intelligence Unit.”

Jongseong’s eyes flicked down briefly to the ID badge clipped at the man’s belt, then back up to his face. His features didn’t move.

“I wasn’t aware I was still listed under my former title,” he replied coolly.

Heeseung’s lips twitched into something close to a smirk. “Well, it’s been what… two years since you resigned after your incident. You can imagine it took some digging to find this place.”

He gestured loosely toward the landscape—gravel winding through old pine, the isolation of the hills, the unmarked road that led to nowhere. “Your house is… subtle,” he added. “Almost like you didn’t want to be found.”

Jongseong didn’t miss a beat. “I didn’t know that was illegal.”

“It’s not,” Heeseung replied, smile sharpening slightly. “Not yet. But you know how we work—we keep tabs on anyone with a profile like yours. Especially those who survived and then disappeared without a trace.”

“I resigned because I was hospitalized with thirty-five internal injuries,” Jongseong said evenly. “I’m sure you read the files, didn’t you? Spent a few late nights combing through the classified parts?”

Heeseung gave a quiet chuckle. “I skimmed the highlights. They don’t make many survive cases like yours, so you’re... of interest.” His eyes flicked past Jongseong’s shoulder—and landed on you.

You stood near the far end of the hallway, half-visible in the doorway, Jongjong cradled in your arms. You tried to stay still, neutral, but the weight of his gaze made your grip tighten. The kitten stirred with a faint mewl as you forced a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Heeseung’s head tilted slightly. “Girlfriend?”

There was something in his tone—probing, too casual to be genuine.

“Quite a familiar face,” he added. “I think we flagged her name once. Ran away from home, wasn’t it?”

You swallowed, every muscle in your body tensed beneath your skin.

Jongseong stepped forward, subtly blocking the doorway with his body to cover you. “We’re getting married,” he said flatly.

Heeseung’s brows lifted a fraction, but the smirk never left his face. “Well. Congratulations, then.” His tone made it sound like anything but a blessing.

Jongseong’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

Heeseung’s smile faded slightly. Not gone but tempered. “There’s been parasite movement in this region,” he said. “We’ve been tracking electromagnetic fluctuations coming from your grid. Spike patterns. Irregular heat signatures. Even some satellite interference.”

He paused, studying Jongseong's face for a flicker of reaction that never came. “Nothing conclusive,” Heeseung added, “but... interesting. Enough to warrant a visit.”

Jongseong didn’t flinch. “Congratulations,” he said dryly. “You found a retired doctor with backup power.”

“Maybe.” Heeseung tilted his head slightly. “Or maybe we found a man who’s been hiding something more than outdated diagnostics.”

Jongseong stepped back half a pace—not in retreat, but to take a stronger stance. The door remained open behind him, but his presence filled the threshold like a barricade.

“If you had proof,” he said, voice low, “you wouldn’t be here asking questions.”

Heeseung’s smirk returned. “That’s true. For now.” His eyes flicked to the hallway again—just a second too long, settling on the space where you'd stood before he arrived. His gaze lingered, speculative.

“Thing is,” he continued, tone softening just enough to unsettle, “it’s only a matter of time. Sooner or later, all hosts lose containment. Doesn’t matter how strong they are. Or how careful.”

Jongseong’s jaw flexed. “And if they don’t?” he asked.

Heeseung’s eyes gleamed with the hint of something darker—curiosity, maybe. “Then they become something else. And that’s when they’re really interesting.”

Heeseung stepped back. His smile returned as he reached into his coat and pulled out a small card, placing it gently on the railing beside the door.

“If you ever decide you want to talk,” he said. “I’d be happy to listen.”

Jongseong didn’t respond. He didn’t take the card. Just watched.

Heeseung turned away, nodding once to the officers near the car. As he walked down the steps, his voice carried over his shoulder:

“Take care of your fiancée, Doctor."

The car doors shut with a dull clunk, and the engines rolled back to life.

Jongseong waited until the sound faded completely before closing the door. Not slamming it, just quiet.

The room was still again.

The echo of car engines faded into the distance, swallowed by the thick silence of the woods. But the unease didn’t leave with them. It settled in the corners of the room, in the shadows of the hallway, in the hush of the air itself.

Jongseong stood unmoving for a long moment, staring at the door. Then, slowly, he backed away, step by step, until he reached you.

His voice was low. Bitter. Tired.

“Government’s so fucking fake,” he whispered under his breath. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest.

Your body responded before your brain could catch up. Your arms encircled him, clutching Jongjong between you, the little cat still tense, mewing softly with each shift of breath.

You could feel Jongseong’s heart beating faster than usual. Not panic—but calculation. Instinct already grinding into motion.

Your own chest ached with the weight of it. “They’ll raid us,” you said, your voice strained. “You know that, right? It’s just a matter of time.”

“I know,” he murmured into your hair. 

He was already thinking, you could feel it in him—muscle memory kicking in, mind running down contingency plans, routes, caches, what to take, what to leave behind. But for one more second, he just held you there, breathing in the moment. Then he pulled back, hands firm but gentle on your shoulders.

“We need to move. Fast.”

You nodded, eyes wide but steady. “Where?”

“There’s a site. Old observatory, two hours east. No power grid, no satellite interference. It’s buried in forest. Abandoned for years.” He was already turning, heading toward the concealed panel in the hallway, the one that led down into the lab. “I used to store backup gear there. We can set up a new node. No one should find us.”

You followed him, Jongjong tucked against your chest, your footsteps light and quick on the floor. Down in the lab, the air was cooler—sterile, humming with faint electricity. But this time, the room didn’t feel like safety. It felt like a ticking clock.

Jongseong moved with swift. He was already pulling storage drives from the mainframe, detaching power cells, collecting physical records. “Grab your scans,” he said without looking. “The ones from last week. The DNA strand with the tertiary mutation—we can’t leave that behind.”

You rushed to the desk, locating the labeled folders, the encrypted drives. “Do we take the entire core?”

“No. Too heavy. Just the segments I isolated in Case File Delta-11. Everything else, we burn.”

You paused, breath caught. “Burn?”

He turned, locking eyes with you. “If they come here, they’re not just looking for us. They’re looking for proof. If they find it, we lose everything.”

You swallowed hard and nodded.

He returned to packing—the slow dismantling of a life that had once felt permanent. The garden. The house. The bed. The scent of tea in the morning and soft footsteps on wood. All of it, now just a risk.

“You’re doing okay?” he asked suddenly.

You looked at him, startled by the question. “What?”

He paused. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m trying not to fall apart,” you said honestly.

Jongseong walked to you, took your hand, laced his fingers through yours. “Then fall apart later. Right now, we survive.”

You blinked fast, refusing to cry, and nodded.

For the next hour, the house came alive with motion You cleared out the bedroom, pulling your few clothes into a duffel bag. Jongseong moved through the kitchen, the basement, the lab—grabbing rations, medical supplies, essential tech. Caches were unlocked from beneath floorboards. Batteries charged.

Jongjong mewed at your heels, sensitive to the sudden shift. You scooped him into a small reinforced carrier, latching the top shut gently as you whispered, “It’s okay, baby. We’re not leaving you.”

When everything was ready—what little they could carry—the rest was rigged.

Jongseong stood by the lab console, thumb hovering over a small interface.

“Are you sure?” you asked softly.

He looked around the room. The whiteboards, the shelves, the soft glow of monitors that had flickered through endless nights of quiet obsession. “I loved this place,” he said. “But it was never meant to last.”

Then he pressed his thumb to the screen. The countdown began: 120 seconds.

He turned to you.

“Let’s go.”

The two of you moved quickly through the trees, boots crunching against the uneven trail that led away from the house. The duffel bags strapped over your shoulders weighed heavy, and Jongjong’s carrier bumped gently against your side as you kept pace with Jongseong. Every breath burned in your chest, lungs tight from urgency, but you didn’t slow.

The road wasn’t far. Behind you, the first hint of black smoke coiled upward into the sky—thin at first, then thicker, darker, alive with the scent of something ending. Chemicals. Plastic. Burnt paper. Memories.

You glanced back once, just once, and saw the roof of the house begin to buckle in the distance, flames licking hungrily through the glass of the greenhouse.

The safehouse was gone.

You turned your face forward again, biting down hard on the grief rising in your throat.

Then, just as you and Jongseong stepped out from the treeline onto the narrow, cracked road, you heard it—engines. Multiple.

Too close.

Jongseong’s hand shot out instinctively, halting you in your tracks as headlights cut across the road ahead. Then another flash of light from behind. The hum of electric motors shifted into full roar as a wall of vehicles emerged from the forest—sleek, matte black, no visible insignia.

One car. Then two. Then four. They encircled you with military precision.

“Fuck,” Jongseong breathed.

Your heart kicked into a sprint.

The tires screeched as the cars completed the circle, trapping you both in the center. Doors slammed. Boots hit gravel. From the trees, two more massive transport trucks rumbled into view—large, reinforced, bearing symbols you didn’t recognize.

Your pulse rang in your ears. Jongjong whimpered inside his carrier.

Around you, agents moved into formation—helmets, rifles, armor too advanced for local law enforcement. These weren’t just military. This was containment.

You felt Jongseong’s hand slip into yours, grounding. His grip was steady, but the tension radiating from him was unmistakable.

They’d come fast. Too fast. Someone had been watching long before Heeseung ever stepped onto the porch. The visit had been a test—a warning disguised as politeness. And now, the real answer had arrived.

Jongseong stood still beside you, his body calm but coiled like a spring. Eyes scanning every angle—counting rifles, reading stance, calculating distance.

“We don’t run,” he said quietly, his voice low and measured.

You nodded, barely. Your mouth had gone dry. Every muscle in your body was buzzing with restrained panic, but his steadiness held you together. Barely.

Then the voice came, amplified by a mounted speaker from one of the armored vehicles ahead.

“Park Jongseong. Parasite host that evolved with retained intelligence. Subject Code 1072. You are surrounded. Surrender peacefully.”

Parasite. Host.

You felt something clench in your chest. They thought Jongseong was gone. That he was nothing but a skin-walker—a parasite wearing his face. They thought he had taken Jongseong’s memories. Not kept them.

And if that’s what they thought of him… what did they think you were? You were both still yourselves. Still human in the ways that mattered. Conscious. Feeling. Choosing. How could they not see that?

It was easier to reduce you to subjects—to codes and categories. It was easier to eliminate anomalies than to understand them.

You flinched as the quiet clicks of safety switches echoed around you. One by one. Like a metronome of dread. The hiss of containment coils charging up, the faint hum of EMP disruptors warming beneath the truck chassis. Cold, impersonal tools built to restrain monsters.

This is it. This is how it ends.

You choked back a cry, your vision blurring with panic, heart jackhammering in your chest.

A hand, warm and steady, wrapped around yours.  You looked up instinctively, drawn by that calm pull, and saw Jongseong’s face turned toward you. No fear in his expression.

Only you.

His thumb brushed gently across your skin—once, twice, the motion grounding. His eyes held yours, soft and unwavering, and in them was a message louder than the voice still barking orders from the trucks:

We’ll be alright.

No matter what happened next. Whether they fought, ran, or burned it all down—he would not leave you. Not now. Not after everything.

You swallowed hard, pressing your forehead briefly to his shoulder.

“Let me be perfectly clear,” he said. “I’m not a host. I’m not a parasite."

But they weren’t listening. Before the next breath, the soldiers moved.

Shadows broke from the perimeter—six of them, black-clad, rifles raised, moving with ruthless efficiency. You barely had time to react before they were on you, splitting you apart.

“Jongseong!” you screamed, voice raw, panic lacing. You twisted violently in their grip, but they were trained for this. One of them was already behind you, and then—Cold metal—pressed hard against the back of your skull. 

“Do not touch her!” Jongseong roared, voice losing all calm. “I came out here on my own. I’m trying to handle this peacefully—hear me out first!”

“What a nerve for a parasite.”

Heeseung stepped forward from the rear of one of the vehicles, casual as ever, a tablet under one arm and a sleek black coat whipping slightly in the breeze. His expression was between amused and disappointed.

“You know what fascinates me about your kind?” he asked. “You think memory makes you human. That because you remember who you were, that gives you the right to pretend you still are.”

Heeseung smiled thinly, but his eyes were sharp and gleaming. “You’re not a miracle, Park Jongseong. You’re a malfunction. A parasite too stubborn to wipe clean. An error in the code.”

“You’re wrong,” Jongseong said, voice low and shaking with barely-contained rage. “I’m not pretending. I am still me.”

“Oh?” Heeseung lifted an eyebrow, then glanced at you, pinned and trembling. “Then why does your biology say otherwise?”

“This,” Heeseung continued, “is not human. And it never will be again.”

He stepped closer to you now, far too close, gaze crawling over you. His hand reached for your face.

You flinched and Jongseong snapped. “Don’t touch her!” he bellowed. His body tensed, pulsing with barely contained energy, the hybrid signature humming just beneath his skin.

But the soldiers were faster this time. Before he could fully shift, they surged forward, slamming him to the ground with blunt, brutal force. A shriek tore from your throat as metal restraints clamped around his wrists, locking into his nerves with a cruel hiss. Another device—a containment collar—was pressed to the base of his neck and activated with a low whine. It snapped shut, injecting something through the skin.

"No!" you screamed, trying to lunge toward him, but two soldiers seized you by the arms and yanked you back. From the corner of your eye, you saw them dragging Jongseong toward one of the trucks. His head lolled forward, jaw clenched, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. But his eyes—his eyes—were still locked on you.

“My cat,” you whispered hoarsely, panic rising in your throat as you clutched the carrier tighter to your chest. The soldiers didn’t stop—they reached for it too.

"Please don’t hurt Jongjong,” you begged, voice cracking as the straps were torn from your hands, the warm weight of the carrier suddenly gone. “Please.”

The truck doors slammed behind Jongseong. Heeseung approached you, boots slow on the gravel, his expression unreadable. You expected amusement, or cold detachment. Instead, he looked… fascinated.

He stopped just in front of you, gaze flicking over your face, then lower, he reached out and plucked a strand of your hair.

You jerked back, but he already had it between his gloved fingers, holding it against the light.

It twitched. A subtle motion, almost imperceptible. The strand pulsed—flexed—like something living beneath the keratin. A ripple of parasite-altered structure, responsive to stress. Adaptable.

Just like Jongseong’s. 

“Fascinating,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. You stood rigid, breath shallow, refusing to give him the satisfaction of fear.

He didn’t need you to speak. He already knew. You moved differently too.

Not like the ones they captured in the early waves—parasites that tore through their hosts in hours, leaving nothing behind but mindless hunger. Those were feral. Primitive. No self-awareness, no identity. They moved in twisted packs, bonded by instinct and survival programming alone.

You showed restraint. Expression. Emotion. A parasite that retained host memories wasn’t unheard of, but this level of cognitive mimicry? This illusion of selfhood? It was advanced. Dangerous.

Heeseung’s gaze flicked toward the truck where Jongseong was being restrained, injected, monitored. Still conscious, still resisting. Still looking at you.

The way you’d screamed for him. The way he’d fought back. The way your bodies moved in sync when threatened, like one half of the same adaptive system.

Heeseung’s brow furrowed faintly as his mind worked. Two parasites. Two separate hosts. And yet—shared behavior, matched speech patterns, mirrored stress responses.

Coordination. There was no record of parasite hosts operating this way.

No. These two were different.

They operated like a bonded system—distinct, but synchronized. Reflexively connected. Conscious units that didn't just act... they adapted. They evolved in tandem.

Like they remembered how to be human.

Heeseung turned from you without another word and walked briskly toward the rear vehicle.

The heavy doors of the transport truck slammed shut behind him with a hollow thud, sealing away the forest light. Inside, the air was sterile and close—metal floors, reinforced paneling, containment restraints bolted to the walls.

Jongseong sat chained at the wrists and ankles to a steel platform welded to the floor. A neural-suppression collar wrapped around the base of his neck, blinking with slow, pulsing red light—designed to keep his nervous system dormant. His breathing was shallow, restrained by the collar’s influence, but his eyes…

His eyes were alert. Fixed on a spot on the floor in front of him, still burning with thought.

The soldier at the rear finished checking the restraints, nodded once to Heeseung, then stepped out, leaving the two of them alone as the engine rumbled to life.

The truck began to move.

Heeseung sat across from him, there was a moment of silence before Jongseong spoke.

“Where did you put her cat?”

He didn’t look up—just stared at the floor, wrists loose in the restraints, posture deceptively relaxed.

Heeseung blinked, caught off-guard by the question. Not a threat. Not a plea. Just calm, focused concern. That tone again. Human, not host mimicry.

“She was worried,” Jongseong continued. “Even when they put a gun to her head. She didn’t cry for herself.”

“Your first question,” he said at last, “after all this—after being tranquilized, collared, contained—is about a cat?”

Jongseong’s jaw shifted slightly. “He’s all she has left."

Heeseung leaned back in his seat, watching him, trying to see where the parasite ended and the man began. “You say that like you care.”

“I do,” Jongseong said simply.

“You’re not supposed to,” Heeseung said flatly. “Parasites don’t care. They consume. They replicate. They preserve function only long enough to blend in and feed. Emotions aren’t in the architecture.”

Jongseong finally lifted his eyes. And when he did, the calm in them unnerved even Heeseung. “Maybe your data’s outdated.”

Heeseung didn’t answer right away.

The collar blinked again—another suppression pulse. Jongseong winced slightly, just a flicker. But the control was slipping.

“Why her?” Heeseung asked, narrowing his eyes. “Why protect her? Why bond?”

Jongseong tilted his head. “You think that’s the parasite, don’t you? A mimicry of love?”

“Isn’t it?”

“No,” he replied quietly. “It’s something stronger than that. Something your experiments can’t replicate.”

Heeseung watched him for a moment longer, then pulled a tablet from his coat. He tapped the screen once, bringing up a live feed.

On it—your containment cell.

You were seated on a cold bench, hands cuffed, staring at the wall with red-rimmed eyes. Jongjong’s carrier sat in the far corner, intact. The kitten was curled up inside, asleep, breathing shallow but steady.

“She’s safe. For now,” Heeseung said. “As long as you cooperate.”

Jongseong didn’t speak. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just kept his eyes on the screen showing your containment room. The only motion came from his fingers—subtle, rhythmic tension in the knuckles as they flexed against the cuffs around his wrists.

The low rumble of the truck filled the silence between them as the vehicle rolled down the cracked road. The steel walls vibrated faintly with every turn, every bump. The hum of the suppression collar echoed with each pulse, a soft, almost inaudible thrum designed to keep the nervous system in check.

Heeseung sat opposite him, tablet resting on one knee, but he wasn’t looking at the screen anymore.

He was watching him. Heeseung had spent years studying parasite behavior. He’d seen the aftermath of outbreaks, the scorched ruins of cities where hosts turned feral. He’d dissected bodies whose minds had been consumed, hijacked by instinct. He knew how the infection behaved. The timeline. The neurological decay.

Heeseung leaned forward slightly, watching every twitch of the man’s jaw, every micro-movement in the corners of his eyes. There was no vacant, drone-like stillness. No flickering dissonance between body and mind. Jongseong moved with control. With memory.

“Two years,” Heeseung said quietly. “Since your incident.”

Still, no reply.

“No symptoms of degeneration. No neural collapse. No regression to instinctive behavior. Not even a shift unless provoked.”

Heeseung’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Parasites don’t do that.”

“You should’ve lost cognitive function by now,” Heeseung muttered, as if to himself. “Or at least shown instability. But you’re not twitching, not fragmenting. You’re still here.”

Jongseong didn’t answer.

Heeseung studied him harder now. “You responded to pain. But you didn’t lash out. You defended her first. Like you weren’t the one being contained.”

He stood slowly, pacing a step across the cramped transport cabin. “You aren’t fighting for survival like the others. You’re fighting for her. And the cat.” He said the last part with disbelief.

“And even now—with everything shut down inside you—you’re not asking how to escape.” He tapped a knuckle lightly against the wall. “You’re asking about a cat.”

Heeseung exhaled slowly, almost reluctantly, he muttered the thought that had been coiling in the back of his mind since he first saw the two of you together:

“…What if we didn’t catch a parasite?”

Across from him, Jongseong finally lifted his eyes. “You didn’t,” Jongseong said quietly.

His voice was calm. Too calm. It made Heeseung’s spine tighten.

“You didn’t catch a parasite,” he repeated. “You caught me.”

Heeseung turned toward him, narrowing his eyes, the flicker of doubt still not strong enough to override years of indoctrinated procedure. “So what are you then? The host pretending to be alive? Or the thing that took his name?”

“I’m not pretending,” Jongseong said, sitting straighter despite the restraints. “I never stopped being me.”

Heeseung folded his arms, cautious. “Parasites can adapt to memory. Form neural imprints. Replay emotions. It doesn’t mean they feel them.”

“I remember my mother’s voice,” Jongseong said. “The smell of mint in my lab. The first time I stitched a wound clean."

He leaned forward just slightly, eyes locked with Heeseung’s. “Tell me. What kind of parasite chooses restraint?”

Heeseung didn’t answer.

“I should have attacked when you put the collar on,” Jongseong continued. “When you touched her. When you threatened a cat. But I didn’t. Because I still have choice. I still have will. And if I wasn’t me... you’d all be dead.”

Heeseung’s jaw tightened. “That’s not proof of humanity. It’s control.”

“It’s both,” Jongseong said. “That’s what you can’t see. You’ve been fighting a war against an infection—but you never stopped to consider that maybe, some of us… integrated.”

He let the word hang.

“Not overwritten. Not consumed. Not mindless.”

“Integrated,” Heeseung repeated slowly, voice skeptical. “As in… coexistence?”

Jongseong nodded once. “Symbiosis. On a level your science hasn’t reached yet. Our cells merged. Our minds remained intact. Not corrupted."

The idea clawed at the edge of his discipline. It wasn’t just unorthodox—it was heretical in the field of parasite containment.

“This isn’t a theory we can test,” Heeseung muttered, as much to himself as to Jongseong. “There’s no model for what you’re describing. No neural map that explains how host and parasite can both retain identity—”

“Because you’ve never looked,” Jongseong cut in. “You see symptoms. You don’t see survival. You isolate, contain, and kill before you understand.”

Heeseung stopped, and look at him again. “Why her?” he asked again, softer this time. “Why protect her like that?”

Jongseong’s gaze didn’t waver. “Because I love her. Not because the parasite remembers it. Because I do."

Heeseung was silent, the silence between them thickened.

“If you're going to cut us open, then leave her out of it. I’ve already run my bloodwork. The cells in our systems—they’re nearly identical. If you need a subject, take me.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes. “You’re admitting you’re infected.”

“I’m saying I know more about what’s happening inside me than you ever will,” Jongseong said. “I’ve seen the mutation pathways. I’ve watched how the parasite interacts with host DNA. It doesn’t consume. Not in our case. It synchronizes. Rewrites with us, not over us.”

“You expect me to believe this is some kind of... biological partnership?”

“I don’t care if you believe it,” Jongseong said coolly. “I care if you let her live.”

Heeseung stood motionless, his fingers tightening slightly over the edge of his tablet. His mind clearly spinning, trying to stitch logic back together with a theory that had no precedent, no documented case, no rules.

Then a sudden bang was heard at the front of the transport.

The front of the transport jolted sideways, metal groaning as something massive rammed into the vehicle’s outer shell. Jongseong’s head snapped up, his body jerking violently against the restraints. The suppression collar flared with a pulse of light as it tried to regulate the surge in his nervous system.

But instinct was already rising. From deep in his bones, something ancient and sharpened stirred.

Warning sirens shrieked from the cockpit, pulsing red light flooding the interior. A violent, inhuman screech tore through the walls of the transport, piercing and layered with a sound that no natural throat could make.

Heeseung spun toward the back, eyes wide, gun already in hand as static exploded over the comms.

“—under attack—Sector Four breached—multiple signatures—non-registered forms—”

Then: silence. The comm cut out with a sharp burst of static.

Another impact—closer now.

The left panel of the truck ripped open, jagged claws punching through the hull. The interior sparked, wires torn from the wall. Screams erupted outside, brief, panicked, human—and were immediately silenced.

Gunfire flared, distant and fast. Then stopped. The truck screeched to a halt. Everything inside shuddered.

Jongseong’s breathing slowed. His pupils dilated. A sharp ringing started in his ear, piercing and constant. A signal. An echo. He knew that sound. The ferals were here.

Heeseung backed toward the wall, cursing under his breath, eyes darting toward the ruptured seams of the truck. “Shit—ferals. We’re not the only ones who tracked your signal.”

The vehicle hissed, locking down in emergency containment mode, blast doors grinding into place—but it wouldn’t hold.

It never held against evolved ferals.

A voice crackled in over the emergency channel, panicked and distorted.

“They’re cutting through the outer convoy—unit integrity compromised—blades—gods, their heads—!”

Heeseung turned toward the hatch with frantic precision, slamming a hand against the biometric reader. It blinked red.

Denied. Lockdown protocol in effect.

He snarled and spun toward one of the soldiers just as they dropped in from the front cabin, blood on their chest armor.

“What the hell are they doing here?!” Heeseung barked, breath ragged.

The soldier stumbled forward, panting. “We were being tracked. They're grouped, coordinated. They sensed the suppression signals. We were too focused on the subject—on capturing him—we didn’t see them grouping up!”

Heeseung’s face twisted, horror blooming beneath the sweat on his brow. He hit the external door override and shoved it open.

The wind roared in—along with the sharp scent of blood and ozone. He stepped out onto the highway and stopped cold.

The road was carnage.

Vehicles overturned. Trucks in flames. Smoke coiling into the sky. The asphalt was smeared with streaks of red. Civilian cars had been caught in the chaos, crumpled in the crash zone, some still running. The sound of alarms blared faintly beneath the screams.

And all around them—parasites. Dozens of them.

Moving in brutal synchronicity. Their heads had split open, revealing rows of blade-like bone and twitching sensory tissue, extending into curved, serrated weapons. Limbs bent at impossible angles. Some crawled low, others leapt over crushed vehicles.

One slammed a containment soldier into a guardrail, slicing through armor like foil. Another dragged someone beneath a flipped transport, the sound that followed barely human.

“Fuck!” Heeseung shouted. “We’re on a highway! Civilians are here!”

He watched as one parasite tore through a family vehicle. And suddenly, Heeseung understood the truth he’d ignored for too long:

While the government hunted for anomalies, the real parasites were already evolving—together.

 "Jongseong!" Your voice cut through the gunfire, the sirens, the screeching metal—and Jongseong’s body reacted instantly.

His head snapped up, muscles tensing, eyes blown wide with instinct. The suppression collar hissed against his neck, trying to contain the surge of parasitic activity pulsing beneath his skin, but it was failing—overloaded by the ambient energy from the ferals outside. He pulled against the restraints, harder than before, the reinforced cuffs groaning.

Heeseung spun, eyes wide, curse caught in his throat as he raised his pistol again and fired into a cluster of parasites tearing through the defensive line.

Shots rang out, shells clinking against the scorched metal floor. Smoke billowed from one of the downed trucks. The soldiers had formed a defensive circle around the transport, rifles raised, trying desperately to hold position. Their formation was tight focused on protecting the anomaly inside.

But they didn’t see you. Your form moved like a blur—inhumanly fast—leaping across the crushed hood of a nearby vehicle. Metal dented under your weight as you sprang upward, hair whipped by the wind, eyes burning.

“How the hell—” one soldier stammered. “How did she escape containment?”

Another parasite lunged toward you, its jaw split wide in three directions, blade-arms drawn back to strike—but you twisted mid-air, your arm morphing as it flared into a winged shield, catching the creature mid-swipe and launching it backward with a bone-cracking crash.

You landed hard on the ground, crouched and panting, blood spattered on your cheek but your eyes were locked forward.

“Get away from him!” you screamed, your voice tore through the cacophony.

More soldiers had arrived—reinforcements spilling onto the blood-slick highway, shouting over their comms, rifles raised, movements tight and confused. But they couldn’t keep formation. They couldn’t keep up.

The parasites were everywhere crawling over the wreckage, tearing through armor. Heads split in jagged, serrated formations. Limbs bent backward, adapted for slicing, climbing, killing.

Heeseung stood in the center, spinning in place, trying to process it all.

Too fast. Too many. His team was trained for containment, not war.

“Sector is compromised—” a soldier barked through the radio before his voice was swallowed in static and a wet, bone-snapping crunch nearby.

All around him, his men were falling. One circle formation collapsed entirely, parasites tearing through the armored bodies within seconds. Another squad tried to regroup behind the burning transport, but were picked off before they even knelt.

Heeseung turned, frantic, searching for something to ground the moment. His eyes locked on you again.

You were in the open now—half-covered in smoke and ash, crouched behind a twisted heap of steel. Your breath was ragged, chest heaving, your once-formed wing-arm flickering with strain. Bone pushed through skin, not cleanly. It was raw. Exhausted. Overused.

You lifted your hand again but it refused to hold shape. Too many eyes.

The soldiers had seen you, so had the parasites.

And now everyone was targeting you. They didn’t care if you were like them or not—they only knew you weren’t theirs.

Gunfire cracked again, a warning shot grazing the steel beside your head. You ducked, eyes wide, hand burning as it twisted, half-shifting into something between claw and shield.

“Jongseong!” you cried out, breath shattering on his name. You didn’t know if he could hear you, but he felt you.

Body twisting against the chains as the parasite beneath his skin surged upward. The steel groaned. Jongseong’s wrists ripped free from the restraints in a burst of heat and sound. Sparks rained down as his hands—half-shifted now, gleaming with dark, fluid armor—tore the collar from his neck with a violent crack, tossing it against the wall where it exploded in a flash of white.

One leap carried him from the open truck, landing on shattered pavement just a few meters from you. Smoke curled from his shoulders. The wreckage of the convoy burned behind him. But he wasn’t looking at the fire.

He was looking at you.

“Stay back!” one of the soldiers shouted, stepping into his path.

Another raised a weapon and then they shot him.

The crack of the rifle echoed.

A high-velocity round tore into Jongseong’s back, slamming into the base of his spine, his arms dropped slightly.

And that’s when something inside you snapped.

The sound of the bullet, the sight of him being hit—again—sent a wave through your chest that wasn’t fear.

"No!" Something inside you responded. Your ears rang—not from the gunshot, but from a deeper frequency. Like pressure under water, like something old and waiting inside your blood suddenly woke up.

Heeseung saw the shift too late.

“No! Hold your fire!” he shouted, voice cracking as he pushed through the chaos, waving his arm wildly at the squad still taking aim. “Cease fire—stand down!”

Jongseong’s body hit the pavement hard, a low, guttural groan tearing from his throat. The bullet had struck at the base of his spine—the most sensitive part of his body, where parasite and host tissue merged deepest. His limbs trembled, nerves crackling like snapped wires. The world around him blurred.

Sound fractured. Vision swam. But even through the fog, his body moved.

He forced one arm forward, dragging himself across the cracked asphalt, blood trailing behind him. Grit tore into his palms. Every movement lit his back. He had to reach you.

His breath hitched, when he looked up and saw you.

You were standing amidst the ruin, body trembling, chest rising, your head is split. Down the center, your skull had begun to peel open, petals of bone and skin folding back in a horrifying symmetry.

Inside, the interior of your skull pulsed with living tissue—luminous, intricate, organic architecture sculpted into motion. The folds moved, shimmering with pale bioluminescence beneath layers of exposed membrane. Thorned tendrils extended into the air, twitching like antennae, reaching in all directions—reading everything.

You weren’t looking at anyone. You were looking at everything.

And anything that moved was a target.

Jongseong watched, breath stuttering in his throat as he pushed himself to his feet, limping, wounded, bleeding, but still moving toward you.

“No…” he whispered, his voice frayed with pain. “Please—look at me.”

But your head remained split open, the sensory limbs on full alert, searching, flinching, vibrating with threat-perception. You were caught in something deeper than instinct. Something merged. Not fully parasite. Not fully human.

Hybrid rage.

He saw your hands flex—one already reshaped into a half-scythe, twitching.

His steps faltered. You didn’t recognize movement anymore. Only motion. Only danger.

And that’s when a memory crashed through him.

“If I stop choosing?” you asked him, voice fragile, small in the silence of your shared bed. “If I lose myself?”

He cupped your face and smiled faintly, "remember what I said when we first met?"

"I’ll stop you,” he said. 

Jongseong staggered closer, lifting a hand.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, blood dripping from his fingers. “It’s me, remember? You asked me to stop you. But I know you’re still in there.”

Your tendrils twitched, one sweeping dangerously near his face. Another moved to your back—coiling instinctively, ready to strike anything that came close.

He didn’t move faster. He moved slower. One step at a time. No aggression. No sudden gestures. Just presence.

Your exposed mind pulsed again, recognition flickering across the movement sensors.

The rage inside you paused.

Jongseong was right there, wounded and reaching. His hand stretched toward you, fingers trembling, eyes full of you.

You saw him. He saw you.

For a moment, the chaos faded beneath the ringing in your head. The rage had cracked open, flared, and then wavered. The kill-reflex that had overtaken you flickered like a faulty circuit. Jongseong was there—his body broken, bleeding, limping toward you, arms out like he wasn’t afraid. And you weren’t afraid either.

He was calling you back. You could feel it in the weight of his gaze, in the tremble of his voice, in the way he said your name like it still belonged to a person, not a monster.

But the world never gave you time to breathe.

“Target in range!” came the voice, sharp and too close.

A soldier burst through the smoke to the left of the wreckage, rifle raised, armor streaked with ash. He’d broken rank. His orders were panic now, and his eyes were locked not on you—but on Jongseong.

He didn’t see the moment between you.

He saw a parasite protecting another parasite. He pulled the trigger.

And the world snapped back into motion.

Your body reacted faster than thought. Your limbs twisted with violent precision, burning pain ripping through your shoulders as tendrils re-flared wide. The trajectory of the bullet was instant, and so was your movement. You lunged—not toward the soldier, but toward Jongseong. 

The shot rang out.

It hit you in the side of the head. The force snapped your body mid-leap, the angle of your descent faltering as the impact twisted your momentum. You crumpled in the air, before collapsing into Jongseong’s arms.

He didn’t process it at first. His mind refused to.

He had just seen your face—your eyes, focused and full of something fierce. You’d moved to shield him. You had chosen. And now your weight was in his arms, limp, warm, and wrong.

Jongseong’s eyes widened, his pupils blown wide as your body hit him. You slid into his chest, your limbs folding over him.

“No—” The word broke from him. Your blood was already pooling in his lap, hot and thick, soaking through the front of his shirt.

Your head lolled against his shoulder, and for one breathless, agonizing moment, he thought it was over. That whatever part of you had held on through mutation and fear had finally let go.

Then, you moved.

Your fingers twitched against his chest, searching weakly, as though your body still knew him. As though your nerves had memorized where he was. His hand flew to your cheek, cradling your face, feeling the fresh, searing heat of the wound just above your brow, where the bullet had grazed—not pierced—just grazed, carving a shallow line along the temple instead of burrowing deep.

It hadn’t gone through.

It hadn’t gone through.

“Hey—hey,” Jongseong whispered, his voice trembling as his thumb brushed away the blood streaking down the side of your face. “Stay with me. Look at me. Come on, open your eyes.”

You stirred faintly in his arms, eyes fluttering open halfway. Blurry. Unfocused. One pupil dilated, the other slow to respond. Your breathing came shallow, uneven. But you were still there.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, slurred. “You were in the way.”

Tears welled in Jongseong’s eyes, stinging hot. “You think I care about that?” he said, a bitter laugh breaking through his grief. “You shouldn’t be protecting me. I’m supposed to protect you. That was the deal. That was the whole damn deal.”

Your mouth twitched into the ghost of a smile. “We keep switching places.”

He let out a breath—part sob, part laugh—and pulled you tighter against him, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna get out of this. Just don’t close your eyes, okay?”

Around you, the world was still burning.

The smoke curled through the air, lit red by fire and violence. Parasites clashed with soldiers. Screams rose and fell. Metal groaned as the transport vehicles burned. But inside this circle, there was only the two of you.

Jongseong cradled your body close, arms trembling, holding you. You were breathing but just barely, and each breath was a battle. Your eyes were open, unfocused, but searching only for him.

“I said hold your fucking gun!” Heeseung’s voice tore through the smoke, sharp and furious. He stormed forward, boots crunching glass and debris.

But halfway there, he froze. A small, unmistakable sound pierced the tension.

"Meow."

Heeseung blinked, momentarily disarmed.

Out from behind a crushed tire, padding softly on tiny feet, came the orange kitten. Its fur was matted with soot, but it was unharmed. It limped slightly, dazed but determined, weaving its way across the field of bodies and broken machines. It meowed again, louder this time, heading straight toward the two figures curled together on the ground.

Heeseung watched, stunned.

The kitten crawled into the small space between your arms and Jongseong’s chest, nudging at your hand until your fingers curled faintly around its fur. A soft sound escaped your lips—almost a sob. Jongseong let out a broken breath, head bowed low, tears trailing silently down his blood-streaked face.

Heeseung had seen hundreds of parasite cases. Dissections. Failures. Living corpses. He’d seen what it looked like when something wore a human face like a mask.

They weren’t mimicking emotion.

They were feeling it.

And suddenly, something cracked in him. Maybe it was the way Jongseong hadn’t fought back. Maybe it was the way you had shielded him without hesitation. Or maybe it was the cat—meowing stubbornly like it belonged in this hell, like it belonged to someone who mattered.

Heeseung turned away. “Take them to the hospital,” he said gruffly. "Now.”

The remaining soldiers hesitated. He turned his head slightly, eyes hard. “They are just normal beings. You hear me?”

The sun was bright—too bright, almost unreal after everything. You lay on your back in the grass, eyes half-lidded, your arm stretched above your head as your fingers tried to catch the warmth. The heat soaked into your skin that reminded your body it was still alive.

The breeze danced lightly across your face, carrying the scent of earth and new flowers. Birds chirped somewhere distant, lazy and indifferent to what the world had gone through.

For once, it was quiet.

Jongseong dropped down beside you, his breath soft as he settled into the grass. His shoulder brushed against yours.

“You’re happy?” he asked, you turned toward him, giggling gently as you scooted closer, resting your head against his arm until your nose touched the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Yes,” you whispered, eyes closing. “The house you bought has neighbors. Real ones. I hear them laughing sometimes through the trees.”

You let your hand slide down into the grass, brushing over a patch of tiny purple flowers that had just begun to open. “The flowers are blooming again,” you added.

You felt his arm slide under your neck, pulling you gently into him. The warmth of his chest against your back. The sound of his heart, steady and strong.

“You’re blooming again too,” he said quietly, lips brushing the top of your hair. You smiled, tucking yourself in closer, your fingers playing absently with the hem of his shirt. 

“I talked to my mother,” you said after a pause, voice barely more than a breath.

Jongseong tensed slightly behind you, just surprise. His fingers paused mid-stroke along your arm.

“They cried,” you continued, your voice catching somewhere between joy and guilt. “Not because I ran… but because I was alive. Still me. I don’t think they fully understand what I’ve become, but they—believed me. That was enough.”

“That’s more than most people get,” he said softly. “More than I thought either of us would get.”

You turned just enough to look up at him over your shoulder, your cheek still resting on his chest. “They asked about you too, you know.”

He smiled faintly. “What’d you tell them?”

“That you were the reason I came back. That you weren’t a monster. That you were the most human thing left in the world.”

He didn’t answer that. Just held you tighter.

The breeze passed again, ruffling his hair, and for a few long moments, you stayed like that.

“I… got a job offer.”

You blinked, lifting your head slightly. “A job?”

He nodded. “From the Anti-Parasite Intelligence Unit.”

You sat up just a bit, your brow furrowing as you turned toward him. “Huh? That doesn’t even make sense—they tried to kill us. You think they won’t dissect you the moment you scan wrong on their monitors?”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Not this time. Heeseung vouched for me.”

You stared at him. “The guy who raided your house and locked me in a steel box?”

Jongseong gave a small shrug, like he was still trying to believe it himself. “He said watching us changed something. That they need people who understand—not just destroy. Someone who’s walked both sides.”

You exhaled slowly, processing that. “And… do you trust him?”

“No,” he said honestly. “But I trust myself.”

You looked at him, eyes soft but filled with worry. “I don’t want to lose this. What we have. What we made.”

“You won’t,” he said, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “I won’t let them take that. I just… I want to be part of shaping what comes next. So no one else has to live like we did.”

You were quiet for a moment, then reached up and ran your fingers through his hair.

“So…” you murmured with a crooked smile, “I’ll just be the one staying home? Waiting for you to come back from your mysterious, morally ambiguous government job?”

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling. “That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

You shrugged, teasing. “I don’t know. I was hoping for something a little more… exciting.”

Jongseong’s hand found yours, his fingers lacing between yours gently. “Then marry me,” he said.

You blinked. “W-What?”

He turned slightly onto his side to face you, pressing a kiss into the back of your hand. His voice didn’t shake. His eyes didn’t stray.

“Marry me,” he repeated, lips still brushing your skin. “Not because it’s perfect. Not because we’re normal. But because we survived. Because I want to spend every day I have left choosing you again.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You sat up slowly, stunned, the words echoing louder now in the silence between you. The wind quieted. Even the trees seemed to hush.

“You’re serious,” you whispered.

He sat up with you, his face close now, eyes full of something more vulnerable than fear. “I don’t know how long this peace will last. But I know I want to build something with you. Something that no one can take from us. Not science. Not governments. Not even time.”

You laughed. “You idiot,” you said, tears in your eyes. “You didn’t even bring a ring.”

He smiled. “You’d say no if I did?”

You shook your head, laughing again through the tears. “No.”

Then quieter, as your hand pressed to his chest, you whispered:

“Yes.” 

And when he kissed you this time, it was full of sunlight and the sound of blooming things.

“Pathology of Parasites.”

The words glowed dimly on the top corner of Jongseong’s datapad screen, the title of a document he’d first created over two years ago. 

Rows of categorized data: genome sequencing, mutation rates, cellular instability markers. Diagrams of parasite-host binding sites. Bone marrow compatibility. Immune rejection cycles. Timelines of when the parasite first entered his nervous system. His own handwriting, still neat back then, filled the digital margins—observations in shorthand, notes from sleepless nights.

Date: March 4 Neurological sensitivity peaked at 3:21 AM. No external triggers. Breathing accelerated. Controlled. Note: Dreamed in third person again. Strange.

But the pages had changed with time.

What began as cold, methodical data shifted the moment you entered his life. Your name didn’t appear at first. Then it did.

A single line:

“Second anomaly encountered. Maintains emotional awareness.”

Then another:

“Unconfirmed bond pattern. Same cellular merging. Same control.”

But eventually, it wasn’t numbers anymore. He'd begun sketching you—rough outlines in the corner of the file margins. Not parasite diagrams. Just you. The curve of your jaw when you smiled. The ripple of your morphing wing when light hit it just right. The split of your skull the first time you showed him what you really were—and how he still found you beautiful.

More files were added. Pages documenting the moments no microscope could capture:

“She laughed while watering the flowers today. Her breathing pattern returned to baseline immediately afterward. Possibly tied to emotional regulation.”

“Her T-cells adapted faster than mine. She smells like copper and summer rain when she’s shifting. No documented reason. Just… her.”

The datapad buzzed faintly beneath his fingertips. He sat in the quiet of his study, your silhouette just visible through the open window—standing in the garden, laughing at Jongjong as the cat tried to chase a butterfly it would never catch.

Jongseong looked down at the title again.

Pathology of Parasites.

He stared at it for a long time. Then, slowly, he raised a finger and tapped on the word Pathology.

He highlighted it, then deleted it to typed something else.

“Life of Parasites.”

[mssishipi]

YOUR TURN — hyung line

YOUR TURN — 1. A phrase used in a gangbang to tell the next person waiting that it’s time for them to step in and get involved. 2. A slut’s opportunity—the moment when it is finally her chance to act, indulge, and surrender herself after others have already taken theirs. The phrase emphasizes delayed gratification, where the receiver eagerly awaits her turn to be used or to participate after hearing others go before her.

content tags/warnings: hyung line x reader, reader is horny and desperate, men are assholes, inspired by the show series euphoria. explicit content (smut): porn with no plot at all, gangbang, face fucking, facials, nipple play, fingering, oral fixation, unprotected sex, degrading language, pet names (baby, sweetheart, darling etc), double penetration, protected anal sex, slapping, hentai like expressions, handjob, overstimulation, tits fucking, squirting, lack of verbal consent in some scenes, choking, pain play, creampie, this is straight up porn but have a potential romance at the end. lmk if i missed something. WC: 17.2K

It wasn't like you were some kind of slut, right?

Who were you kidding? Any girl with a working pussy would drool if she stood close enough to those four men. Not just because of their looks, not just because of the sharp edges of their jawlines or the way their eyes seemed to strip people down without touching them, but because how they confidently carried themselves. Their scent. That mix of cologne and sweat that made your throat dry the second they passed by. It wasn't normal, not the way your body reacted. Not the way your thighs pressed together when you thought of them. But you kept telling yourself it was. It had to be.

Lee Heeseung, Park Jongseong, Sim Jaeyun, and Park Sunghoon. 

Four names that rang louder than any lecture in your university halls. Four names whispered in bathrooms, shouted across freedom walls, written down in anonymous confessions like some fucking campus legends. Everyone knew them. Everyone wanted them. And everyone, at least once, wondered what it would be like to be touched by them.

People pretended to sneer at their lives, at the rumors tied around them, but the truth always leaked through—envy, hunger, the kind of desperate need nobody wanted to admit out loud. Because deep down, every damn rumor about them only made them more untouchable, more godlike.

And then there was that one rumor. The one that tore through the university like wildfire.

The gangbang story.

The most scandalous, dirtiest thing anyone had ever whispered, and yet nobody could stop talking about it.

Nobody could prove it. Nobody knew if it was just a story made up by someone bored, but fuck, if it had been real... if it had been real, then you weren't sure what was worse. The fact that people called it disgusting or the fact that it made your whole body clench with jealousy.

How fucking scandalous. How fucking disgusting.

And how fucking pathetic that every time you thought about it, your chest got tight, your mouth went dry, and all you could think was: if that rumor had ever been true, if those four had ever taken a girl like that, then why the fuck wasn't it you?

"Someone caught Jake making out with a girl from Tourism!"

"Someone said Sunghoon's been fucking that sophomore from another building!"

"Have you heard that Jay is smoking at the back of the building while the TA sucks him off? Geez, what a lucky girl."

"And that cheerleader said Heeseung likes girls who can spread their legs wide!"

Your hands gripped your pen tighter, knuckles turning pale, jaw clenched as the chatter bled into your ears. Every fucking sentence was the same—different girls, different places, different dirty details—but the same four names, always the same four names. It was exhausting, it was maddening, and it was starting to chew holes into your focus.

"Stop it," you hissed finally, snapping your head up to face the group of girls clustered near the corner. "There are people here who are trying to study. Maybe try doing that instead of running your mouths about men and their sex lives. Do you have no shame?"

The table went quiet, their smirks twitching as they shared quick glances between themselves. One girl rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath, but none of them pushed back. They just leaned back into their seats, whispering low but not low enough, as if they wanted you to hear every giggle, every stifled laugh.

You tried to turn back to your notes, but your pulse wouldn't settle. You're not annoyed that they were gossipping.

You were jealous.

Jealous that every rumor had someone else's name attached to it. Jealous that every filthy story, every detail, every moan that lived in their words belonged to another girl and not to you.

Fuck! It's unfair! It's so unfair! Why was it always someone else? Why did it have to be another girl they kissed, another girl they bent over, another girl who got to hear their voices from fucking?

You exhaled sharply through your nose, trying to drown it out, trying to stay steady. But every word of theirs came back to the same thing. Their dicks. Their moans. Their fucking. And all it did was remind you that you hadn't had a single taste of any of it, not even once.

Fuck it. When was it supposed to be your turn?

You tried. God, you fucking tried. You started dragging yourself to every fraternity party you caught wind of, even ones you had no business going to, all in hopes of catching just one of their eyes. You would push through sweaty bodies and strobe lights, pretending to dance, pretending to laugh, only to learn that Jay had already gotten bored and left long before you even stepped in. The disappointment would choke you, but you still kept showing up. 

Like some desperate puppy waiting for scraps.

You started waxing everything, every inch of your body, until your skin burned. You bought bottles of expensive perfume you couldn't even afford, ones that clung to your clothes and hair until it made you dizzy. You thought maybe, they liked girls who smelled clean, who looked like they had their shit together, but deep down you knew it didn't matter. Because how would they ever notice when you didn't even have the guts to open your mouth?

"Uh... do you know, like, how to talk to Heeseung?" you asked, trying to keep your voice casual while your eyes betrayed you, glued to the tall figure across the library.

He was sliding books off a shelf, completely unaware of the way your whole body went tense, your throat dry, your palms slick with sweat. Even from a distance you swore you could smell him, that same maddening warmth that clung to him whenever he walked past.

Your friend blinked, eyebrows raised as though she couldn't believe the words had actually come out of your mouth. "About what? You know damn well he doesn't talk to girls in public. People only talk about how he fucks them hard and then disappears. No contact. Nothing. Ever." She scoffed, dismissing it with a wave of her hand, before her gaze sharpened on you. A smirk tugged at her lips and she let out a loud laugh that made your ears burn. "Wait. Don't tell me you're actually planning something. You think you're gonna get him to fuck you?"

Her laughter made your eye twitch. You felt her gaze scan over you, up and down, picking apart everything you were, everything you weren't. She reached over, patting your shoulder in a way that only made you feel smaller.

"It's okay to dream big," she said, lips curving into a cruel little smile, "but let me shatter that for you. He would never, okay? Hmm?"

Something in your chest snapped at her words. Anger rose, clinging to your ribs until you thought you'd choke on it. How fucking dare she? How dare she look at you like that, laugh at you like you weren't even worth a second glance? How high did she think of herself, how low did she think of you?

But you swallowed it, burying the sharpness down where no one could see. You curved your lips into a laugh that sounded almost real, almost lighthearted, even though your nails dug into your palm under the table. "Silly you," you said sweetly, tilting your head like it didn't sting, "I was just trying to interview him for sports journalism. Don't get too talkative about fucking, though. It sounds like you're reflecting your own frustrations."

You smiled brighter, watching her expression falter for just a second before she scoffed again and turned back to her notes.

You needed to think. You needed to dig deeper into yourself, to find a way, any way, because you refused to lose. You refused to accept being invisible.

Every single morning became a routine.

You would drag yourself out of bed before the sun even touched the sky, forcing your heavy eyes open as you stood in front of the mirror. You styled your hair until not a single strand was out of place, you layered makeup carefully until your reflection looked like someone worth noticing, and you scrubbed your skin until it stung, until it shone smooth under your fingertips. Your closet was picked apart daily, clothes scattered across your floor, until you found the outfit that made you feel like you could walk down the hall with your head high, like you were worth a second glance.

And every time, when the clock struck the hour you knew they would be walking down the hallway, you stood ready. Shoulders straight, steps measured, chest tight with nerves as you waited for them to pass. You tried to look effortless, confident, perfect. But it shattered you every single time when none of them looked your way. Their eyes stayed forward, their voices low between themselves, their expressions unchanged as if you were nothing more than air. Your hands would grow limp at your sides, your confidence bleeding out of you as you glanced behind your shoulder, mouth parted slightly, helplessly staring at their broad shoulders moving further and further away from you.

The frustration followed you. At night, you laid in bed with their faces behind your eyelids, your thighs pressed together until you couldn't stand it anymore.

You touched yourself with the thought of them, not just one but all four, surrounding you, using you, making you theirs in every filthy way you had imagined. You came undone to fantasies of their hands pulling your hair, their voices groaning against your ear, your body stretched thin for them, and the pleasure left you gasping, sweating, shaking in the dark. Yet as soon as it ended, as soon as your heartbeat slowed, you already hated yourself. Because no matter how hard you wanted it, morning would come again, and the cycle would repeat. You'd wake up early, fix yourself to perfection, pass them in the hallway, and watch them ignore you.

The days blurred into each other, but the whispers always found you. Another rumor spread like fire, another story about them with another girl, and it burned you alive from the inside.

You wanted to scream at how unfair it was, how humiliating it felt that you couldn't stop aching for something you might never get. Sometimes you almost laughed at yourself, at how pathetic you must have looked, stuck between jealousy and desperation, unable to let go.

"Wow, what perfume do you use? You smell so good!" Your classmate's voice cut through your thoughts one day, her hand brushing casually across your arm. "And your lotion too? Your skin feels amazing."

The touch startled you, and the question almost made you snap. "It's just Victoria's Secret," you hissed automatically, jerking your hand slightly to free yourself. But the moment you saw her surprised face, you realized what you had done, and quickly masked it with a sweet smile. "Sorry, I'm in a bad mood, forgive me? It's Velvet Petals. But I exfoliate with Dove first. That's probably why."

Her lips curved into a bright smile, her eyes scanning you with something almost admiring. "It's okay! You look really, really, really pretty, you know? And you're so sweet. I just hope you don't fall into the wrong hands."

The way she said it made your stomach twist. You knew exactly who she was talking about, and the mocking tone in her voice when she mentioned "wrong hands" made it worse. Those fuckboys. That's what they all called them, as if the four of them weren't the most wanted men on campus, as if everyone's mouths didn't water at the thought of being ruined by them.

You held your smile, but inside, the anger returned, pulsing hotter than before. They all thought they were above you. They all thought they could talk about them like that and laugh at you for wanting something they secretly wanted too. They were liars, hypocrites, hiding their hunger under judgment while you carried yours openly in your chest.

You pressed your lips together, leaning closer to her so your words came out soft, almost playful. "Maybe falling into the wrong hands isn't always such a bad thing."

Her eyes widened slightly, confusion flickering across her face as you sat back again, smiling politely like nothing had happened.

But in your head, the thought echoed, louder, heavier, filthier.

If those hands were theirs, you would fall gladly.

The party was dragging, the music pounding but lifeless, the people are drunk but boring. You wondered for the tenth time why you even bothered showing up.

The whole campus had been buzzing about this night, everyone whispering about how it would be wild because they would be here. But the most boring part of it all was exactly that—they weren't.

No sign of the four men everyone was expecting. And for that, you hated yourself a little. You hated that you had wasted another expensive outfit, another spritz of your favorite perfume, another hour in front of the mirror just to sit there and look pretty for nothing.

Your cheek rested lazily against your hand as you swirled the watered-down alcohol in your glass. Your eyes lingered on the girl across the room, perched on the couch, laughing with a group of guys who had crowded her like she was the crown jewel of the night. She looked so damn proud of herself, flipping her hair and soaking up their attention like it was worth something.

You almost felt bad for her—because those men? God, they were fucking ugly. The kind of guys who had nothing going for them except being loud and drunk enough to fill her space. And she was pretty, too pretty for the trash sitting beside her, too wasted to notice she could do better.

You sighed, your eyes dropping back down to your glass, watching the last pieces of ice melt into nothing. Maybe you should leave. Maybe you should give up, call it another wasted night, drag yourself back to bed where you could rot under the covers and imagine what it would feel like if the four men ever actually noticed you.

"Hi."

The single word pierced through the noise around you. Your breath caught, and you nearly threw your glass across the table. Your back went ramrod straight as you turned, your heart slamming against your ribs so hard it hurt. When your eyes landed on the figures behind you, everything inside of you went still before spiraling into chaos.

Jake. Sunghoon.

Two of them. Standing there. Talking. To you.

Your throat closed, your tongue heavy, your thoughts shattering into broken pieces as if the universe had finally played its sick joke on you. What the fuck was happening? Jake and Sunghoon—out of everyone in this crowded room—were standing in front of you, looking at you, waiting for you.

"H-Hi?" The word slipped out, so small, so shaky you almost cringed at yourself.

Jake's smile spread, his gaze running over you like he was unwrapping you with his eyes. He didn't hide the way he lingered on the pink silk dress clinging to your body or the way his eyes glinted when he caught the gems glittering delicately across your skin. The weight of his stare made your thighs press together without you even thinking about it.

"Where's your friends?" He shifted his hands casually into his pockets, flashing a smile. "I organized this party, you know. I almost felt bad seeing you sitting here alone."

You swallowed hard, the words tangling on your tongue. This was the moment you'd been waiting for, the one you had begged for, dreamed of, touched yourself over. And yet, your body betrayed you, trembling as you almost flinched under the weight of their presence.

"M-My friends a-are... uh... there." Your shaky hand lifted, pointing weakly toward the dance floor, and the second you did it you wanted to melt into the floor and disappear.

Sunghoon's low laugh broke the air. He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes fixed on you as if he could see straight through every flimsy layer of composure you were trying to hold together. "And they exclude you? What bad friends you have."

The closeness of him made your brain dissolve. His perfume, his cologne, the sharp tang of alcohol still lingering on his lips—God, you wanted to taste it, to drown in it. He didn't even touch you, but his nearness was enough to make your body tense, your lips parting before you realized it.

"Want to join us?" Sunghoon asked smoothly.

"W-Where?" you squeaked.

"Well, we can drink outside—" Sunghoon started, but Jake cut him off with a voice that left no room for argument.

"At Heeseung's private room." His tone was steady, certain, his stare locked on you, waiting for your reaction.

For a split second, Sunghoon's eyes widened at Jake's bluntness. You caught the quick glance he shot him, an unspoken message passing between them, before his smirk slid back into place. He didn't need to argue. He didn't need to say a thing. Because the moment the words "Heeseung's private room" left Jake's mouth, your body had already betrayed you.

Your lips trembled, your voice breaking into a whisper. "Yes."

And there it was—the one word that sealed everything.

Jake's smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he tilted his head ever so slightly, studying you like you had just handed yourself over. Sunghoon's grin widened, his teeth flashing as he straightened up, amusement flickering in his gaze.

"Good girl," Jake murmured under his breath.

Your chest tightened, your breath caught, and every ounce of you screamed that this was it. The moment you had been waiting for, the moment you had dreamed of, the moment you could never come back from.

And you didn't fucking care.

The door creaked open and Heeseung froze at the threshold, his tall frame stiffening instantly as his eyes landed on the scene.

Jake had one hand tangled in your hair, his cock buried between your lips, his head thrown back as he groaned through clenched teeth. Sunghoon was draped across your back, his chest pressing heavily against you, his hand pinching and rolling your nipples mercilessly while his lips brushed your skin, leaving icy trails that made you shiver.

Your body was positioned like some offering—hands and knees spread like a cat, ass swaying slightly with every thrust of Jake's hips.

"Seriously?" Heeseung's voice was carrying irritation. He shut the door, though he didn't walk away.

The noise made you whimper, muffled around Jake's cock, the vibration of your moan sending shudders up his spine. Jake gritted his teeth and hissed through a laugh, thrusting harder until the blunt head of his dick slammed against the back of your throat. He held you there with one firm grip in your hair, pushing until your nose bumped against the hard plane of his stomach. Your eyes watered, your chest heaved, but the desperation inside you drowned out every thought of resistance.

It hadn't started like this. At first, it was only drinks, games, laughter and teasing, until Jake leaned forward and suggested body shots. You hadn't even hesitated; the heat of their attention had already melted through you, and Jake had almost laughed at how quickly you had fallen into their hands.

And now, here you were, drooling and choking on his cock while Sunghoon twisted your nipples until your whole body jerked with every pinch.

"Your favorite member is here," Jake taunted, his gaze dropping down to you, then flicking toward the figure standing silently by the door. His smirk widened as he forced another thrust into your mouth. "Bro, she's been asking where the fuck you were. You took so long, she already came in her panties just from Sunghoon teasing her tits."

Heat shot through your face as the humiliation wrapped around you. Tears streamed freely down your cheeks, staining the gems near your eyes, but none of it stopped you from flattening your tongue against the base of his cock, licking every inch you could reach while your throat spasmed around him. The shame twisted into a  darker, sharper, more intoxicating feeling than you ever imagined.

This was it. This was the dream. The one you'd fucked yourself to in silence night after night, the one you had burned for. And now you were living it, choking, moaning, tears streaking your face, every filthy detail of it everything you had ever wanted.

You couldn't see Heeseung clearly from where you knelt, but you felt him. His gaze was heavy, dragging over you, making your pussy clench at nothing. You knew he was watching the way your lips stretched around Jake's cock, the way your chest heaved as Sunghoon tortured your nipples, the way you looked so fucked out and desperate already.

"The rumors about us are already spreading, and you have the guts to do this?" Heeseung's voice finally cut through with restrained anger. He stepped closer, his shoes quiet against the floor until his shadow stretched across you. You could feel his eyes on your crying, messy face, and it only made your cunt throb harder, soaking your panties.

Jake laughed through a groan, his hips grinding against your lips as his cock slid deeper. Sunghoon joined him with a low chuckle, his cold mouth pressing into your nape as his fingers tugged the straps of your dress down your shoulders. The silk slipped easily, baring your chest fully to Heeseung's view, your nipples stiff and swollen as Sunghoon's thumb and finger rolled them until you moaned around Jake's length.

"Come on," Sunghoon murmured against your ear, his voice is taunting. "You know we always love sharing." His lips traced your skin as his hand pushed your dress lower, exposing more, leaving nothing for modesty.

Heeseung's jaw tensed, but his eyes betrayed him. He couldn't look away. His cock stirred against his pants, hardening slowly with every sound that left you, with every pathetic little whimper muffled by Jake's cock. He watched the tears streak down your face, the way your hand lifted shakily from the floor, reaching for him.

Your fingers trembled as they hovered against his thigh, then slid higher until they brushed over the hard bulge in his pants. Your eyes lifted toward him, glassy, half-lidded, drowning in tears and lust, staring directly into his.

Heeseung exhaled sharply, his composure cracking.

And when your palm pressed firmer against him, stroking lightly through the fabric, his cock throbbed in response.

Your back arched off when Heeseung's hands moved to his belt. The sight alone was enough to make your chest tighten and your pussy throb, your body reacting with a hunger you couldn't disguise. Sunghoon caught it immediately, his laugh was low against your ear, mocking the way you looked so desperate without shame. He shifted off you, giving Heeseung room.

"Does Jay know about this?" Heeseung asked, his eyes shifting toward Jake and Sunghoon as if demanding an explanation even while his hands were already pulling at his clothes.

Jake's grin widened, still slick with your spit as he slid his cock from your mouth. "It's a surprise," he answered simply, as if that explained everything. His hand squeezed the back of your neck one last time before releasing you, and your body slumped against the mattress, chest heaving, throat raw. But before you could even recover, Heeseung's hands pressed against you, guiding your body flat onto your back, his touch so commanding you followed without question.

The world tilted when the fabric of your dress slipped from your shoulders, your body fully bared under their stares. Sunghoon leaned close again, his nose brushing your cheek as his voice dipped. "Look at those pretty eyes." His words curled into your skin, and you whimpered before turning toward him, your lips crashing into his. The kiss was messy, desperate, your mouth opening wide for him, your tongue tangling with his like you could pull the heat out of him and swallow it whole.

Jake's fingers hooked your panties and dragged them down your legs, his eyes glued to the slick mess between your thighs. The moment he saw your pussy clenching and unclenching around nothing, a growl broke from his throat.

Heeseung's response was just as guttural, his eyes narrowing as he dropped down onto his knees beside Jake, their shoulders brushing as if they were competing for the same prize. Without hesitation, they lifted your legs, spreading you shamelessly open, one of your thighs resting on each of their broad shoulders.

Sunghoon didn't let you breathe. His mouth consumed yours, his tongue pressing harder, his teeth tugging your bottom lip as his hand cradled your jaw, keeping you locked against him. You barely managed a moan into his mouth when the first hot lick dragged across your clit, the sudden sensation shooting up your spine that you tore yourself away from Sunghoon's kiss. Your eyes flew down, wide and dazed, only to meet Heeseung's sharp gaze staring up at you while his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking with deliberate, teasing pulls.

Your mouth fell open, your chest rising and falling rapidly, but you didn't dare blink. You couldn't miss the sight of his face buried between your legs, his tongue flattening against your sensitive bud and flicking so slowly it bordered on torture. Your thighs shook, trying to close, but his grip on your hips was unyielding.

"Hey," Sunghoon muttered, his fingers squeezing your chin until your eyes snapped back to him. His gaze was dark, narrowed, a flicker of jealousy twisting in it. "I was the one who found you. Give me some attention."

Your whimpers came small, but you still obeyed, your hand trembling as he guided it down between his legs. The hard ridge of his cock was burning against the fabric of his pants. The moment your palm pressed against him, your body shivered from the weight of him.

They were massive. You had heard the whispers from other girls, but no rumor had prepared you for the truth. Your fingers wrapped around him, squeezing gently through the fabric, and Sunghoon's lips parted, his breath catching as his hips rocked into your touch.

"Fuck," he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin as if your touch alone was enough to push him toward the edge.

And then Jake bit down on your inner thigh, hard enough to make you cry out, his tongue following the sting with a wet, sucking kiss that left your skin marked. Heeseung's lips abandoned your clit, only to press lower, his tongue flattening against your dripping entrance before slurping noisily at the wetness pooling there. The sound was obscene, messy, and you moaned louder than you ever had, the combination of Jake's teeth marking your thighs and Heeseung's mouth devouring you unraveling every last thread of composure you had.

"Shh." Sunghoon's voice was ragged as his hand pressed against your jaw again, his hips grinding into your palm while his other hand fumbled with his belt. His pants dropped down his thighs, and when he freed himself, your eyes widened, your mouth watering instantly at the sight. His cock was flushed and heavy, the tip glistening with pre-cum, so thick it almost made your stomach flutter with fear.

Your legs were trembling uncontrollably, but you couldn't close them, not when Jake and Heeseung had you pinned wide open, their mouths swapping positions greedily between your clit and your entrance.

Jake was hungrier, reckless with the way his tongue plunged into you, his lips sucking against your folds so loudly it drowned out even the bass from the music downstairs. You could feel him moan against you, his hands gripping your thighs tighter, his whole face buried as if he wanted to drown in your pussy.

"Say ah," Sunghoon knelt in front of you, his cock gripped tightly in his hand. You obeyed instantly, your lips falling open, your eyes wide and locked on his face.

The expression he wore was enough to make your stomach twist—his brows drawn tight, his lips parted as if he were biting back a curse, his gaze focused entirely on your mouth as though nothing else in the world existed.

"So eager," he whispered hoarsely, his cock brushing against your lips as pre-cum smeared across them. "Fuck."

Heeseung rose slowly from between your thighs, his lips and chin slick with your wetness, his chest lifting heavily with each breath. His gaze drifted down over your trembling body, then to Sunghoon's cock hovering dangerously close to your lips, before his large hands moved to your chest. The weight of his touch was deliberate, kneading the softness of your breasts, his thumbs dragging over your nipples until they tightened again under his attention.

The combination was unbearable, your body jerking at every angle, twitching against their hands and mouths as if you no longer had control over it. Sunghoon's sudden pace had your cheeks hollowing, his cock stretching your lips as he thrust with low, restrained groans.

At the same time, Heeseung's fingers twisted your nipples mercilessly, sharp flicks that sent heat rushing to your core, and Jake's tongue was buried inside you, fucking your entrance with wet, eager strokes. Each movement pulled you in a different direction, your body caught in the middle of all three of them until you felt yourself unraveling at the seams.

Your head was spinning, dizzy from the sensation. The world tilted and blurred, your muffled moans spilling out against Sunghoon's cock, your tears streaking down your cheeks. It was overwhelming, but in the best way, better than anything you had ever experienced, better than every fumbling encounter that left you aching and unsatisfied.

This was hunger given form, this was desire being fed by three men who knew exactly how to break you. Every flick of Heeseung's fingers, every thrust of Jake's tongue, every push of Sunghoon's cock made your stomach coil tighter and tighter, until the knot inside you threatened to snap.

And then it did.

You came so hard it tore a strangled cry out of your throat, your body convulsing with the force of it. The orgasm crashed into you violently, your back arching off the bed, your legs trembling as Jake's hands clamped down on your thighs to keep you open.

You almost bit down on Sunghoon from the shock of it, your mouth clenching, your throat spasming, and he pulled back with a sharp hiss, his hand replacing himself on your lips to keep you from choking. But Jake didn't stop; he didn't even pause. His tongue twisted deep inside you, lapping greedily at everything you gave him, his head moving side to side as if he wanted to drink you dry. He held you down through every wave, prolonging the orgasm until you thought your body might tear apart from how hard you were shaking.

"Fuck, ah—fuck, shit," Sunghoon cursed above you, his voice breaking into a groan. His grip tightened on your jaw as his release hit suddenly, hot ropes of cum splattering across your face in quick, forceful bursts. Some streaked down your lips, some across your cheeks, and one stray spurt landed in your eye, stinging faintly but drowned out by the overwhelming tide of pleasure still wrecking your body.

You barely processed it, too lost in the pulsing aftershocks of your orgasm and the relentless flicks of Heeseung's thumbs still torturing your nipples. The sensation was too much, every nerve in your body stretched taut as Jake's mouth sealed back over your clit, his tongue circling lazily as he wanted to drag every last drop of climax from you.

Your sobs broke into gasps, your chest rising sharply, your face sticky with Sunghoon's cum, your throat raw from the moans you couldn't stop. And still, Heeseung's eyes stayed locked on you, darkly watching you writhe.

"I need to fuck her already," Heeseung finally muttered, already standing.

Jake stopped what he was doing and glared at him, his jaw clenched. "Who the fuck said you were gonna be first? I was the one who talked to her. I was the one who had her on her knees until now." His hands went to his shirt, ripping it over his head before shoving his pants down impatiently, his irritation burning through every motion.

Sunghoon sighed, throwing his head back, eyes half-lidded as he grabbed your shaky hand and wrapped it around his cock. "You two are always fighting about this shit," he muttered, ignoring the tension and letting you stroke him, his hips lifting slightly into your fist. His lashes fluttered shut as a low groan escaped him. "Fuck, that's it. Don't stop, baby. Just keep going. That's all I need."

"Fuck off," Heeseung snapped as he took a step closer. "You've both had enough time playing with her. I've been waiting, and I'm not standing here any longer."

Your eyes darted between them, your chest rising in short, desperate pulls of breath, before landing on Sunghoon again. He was still focused only on you, his hand over yours, guiding you up and down his thick cock. "Feels so fucking good," he groaned, his voice breaking, his neck exposed as his head fell back.

"That's why I get to be the first to fuck her," Jake shot back, standing tall now, his cock hard and throbbing against his stomach. His smirk was sharp, challenging. "You were late. I've been making her drip for me."

Sunghoon leaned closer to you, his breath hot against your ear, his lips brushing the corner of your jaw. "Ignore them, baby. Just focus on me." His other hand slid around your waist, tugging you closer until his lips pressed firmly against your neck. He kissed you hard, then nipped at your skin, his teeth dragging up to your jaw before biting again. You gasped at the sting, your hand stroking him faster, your wrist straining with the effort.

"Such a good girl," he moaned, his lips vibrating against your throat. His fingers slipped down your belly until they found your soaked pussy again, circling lazily around your entrance. The teasing pressure made you jolt, your moans tumbling out helplessly as he finally pushed one finger inside. Your walls clenched instantly, wrapping tight around him, and his sharp groan against your ear told you exactly how much he liked it. "So tight," he whispered, almost to himself, before sinking another finger inside.

"Sunghoon—" your voice broke, whimpering, the heat spreading too fast through your core as his hand worked inside you.

"Keep those pretty legs open for me, baby," he murmured, his lips dragging down to your shoulder, his teeth grazing the delicate skin. "Need to stretch this pussy for all of us. You want that, don't you? Want to take us all?"

Your only answer was a frantic nod, your lips trembling as your hand gripped his cock tighter, pumping him faster even as your own body shuddered from his fingers curling deep inside.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself too much, Sunghoon," Jake hissed, stepping forward. His hand shot out, pulling you roughly away from Sunghoon's grip.

You whined at the sudden loss, your body immediately protesting the absence of his fingers inside you.

"Shhh, darling," Jake cooed mockingly, wiping at your cum-stained face with his thumb before pressing his lips against yours in a hungry kiss. His mouth was demanding, tasting, his teeth nipping at your lower lip before pulling back with a smirk. "Me and Heeseung will make you feel so fucking good. You want that, don't you?"

"Yes," you whimpered without hesitation, nodding quickly, your desperation spilling through. You turned on your hands and knees before they could even tell you, body moving on instantly because you knew. You'd heard the whispers. You knew this was how Jake liked to fuck—rough, from behind, with no mercy. "Please."

Jake's laugh was low, almost breathless as he stared at your ass. "Fuck, you don't even need to be told. So hot like this." His palm cracked against your cheek, the sting making you moan as he spread you open with his hands.

Your eyes flicked up, catching Sunghoon again—he was watching with his lip caught between his teeth, his hand wrapped tight around his cock, stroking lazily as his gaze devoured you.

And then your eyes trailed higher, locking with Heeseung, who was standing in front of you, holding the base of his thick cock as if offering it to you. You opened your mouth instantly, ready to take him, but instead he grabbed your chin, tilting your head until you were forced to look up at him.

You sucked in a sharp breath when Jake's tip pressed against your soaked pussy, your entire body stiffening at the stretch before he even entered. His grip on your waist was bruising, anchoring you in place.

"Shit," Jake groaned under his breath, his voice breaking into a growl as he pushed in deeper. "How long has it been since you've been fucked like this? You're tight as fuck."

Your whimpers filled the air, your eyes locked on Heeseung's as he squished your cheeks between his large hand.

"Talk," Heeseung demanded, his eyes burning down into you. "Don't just sit there like a pretty little toy. Tell us what you want. Say it."

The moment he said it, Jake shoved his cock all the way inside you, the sudden fullness making your head drop forward with a cry.

"Moan louder. Scream our names. Tell us what to do to you," Heeseung ordered, pushing you to the edge as Jake's thrusts started to slam into you from behind.

"I—" you stammered through gasps, your body buckling under the rhythm. "I've been dreaming of this since first year." The confession tumbled out without filter, every word dripping with desperation.

Your honesty ripped a sound from both Jake and Sunghoon, low groans that mixed with the slick sound of your body being fucked. Heeseung's gaze hardened, his nostrils flaring as his jaw clenched. Jake's thrusts grew harsher, his hips snapping against you with punishing speed.

"W-want all of you to use me—fuck me, please!" you squealed, your voice cracking as Jake's cock found that spot inside you and hit it mercilessly.

Jake's laugh was cruel, his words spilling out between moans. "Yeah? That's why you gave in so fucking easy? Thought we'd have to drag it out of you, but you just spread those legs like the slut you are." His hand clamped down on your arms, dragging you back onto his cock as he fucked you harder, each thrust shaking your body forward.

Tears pooled again in your eyes as you shook your head weakly, your voice breaking between cries. "N-not a slut! D-don't call me that—ah, f-fuck! Jake!"

But he only thrust faster, slamming into you, groaning at how you clenched so tightly around him the harder he degraded you.

"Yeah?" Jake's voice dropped to a whisper, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Then why the fuck are you here like this? Why are you dripping on me if you're not exactly what I called you?" His thrusts grew erratic, pounding straight into the softest spot inside you, making your knees tremble, making your nails dig into the sheets until your knuckles turned white.

You couldn't even answer him at first, because the way he was fucking you made your thoughts scatter, your mouth falling open as broken sounds spilled out. But then Heeseung was on you again, his hand fisting in your hair, pulling your head back so you had no choice but to meet his eyes.

"Come on," Heeseung murmured. His thumb brushed over your trembling bottom lip before tightening his grip on your hair, forcing your mouth open slightly. "Ignore him. Tell us what you need. Use that pretty voice."

Your chest heaved, your lashes fluttering, every nerve in your body screaming for more. "Want you—" your voice cracked, "want you all to fill m-my pussy up." The words came out broken, but loud enough for all of them to hear. Your body arched as another wave of Jake's thrusts sent shocks of heat through you, and you sobbed through your moan. "G-give me your biggest load, make me your toy for tonight—ahhh!"

Your scream broke off when Jake's hand slipped down, his fingers pinching your clit hard before slapping it over and over, sharp little bursts of pain crashing into the overwhelming pleasure. The mix had your eyes rolling back into your skull, your mouth falling open as drool slipped from the corner of your lips.

"Yes! Fuck, yes!" you squealed, your voice hoarse, your body jerking helplessly as the coil in your stomach twisted tight, tighter than before. Your thighs shook violently, your legs threatening to give out beneath you if it weren't for Jake's grip anchoring you in place. Every nerve screamed release, but he didn't stop, his cock drilling into you, his fingers punishing your clit until you were certain you'd break.

"Where do you want it?" Jake grunted against your neck, his thrusts almost brutal now, each one stealing the air from your lungs. "Where do you want me to cum, huh? Say it."

Heeseung tugged your hair harder, forcing your eyes to meet his again, his dark gaze pinning you as if daring you to answer wrong. Sunghoon's low groans filled the room behind them, the sound of his fist gliding over his cock only making the moment heavier.

Your lips trembled as you tried to form the words, every part of you shaking, drowning in pleasure, drowning in them.

"Anywhere," you gasped. "In my mouth, in my face, in my body, in my pussy—just fucking cum anywhere in me!"

"Fuck!" Jake groaned. His palm came down on your clit with a sharp slap that had your legs trembling so violently, your pussy clenching down on him with merciless tightness. The shock sent your body into another wave, your scream cutting through the air as you came hard around his cock, your walls fluttering, soaking him with everything you had.

The way you pulsed around him dragged him over the edge, his hips snapping forward with reckless speed until his cock throbbed and spilled, his hot cum spilling deep inside you in thick spurts that made your stomach twist with satisfaction. The moment you felt him paint your walls, you let out a long, broken moan, almost sobbing at how good it felt, how badly you'd needed it.

Heeseung finally let go of your hair, stepping back just far enough to watch you crumble under Jake. His eyes were locked on the mess between your legs, on the sight of Jake's cock still buried in you while his cum leaked out in slow, obscene drips.

His hand slid down his abdomen until he was stroking himself openly, his jaw tight, his breathing heavy. The look in his eyes told you he was seconds away from joining, and that thought made your clit twitch with aftershocks.

Sunghoon's chest rose and fell sharply as he leaned back, still stroking his cock at a steady rhythm, his gaze locked on you. His lips parted, his breathing uneven.

Jake's body eventually stilled, his forehead damp with sweat, his chest heaving with each breath as he looked down at your trembling frame. He pulled back slowly, letting his cock slide free from your swollen pussy. The moment he did, his cum began to spill out in a steady stream, dripping down your thighs and pooling between them.

He had never finished that hard before—he knew it, and from the stunned silence, so did the others. Even Heeseung's brows had furrowed at the sight, as if he couldn't believe how much you were leaking.

Your eyes fluttered half-lidded, your lashes wet with tears and sweat, your breaths shallow and uneven. Your body was heavy, limp from the storm that had wracked you, but somewhere deep inside, you found the strength to move your fingers, twitching weakly against the sheets. You weren't done. You couldn't be. You wanted more—you needed more. Your body begged for it, trembling but eager, your pussy clenching around nothing as if calling for another cock to fill you.

You forced your eyes open again, vision blurred with sweat and tears. And then—

"You're into this shit again?"

That voice. Deep, familiar voice, it cut through everything—the ringing in your ears, the haze in your mind, the pounding of your own heart.

Your pussy clenched instantly, as if your body recognized him before your brain could, a sharp rush of need flooding through you at just the sound.

"Took you long enough, Jay," Sunghoon muttered with a crooked smile, though his hand didn't stop stroking himself.

Jake looked up too, his chest still heaving, his hand dragging across his sweaty forehead, annoyance flickering across his features. Heeseung paused mid-stroke, his gaze narrowing, his jaw flexing as his attention shifted from you to the man at the door.

And you—your throat went dry, your lips parted, your heart slamming painfully against your ribs. Jay was here. Finally!

A soft, broken whine left your lips as your body shifted toward him. Jay's eyes sharpened, his expression was unreadable as he stepped fully inside, closing the door behind him. His gaze swept over the room, over Jake still breathless, Sunghoon stroking himself lazily, Heeseung looming above you, and finally, it landed on you—sweaty, trembling, your face flushed and messy, your eyes wide and glassy as they reached for him.

He didn't move immediately. He just stood there, silent, his jaw tight, demanding the others explain without him saying a word.

But Heeseung didn't give him the chance. He gripped your legs firmly, dragging you down the bed until you were flush beneath him, your body spread and waiting. Jay's eyes narrowed as he caught the sight of your hand twitching toward him, so close yet so far, the longing in your movement almost pathetic in its honesty.

Before you could call out, Heeseung pinned your arms above your head, his fingers curling around your wrists with unrelenting strength. His mouth brushed the shell of your ear, his voice low and taunting. "No more waiting. I've already held back long enough."

And then without warning, he pushed his cock all the way into you in one brutal thrust.

Your scream ripped through the air, your body arching violently as he bottomed out, stretching you so suddenly you could hardly think. The slick of Jake's cum inside you made it easier, made it wetter, but it didn't stop the sharp, overwhelming sting of being filled again so completely, so roughly.

"Fuck—yes," Heeseung groaned, his forehead pressing briefly to your temple as he steadied himself, though his hips didn't slow. "Need to bury my dick inside this pussy before anyone else tries to stop me. If I wait another second, I'll lose my goddamn mind."

He began to pound into you without mercy, each thrust shaking your body, pushing you deeper into the mattress. The sound of it mixed with his growls and your cries until it was all one desperate rhythm. His pace was punishing, desperate, as if he needed to erase the traces Jake left behind, like he needed to make sure you remembered him the most.

Your eyes flickered open through the haze, and there's Jay.

He was still standing where he'd closed the door, but now his chest rose heavily. He was watching you, not Heeseung, not Jake or Sunghoon, but you—his gaze locked on your face, on the way your lips trembled around moans, on the way your eyes begged for him even while another man fucked you senseless.

The sight of him like that—stoic, his stare pinning you harder than Heeseung's grip ever could—made your walls spasm tight around Heeseung's cock. You couldn't move forward, couldn't reach Jay the way you wanted, Heeseung's weight pinning you down just as Jake had before. It was maddening, being fucked this hard while Jay stood so close yet untouchable.

"Look at you," Heeseung groaned, his pace ruthless, his cock battering your soaked cunt. "You're dripping, squeezing me like you never want me to leave. You love it—you fucking love it."

And he wasn't wrong.

Your mind was spiraling, torn between the brutal pleasure flooding your body and the heat of Jay's eyes locked on you.

Heeseung's hand slid up the side of your face, his fingers pressing into your cheek as he tilted your head toward him. The moment your lips brushed against his, you melted, kissing him back feverishly, moaning into his mouth as he swallowed every sound. His thrusts didn't falter, his cock dragging mercilessly against that spot inside you that had you unraveling so quickly, another orgasm barreling through your overstimulated body before you could even brace yourself. Your legs shook violently, your cries muffled by his mouth as you shattered around him again.

Jake, still hard and needy, didn't wait any longer. He stepped closer, ignoring Jay's looming silence, his cock already heavy and dripping. Sunghoon followed, stroking himself lazily, his smirk curling as he looked down at your messy face and trembling body. Heeseung adjusted his body and hold, his hand locking tightly around your waist as he slowed just enough to grind into you deliberately, rolling his hips in a way that pressed cruelly against your swollen clit and that spongy spot inside, teasing you, forcing more whimpers from your lips even as your body tried to recover.

When Jake and Sunghoon moved to either side of your head, you reacted instantly. Both your hands reached out to wrap around them, your fingers straining around their girth. A muffled moan escaped you, your eyes fluttering, as Sunghoon leaned lower, his hand sliding to your breast, kneading it roughly.

The sensation made you gasp, your lips parting, and Jake took the opportunity to rub his cock against your tongue. You sighed in bliss, your throat vibrating as you licked the tip, your saliva mixing with the sticky fluid still clinging to him from earlier. You sucked eagerly, slurping him down before switching, letting Sunghoon feel your tongue glide along the underside of his length, licking from his base to his leaking tip. All the while, Heeseung's thrusts grew sharper, pounding harder, each one jarring your body as he lost the battle with his own restraint.

"Fuck, you really wanted this, huh?" Sunghoon groaned, watching your lips wrap around him before sliding free. His hand tangled in your hair, guiding you lower, feeding himself into your mouth as his hips rolled slowly, deliberately. "Moaning with three cocks on you, and enjoying every second of it."

Your eyes watered as you let him push deeper, your throat tightening, but the messy desperation in your moans proved his words right. You pulled off with a wet gasp, kissing the head of his cock, smearing saliva across it before whispering against him.

"Love your cock... so much," you breathed, your lips brushing the tip, your eyes flicking immediately past him—toward Jay. That gnawing ache inside you swelled, and before you could stop yourself, your whine tumbled out. "Is Jay not gonna join?"

The room stilled at your words.

Jake chuckled dryly, tugging your wrist tighter around his shaft before thrusting into your hand with rough, impatient strokes. "You've got three cocks already and still not enough for you?" His voice dropped lower, his pace quickening as he fucked into your fist. "Can't even handle us together, but you're begging for more. God, you're insatiable."

Heeseung growled low in his throat, his thrusts growing faster, harsher, punishing you for even speaking Jay's name. Sunghoon hissed through his teeth as your grip on him tightened, his thumb brushing your spit-slicked lips.

"S-sorry!" you squeaked, your back arching violently as the three of them claimed every inch of your body with greedy, unrelenting hands. The sensations collided into each other, overwhelming, making it impossible to tell where one touch ended and another began.

Your skin burned under their palms, every squeeze, every slap, every tug forcing your body to twitch and your chest to heave with broken sobs of pleasure.

"Focus on us, you fucking bitch," Heeseung growled, dangerous enough to make your cunt clench so tight around him that his hips stuttered. He cursed, gripping your waist harder, his cock slamming into you with renewed force, each thrust demanding your full attention, demanding that you forget everything but him, but them.

Your eyes rolled back, your lips trembling, but you couldn't stop glancing toward Jay, couldn't stop feeling that magnetic pull toward his stare.

Jake grunted, his hand tangling roughly in your hair, yanking your head toward him as his cock brushed against your lips again. "Ignore him. You hear me? He's not the one inside you right now—we are. So open your fucking mouth and focus," his cockhead smearing across your tongue before pushing in, forcing your throat to stretch around him again. The taste of him mixed with the mess already dripping down your chin, and you moaned around his length, gagging slightly when he pushed deeper, his hips jerking at the sound.

Sunghoon, never content to let the others take more than him, pressed closer, his fingers pinching your nipple until you whined. "That's right. You're ours tonight, baby. All ours."

His hand slid lower, spreading you wider for Heeseung's relentless thrusts, his fingers brushing your clit in circles that made you sob.

Your words came out slurred. "Y-yours! All yours! F-fuck—I can't—ahh, I can't take it—"

Heeseung cut you off with a growl, thrusting deeper, harder, the bed frame slamming into the wall with each movement. "Yes, you can, slut. You'll take everything I give you." Your walls clenched even tighter around him, milking his cock.

"I'm not a fucking slut!" The protest tore from your throat just as another orgasm ripped through you, your body spasming violently.

Your legs tried to slam shut against the unbearable pleasure, but Jake and Sunghoon caught them instantly, spreading you wider, keeping you open, holding you there as Heeseung continued pounding into you mercilessly. Your moan stretched high, long, broken in its desperation as tears streamed down your face.

Heeseung pulled out abruptly, your cunt fluttering around nothing, before plunging three of his fingers inside you. The sudden stretch made your entire body jolt upward, your scream breaking into sobs as he fucked his fingers into you with a brutal pace. His palm pressed hard against your clit with every thrust, his thumb flicking over the swollen bud, making your vision blur and your mind scatter.

Your body shook violently, your head thrashing from side to side, your voice rising in hysterical sobs that filled the room. "Stop! S-stop! I'm gonna—I'm go-going to pee! Stop, wait! Please, wait—!"

Your arms tried to push them off, tried to squirm free, but Jake and Sunghoon pinned you tighter, one hand on each wrist, one grip on each thigh, keeping you spread open for Heeseung's relentless assault.

Heeseung's eyes darkened, his jaw clenched as he kept driving into your pussy with his fingers, your slick coating his hand, dripping down his wrist, the sound of it loud and wet. His cock twitched angrily in his other hand as he stroked himself in slow pulls, groaning low in his chest. "Come on, sweetheart. Don't fight it. Let it out for us. Show us how much you need us."

Jake leaned closer, his lip caught between his teeth, his eyes fixed on the mess between your thighs. The obscene squelching filled his ears, making his cock ache again. "Fuck—listen to her pussy. She's about to—" His words cut off with a groan as his own hips rutted helplessly into the air.

Your high-pitched scream tore through the room as the dam inside you finally snapped. 

A gush of hot liquid burst from your pussy, splattering over your stomach, your thighs, the sheets beneath you, drenching Heeseung's hand and face as he ducked lower, moaning against the spray. The force of it made your ears ring, your vision blur, your body convulse helplessly.

It was humiliating, overwhelming, devastatingly good. You sobbed openly, your face slick with tears and spit, Sunghoon's cum already drying against your skin, and now your own release coating everything around you. Your body trembled uncontrollably, your legs twitching and kicking weakly until Jake and Sunghoon finally let them fall open to the side.

You curled inward, your arms wrapping protectively over your chest, your body folding small as though you could hide. But the sheets were soaked beneath you, the air heavy with the scent of sex, the room echoing with your broken cries.

"So good," Heeseung's lips parted against your soaked skin and licked at the mess you left on his face. His eyes fluttered shut, his strokes on his cock tightening, his hand gliding through the mixture of your slick and squirt.

"Get the fuck to the side. I'm going to taste it." Jake's hand already twitched toward you, greedy and impatient.

Sunghoon's laugh came rough and breathless, his chest rising and falling as he lazily stroked himself, his eyes locked on the wet ruin between your thighs. "Bro, shut the fuck up. You already had your turn. It's my turn now."

Sunghoon leaned forward, dragging his tongue over your cheek, licking at the tears that stained your skin before pressing a sloppy kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"Step aside. I'm not done yet." Heeseung shoved Sunghoon out of his way, his hand already on your thigh, forcing your legs apart with a strength that made your body jolt.

"W-wait—" your voice broke, a weak sniffle escaping as you tried to catch your breath, your chest heaving rapidly, overstimulation already threatening to unravel you further.

The stretch of your thighs, the way Heeseung's fingers pressed into your skin, it all made you flinch with both anticipation and fear. You weren't sure if you could take more, but your body betrayed you, your cunt twitching at the thought of him filling you again.

"Dude, no fun," Sunghoon muttered, irritation coloring his tone as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, still tasting you there. His cock twitched in his fist, but he leaned back with a scowl.

"Three of you step back. You can't even take care of her." Jay's voice cut through the air, commanding, silencing all of them in an instant.

Your head turned instinctively toward him. The sound of his voice sent a violent shiver down your spine, your pussy clenching around nothing as though it had been waiting only for him. Your chest hitched, your lips parting on a desperate little whimper that you couldn't hold back. "J-Jay..."

Jake scoffed from the other side of the bed, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, but the flash of annoyance in his expression didn't hide the way his chest rose faster, as if even he knew Jay's presence shifted everything. "She's fine. Don't act like you're the savior now."

Jay's gaze flicked toward him, before returning to you. He moved closer until he stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at your trembling body. "She's more than fine. She's a mess. Look at her." His jaw tightened as his eyes roamed over you—your soaked thighs, your trembling legs, your chest that still rose and fell unevenly. His voice softened. "She's mine to take care of."

Heeseung growled low in his throat, clearly unwilling to back off, his body still hovering over you. "We've already broken her in. Don't come here acting like you own her now." His fingers dug into your thigh harder, spreading you wider as if to make his point.

Jay's expression didn't shift, though his eyes burned darker. "Then move. Or I'll make you."

You breathe heavily, looking at the both of them. And you—your body trembled violently, torn apart by the clash of their voices, but deep down you knew what you wanted. Your lips quivered, the words slipping out before you could stop yourself. "I... I want Jay..."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Heeseung froze above you, his eyes narrowing dangerously, while Jake let out a low laugh, though the jealousy in it was sharp. Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, biting his lip as though amused but also curious to see what Jay would do.

Jay leaned closer, his hand reaching out to brush your messy hair away from your face, his touch surprisingly gentle after all the roughness you'd endured. His thumb stroked over your damp cheek, wiping at the dried tears. His gaze softened as he looked at you.

"Here I thought I was your favorite," Heeseung muttered, finally releasing the tight grip he had on your leg. Beneath the teasing, a mix of bitterness and disappointment that made your chest ache even in your haze.

Jake snorted, throwing a smirk in Heeseung's direction. "Don't flatter yourself. She probably still thinks you're her number one. She just wants another cock inside her because that's what sluts do." His words were cruel, but his retreat was obvious, stepping back from you, his chest still heaving.

Heeseung only shrugged at that, but his eyes flicked to you once more before he turned his head away.

Your lips trembled, guilt and shame mixing with the raw need still burning inside you. You tilted your head toward Jay, your voice coming out as the weakest of whispers. "D-do you want me to clean up first?" The moment the words left your mouth, your chest tightened—afraid he might flinch, afraid he might see you the same way Jake just called you.

But Jay only smiled softly, shaking his head as though the thought was absurd. "It's alright, angel."

The simple reassurance broke something in you. Your eyes stung all over again, but before the tears could spill, his mouth was already moving lower, pressing a trail of unhurried kisses along your inner thigh. Each press of his lips lingered. By the time his lips hovered just above your swollen core, his pointed nose brushing lightly over your sensitive clit, your back had already arched off the sheets in anticipation.

You gasped softly, when his tongue finally slid against you. Hot, steady, and so focused, his tongue swirled around your folds before slipping inside you, teasing your oversensitive walls with a precision that made your breath catch in your throat. The contrast to the brutal pace you'd been enduring was staggering—he wasn't just eating you out, he was savoring you.

Your hands flew instinctively to his hair, trembling fingers tangling into his dark strands as you moaned helplessly, your chest rising and falling with every wave of sensation he drew from you. "J-Jay..." His name slipped from your lips brokenly.

He hummed against your cunt at the sound, the vibration making you twitch as his tongue moved deeper, stroking places inside you that made your toes curl. His grip on your hips tightened, holding you still when your thighs tried to clamp shut around his head from the overwhelming pleasure.

Behind him, you could feel the others watching—Heeseung's silence heavy, Jake's low scoff, Sunghoon's quiet hum of approval—but all of it blurred into the background when Jay moaned against you, drinking you down.

You whimpered, tugging at his hair as your hips bucked weakly into his mouth. "S-so good... I can't, I c-can't hold it—"

Jay pulled back just enough to glance up at you, his lips glistening with your slick, his eyes dark but soft. "Then don't. Let go for me, angel. Just me."

And with that, he dipped his head again, his tongue flicking against your clit with quick, precise strokes while his fingers slid inside you, curling expertly until you were screaming, until your body was trembling so hard you thought it might break apart.

Jay let go of your trembling body, his lips brushing once more against your temple before he finally shifted back. The bed dipped under his weight as he knelt at the edge, the leather of his belt creaking faintly as his fingers tugged at the buckle.

You knew the night had only just begun, but here in this room it already felt like you had been devoured whole, like there was no way out.

"Have you ever been fucked in the ass?" Jay's voice broke through, deceptively calm, his palm gliding down the curve of your thigh, rubbing in a slow rhythm as if coaxing you into trust.

Your lashes fluttered, your chest seizing as though his words had cut the air straight out of your lungs. "H-Huh?" Your voice cracked, eyes wide, searching his expression for some sign of softness that might match the way he'd just held you.

From your left, Jake let out a muffled laugh, the sound harsh against the fragile silence that followed your confusion.

Jay's hand didn't falter. He pressed a little higher on your thigh, the pads of his fingers stroking, teasing, until finally one circled lower, grazing a place that had never been touched this way before.

His tone was as gentle as before, almost sickeningly so. "I asked," he repeated slowly, "have you ever been fucked in your ass, angel?"

The tip of his finger brushed against your rim and you gasped, the breath caught sharp in your throat as heat and panic flared all at once. Your body jolted, betraying you. You couldn't even find the words, your head turning automatically toward the other three. Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon—all three watching you intently, not a single one offering you an escape.

You shook your head quickly, shame coloring your cheeks as your voice finally stumbled out. "N-No..."

Jay's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "On your arms and knees, then. I'll be gentle with you."

The smile was soft, but you could already feel the deception in it. You should've known by now—Jay only looked gentle when he wanted you to obey.

Your tears hadn't even dried when you felt his finger pressing more firmly at your rim, the tight, foreign intrusion making your body stiffen. The burn was immediate, sharp, a sensation your body didn't know how to handle. He twisted his finger slowly, deliberately, and the stretch made you whimper, your hands clawing desperately at the sheets.

"C-can't take it," you cried, shaking your head, your vision blurring again. Your body writhed under him, desperate for someone—anyone—to stop him.

"Hurts, Sunghoon. It hurts!" Your arm reached blindly for him, searching for comfort.

And Sunghoon leaned in instantly, catching your reaching hand, his lips brushing your temple in mock sympathy. "Shh," he cooed, the sound almost tender if not for the wicked edge beneath it. "I thought you were a good girl? You've been dreaming about us for so long, haven't you? This is what you wanted."

Your sobs shook your chest, but your body betrayed you again—clenching around Jay's finger, trembling from every deliberate twist.

On your other side, Heeseung moved closer, crouching low until his chest brushed against your arm. He caught your free hand and guided it toward him, pressing your palm around his cock.  "Come on, baby. Use those hands. Don't just cry. Make yourself useful while Jay breaks you in."

Jay's finger pushed deeper, the slow stretch pulling another ragged sob from your throat. He watched you closely, his jaw tight, his cock already heavy in his hand as he stroked it lazily. His lips curved again, "relax, angel. Breathe. I'll make it hurt less if you beg me properly."

When Jay finally pulled his finger free, your body sagged in relief—but it was short-lived. The sharp tear of foil reached your ears, and your stomach flipped as the sound registered. You forced your head to lift, desperate to see him, but Sunghoon's hand kept you locked in place, his grip so firm on your hair that you couldn't move. He angled you down toward Heeseung's cock again, your mouth spreading open around him until you gagged.

You heard the faint snap of latex as Jay rolled the condom down his thick length, the squirt of lube slicking the air before his fist wrapped around himself, stroking with slow pumps. You tried to tilt your head to catch a glimpse, but Sunghoon tugged hard, forcing you to choke around Heeseung's cock. Your throat tightened painfully as you coughed against the intrusion.

"Hmp—!" Your cry was muffled, spilling against Heeseung's cock as Jay pressed forward. The blunt head of his cock nudged against your rim, stretching you in ways you weren't prepared for.

Jay's groan vibrated through the room, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he pushed deeper, inch by inch. His hands gripped your ass, spreading you wider, making you tremble as the burn ignited again.

Your throat was stuffed with Heeseung's cock, and every shallow thrust into your mouth came with another humiliating gulp, gulp, gulp. Each noise mingled with Jay's ragged breathing as he sank himself slowly into your ass.

By the time his cock buried itself halfway, your hands had flown to Heeseung's thighs in desperation, nails scratching down his skin as your throat tried to adjust. Heeseung hissed sharply at the sting, then abruptly pulled out, your mouth gasping for air as you coughed and sobbed.

"Bitch," he spat, slapping your cheek with enough force to sting. Your head tilted from the impact, tears spilling harder as you whimpered against the mattress, your body trembling uncontrollably.

The sound of the slap cracked through the room—and the shift in the air was instant. Jay froze, his dark eyes snapping up, his jaw tight. Slowly, he leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, his cock still halfway inside your ass as he fixed his glare on Heeseung.

"The fuck do you think you're doing?"

"She fucking scratched me—" Heeseung started.

Jay's glare sharpened, cutting him off. His hand curled around your hip, steadying you as he leaned closer until his lips brushed your ear, his words meant for both you and Heeseung. "Apologize. To her. Now."

Heeseung's jaw flexed, annoyance flashing in his eyes, but under Jay's burning stare, he finally muttered, "...Sorry."

You sniffled, your face pressed to the sheets, too shaken to respond. Jay's grip on your hip softened just enough for his thumb to caress you. "You okay, hmm?"

You swallowed hard, unable to find your voice, and forced yourself to nod against the sheets. Your chest rose and fell in shuddering waves, but you needed him to believe you could take it.

Jay hummed softly, almost like praise. "That's it. Breathe for me, angel. Let me in. Don't hold back." His hips pressed forward again. The intrusion stretched you open slowly, your body fighting to keep up with his size. The burn sharpened into an unbearable sting, and you screamed into the mattress, toes curling tight against the sheets as you struggled not to collapse.

Sunghoon's hand smoothed over your hair, patting your head with a tenderness, so comforting that make you whimper. "Good girl," he whispered, as though you needed his approval just to keep breathing.

Then Heeseung moved closer, his hand sliding between your thighs to press against your soaked pussy.

"Sorry, baby." His palm cupped you carefully, you flinched at first, but when he leaned in, his lips closing over your nipple, sucking hard, the sharp edge of pain dulled under a rush of pleasure. The shift made your back arch violently, the cry that tore from you high and desperate.

"Ahh! F-fuck!" you screamed, voice cracking, torn between pain and bliss.

Jay grunted at the way your body squeezed around him, his hand wrapping tightly around your arm to pull it back behind you like a lever. His other hand gripped your shoulder firmly, anchoring you while his hips snapped forward with force. Each thrust sent a wet smack echoing through the room, skin colliding with a punishing rhythm.

Heeseung groaned against your chest, his tongue flicking over your nipple as his fingers pressed harder into your clit, rubbing circles that sent shocks of sensation racing through your trembling body. The mixture of Jay's brutal thrusts and Heeseung's eager mouth had you thrashing.

You never thought being filled that way could drag such a storm out of you. The sting that had first made you sob now twisted into something overwhelming, a blend of fire and honey that made your body betray you with every clench. Each thrust blurred the line between pain and euphoria until you couldn't separate one from the other, only the dizzy rush that kept forcing cries from your throat.

At some point, you lost track of who was where.

You were a doll passed between them, shifted and handled, your body too pliant to resist, too consumed by sensation to understand the movement until it was already happening.

When Jay lifted you with an arm hooked under your ribs, carrying your trembling weight as though you were light as air, your limbs hung loose, hair falling forward like a curtain, your head lolling against his chest. The world was hazy, sound muffled except for their voices and the unrelenting rhythm of flesh against flesh.

You moaned uncontrollably, the sound spilling out of you even before Sunghoon pushed inside your swollen pussy. He didn't wait, he didn't tease—he slid in deep, and the stretch dragged another cry out of your throat.

Jake positioned himself over you, his hands squeezing your tits roughly, pressing them together around the length of his cock. He thrusted between them with a feral need, groaning at the slick heat as he forced you to keep your trembling arms raised so you couldn't rest, so none of them were ignored.

Your muscles screamed, the burn in your shoulders mixing with the fire between your legs. Yet the harder it became to hold on, the more your moans broke apart into helpless sobs.

"Shit! So fucking good!" Sunghoon moaned, usually he was silent, the one who held back while the others filled the air, but now his restraint had shattered. His moans came rough and guttural, pulled from his chest with every thrust, his expression twisting into something close to pure bliss. Each time his hips met yours, the sound that tore from his throat was louder, rawer, until you realized he was trembling too—losing himself in you just as much as you were unraveling under him.

Your vision blurred at the edges, tears clinging to your lashes, the ringing in your ears drowning out everything but their voices and the wet sounds of bodies colliding. Orgasms tore through you one after another, piling so fast you couldn't separate them anymore. You were trapped in the spiral of it, begging without thought, "Y-yes, fuck, yes—I can't stop—I need it—please, don't stop!"

Your body betrayed you completely, arching up even as you wanted to collapse. The adhesive gems clinging to your eyelids sparkled faintly under the light, miraculously still in place as your eyes rolled back, your tongue slipping free from your mouth with no strength left to hold it in. You were a mess, unrecognizable even to yourself, but they devoured every second of it.

Jake groaned low in his chest as his cock pulsed, spilling over your tits, hot ropes covering your skin until you were painted in him. He slapped your chest once more, watching it smear across your breasts before stumbling back, his body giving out as he dropped onto the mattress, panting heavily, drained but satisfied.

The moment you were freed from him, your lips were claimed again. Heeseung and Jay's mouths fought for space against yours, kissing you with different kinds of urgency—Jay deep and consuming, Heeseung sharp and demanding. Their lips pulled moans out of you you didn't even know you had left, your eyes shut tight as your mouth parted helplessly between them.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon's cock dragged deeper inside you, angling until it brushed that spot that made your whole body spasm. The rhythm of his thrusts grew steadier, more desperate, his hips slamming into you with a pace that made your chest heave and your breath hitch against the mouths kissing yours. He was unrelenting, he couldn't stop himself, your body had unlocked something in him he never wanted to let go of.

Sunghoon's control shattered first. His jaw clenched, veins standing out along his neck as he pushed deeper, his movements rough and unsteady, every thrust dragging a desperate sound from him. His eyes squeezed shut and his head tilted back, a moan ripping from his throat as his stomach tightened, the pleasure consuming him faster than he could handle. He bit down on his lip, but it wasn't enough to stifle the way his body shook while his cock throbbed violently inside you.

You felt the hot flood of his release filling you in long, uncontrollable spurts. It spread thick through your core, making your walls clench tighter as though your body wanted to keep him there, to hold every drop.

The sensation was so overwhelming that your back arched high into Jay's chest. He caught you easily, his large hand spreading over your breast and kneading. His lips swallowed your broken moans, his tongue sliding deep until you whimpered against him, unable to keep up.

Your hips jerked when Sunghoon finally spilled the last of his release, the force of it pushing some of his cum to seep out around his cock. He slumped forward, chest heaving, but his grip on your waist betrayed his reluctance to leave you. He wanted to stay buried, to keep claiming you—but his body gave out, and with a low groan he pulled free, his length glistening as it slid from your swollen cunt.

The loss of him left you trembling, and before you could even breathe, Heeseung was already there. His hand slid between your thighs, fingers parting your slick folds without hesitation. He rubbed over your swollen clit in tight circles, faster, sharper, and your lips tore away from Jay's kiss to scream, your cry echoing through the room as a new wave of sensation tore through you.

Sunghoon's cum was still dripping from your pussy when Heeseung's fingers slapped against your sensitive clit. The sharp sting made your hips spasm, jerking upward uncontrollably, the sound of the wet slap filling the room. Your thighs shook, but Jay's hand on your chest kept you pressed firmly against him, forcing you to take it all.

"So fucking hot," Jay groaned against your skin, his teeth grazing your neck before biting down just enough to leave a mark. He soothed the bite with his tongue before sucking at the spot, leaving his claim branded into your skin while you cried softly beneath him.

"Come on," Heeseung coaxed. He gave your clit another sharp slap that made you gasp, your entire body twitching. "Breathe. Deep. You've still got two cocks waiting for you."

Your body was trembling, the exhaustion in your muscles fighting against the need clawing through your veins. Every part of you screamed for a pause, a moment of stillness, but your lips betrayed you, spilling soft, broken words into the heated air.

"...cock... want more..." you whispered, not even sure if you meant to say it out loud, but the second it left your mouth, they moved.

They shifted you onto Heeseung first, his broad chest rising under your palms as he positioned himself at your entrance. Your thighs burned as you straddled him, but you couldn't stop yourself from lowering down, grinding until his thick tip slid past your folds, the friction making your entire body quiver.

Heeseung's eyes darkened immediately, his hands gripping your waist as he guided you, feeling the way your heat stretched around him.

Jay stood behind you, his movements methodical as he tore open another condom with his teeth. He rolled the latex down over his length with one hand, the other already spreading over your lower back, holding you steady. His touch was careful, deceptively gentle, even as you felt the blunt press of his cock teasing your other entrance.

The stretch made you scream, your head snapping back to his shoulder as his cock slowly pushed inside your ass. Your tits arched forward, bouncing in Heeseung's face, and he groaned like he was seeing heaven itself, his mouth immediately latching onto one nipple. His tongue flicked hard before he began sucking greedily, moaning against your skin, drowning himself in the taste of you might keep him from unraveling completely.

He told himself not to get attached, not to think beyond the raw act of it but as he looked up, catching the sight of your face twisted with both pain and euphoria, your lashes damp with tears, your lips parted, your flushed cheeks glowing, he was gone. So fucking pretty, too pretty for this. His chest tightened, his teeth sinking into his lip, half-lidded eyes watching you lose yourself while he thrust up into you.

"Ahh—fuck! S-so good! Feels so good!" you sobbed, your voice breaking as both of them found their rhythm inside you.

Jay's arm slid tighter around your middle, pulling you back against him, while his other hand anchored hard on your shoulder.

Each drive of his hips made your body lurch forward, and every time he withdrew, Heeseung thrust upward to meet you, their cocks colliding through the thin barrier inside you. The pressure was relentless, unbearable yet addicting. You felt so full, so completely wrecked, yet you didn't want them to stop.

Your head fell back against Jay's shoulder, your throat exposed, your lips trembling as the sounds poured out of you unrestrained. His gaze locked onto you, never wavering, watching every twitch of your brows, every flutter of your lashes, every blissful break in your voice.

His stomach coiled tight when he saw you smile through your moans, blissful grin that said you were floating in a haze beyond reason.

And then—when you let out a delirious laugh, drunk on cock and pleasure—both he and Heeseung nearly lost control.

"Shit... fuck, look at her," Heeseung moaned against your chest, thrusts erratic as your pussy clenched harder, milking him. His thumb found your clit again, circling with ruthless precision, making your hips twitch violently in their hold.

"Fucking cockdrunk," Jake muttered from the side, his voice strained, his hand already wrapped tight around his cock as he stroked himself, eyes devouring the sight of you stuffed full between Jay and Heeseung.

"Unbelievable..." Sunghoon hissed, though his body betrayed his words as his cock hardened again at the sight. His chest rose sharply, his jaw tightening as his eyes burned into you, unable to look away.

And you—you were flying. Your entire body trembled, sweat dripping down your back, every nerve set alight as two cocks pounded into you in perfect rhythm, stretching you in ways you never thought you could handle. You weren't just moaning anymore—you were laughing, delirious, euphoric, because nothing had ever felt this good. The world outside didn't exist. There was only this. Only them. Only the way your body sang under their hands, under their cocks.

You were living your best fucking life, and in that moment, you knew you never wanted it to end.

"Shit—I'm gonna cum," Heeseung groaned, his head falling back against the pillow as his thrusts grew uneven. You couldn't help yourself, couldn't stop your body from pushing back onto his cock, greedy for every last inch.

"Need it—please, I need you to cum inside me—don't hold back," you moaned.

Jay tightened his bicep around your throat, dragging you flush against him as his lips pressed against your temple. "Take it, angel. Take all of him."

The heat in your chest exploded when Heeseung moaned loud and emptied inside you. The sound of his voice made your heart lurch even as your own orgasm tore through you again. Your walls clenched so violently that his cock twitched helplessly, spilling thicker and thicker ropes of cum until you could feel the weight of it stretching your stomach. The mess spilled from the corners of your folds, warm streams dripping down your thighs.

But before the haze could settle, Jay's voice cut through. "Pull out, Heeseung. It's my turn—I want to cum in her too." His arm around your throat tightened, pulling you higher onto him, your back arching as his cock slid free from your ass, still painfully hard.

Heeseung hesitated, his chest heaving, his eyes narrowing like he didn't want to let go of the heat he'd buried himself in. He gave a sharp exhale of frustration but finally withdrew, his cock wet and shining as he let you slip from him.

Jay didn't waste a second. He yanked off the condom, tossing it carelessly aside, then pushed his length inside your pussy still dripping with Heeseung's load. The stretch burned, but the mix of fluids made him slide in effortlessly, and the sensation had your toes curling instantly.

"Fuck—fuck, she's so wet," Jay groaned, his forehead pressing against the side of your head. His pace was punishing, his hips snapping against your ass as his hand gripped your hip to anchor himself.

"Can't hold it—gonna fill you—"

The moment he buried himself deep, his body stiffened, and he spilled hot inside you. His growl vibrated against your ear, the sound of his release mixing with your own helpless moans. You could feel it, the pulse of his cock as he filled you so completely that the mix of him and Heeseung spilled back out, dripping into a sticky mess beneath you.

It took a long moment before they both released you, your body sagging limp between them. You barely had the strength to move when Jake stepped forward, his hand already pumping his length with urgency, his eyes locked on your face. Sunghoon moved with him, their cocks standing tall, both of them crowding your view as you were laid down on your back.

"Open up, baby," Jake ordered.

Your lips parted, tongue falling out on instinct, the salty taste of precum already smearing across it as they fisted themselves harder. Their groans overlapped as thick spurts painted your cheeks, your forehead, your lips, dripping down your neck and into your hair. You swallowed what you could, eyes rolling back at the sheer dirtiness of it, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each ragged breath.

You stared blankly at the ceiling, vision hazy, ears ringing so loud it felt like you were underwater. Your head was spinning, the room tilting, but your body was already being turned again.

Your limbs flopped uselessly as Jake forced his cock back to hardness, guiding himself to your ass, while Heeseung gripped your legs wide, holding you open as though your exhaustion didn't matter.

One by one, they took their turns again, each of them sliding into your abused body, spilling more inside until it felt like there wasn't any part of you left untouched. Your mind was gone, floating somewhere else, your mouth hanging open without sound, and still, they didn't stop.

The last thing you remembered was Sunghoon's icy hands spreading your folds, his voice low with awe as he stared at the mess dripping from your swollen used pussy—thick white streams still spurting.

And then you passed out, swallowed by the overwhelming haze of pleasure and exhaustion, your body twitching even in unconsciousness, your mind lost in the aftershocks of everything they had done.

You woke with a body that felt heavier than stone, every inch aching. The room was quiet except for the soft snores surrounding you.

You shivered, realizing the air was cold against your damp hair and clammy skin, only to notice the weight of arms draped over you—two different hands anchoring you in place. One was around your waist, pulling you back into a solid chest, the other rested lazily on your hip.

You blinked hard, trying to gather yourself, and only then did you notice you were clothed, though barely. Someone had slipped a shirt over you, but it was hiked up high, baring most of your thighs. Heart pounding, you tilted your head, your breath catching when you saw Jay's face so close to yours. His features were peaceful, his brows relaxed, lips parted just slightly as a soft groan escaped him. Even in sleep, he pulled you tighter into his chest.

"What the fuck..." you whispered under your breath, pulse racing as heat rushed to your cheeks.

Your gaze dropped lower and froze. Sunghoon's head rested against your chest, lips slack and still attached to your nipple. His hand was curled around your waist too, fingers twitching. The memory of his face twisted in pleasure, his voice breaking with moans, hit you so hard that your thighs clenched instinctively.

You stifled a sound, your whole face burning.

Carefully, with your fingers trembling, you began to pry their hands off one by one, moving Jay's arm and slipping Sunghoon's hand back over his own body. It felt like sneaking out of something you weren't supposed to survive. But before you could breathe in relief, your eyes darted downward—and you almost screamed.

At the foot of the bed, sprawled across like he owned the space, was Jake. His cheek was pressed into the mattress, lips parted as he breathed heavily, his bare chest rising and falling. He looked so soft like this, so far from the rough, taunting voice that had wrecked you just hours ago.

Your stomach flipped.

"What the hell..." you whispered again, a little louder this time, biting your lip as panic swirled in your chest. You couldn't stay here. Not with the memories flashing in your head.

Ignoring the deep ache in your thighs and the heaviness weighing down your limbs, you tiptoed around them, snatching your heels and dress from the table. The sound of the zipper sliding into place echoed too loudly in your ears as you tried to dress as quietly as possible.

When you finally slipped out and pulled the door shut behind you, you pressed your back against it, exhaling sharply. Relief barely lasted a second before you froze again.

Someone was sitting in the living room.

Heeseung was perched on the couch, phone in hand, his tall frame hunched slightly forward. The glow of the screen lit his sharp features, but the second the door clicked shut, his head snapped up. His eyes widened as if he hadn't expected you to actually walk out. In a blur, he was standing, pocketing his phone.

"Hey," his voice came out softer than you remembered.

Your whole body stiffened, eyes wide, your pulse hammering in your throat. The room was quiet but the weight of his presence filled it, and you could feel your heart fluttering in panic—or maybe dangerously close to longing.

"It's just five-thirty," he said, glancing briefly at the window where the faintest gray of dawn was creeping in. "We finished at four. Are you... already leaving?"

Your throat was dry. Fuck. He was talking to you. Just standing there, bare-faced and raw from the night before, his voice carrying none of the arrogance it once did. You wanted to respond, but your mouth betrayed you, stuck in silence. You could only stare at him, your gaze trembling before you forced it away, too shy, too ashamed, too overwhelmed.

Heeseung shifted his weight, his Adam's apple bobbing as though he was working up the nerve. Then, in a tone that was almost uncertain, he asked, "Were we too rough?"

You blinked up at him, startled.

"I..." you started, but the words stuck.

His jaw tightened, eyes flickering before he let out a low sigh. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture that didn't fit the man who had held you down hours earlier. His voice dropped lower, rough with regret. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to slap you like that. I just... I got carried away."

The sincerity in his tone, the way his eyes searched yours like he needed you to believe him, made your chest ache. You didn't trust yourself to speak, your throat felt raw, so you simply nodded, awkward and small, hoping it was enough.

"I—I... uh... shit." Heeseung's voice faltered.

He was fumbling, caught off guard by the weight of his own thoughts. For the first time, he seemed unsure.

Heeseung had always respected the girls they brought into this kind of mess, but responsibility was something he usually left to Jay, who carried gentleness. Yet with you, the urge was different. It was tugging at him in a way he couldn't ignore, and it unsettled him more than he'd ever admit.

His tongue darted over his lips, his brows knitting together as he shifted closer, still cautious of your fragile state. "Do you... want to leave? I—uh—I can get my car, or call someone, or—wait." He cut himself off, unsure what offer would make sense, what you even needed from him right now.

You shook your head quickly, your hands clinging to your heels. Your voice came out almost too small to hear, but you forced the words past your lips. "T-thank you. I-I can manage myself. Th-thank you... so much."

It was rushed, shaky, like you needed to get it out before your voice betrayed the truth of how fragile you felt. Without waiting for his response, you turned away, your bare feet carrying you in tiny, stumbling steps toward the door. Each step hurt, your body reminding you of everything from last night, but you pressed forward anyway, desperate to escape the heaviness in the room.

"Wait—what's your—" Heeseung started, his hand twitching forward as if he could reach you. But the words fell flat, caught in his throat, and he stopped himself before finishing. His lips pressed together in frustration, a quiet curse slipping under his breath. His eyes followed the curve of your back, the fragile sway of your shoulders, the sound of your unsteady footsteps echoing.

"...number."

The word left him softer than a whisper, too late, almost swallowed by the empty space you left behind.

He stood there for a long moment, staring at the door you'd just disappeared through, torn between running after you and letting you go. His jaw clenched, his hand raking through his hair as he sank back down onto the couch.

He couldn't shake the image of you—the way your eyes had rolled back in bliss, the way you had laughed in the middle of it all, the way you looked at him now as if you wanted to disappear.

And Heeseung felt a kind of defeat that left his chest heavy. First, he was pissed that Jay, of all people, had managed to pull your attention more than once that night. Second, he hadn't even gotten the chance to really enjoy you the way he wanted, not fully, not the way that would have been enough. And third—worst of all—he didn't even know your full name, or what department you were in, or anything beyond that single night where you'd let yourself unravel in his arms and under his hands.

"Fuck..." he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand over his face, frustrated at the gnawing ache in his chest. You were too pretty, too delicate, too intoxicating, and it infuriated him that Sunghoon and Jake had gotten their way with you first, splitting you open before he ever had the chance to claim you for himself. The thought of them having your "first" and sharing you so easily left a bitter taste in his mouth. He wanted you whole, wanted you alone, wanted more than the scraps of a night shared with three others.

Heeseung realized this wasn't just another nameless, faceless memory to throw away. He didn't want this to be the last time. He wanted more of you—your laugh, your trembling voice, your warmth pressed against him. The only thing he had left was the trace of your scent, still lingering faintly on his skin and in the air, that floral sweetness that he couldn't shake no matter how many showers he took. It drove him mad.

"Hey, I tried your perfume and it doesn't smell nearly as nice on me as it does on you." 

Your classmate pouted, watching you rub lotion into your arms after swim class. Her tone was playful, but her eyes lingered longer than usual, narrowing slightly at the fading bruises that scattered along your thighs.

"—Wait, are you okay? What's with all these marks?" she asked, her voice shifting, curious but edged with concern as her gaze dropped to your legs, then caught on your wrist where faint discoloration still traced your skin.

You forced a small smile, your hands moving carefully as though the weight of her stare could dig deeper into your body. "Anemia," you said lightly. "You know how it gets sometimes."

She frowned, unconvinced, but didn't press further. You focused on squeezing another bit of lotion into your palm, your thoughts drifting elsewhere. The bottle was nearly empty, and you hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should buy another or try something different.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks since your body had been pushed to its limit, since you had let yourself fall apart in the arms, mouths, and cocks of four men who you never should have gotten tangled with.

As much as it thrilled you to remember, you knew it wasn't something you could ever share. Not with your classmates, not with anyone. This was yours alone.

And so, you smiled at your friend, pretending everything was normal, while inside, you cherished the memory of a night you swore you'd never tell.

You tied your damp hair back, the strands clinging to your neck as you tugged on a sweatshirt and shorts. A light mist of perfume lingered as you sprayed your wrists, your throat, the curve of your shoulder, even down your spine as though you could drown yourself in that sweet comfort.

"God, you smell so good again," your friend whined, fanning herself dramatically. You only chuckled and brushed her off, slipping your bag onto your shoulder before following the group.

The conversation turned quickly, as it always seemed to these days.

"How come those fuckboys keep throwing parties and we never hear a word after? It's like magic," one girl scoffed, and the others broke into agreement, voices overlapping with laughter.

"Right? I swear they must be fucking someone every time," another chimed in, clapping her hands for emphasis. "No way they're just drinking. But no one ever talks. Like—ever."

Their voices carried ahead of you while you trailed behind, smiling faintly, shaking your head as if their words were just another baseless rumor. Inside, though, your chest tightened. If only they knew. If only they could imagine half of what had happened that night. But you weren't about to let them. You had no intention of ever telling a single soul.

That night was a secret carved into you, and the four of them had reputations built on silence—no communication, no strings, no trace.

You sighed, crouching down to fix your shoelace, the chatter of your classmates fading as they moved further down the hall. One of them called your name over their shoulder, urging you to hurry, but before you could respond, the sound of measured steps came closer. A shadow cut across the floor in front of you.

You froze.

Slowly, your gaze lifted from the shoes planted right in front of you. And your heart stopped.

"Found you," a low voice drawled, threaded with satisfaction, almost a taunt.

Gasps erupted behind you, your classmates halting in their tracks.

Your eyes widened. Heeseung was really there, standing over you in broad daylight, surrounded by people, breaking his own rules without hesitation. You couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

Then, without warning, he crouched down in front of you. The tall, untouchable Heeseung—the one who ignored every girl who chased after him, who made it clear he wanted nothing to do with messy attention—was kneeling, his long fingers brushing over your loose shoelace.

"I had a hard time finding you," he muttered, not loud enough for anyone but you to hear. His tone was casual, but his jaw was tight, his movements sharp with frustration as he tied the knot in one clean motion. "It really pissed me off, you know?"

Your throat went dry. Heat crawled up your neck, spreading across your face until you felt the tips of your ears burn.

Why? Why was he here? Why was he talking to you? This wasn't the Heeseung everyone else knew. He never lowered himself like this—not in front of everyone, not where people could see. He shut girls down without a glance, his cold indifference the very thing that made them chase harder. Yet here he was, focused on you with an intensity that made your stomach twist.

Around you, your classmates whispered furiously, unable to hide their shock. Some covered their mouths, others exchanged wide-eyed looks, but no one dared step closer.

"Can we talk?" His voice was steady, but softer than you expected, almost coaxing.

When you finally dared to look at him, his eyes caught yours. They weren't the eyes of the cold, untouchable Heeseung everyone claimed to know. No, they were gentle, wide, almost disarming, like he was looking through you and not just at you. He smiled—small, sweet, almost shy—and your lips trembled against the sudden wave of nerves.

"H-Huh?" Your voice cracked embarrassingly.

Before you could gather yourself, he reached forward and plucked your bag from your shoulder. His hand found yours in the same motion, his long fingers curling around your palm. The contact made your knees weaken, a sharp rush of heat flooding your chest.

Heeseung was holding your hand. Heeseung, who never even let girls close enough to breathe the same air without brushing them off, was lacing his fingers with yours in front of everyone!

"Let's get out of here first, hmm?" His tone carried a teasing lilt, but his grip on your hand was firm.

You could hardly process as he tugged you gently in the opposite direction, away from your frozen classmates whose whispers grew louder. Each step with him felt surreal, like walking straight into a dream you weren't ready for but couldn't pull away from.

Then, as if to seal the knot of heaviness swirling in your chest, his head tilted close, his breath warm against your ear.

"It's now my turn to have you all to myself."

perm taglist: @tender-is-the-moon @gabrielinhaa @dulcetnostalgia @simbabyikeu @dreamycarat-recs @skzenhalove @graythecoffeebean @kiikiisblog @denleave1088 @matchacake2 @wonsveese @l4nnisworld @sieunah @ikeuheartz @heeshlove @archivedrose @smlbch @middstape @angelhyuka @dazedhee @scaramionee @si3rren @rosepetals09 @roslayy @mangoescrazy @arclviie @fancypeacepersona @immelissaaa @ikaw-at-ikaw @won4me @kristynaaah @tunafishyfishylike @heesmiles

[wednesdaysswoes]

heh... request x2.. i have NO CLUE if u write for my man isaac night BUT if you do i would love the freakiest, down bad, borderline disgusting smutty fanfic from when hes half zombie with fem reader because oh my days hes so FINE like sir.. if your tongues that long how long is your downstairs lightbulb😋😋 MESSAGE ME WHEN U GET THIS REQUEST AND ILL SEND THE PHOTO IM REFERENCING OF HIS FORM

Half Dead, Half the Time

Pairing: Isaac Night x Fem! Student! Reader

Warnings: p in v sex , unprotected sex , zombie ? sex , size difference , overstimulation, cum play , public sex , rough sex , heavy dub con vibes

Synopsis: trapped in the quiet of an empty classroom, you learn that Isaac doesn’t take, he hunts. with scars, hunger, and a body that refuses to quit, he overwhelms you until there’s nothing left but his claim.

🧟

You should have been studying. The classroom was quiet this late, shadows stretching long across the desks, chalk dust still lingering in the air. Your notes lay forgotten in front of you, pen idle in your hand. You told yourself you were staying late for focus — but really, it was the only place you felt hidden. Safe.

Until the door creaked open.

Boots on linoleum, slow and deliberate. You froze, throat dry, as he stepped into the faint glow of the desk lamp. Isaac. Scars cutting harsh lines across his throat, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show more of them crawling down his chest. His eyes gleamed like he’d caught prey.

“What are you doing here all alone, sweetheart?” His voice rasped like smoke, low and mocking. “Looking for trouble?”

You straightened in your chair, heat flooding your cheeks. “I was studying.”

His grin stretched wide, too sharp, tongue flicking over his bottom lip in a way that made your stomach clench. Too long. Unnatural. Obscene.

“Funny,” he drawled, stepping closer, “you look like you’ve been waiting for me.”

Your pulse stuttered as he leaned down, palms braced on your desk, trapping you in. The scent of smoke and iron clung to him, wrong and magnetic. His scarred knuckle tilted your chin up.

“You ever wonder,” he murmured, tongue flicking out slow and deliberate, “what this can do when it’s not talking?”

Your lips parted, no sound coming. His laugh was low, cruel. “Thought so.”

Then his mouth was on yours. Not a kiss, not really , his tongue pushed deep, too much, licking into you like he meant to consume you. Saliva slicked your chin by the time he pulled back, and his grin was pure sin.

“Pathetic,” he rasped. “One taste and you’re already trembling.”

Before you could reply, he dragged you out of the chair, shoving you onto the desk. Papers scattered to the floor. His hands made quick work of your clothes, rough but certain, leaving you bare under the cold classroom air. His gaze devoured you, and he licked his lips like you were something to be eaten.

Then he dropped to his knees between the desks.

You gasped as that tongue licked a long stripe up your slit, hot and thick and endless. He groaned like he’d been starving, plunging inside you until your back arched off the desk. Your thighs clamped around his head, but he only shoved them wider, tongue curling deeper, fucking you in ways fingers never could.

The sounds were obscene , wet, messy, echoing in the empty classroom. Slick dripped down onto the polished wood. You slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans, but he growled against you, pulling back just long enough to sneer up at you.

“Don’t you dare hide those sounds,” he said, saliva and slick glistening on his chin. “I want every little cry. I want this room haunted with the sound of you falling apart on my tongue.”

Then he dove back in, relentless, tongue writhing, nose grinding against your clit until you came with a muffled sob. He drank it down, groaning, holding you open like he’d crawl inside you if he could. And when you tried to shove his head away, weak from the aftershocks, he only smirked, tongue flicking at your overstimulated clit.

“Not done,” he muttered against your soaked skin, eyes dark and hungry. “Not nearly done.”

Your thighs were still trembling from his tongue when he finally rose to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his scarred hand. His lips glistened, his grin dark.

“Messy already,” he rasped. “And I haven’t even given you the real problem yet.”

Your eyes widened as he undid his belt, slow, taunting. The sound of the leather sliding free echoed indecently in the quiet classroom. Then he pulled himself out.

Your breath hitched.

He was… obscene. Thick, heavy, long enough that your stomach twisted with a mix of fear and desperate want. Even soft, he would’ve been intimidating. Hard, flushed, veins ridging the length , he looked like he’d split you open.

“No way,” you whispered, shaking your head.

He chuckled low, stepping between your knees, cock brushing against your soaked slit. “Oh, sweetheart. Way. You think I’d let you go now? After tasting you?”

The blunt head pressed against your entrance, slick smearing. You whimpered, nails digging into the desk beneath you.

“Please,” you gasped, not even sure if you meant please stop or please more.

He leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “Please what? Please fuck you until you scream? Until you’re so full you can’t think? That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Before you could answer, he pushed in.

The stretch was unbearable. hot, burning, your body clamping down around him in shock. You cried out, grabbing at his arms, eyes squeezing shut. He groaned, low and guttural, savoring the way you fluttered around him.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he hissed. “Squeezing me like you were made for it.”

He inched deeper, slow and merciless, until your belly ached with fullness. Tears pricked your eyes. “Too much,” you whimpered.

His grin was sharp. “That’s the point.”

When he bottomed out, your back arched, a broken sob spilling from your lips. He stayed buried, relishing the way you shook, one hand pressing against your stomach.

“Feel that?” he taunted, palm firm on the bulge. “That’s me. All the way inside. No one else will ever fill you like this.”

You moaned, high pitched, loud. Too loud. The sound bounced off the chalkboards, filled the empty hall beyond.

He chuckled darkly, grinding his hips just enough to make you yelp. “Careful, sweetheart. Keep screaming like that and someone’s gonna come in.”

Your eyes snapped open, panic flashing. “Then stop!”

“Stop?” He laughed, cruel and delighted. “You don’t want me to stop. You’re dripping down my cock, begging for more. You just don’t want anyone to hear how pathetic you sound.”

You shook your head desperately, tears streaking your cheeks, but your body betrayed you , clenching around him, sucking him deeper. He groaned, dragging his cock out an inch just to slam back in, making the desk creak under you.

“Louder,” he ordered, hand tightening on your hip. “I want the whole damn building to know how good I fuck you.”

You bit your lip, stifling a cry. He growled, grabbing your jaw, forcing your mouth open. “No hiding. Let them hear.”

His thrusts grew harsher, obscene slaps of skin echoing through the classroom. Your cries spilled out uncontrollably, each louder than the last. And every time you gasped, he smirked, taunting you with that wicked tongue.

“Good girl,” he rasped. “Sing for me. Nobody’s coming to save you. Not from this.”

Your climax hit hard, clenching around him so tight he cursed. He fucked you through it, relentless, obsessed with how you spasmed, how your voice cracked into sobs.

“Too much?” he mocked, eyes wild. “Sweet little cunt can’t take it?”

But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. And you couldn’t either, not when every thrust left you more ruined, more wrecked, more his.

He didn’t give you time to recover from the first orgasm. Your body was still twitching, walls spasming around his cock, when he pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, hard enough to make the desk scrape against the floor.

You sobbed, grabbing at the edge, but he only laughed, low and rough. “Pathetic little thing. Already crying, and I’ve barely started.”

His hips snapped, rhythm brutal. Every thrust punched the air from your lungs, made slick gush around him, soaking your thighs, dripping onto the floor. The obscene wet sounds filled the classroom louder than your choked moans.

“Fuck,” he groaned, watching your face twist. “Look at you. Falling apart on my cock like you were made for it. You like it, don’t you? Being split open, stuffed full.”

Your answer was a broken whimper. He chuckled darkly, leaning down to kiss you again — not soft, not sweet. His tongue shoved into your mouth, messy, spit stringing between you when he pulled back

“You taste like tears,” he muttered, licking at your wet cheek. “Perfect.”

Another orgasm tore through you, sharp and unbearable. Your nails raked down his back, desperate, as your body clamped around him again.

“That’s it,” he snarled, pounding harder. “Come for me. Over and over until you’re nothing but a wrecked little hole for me to use.”

You cried out, too loud. Your voice echoed down the hall, wild and shameless. Panic flared through you, but he caught your chin, forcing you to look at him as he thrust deep.

“Someone could walk in right now,” he taunted, voice thick with lust. “See you spread out on a desk, drooling, stuffed full of cock. Is that what you want? To be caught like this?”

“N-no,” you gasped, tears spilling fresh.

His grin widened. “Liar. Your cunt’s gripping me tighter every time I say it. You’d love it, wouldn’t you? Everyone knowing you’re mine.”

You shook your head desperately, but another sob escaped when he ground his hips, pressing so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

“That’s it,” he rasped. “Take it. Take every inch. You don’t get to waste a drop.”

He pulled out suddenly, leaving you empty, and before you could even whine he shoved two fingers deep, curling cruelly against your walls. You screamed, clamping around them, squirting slick across the desk. His laugh was sharp, delighted.

“Messy little slut,” he mocked, holding his soaked fingers up for you to see before shoving them into your mouth. “Taste yourself. Get used to it — you’ll be drowning in it by the time I’m done.”

Your tongue lapped at his fingers helplessly, tears streaking down your face. He pushed them deeper, making you gag around them, until you whimpered pathetically.

“Good girl,” he purred, pulling them free with a wet pop. “Now back where you belong.”

He slammed back into you, no warning. Your scream cracked in your throat, your body convulsing around him. He fucked you harder, relentless, desk creaking under the force. Slick and spit and sweat dripped everywhere, turning the scene obscene.

You lost count of the orgasms. They blurred together into one long, shattering wave, your body twitching, sobbing, drooling, ruined. He didn’t stop. He rejoiced in it, groaning every time you clenched, mocking every cry.

“Can’t take it, can you?” he snarled, pounding harder. “Overstimulated little slut, crying and begging and still milking my cock. You love it. You fucking love it.”

You could only sob, babbling nonsense, head lolling back.

Finally, with a growl, he came. Hot, thick, flooding you so full it spilled out around his cock. He didn’t pull out , he ground deeper, hand pressing your stomach again.

“Feel that?” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Filling you up. Every drop. Not wasting a thing.”

When he finally slid out, cum gushed down your thighs, dripping onto the desk. He caught it with his fingers immediately, pushing it back inside you with obscene care.

“Mine,” he muttered, watching your hole flutter around his hand. “Every drop stays right here. Where it belongs.”

You whimpered, shaking, tears and drool streaking your face. He smirked, leaning down to lick a long stripe up your cheek, tongue hot and filthy

“Look at you,” he said softly, almost reverent. “Ruined. Perfect.”

You thought it was over. You thought he’d finally wrung you dry. The desk was slick beneath you, your thighs still trembling, your throat raw from sobbing. But the look in his eyes told you different ,hunger, unspent, insatiable.

“Don’t pass out on me yet,” he murmured, lips curling. “You haven’t even felt what I can really do.”

You blinked blearily, dazed. “I-I can’t”

“You can,” he said, crouching down between your thighs again. His scarred hands pried you open, thumbs spreading you wide, obscene. “You’ll take it. Every inch.”

And then his tongue was there again — hot, wet, obscenely long. It licked one slow stripe up your folds, curling, pressing, until you gasped. But he didn’t stop at shallow teasing. No — he pushed deeper.

Your eyes flew wide, hands flying to the desk for purchase as you felt him slide inside. Too long. Too thick. It writhed past your entrance, curling, filling you, plunging deeper with every obscene sound of slick and saliva.

“Fuck!” you cried, back arching.

He groaned into you, the vibration buzzing along the length of his tongue inside your body. He kept going. Past where fingers could reach. Past where cocks could reach. The pressure grew unbearable, sharp and invasive, until-

You gasped, choking on air. He’d reached your cervix. His tongue pressed against it, relentless, curling around the entrance like it meant to pry it open. Tears streaked your face, the stretch unbearable, overwhelming.

“Too deep?” he taunted, voice muffled against your slick thighs. His tongue twitched, making you shriek. “That’s the point.”

Your nails clawed at the desk, at his hair, at anything you could reach. You couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop sobbing. Every nerve in your body was on fire. He fucked you with his tongue, obscene thrusts reaching places you didn’t know could be touched, curling against your cervix until your legs kicked helplessly.

“Listen to you,” he groaned, pulling back just enough to lick spit and slick across your clit before plunging deep again. “Crying like I’m killing you. But this greedy cunt’s sucking me in, begging for more.”

You came so hard you thought you blacked out, body convulsing, clamping around the length of him, waves of pleasure so sharp it hurt. He didn’t let up. He groaned into you, tongue writhing until another orgasm tore through you, then another, too fast, too brutal.

By the time he finally pulled free, your entire body was shaking, drenched in spit and slick. His chin gleamed with it, his grin feral.

“See?” he rasped, licking his lips obscenely. “My cock stuffs you. But this” he tapped his tongue against his teeth, still glistening, “this ruins you.”

You sobbed, limp, ruined in every way. And he smirked, satisfied, already leaning down for another taste.

♡⋆.࿐࿔

[sexwithrafe]

INTRODUCING... SLAVIC!RAFE⠀!

by. @sexwithrafe

🪆⠀slavic!rafe⠀is so...

russian soldier. soft vodka and cigarettes breath. knuckle bruises. soviet era ballads. fur ushanka. says little, watches everything. husband material. doesn't believe in therapy. mama's boy. winter mornings. thick accent. swears in russian. snowy walks. military buzzcut.

rafe grew up too fast. just with his mother's presence. raised on a depressing town full of silence, grief and superstition.

⤷⠀SLAVIC!RAFE who's hands are always cold so he stuffs them inside your sweater between your boobs because — "they're warm".

⤷⠀SLAVIC!RAFE who hums old russian lullabies under his breath when he thinks you're asleep — songs his mother used to sing when the power went out.

⤷⠀SLAVIC!RAFE who loves physical touch — doesn't know how to talk about his feelings so he shows them through actions.

⤷⠀SLAVIC!RAFE who when jealous, clenches his jaw and goes quiet until getting home where you can make it up to him.

⤷⠀SLAVIC!RAFE who gets up early to chop wood in the freezing cold, shirtless for no reason. comes back inside with snow in his hair, rubbing his nose, muttering “zamerz kak suka.” (froze like a bitch)

⤷⠀SLAVIC!RAFE who presses a kiss to your forehead after sex like he didn't just ruin you five minutes ago.

⤷⠀SLAVIC!RAFE who groans your name and mutters in russian when he's close — leaves bruises on your thighs like he's marking territory.

⤷⠀SLAVIC!RAFE who bites your shoulder when he wants to stay quiet because his mama's downstairs — but keeps going, hand over your mouth, fucking you slow and deep to tease.

͟͟͞͞★⠀works:

are you cold, milaya?

game over

stockholm

sex after tears

russian date

gun toy

[cheolsbitch]

𖤐☠︎︎ ʜɪꜱ ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴛᴀꜱᴋ ☠︎︎𖤐

Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt3

Warnings (Full Content Tags):

Dark themes, dubcon/noncon elements, psychological manipulation, possessive/dominant male lead, humiliation, emotional control, gang activity, forced tasks, degradation, spanking, oral (f and m receiving), edging, overstimulation, marking, rough sex, praise and punishment dynamics, power imbalance, obsession, and emotional turmoil. Not suitable for minors. Please read with caution.

Summary:

You were just a quiet girl caught in the wrong place at the wrong time—until Geum Seong-je decided you were useful. Now you’re tangled in his world of violence, control, and impossible desire. Forced to run tasks for his gang and take his punishments when you fail, you’re sinking deeper into a twisted dynamic where obedience earns rewards and disobedience costs everything. But the real danger isn’t the gangs or the streets—it’s the way he looks at you like you belong to him. And the way you’re starting to want it.

Continuation…

Later That Night – His Apartment

You don’t know why he brought you back.

You didn’t ask.

You didn’t dare.

He doesn’t speak when you enter — just nods toward the couch and disappears into the kitchen, the glow from the fridge washing his face in pale blue light.

Your legs still shake when you sit.

You shouldn’t be here.

You know you shouldn’t be here.

But you don’t leave.

He returns a moment later, two drinks in hand, but only sets one down.

“For me,” he says simply. “You don’t get shit.”

You nod, ashamed at how the rejection makes you ache worse.

He sits down beside you — not close, not touching — and turns on the TV. Something muted and glowing. Just background noise. A beat passes.

And then, suddenly—

“Get on my lap.”

You blink.

“W-what?”

He turns to look at you. Calm. Deadly.

“I said. Lap. Now.”

You move.

You don’t hesitate this time. Your thighs slide across his, your skirt riding high again. You straddle him, nervous, unsure if he’s still angry — or just playing.

His hands come up slowly.

They don’t grope. Don’t tease.

They just rest on your hips. Warm. Possessive.

“You were good today,” he says finally. Voice low. “Did what I asked. Didn’t break.”

You blink at him, confused. “But… I failed.”

His hands squeeze your hips slightly.

“But you came crawling back. That’s what matters.”

Your heart stutters.

He leans in — just a breath from your ear.

“Obedient little thing. Desperate for attention.”

You nod, flushed, whispering, “Yes…”

He pulls back to look at you.

“Then you’ve earned this.”

One hand trails down — slow, deliberate — brushing over your bare thigh. It ghosts up your skirt again, sliding between your legs, and this time he doesn’t stop.

His fingers rub gently — finally — against your soaked panties.

You shudder, gasping softly.

His other hand comes up, cups your jaw, and tilts your face toward his.

“You want to come, don’t you?”

“Yes—” you gasp, nodding, eyes wide. “Please.”

“Beg prettier.”

Your voice trembles. “Please, Seong-je… I’ll be good. I’ll— I’ll do whatever you say, just—please let me come. I need it—”

He watches you.

Expression unreadable. Like he’s deciding whether or not you’ve truly earned it.

Then his hand presses firmer.

You choke out a sound — helpless — and his mouth finally curves.

“There she is,” he mutters. “My filthy little girl.”

His fingers slip under the fabric now, warm against your bare heat.

“You get one,” he breathes. “One reward.”

And then his fingers slide in — slow and perfect — as his hand on your jaw tightens to keep you looking at him.

You’re already clenching around nothing when his fingers finally slide in.

Hot. Deep. Cruel.

They curl inside you like they’ve been there a hundred times before. Like your body belongs to him — like it always has.

“Fuck…” he breathes against your cheek, voice tight now. “You’re dripping.”

Your whole body jerks.

The stimulation, after everything — the teasing, the denial, the punishment — it’s too much. It’s not even fair. Your hips grind down into his palm with a will of their own, a broken cry slipping out of you.

But he doesn’t let go.

He holds your jaw tighter. Makes you look at him — nose to nose — as if your orgasm is something you owe him. Something he’s letting you earn.

“You know the rules,” he growls, fingers fucking into you harder now. “One. Just one.”

You nod desperately, squirming on his lap, thighs tensing and toes curling in your shoes. “Yes—yes—please—I’m close—”

“You better not come until I tell you.”

You sob — you’re so close — your legs start to shake. Your hands claw at his shoulders, gripping him like he’s the only thing tethering you to this earth.

“Beg.”

“I need to come, please—Seong-je—please—I can’t hold it—please let me—”

He growls low in his throat, and you feel it rumble in his chest against yours.

Then finally—

“Come.”

Your vision goes white.

It hits like a wave. A hard, blinding wave of release crashing through every limb, your hips grinding helplessly down as you cry out into his neck — shaking, overwhelmed, ruined.

He holds you still as you ride it out. His hand never stops moving, coaxing every tremble from your body until you’re left breathless and trembling in his lap.

“You needed that, didn’t you?” he whispers, voice dark and smug in your ear. “My needy little mess.”

You nod, dazed, tears clinging to your lashes. You’re still twitching, thighs trembling where they’re draped across him.

He pulls his hand from your panties slowly — wet and glistening — and brings his fingers up to your lips.

“Now show me how grateful you are.”

You don’t think.

You can’t.

Your lips part as soon as he brings his fingers to your mouth — slick with your own release — and you suck them in like you were made to. Like you need to.

He watches you — eyes sharp, mouth curled into that cold, amused smirk — as you swirl your tongue over his knuckles and close your eyes, moaning faintly against the taste of yourself on his skin.

“Good girl,” he mutters, pulling them out with a soft, wet pop. “You learn fast.”

Your chest heaves. You’re still perched in his lap, your soaked panties clinging to your thighs, skirt bunched high around your waist, heart pounding like a drum in your ribs.

Then—

“Ride me.”

You freeze.

His voice is low. Commanding.

Not a suggestion.

“W-what—”

“You heard me.”

He grabs your hips, grinding you down into him through his jeans — and you feel it.

How hard he is.

How badly he wants this.

How badly you want this.

“You’ve earned it, haven’t you?” he hisses, dragging you forward again, this time slower — letting the pressure tease your overstimulated core. “Now fucking take it.”

You nod, breath hitching, moving automatically.

Your hands slide down between your bodies to tug at his zipper, fingers trembling, clumsy, desperate. He leans back against the worn couch, arms spread lazily, letting you work. Letting you be the one to bare him.

And when you finally do — when you pull him free and he’s hot and heavy in your hand — your breath catches in your throat.

“You want it so bad?” he murmurs, voice a low taunt. “Then prove it.”

You straddle him.

You line yourself up — your panties shoved aside, his tip brushing against your dripping entrance — and you sink down, inch by inch, moaning at how impossibly thick he feels.

“F-fuck…”

His head tilts back, jaw clenched, hands digging into your thighs now. But he doesn’t help. Doesn’t move.

This is yours to do.

“Move,” he growls. “Show me how desperate you really are.”

You start to move.

Barely.

A slow, trembling roll of your hips that has him twitching inside you — thick and heavy, pulsing against your walls.

But it’s not enough.

Not even close.

You whimper, trying again, grinding yourself down just a little harder — a little deeper — but his hands tighten instantly around your hips.

“Uh-uh.”

You gasp.

“Slow,” he growls. “I said slow. You wanna be greedy now that I’m inside you?”

You shake your head, panting. “N-no—”

“Then ride me like a good girl. Earn every fucking inch.”

You bite your lip and obey.

Every grind is slow. Shallow. Measured.

He won’t let you bounce. Won’t let you chase it.

Your muscles ache with restraint, your thighs trembling, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes again.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmurs, leaning in close, breath warm on your lips. “You look pathetic. So desperate for something you can’t have yet.”

“I-I need—”

“You need what?”

You pause.

He raises an eyebrow, one hand moving from your hip to your throat — not squeezing, just resting there, a quiet threat, a reminder of control.

“Say it.”

“…I need more.”

He hums.

“Not good enough.”

His thumb grazes your pulse. His cock twitches deep inside you as you squeeze down around him, eyes fluttering, thighs trembling harder.

You’re so wet. So full. It’s overwhelming. But he still won’t give in.

“You want to come?” he asks, voice calm and cruel. “You want me to fuck you until you forget your name?”

“Yes,” you whisper, eyes wide, lips trembling. “Please.”

He leans in.

“Then beg better.”

You grit your teeth.

You won’t beg.

Not yet.

Even as your body throbs around him — even as he stretches you slowly, keeps you moving at that punishingly slow pace — you hold your head high. As much as you can.

You can take this.

You can stay composed.

You roll your hips again, dragging your cunt over every inch of him, savoring the way he fills you so perfectly. It takes everything not to speed up — not to lose yourself in it — but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Not like that.

“Still holding back?” he says low, watching you through lidded eyes. “Tch.”

He lets you move, barely touching you now — one hand lazily resting on your thigh, the other draped over the back of the couch — like he’s bored. Like he’s just letting you humiliate yourself trying to find your pleasure without his help.

You want to scream.

You want to grind down hard and take what you need.

But instead, you keep going — slow and shallow, your knees aching, your thighs starting to burn, your cunt fluttering with every desperate clench.

“Thought you were a good girl,” he adds, voice curling into a smirk. “But you’re just stubborn. Still think you have something to prove?”

Your hands are fisting his shirt now, nails digging into the fabric like an anchor — like if you let go, you’ll fall apart.

“I… I can do it,” you whisper, breathless.

He snorts. “You really think I’m gonna let you come just for trying?”

You clench around him again, unable to stop yourself. Your whole body is trembling with need.

He reaches up, tucks a hand behind your neck, and pulls your mouth close to his.

“So do it then,” he murmurs against your lips. “Ride me slow. Don’t you dare break pace. Don’t you dare beg.”

His smile is wicked.

“Let’s see how long that pride lasts.”

Your thighs burn.

Your back aches.

And you’re still moving — slow, steady, deliberate — just the way he told you to. Every shallow grind sinks him deeper inside, a delicious pressure that makes your legs shake and your lungs stutter.

But it’s not enough.

You need more. You need him.

And you won’t beg.

Not yet.

So instead, you shift forward, trembling arms wrapping around his shoulders as you let yourself lean in — slowly pressing your cheek to his neck. You breathe him in. Cigarettes. Sweat. Cold leather. The comfort of power.

And then… you nip.

Soft. Just a graze of your teeth. Enough to get his attention.

He doesn’t move.

So you do it again — this time with a little more pressure — followed by the tip of your tongue, barely dragging against the skin beneath his jaw.

His fingers twitch on your thigh.

Got him.

You nuzzle closer, mouth trailing along the curve of his neck, your teeth catching a sensitive spot you remember from before — the one that made him groan, the one that made him still his hips for a second.

You press a kiss there. Then bite down.

His breath hitches.

But he says nothing.

Your lips curl into a faint smile. You keep moving your hips, still painfully slow, but start to add a roll — a shift — just enough to make sure he feels every tight squeeze of your cunt around him.

You can feel how hard he is. How tense. He’s losing patience, you can tell. But he’s trying to hide it.

You bite him again.

He growls this time. Quiet. Threatening.

His hand comes up fast — grips the back of your neck — but he doesn’t pull you away.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” he murmurs darkly.

You keep moving. Keep nipping. Keep breathing softly into his skin.

“Trying to butter me up like some pathetic little slut.”

You shiver.

But still, you don’t stop.

Because you’re not begging.

Not yet.

And this is all you have.

Your hips roll faster now — chasing friction, chasing relief — but it’s more than that.

You want him to lose control.

So you sink your teeth into his neck again, right where the muscle’s tight from holding back. His head tilts slightly, a sharp breath escaping through his teeth, but he doesn’t stop you.

You kiss over the bite, soothe it with your tongue, then do it again.

He groans — low, guttural — and that’s when his palm lands hard on your ass.

You gasp.

The slap echoes in the room, and your thighs squeeze around him instinctively.

His hand stays there, gripping roughly, possessive. “Keep going,” he growls. “You started this.”

You do.

You move faster, bolder, grinding down harder. Each thrust now has weight — desperation. Need.

And still, you climb.

His hands roam again — one gripping your hip tight, the other trailing up your back, tugging your blouse further open — as you shift, lips brushing up along his jaw, then higher, higher—

You bite his ear.

Hard.

His groan breaks.

And then he snaps.

Both hands grab your waist like iron clamps and suddenly, he’s moving — thrusting up hard as he drags your hips down in perfect sync.

You cry out — the sound smothered against his shoulder — as he fucks into you with purpose now, deep and sharp, every stroke making your legs quake.

“This what you wanted?” he snarls, breath hot against your throat. “You think you’re ready for this?”

You can’t answer.

You just moan, helpless, as he slams into you again.

Again.

Again.

The chair creaks under the force. Your thighs shake from the strain.

And he doesn’t stop.

Not now.

You earned this — and now he’s going to make sure you take it.

You barely realize your blouse is being ripped off until it’s hanging from your wrists — half-on, half-off — exposing your flushed skin to the cool air and his burning stare.

Then his fingers are at your back.

A flick.

Your bra snaps loose.

And suddenly you’re bare — bouncing with every sharp thrust, your breasts rising and falling against his chest, your breath hitching in your throat.

He stops.

Not moving — just watching.

Watching you ride him, watching you lose yourself, watching your tits bounce every time your hips slap down onto his lap.

“Fuck,” he breathes — like it’s not real, like you’re not real — and then he grabs your chest with both hands, thumbs brushing your nipples, fingers gripping you tight.

You moan — high, broken — and that’s when he moves again.

His mouth crashes to your chest.

He sucks hard on the swell of your breast, dragging his tongue over your skin, biting at the soft flesh until you cry out.

Marks.

He’s leaving marks.

Red, raw, blooming down to your ribs and across your collarbone — like he wants to brand you.

His voice is ragged now, low and close against your spit-slick skin:

“Look at you.”

He bites again — just above your nipple, then soothes it with his tongue.

“You’re fucking filthy.”

You moan louder, your whole body grinding faster, driven by the pain, the pleasure, the claim of it all.

“You like this?” he growls, licking up to your neck. “You like riding me with your tits out, letting me mark you like mine?”

“Answer me,” he growls, tongue dragging over a fresh bruise he’s just sucked into your skin. His fingers pinch at your nipple, sharp enough to make you jolt. “You like this? Letting me use you like this?”

Your hips stutter, the friction unbearable now — too much and not enough — and you gasp it out between moans, desperate and wrecked:

“Yes—! I like it… I-I want it—please—”

He stops.

His hands wrap around your thighs and he lifts you, making you squeak in surprise as your back hits the couch. You barely register the change in position before he’s yanking your skirt up and dragging you to the edge, lining himself up again.

And then—

Thrust.

Deep. Rough. Precise.

You arch off the couch with a sob, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. Your fingers grab at his shoulders, digging in.

He doesn’t stop — won’t stop — pounding into you like he owns your body, like you’re a hole made just for him, like he’s been waiting for this moment to finally break you completely.

He leans in, face close, watching the way your eyes roll back as your mouth falls open in a silent moan.

His hand grips your jaw again — always your jaw — forcing your eyes on his.

“You think just because I fuck you now, I’m gonna let you off easy?”

You try to shake your head — can’t even form words.

“You still do what I say,” he growls, biting your lip, “you still take my orders, still run my shit, still get on your fucking knees when I tell you.”

You whimper, nodding, moaning louder when his hips slam into yours again.

“You’re mine,” he hisses, licking into your mouth, “you understand that?”

You nod faster, wrapping your arms around his neck, fingers tangling into his hair. “Y-Yes—yes, I’m yours, Seong-je—”

He groans.

Low. Rough. Real.

The sound makes your whole body clench, makes you chase every thrust like it’s your last breath.

His mouth descends on your throat again, biting and sucking as he ruts into you, marks piling across your skin like warnings. Taken. Claimed.

You’re losing yourself.

You’re not sure how long he’s been fucking you like this — endless stamina, ruthless pace, his body grinding you into the cushions with every roll of his hips.

Your legs tremble around him, locking tighter as your nails scratch down his back, your whole body unraveling.

Your body’s on fire.

Everything’s twitching — overstimulated and still trembling, your skin hot and slick with sweat. He’s still inside you, buried so deep your legs won’t stop shaking, your chest rising and falling in uneven gasps as you clutch at him with what little strength you have left.

You feel him twitch inside you.

One more deep thrust.

He groans — low and broken — hips jerking forward as he buries himself one last time.

You both freeze.

Teetering.

Right on the edge.

Your mouth falls open in a silent cry, your whole body ready to shatter—

And then he pulls out.

Abrupt. Cruel.

You gasp, back arching as the emptiness makes you ache. Your soaked cunt pulses around nothing, clenched and desperate, right on the edge of release. One more grind. One more stroke. That’s all it would’ve taken.

Instead—

He grabs your jaw. Tilts your face to his.

And smirks.

“Not yet.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief.

He stands, adjusting his waistband casually, the heat of his body leaving you all at once.

You’re still sprawled on the couch, skirt rucked up, panties long gone, tits heaving out of your open blouse, covered in his bite marks and bruises. Thighs slick. Face wrecked.

And he just—

Looks down at you. Grinning.

“You look real pretty like that,” he says, voice low and amused. “Like a fucked-out mutt.”

You try to sit up — dazed, slow — but your limbs feel boneless. Useless.

He grabs your chin again, harder this time. “Don’t just lie there.”

You blink up at him, lips parted in confusion.

His grin vanishes.

“Clean up,” he says coldly. “Then get out.”

You blink, brain barely catching up.

“You’ve got a task waiting,” he adds, tucking his shirt back in like none of this ever happened. “Same alley. Same pickup. Don’t be late this time.”

You don’t move.

Can’t.

He leans in one last time — and his tone sharpens to a near whisper.

“And if you come back empty-handed…” His hand runs slowly down your chest, between your thighs, tapping the sore spot he denied you from finishing, “…you won’t be getting anything. Not again.”

He straightens up.

Lights a cigarette.

Doesn’t look back.

“Tick-tock, princess.”

And just like that—he’s gone.

You lay there, trembling.

Used. Teased. Denied.

And somehow…

Still aching for more.

Geum Seong-je POV:

The water’s scorching hot.

Steam curls up the cracked tile walls of the gang’s run-down shower room — scalding and unrelenting, the way he likes it. The heat helps. A little. Helps burn the scent of her off his skin.

But not out of his head.

“Fuck.”

He leans forward, one arm braced against the tiles, the other pumping slow and hard between his legs. His jaw’s clenched. Brows furrowed. Water running down his back — over fresh scratches she left on his shoulders, down to the bruises on his hips from how tightly she clung to him.

He didn’t even realize she was digging in that deep at the time.

Didn’t realize how needy she’d gotten until she started rocking on his lap like she’d die if he didn’t let her finish.

That fucking whimper.

That goddamn face she made when he pulled away.

He groans through gritted teeth, cock twitching in his grip. His pace picks up.

Why the fuck is she still here?

He’s done worse to people for less. She’s been humiliated, used, sent crawling through back alleys for jobs that could get her arrested—or worse. He’s yelled at her. Hit her. Broke her down until all she could do was sit there on her knees, eyes glassy, begging for anything.

And she’s still here.

Still begging.

Still looking at him like he owns her.

And the worst part is — he fucking folds.

Every time.

He told himself this was punishment. Control. Just another way to keep her in check.

But that moment on the couch — her sucking on his neck like she knew what it did to him, whispering please in that broken, soft little voice while grinding herself down like a fucking addict—

He nearly came without even touching her.

He drags his thumb over the head of his cock and groans again, louder this time.

He’s losing it.

This was never supposed to get under his skin.

This was never supposed to feel good.

And yet—

He jerks harder, faster, until his spine arches and his head slams lightly against the tile. His jaw falls open with a low, breathy curse as he finishes — hard and fast, the water washing it away before it even hits the floor.

He stays there.

Breathing heavy.

Wrist slack.

Steam clinging to his skin like her fucking perfume.

He hates this.

Hates that she’s still crawling under his skin. Hates that his body’s betraying him faster than his brain can keep up. Hates that he didn’t even think of anyone else in there — just her.

The way she moaned. The way her thighs shook. The way she said his name like it hurt.

He leans his head against the wall and laughs — dark and humorless.

“Fucking problem, that one.”

And he knows it.

He’ll make her pay for it.

Eventually.

—

She’s still flushed.

Even under the flickering streetlight, even with the sweat on her brow and the dried blood near her temple — he can tell. Her skin’s too warm, too dewy. Her hands, trembling, keep smoothing her skirt down like it’ll hide what he already knows is there: need.

He watches from the rooftop above the alley, crouched low behind the rusted piping, cigarette dangling from his lips. Smoke curls up into the cold night air, his eyes locked on her every move.

She looks too small for this job.

Too soft.

Yet here she is — crouched by a chain-link fence, handing off a folded envelope to a guy twice her size, who barely glances at her before shoving it in his jacket.

No hesitation this time.

No flinching. No stuttering. No looking back to see if he’s there.

Hmph. Good girl.

The delivery’s clean. Quick. She steps back just like he taught her — spine straight, gaze low. Her hands are balled into fists at her sides. He can see the sting in her knuckles from how tightly she’s holding herself together.

But what catches him more is the way her thighs keep brushing together.

She’s still aching from earlier.

Still messy between her legs, probably. He didn’t even let her come.

And now she’s out here, doing his dirty work, cheeks pink with humiliation and something darker. Needier.

His cock twitches again in his jeans.

He grinds his teeth and looks away.

He should leave it at this. She did her task. That’s what mattered. A reward, maybe, when she comes back — a pat on the head, a cigarette, a chance to sit by him again. That was enough.

But something in him won’t stop watching.

Not the way her lip trembles when she turns from the deal.

Not the way she stares at her shaking hands like she doesn’t recognize them anymore.

Not the way she pauses before leaving — head tilted slightly, eyes flickering to the dark, as if she feels him watching.

She doesn’t know where he is.

She never does.

But she knows he’s near.

And she’s right.

He stubs the cigarette out on the rooftop edge and stands up, rolling his neck until it pops.

End of his POV

You’re just about to round the corner—

Almost home. Almost safe. Almost back.

Your body aches in ways you didn’t know were possible. The dried blood on your hand still flakes every time you move your fingers. Your thighs feel slick, sticky. You shouldn’t be thinking about that. You should be thinking about how you finally did it.

You completed the task.

No mistakes. No screwups. No bruises this time.

You almost smile.

But then a hand grabs your wrist.

Yanks you sideways—into the shadows between two buildings.

You yelp—only to be slammed gently, but firmly, against brick. A hand covers your mouth.

You know who it is by the scent alone.

Cigarettes. Metal. Him.

His mouth is by your ear, voice low and amused. “So proud of yourself, huh?”

Your heart thuds wildly as he removes his hand. You look up, breathless, your back pressed against the wall and his body crowding into yours.

“You did it.” His eyes rake over your face, dark and unreadable. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

You swallow. “I—I did everything right.”

“You did.” He leans in. “Almost.”

Your chest rises, shaky. “What… what do you mean?”

His gloved fingers trail up your side, under your jacket, ghosting over your ribs. Not grabbing—just feeling. Like he’s trying to confirm you’re real. Still in one piece. Still his.

“Did I say you could look that smug walking back?”

You blink. “What?”

“That little look on your face,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw. “Like you were proud. Like you thought you could strut around like you weren’t dripping from earlier, still aching for something more.”

Your face burns.

“I wasn’t—”

He cuts you off with a low chuckle. “You were. I saw it. Saw your thighs rubbing together like you couldn’t help yourself.”

You’re trembling again, but not from fear this time.

From the way his knee suddenly slots between yours, nudging your legs open just slightly, just enough.

“Didn’t think I’d be watching?”

His hand slides up the back of your neck and fists in your hair. Not hard. Just possessive.

“I watch everything, baby.”

You don’t breathe.

Don’t dare move.

Not until he tilts your face up and meets your eyes with that crooked, dangerous smirk.

“Good job tonight,” he says, almost mockingly sweet. “But you think it ends there?”

His thigh presses a little higher. You gasp.

“You still owe me for earlier.” His voice dips, gravelly. “And now I’m worked up again.”

You bite your lip. “You told me to go straight home.”

He grins wider. “And you always listen to me, right?”

Silence.

Then—

“On your knees.”

Your pulse skips. “H-here?”

He raises a brow. “Too shy now? After the way you rode me like a needy slut in front of my boys?”

You freeze.

Heat flares across your face, your chest, your core. He sees it. Smirks again.

“Thought so.” His hand tightens in your hair. “Now earn it.”

The ground is damp. Cold.

Your knees scrape the gravel as you sink slowly—obediently—under his gaze.

He doesn’t move at first. Doesn’t even touch you.

Just watches.

Like he’s savoring it.

“You look better like this,” he murmurs. “Right where you belong. You always end up here, don’t you?”

You shift, swallowing the lump in your throat, trying not to tremble as the night air seeps into your bones. He steps closer, boot between your knees, crowding you in against the alley wall like prey that wandered too far from safety.

His hand slides under your chin again, tilting your face up into the glow of the flickering streetlight above.

“Not crying tonight?” he mocks, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Not begging yet?”

You try to speak—don’t even know what you were going to say—but your mouth opens anyway.

He grins.

“Needy little mouth,” he murmurs. “Always wanting something. Always looking for a reason to earn me.”

You nod slowly, lips parting just enough for your tongue to wet them. “Please…”

“Please what?”

Your voice wobbles. “Please let me… do something for you.”

That makes him smile. Dark and slow. He unbuckles his belt lazily, letting the leather slip through the loops with a hiss that sends heat down your spine.

“Thought you were tired,” he says.

“I’m not.”

“No?” He unzips his pants. “Then show me.”

You reach for him, hands shaky, but he catches your wrists first—holding them for a beat, just to watch your reaction. You flinch. He knows you still expect punishment.

But he only guides your hands to his waistband, releasing them once you’ve touched him.

Then steps back.

“Go ahead,” he says softly. “Earn it.”

You obey—carefully, reverently. Pulling him free. The cold air hits him, but he doesn’t flinch. He’s hard already. You don’t know if it’s from watching you all evening, or the way you begged for him earlier—but you know it’s because of you.

He’s thick and flushed and heavy in your palm.

You start slow—pressing a kiss to the base, a slow lick up the side. He exhales harshly, hand falling to your head.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “Like that.”

Your mouth wraps around him and his fingers twitch in your hair immediately—restraining, possessive, not pushing. Not yet.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re getting too good at this.”

You hollow your cheeks. Take him deeper. And that’s when he groans—low and rough—and leans back against the wall, letting his head tilt.

He’s letting you take control. For now.

But every shift of his hips reminds you: he’s still in charge.

You’re working him steadily now—tongue gliding, jaw aching, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes—and still, he doesn’t let you look away.

“You better not stop ‘til I say,” he mutters, voice rough. “You begged for this, remember?”

You hum softly in response—and he twitches against your tongue.

Then grabs your hair tighter.

“I said don’t stop.”

You won’t.

Not until he’s panting above you, hand clenched in your hair, hips twitching as he tries not to lose control. You feel it building in him—the restraint slipping, the tension climbing.

He yanks you off of him with a wet gasp, and you blink up, dazed.

But he doesn’t look pleased.

He looks down at you like he’s still starving.

He stares down at you—lips parted, chest heaving, his cock flushed and slick with your spit. You blink up at him from your knees, your mouth still open slightly, dazed and obedient.

He should stop.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he reaches down, cups your jaw with a rough hand, thumb swiping your cheek with a gentleness that feels… wrong. Too soft for a place like this. Too soft for someone like him.

“You want to finish?” he murmurs. Voice low. Dangerous.

You nod.

“Then take it.”

You do—without hesitation this time. Your mouth finds him again, and you wrap your lips around him like it’s what you were made for. Like this is your purpose. His groan is instant, sharp and filthy as his hips roll forward into your mouth.

He doesn’t guide you. He lets you work. Lets you prove it.

And you do.

You give him everything—tight lips, a teasing tongue, the perfect rhythm. He watches you fall apart for him just to hold him steady, moaning softly against him like this is your reward, too.

And when he finally shudders, when he grabs the back of your head and spills down your throat with a hiss and a bite of your name—

You swallow.

Like a good girl.

He keeps his hand in your hair for a second longer, letting his head drop back against the wall, breathing hard. Then he pulls away slowly and tucks himself back in.

You stay kneeling.

Waiting.

Until he finally chuckles darkly and wipes his thumb across your bottom lip again, smirking.

“Looks like you can learn.”

You glance up at him, breath still ragged. He stares for a beat—eyes dark, jaw tight—and then jerks his chin toward the alley entrance.

“Go home.”

You hesitate.

“Go.” His voice is firmer now. But not angry.

Just finished.

You scramble up, adjusting your skirt and wiping your mouth before turning to leave, heart still thudding, thighs trembling.

“Tomorrow,” he calls after you, as you reach the end of the alley. “Bowling alley. Same time.”

You freeze. Look over your shoulder.

He’s already walking the other way, hands in his pockets, like none of this happened.

“Don’t be late,” he adds, without looking back.

You don’t go straight home.

You should—but your legs won’t move the right way, and your mind won’t stop spinning.

Your hands shake as you unlock your door. You shut it quietly behind you, lean your back against it, and just… stare at the floor.

What the hell was that?

Your lips are still swollen. Your thighs are still sticky. Your body’s still humming like you never really left his orbit. You slide down to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest, and try to slow your breathing.

You should feel disgusted. Or ashamed. Or terrified.

And you do. Kind of.

But underneath it, tangled up in all the fear and confusion and heat—there’s something else. A slow, awful ache that isn’t pain.

It’s want.

It’s the sound of his voice, low in your ear. The way he pulled your hair. The way he groaned when you bit his neck.

It’s the look in his eyes when he told you to take it.

Your stomach flips.

You bury your face in your arms and try to will it away. But the warmth doesn’t leave. It lingers. Between your legs. Under your skin. All over.

You swore you hated him.

You still do.

But the way he touches you—the way he controls you—makes your heart race in ways you don’t know how to stop.

You sleep with your pillow clutched tight to your chest that night, his name never leaving your lips but echoing somewhere dark inside you.

And when morning comes, when the sun rises and your body still aches from kneeling on concrete—

You already know.

You’re going.

Even if your heart screams not to, your body already decided for you.

Bowling alley. Same time.

Because no matter what this is… you can’t stay away.

Next Morning—

You’re standing in front of the mirror.

Hands braced on the sink. Breath uneven.

You look like hell.

Your neck’s a mess—red, raw, dotted with the ghost of his mouth. There’s a bruise blooming just beneath your collarbone, and no matter how many times you press it, trace it with your finger like it’s not real—it doesn’t fade.

You gave in.

You begged.

You liked it.

The shame crawls up your throat again, bitter and tight, but your body betrays you. Just remembering the sound of his voice makes your thighs press together. Remembering the weight of him behind you, inside you, the things he said—

You choke on a breath and slap cold water on your face, trying to snap yourself out of it.

This isn’t love.

It’s not even care.

You’re a thing to him. A puppet. A girl with shaking hands and soft thighs who begged for mercy in an arcade and ended up on his lap. You told yourself it was survival.

But now?

Your fingers tremble as you button your blouse—fresh, but still snug against the tender swell of your chest. You look in the mirror again and hate the way your cheeks are flushed. Like you’re nervous. Like you’re excited.

You hate the way you’re checking your skirt length, brushing down wrinkles like you want to be seen.

Like you want him to see you.

You grab your bag. One last look in the mirror.

Then you go.

Because whatever this is, whatever it’s becoming—you can’t stop now.

You owe him something.

And deep down, you’re terrified of what happens when he thinks you’re not his anymore.

You step into the alley, heartbeat pulsing in your throat.

The air’s thick with cigarette smoke, harsh laughter, and that heavy beat of bass coming from someone’s speaker. You recognize a few of the gang members hanging around — lounging against crates, tossing beer caps, lighting up like they own the whole street.

And in the middle of it all — him.

Geum Seong-je.

Sprawled in one of the patio chairs like a king on a broken throne, legs wide, expression bored. There are girls around him. Three of them — giggling, leaning in close, one of them brushing imaginary lint off his shoulder.

You stop.

You don’t know what you’re feeling.

You shouldn’t feel anything.

But it creeps in anyway — that tight, itchy twist in your chest. Something ugly and sharp. You don’t like it. You don’t want to name it.

He glances over the second you appear.

And smiles.

He doesn’t move. Just watches you with a lazy, amused tilt of his head as you approach — not kneeling this time, not bowing your head. Just standing there, quiet. Waiting.

Waiting for whatever order comes next.

The girl nearest to him glances at you, then back to him. “Who’s she?” she asks, fake-sweet. “You didn’t tell us you were bringing someone new.”

You don’t look at her.

You don’t look at any of them.

You just look at him.

He finds that funny.

Really funny.

His smile curls like smoke. “What?” he says, tone light, loud enough for the girls to hear. “You jealous?”

Your stomach twists.

He doesn’t give you time to answer. He pats his thigh — once, firm. The same lap that girl just touched.

You don’t move.

He raises a brow. Tilts his head at you like you’ve just dared him to do something.

Then his voice drops, just for you.

“Come here, baby.”

Mocking. Teasing. Laced with amusement — and just a little edge of threat.

You hesitate. Your fists clench at your sides.

But you go.

You walk forward, slow, silent — ignoring the way the girls all go stiff. You lower yourself onto his lap, back straight, eyes front, thighs tense where they rest across his.

He doesn’t touch you right away.

Doesn’t look at you.

He just keeps talking, keeps laughing with his crew, letting you sit there like a trophy draped over his leg while the girls beside him try to figure out who the hell you are and why you’re there.

Your skin prickles.

You don’t flinch.

You don’t move.

Then, after a few minutes — he leans in.

His mouth brushes your ear, warm and deliberate.

“Wait patiently,” he murmurs, voice low and full of promise. “Once I’m done here, I’ll give you your task.”

He grins against your cheek.

“You’ve been so good lately. I might even reward you first.”

And he leans back again, his fingers lazily trailing along the hem of your skirt — while the girls next to him keep pretending like they still matter.

You sit still. Exactly how he wants you. Exactly how you were trained to.

But you feel their eyes on you.

The girls.

They’re whispering now. Giggling behind their hands like they’re in on a joke you haven’t been told — but their smiles are tight, uncertain. There’s something they don’t understand, and it’s starting to bother them.

You can feel it.

So can he.

You feel his hand shift — resting heavy on your thigh now. A casual show of ownership. Like he knows exactly how to stake a claim without saying a word.

One of the girls laughs again, louder this time, nudging Seong-je’s shoulder with hers. “You always this quiet, babe?” she asks, tossing her hair. “She doesn’t talk much, huh?”

Your jaw tightens.

Still, you say nothing.

But his fingers press just a little firmer against your leg — subtle, but present. A silent command.

Be still.

Be quiet.

Be his.

And you are.

Even when it burns.

Even when every inch of your body screams at you to rip her hand off his arm and shove her face-first into the pavement.

He leans into you again — voice still low, still private — but his tone’s darker this time. Laced with something cruel.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” he murmurs. “So obedient. Sitting here, letting all these useless bitches stare.”

His fingers curl, thumb brushing higher on your inner thigh.

“She’s trying so hard to get a reaction. Should I let her keep going?”

You don’t answer.

You can’t.

Not without showing your teeth.

He hums, lips brushing your cheek again. “Thought so.”

Then, louder — to the girl beside him — he chuckles. “She doesn’t talk unless I tell her to. Makes things a lot easier.”

The group laughs.

You don’t.

You just sit there — perfectly still, perfectly silent — while his hand creeps higher, sliding over the bare skin just beneath your skirt. His knuckles graze the edge of your panties, and you tense before you can help it.

He notices.

He always does.

The corner of his mouth lifts again, and he knows you hate this. Knows how hard it is to sit still and let them see you like this — kept, silent, claimed.

He thrives on it.

And you hate that you’re wet.

You hate that your breath skips every time he shifts beneath you — every time his voice drops low enough for your heart to trip.

Then finally — finally — after what feels like hours, he stands.

And he takes you with him.

The girls fall silent.

You don’t meet their eyes.

His hand stays tight around your waist, guiding you out of the alley without a word — and as soon as you’re out of earshot, his grip tightens.

He stops. Turns. Pins you to the wall.

“Good girl,” he says, voice low and hot and mean.

“You’re ready for your task now.”

His body cages yours against the alley wall — hand firm on your hip, the other gripping your jaw like always.

He tilts your face up, studying you with that dark, unreadable stare. Like he’s deciding whether you’ve earned something or if he should just ruin you for fun.

Then his eyes drop — slow — to your lips.

“You want your task?” he asks.

You nod once, quick.

He smirks. “Use your words.”

“Yes…”

He raises a brow. Waits.

“…Please.”

He hums, pleased. “Good.”

Then — he turns you around.

Pushes you gently — but firmly — face-first against the brick. The rough wall scrapes the backs of your hands where they catch yourself, and your breath stutters.

“Spread your legs.”

You hesitate.

He doesn’t repeat himself.

You obey.

You hear the unbuckle first — the low clink of his belt coming undone — and the sound alone makes your thighs tremble. Then his hand slides up your spine, holding you steady, pushing you just enough to arch your back for him.

“This task’s simple,” he murmurs behind you, voice a velvet knife. “Take what I give you. Quietly.”

You nod. Barely breathing.

“And if you make a sound…” he leans down, mouth brushing your ear, “—you start over.”

Before you can even brace—

His hand slides up your thigh.

Under your skirt.

He pushes your panties aside like they’re nothing — like you’re nothing but a toy waiting to be used — and when the first press of him hits you, thick and heavy, your body tenses so hard you nearly cry out.

But you don’t.

Not yet.

He doesn’t push in all the way. Just teases — rubs against you, slow, maddening, cruel.

You grip the wall.

He chuckles low behind you. “You’re already shaking.”

You don’t answer.

You can’t.

Then, just when you think he might go easy on you—

He pushes in.

Slow and deep — the stretch making your eyes water, your nails scrape brick.

Your mouth opens — but you bite your lip, hard, hard, swallowing the noise that claws up your throat.

He exhales sharply. “Good.”

His hand comes down on your ass — a sharp smack — and you flinch.

“That’s for hesitating earlier,” he says, thrusting again, this time deeper.

You gasp — still silent.

Your legs wobble.

He holds your hip tight, pace torturously slow, controlling every inch, every motion, dragging the moment out like he’s testing your limits.

“Quiet,” he murmurs. “Take it.”

You nod again, tears clinging to your lashes.

And behind you — you swear you can hear the smile in his voice.

Because you’re doing it.

You’re obeying.

You’re taking your task.

Exactly how he wants.

He’s still moving inside you when it hits him—

He can’t see your face.

Can’t see the way you fall apart for him.

Can’t see the tremble in your lashes, the way your mouth falls open when he takes you deeper.

And it drives him crazy.

He grabs you—suddenly, roughly—and turns you in his arms without stopping, lifting you onto him again like you weigh nothing. You gasp, arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders as your thighs tighten around his waist. His rhythm doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens.

Now he can see you.

Now he can watch.

And God—he hates it.

He hates how good you look like this.

How vulnerable.

How perfect.

How you still look at him like he owns you and terrifies you all at once.

He grits his teeth and drops his mouth to your throat, biting, leaving deep marks down your skin—your collarbone, your chest, anywhere the world might see later. Because you’re his. And you should look like it.

You pant against his ear, dazed, shivering.

But when he looks at you again—really looks—his eyes flick down to your mouth.

And he realizes something.

He’s never kissed you.

He’s done everything but. Touched you. Broke you. Owned you.

But he’s never tasted your lips.

Not like that.

The realization stings—burns—and before he can think twice, he’s grabbing the back of your head and dragging your mouth to his.

You gasp into him—and that’s all it takes.

He crashes into you like he’s starving for it, lips bruising, breath heavy. The kiss isn’t sweet. It’s not soft. It’s desperate. Messy. Possessive. Like he’s making up for every second he went without it.

And you kiss him back like you’ve needed this more than air.

He groans into your mouth, finally, completely undone.

And for the first time, he doesn’t just take from you.

He gives.

You both come undone like it was never supposed to be gentle.

Like it had always been leading to this—this breaking point. This explosion beneath the skin.

His breath is ragged, your thighs still trembling around his waist, your back arched, chest heaving against his. And still, still—he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t pull away.

Instead, he finds your lips again.

Rough. Again.

And again.

And again.

It’s like he can’t get enough—like something snapped inside him and kissing you is the only way to hold it together. His hands are still gripping your hips, keeping you flushed to him, but it’s your mouth he’s obsessed with now.

He nips your lower lip—then soothes the bite with a slow drag of his tongue.

You whimper.

He curses under his breath and leans in again.

His kiss is bruising, then soft. Desperate, then slow. Tongue deep in your mouth one second, then ghosting over your lips the next like he’s trying to memorize their shape. Like he’s furious he didn’t do this sooner.

And when you whisper his name—barely a breath—he growls into the kiss and kisses you harder.

“Shut up,” he mutters into your mouth. “Just let me—”

Another kiss.

“—fuck, just let me have this.”

His hand cradles the back of your neck now, fingers threading through your hair, guiding you exactly how he wants. And your hands clutch at his shirt, his jaw, anything, trying to keep up with how badly he wants you—wants this.

Wants your mouth.

He doesn’t know what’s worse. That he finally kissed you.

Or that now, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop.

He doesn’t stop.

Not even when his hands wander, tracing the curve of your back, pulling you impossibly closer, His kisses are frantic now, lips slanting over yours, like he’s trying to absorb every inch of you. His tongue slides against yours with a hunger that leaves you breathless, unable to keep up, lost in the feel of him.

You can’t breathe, but you don’t care. You don’t want him to stop, even if it’s too much—especially because it’s too much.

His lips leave yours only for a second—just long enough to trail kisses along your jawline, down to your neck, nipping at your skin like he’s marking every inch of you. His teeth graze your pulse point, his breath hot against your skin. You can’t help the moan that escapes you.

His mouth finds yours again, relentless, as if he’s punishing you with pleasure. He kisses you like you’re the only thing that matters, like nothing in the world exists except for the heat between you, the pressure building with every second.

And you—God, you’re just as hungry, just as desperate. Your hands grip his shirt harder, fingers tugging at the fabric like you’re trying to pull him deeper into you, into this kiss. Into this feeling of losing yourself to him, to this moment.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, eyes dark with need, chest rising and falling with every harsh breath.

“You’re mine.” he breathes, his lips brushing over yours, but not kissing, not yet. “You get that, right?”

You nod, barely able to form words, but your body screams it—yes, yes, yes, I’m yours.

His hands grip your waist tighter, and he presses his forehead against yours, his lips just inches from yours, still breathing heavy, as if he can’t quite believe this either.

He can’t stop, won’t stop.

And neither can you.

Every time you think you’re done, every time you think it’s over, he pulls you back in, forces another kiss onto you, because neither of you can pull away—not yet, not now.

—

You return to the alley with your legs still trembling, barely steady as he leads you back out, one possessive hand gripping your waist, the other tugging your skirt back into place—not that it hides much. Not when your blouse is wrinkled, buttons barely holding on, and your lips are swollen and kiss-bruised, glossy with spit from how many times he had gone back in for more.

He doesn’t care.

He’s grinning, smug and unbothered, like he owns the entire fucking street.

And maybe he does.

He drops down onto the same patio chair like nothing happened—like he didn’t just ruin you up against a wall in the dark—then pats his lap, that same mocking glint in his eye.

“Come on, baby.”

But this time, it doesn’t sound cruel. It sounds possessive.

You lower yourself onto him again, your skirt riding high up your thighs. His arms wrap loosely around your waist, hands lazily resting against your hips like he wants the whole alley to know you belong there—with him.

And that’s when you feel it.

The eyes.

Everyone’s looking.

The gang members glance your way with knowing smirks, and the girls—those same three who were hanging off him earlier—they’re staring. Wide-eyed. Jealous. Mouths curled with barely-hidden scorn.

Their eyes flick over you. Your messy hair. The raw pink of your lips. The angry bruises blooming across your throat and collarbone.

And they know.

You feel it burning down your spine, that shame, that strange flutter of pride—because they can see what he did to you. What you let him do. What only you got from him.

One of them scoffs under her breath. “Seriously? Her?”

He hears it.

He doesn’t even flinch.

He leans back, arms tightening around you lazily like you’re some expensive prize draped across his lap. Then he turns his head toward them, smirking.

“Do I know you?”

The girls blink, caught off guard.

He doesn’t wait for a response.

“Didn’t think so.” He gives a low chuckle. “So maybe keep your mouth shut and your eyes somewhere else, yeah? Before I really forget who you are.”

Silence falls like a stone.

The girls look away, embarrassed, shrinking into themselves. A few of the guys snort and murmur under their breath, but no one challenges him.

You sit there, heart pounding, face warm—but you don’t move.

He shifts just slightly, his thumb dragging over the curve of your hip, casual, possessive.

He doesn’t even look at you—but you can feel the way his body relaxes beneath yours, like this is exactly where he wants you.

Right here.

With him.

And now everyone knows it.

GEUM SEONG-JE — POV

He’s going fucking insane.

It’s not even a question anymore. It’s fact. Solid. Undeniable.

The second your lips touched his, something snapped.

No—unleashed.

Like whatever cold, caged thing inside him finally tore through its bars with bloody teeth and snarling breath and wanted.

He doesn’t remember how many times he kissed you. Doesn’t remember when it stopped being about control or teasing or making you fall apart. All he remembers is that first taste of you—soft and hot and starving—and how everything else in his body turned to need.

And now?

Now you’re sitting on his lap in front of everyone.

Looking like that.

Marked like that.

He knows what they see.

What they’re thinking.

Your thighs spread across his, skirt wrinkled like it’s been tugged and pushed and fisted up around your waist—because it has.

Your blouse can barely close anymore.

Your neck is covered in bruises that he left.

And your lips… fuck, your lips…

Red and wet and bitten. From him.

Only him.

He tries to stay calm, to lean back like none of this matters. Like it’s a regular night and you’re just a girl on his lap.

But his jaw ticks.

Because those girls? The ones who tried to talk to him earlier?

The way they looked at you. At his girl.

Like you weren’t anything.

Like you didn’t matter.

It makes his blood fucking boil.

Because they didn’t taste your lips.

They didn’t hear the way you moaned into his mouth like it was the only thing you wanted in the world.

They didn’t see how you clung to him, legs trembling, body aching, begging him to stay inside you just a little longer.

They didn’t earn a single fucking piece of you.

But he did.

He earned every whimper. Every bruise. Every trembling gasp.

And now? Now they all know.

He leans back and lets his fingers stroke lazy circles into your thigh, watching everyone with that same bored smirk. But inside, he’s seething.

He didn’t mean for it to get this far. Didn’t mean to lose control. Didn’t mean to want more.

But now that he has it?

He’s never letting go.

You’re his.

His toy.

His problem.

His favorite addiction.

And if anyone so much as looks at you again—

He’ll make sure they remember what happens when you touch something that belongs to Geum Seong-je.

THEEEEE ENNDDDDDDDDDDDD

A/N: thoughts? (and prayers… if y’all stayed till the end y’all need to touch some grass🫣 me on the other hand touching grass isn’t enough i need to become the grass) was it tm? or good?? or did you expect better…?????

[seongjesdoll]

The Mysterious Case of the Missing Member

wc: 4.7k

summary: seongje refuses to show you his "too massive" dick. you try to see it's really as big as he makes it seem…

warnings/tags: smut, 18+ (mdni), a bit of dubcon towards middle, fingering, big dick seongje, like ridiciously big dick, p in v sex, mentions of sex toys, a bit of dry humping, size training

Seongje refuses to fuck you. He has an insane amount of self control, you realize, because it’s been 5 months and you have yet to see his dick. He’s a smug bastard, that’s for sure. No matter how much you whine for him to fill you up with anything other than his fingers, he’ll lean back with an infuriating smirk. “Not yet,” He’ll drawl, voice rich and low. “You’re not ready.”

Ready for what, exactly? Just what was this guy’s problem? He always swore he was “too big,” claimed he was “doing you a favor” by training you to fit it all. He was perfectly content with slowly opening you up with his long fingers, before sliding another one of those infuriating dildos into you. At the beginning, even two of his fingers felt too large for your virgin cunt. Over time, the fingers were replaced with dildos that gradually got larger and larger. Now, the monster 8 inch dildo that originally made your soul leave your body slid in like it belonged deep in your walls.

But even now, he insists that you’re still not ready for the real thing. To be fair, he was pretty big. Or at least, he seemed big from the limited amount of contact you’ve had with it, sneaking glances at the imprint of his bulge whenever he lounged in his sweatpants.

He’s an expert on your pussy, knows exactly what angle to curl his fingers and how much pressure to put on your clit when he’s eating you out. The last thing you want to be is a selfish lover, so you always offer to repay the favor.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll just take a shower,” or “I can take care of it myself” is all he says. The curiosity is going to kill you. You need to see it. He doesn’t even have to fuck you, even a blowjob will suffice at this point. This week, you decide. By the end of this week, you will see Geum Seongje’s cock once and for all.

The flickering TV screen cast long shadows across Seongje’s dimly lit living room. The worn leather couch sighed under your combined weight. The empty popcorn bowl sat forgotten on the low table, kernels scattered like tiny pieces of gold in the low light. The movie’s soundtrack swells dramatically, but you completely ignore it.

You shift backwards slightly, settling more firmly onto his lap. Your thin sleep shorts act as a poor barrier against the rough denim of his jeans. You continue shifting, a tiny, deliberate roll of your lips seeking out the solid warmth beneath you. Seongje’s breath hitches against the shell of your ear, barely noticeable. One of his large hands, resting loosely on your thigh, tenses. The flickering light from the TV danced over the sharp planes of his face, bouncing off his glasses. His eyes are hidden, but not the sudden tightness of his jaw.

"Comfy?" he murmured, his voice a low vibration against your back where you leaned against his chest. He kept his gaze fixed on the screen where some car chase was exploding in a shower of CGI sparks.

"Mmhmm." You shift once more, pressing down a fraction more purposefully this time, the worn cotton of your shorts riding up just a bit. Your fingers, which had been idly tracing patterns on his forearm, drifted lower, down towards the waistband of his jeans. You trace the prominent line of his belt buckle, then let your knuckles brush the heavy denim stretched taut over his lap.

He was getting hard. Fast. You could feel it, the insistent thickening and lengthening beneath you, pushing back against your weight. A low hum escapes him, deeper this time, less breath and more rumble. His hips gave a tiny roll upwards, meeting your movement halfway.

"You're gonna ruin the movie," he said, but there was no real protest in it. His hand slides higher on your thigh, his thumb pressing into the soft skin just below the edge of your shorts. His other arm tightens around your waist, pulling you back flush against him. The heat radiating from his body intensified.

"My movie’s right here," You murmur, tilting your head back against his shoulder. Your fingers abandoned the belt buckle, tracing instead the unmistakable, straining outline of his cock through the denim. It felt huge, rigid, burning hot even through the thick fabric. You pressed your palm flat against it, feeling him jerk beneath your touch.

You’re grinding down deliberately now, a rolling friction that drew another choked sound from him. His grip tightened almost painfully on your hip, muscles in his forearm corded. His glasses pressed cool against your cheekbone as he buried his face in your neck, breathing hard.

"Seongje,” You breathed, arching back against him, seeking more contact, more of him.

Suddenly, with startling speed and strength, he flipped you. One powerful twist and you were beneath him on the worn leather, his body a heavy weight pinning you down. The discarded popcorn bowl clattered to the floor, forgotten. His glasses were slightly askew, his purple hair falling over his forehead. Behind the lenses, his eyes were dark, intense, fixed on yours. The playful confidence was still there, but edged with a heat that stole your breath.

He braced himself on one forearm beside your head, his other hand deliberately sliding up your bare thigh, pushing the hem of your shorts higher. His gaze never left yours.

"Not yet, baby," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated through your core. His thumb traced the edge of your underwear, sending shivers across your skin. His hips settled firmly against yours, letting you feel the full, hard length of him through your clothes. "Not until I've stretched you first."

His thumb, broad and sure, began a maddeningly slow circle just below the edge of your underwear, grazing the crease where thigh met hip. His smirk softened into something more intense. The hand on your hip shifted, his fingers hooking into the delicate lace waistband of your underwear. The lace stretched taut against your skin for a heartbeat. Then, with a single, fluid tug, he pulled your underwear down.

Cool air hit your exposed skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body still pinning you down. You sucked in a breath,hips arching instinctively off the couch. Seongje didn’t relent. His gaze dropped, sweeping down your body. His expression was pure concentration, a Union member assessing a critical task, utterly absorbed.

The rough pad of his middle finger found your slick heat first, tracing the outer folds with deliberate slowness, gathering your wetness. A low groan rumbled in his chest, vibrating through you where your bodies connected. "Fuck. Always so wet for me." His voice was thick, strained.

He didn’t tease for long, pushing one thick finger inside you.

You gasped, your head falling back against the armrest. It was a stretch, a delicious, burning fullness that stole your breath. He was large, everywhere, even his fingers. He held it there, buried to the knuckle, letting you adjust, his thumb finding your clit and pressing in a slow, rhythmic circle. His eyes flicked back up to yours, searching. He watched your face, reading every micro-expression as he began to move. A slow withdrawal, then a deeper thrust, adding a second finger alongside the first.

The stretch intensified, a sharp, breathtaking burn that melted instantly into overwhelming sensation. He curled his fingers inside you, finding that spot that sent sparks behind your eyelids. His thumb kept its relentless rhythm on your clit. His other hand pinned your hip firmly to the couch, preventing you from bucking wildly as sensation threatened to overwhelm you. His breath came in harsh puffs against your neck, a counterpoint to your own ragged gasps.

He kept working you open, his fingers thick and demanding inside your slick heat. Slow, deep thrusts that stretched your walls relentlessly. Three fingers inside now. You could feel every ridge of his fingerprints as he aimed for that spot that made you gasp and arch off the leather.

"Fuck," he rumbled, the sound vibrating through your core. "Taking me so good, baby. Almost there."

He pressed deeper, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit with each thrust. You felt impossibly full, stretched taut. He was right there, pushing you to the edge, his fingers pistoning with brutal efficiency. You were moaning openly now, nonsensical pleas falling from your lips.

“Please, c-close,” you hic, feeling the delicious burn mingling with the building pressure coiling low in your belly. Just as you felt the first tremors of climax begin to gather, he stopped. He withdrew his fingers slowly, a slick, obscene sound accompanying their exit, leaving you clenching around sudden emptiness.

“No!” you cry out, hips bucking up to chase his fingers. “S-seongje, I was so close.”

“Shh, I know baby, I know,” He shushes gently, pressing one of his soiled fingers to your lips. You whimper, feeling your own arousal trickle into your mouth. Before you can open your mouth to suck his fingers, he leans back onto his heels, breathing heavy. “I’ll be right back.”

He started to push himself up, his gaze flicking towards the dim hallway leading to your bedroom.

Your mind, still hazy with unsated need and the shock of his withdrawal, snapped into focus. You knew that look. Knew the drawer in you nightstand where you kept the larger toys.

"No," you gasped, lunging forward before you could even process moving. Your hand shot out, fingers wrapping tightly around the thick muscle of his forearm. "Seongje, wait."

He paused, looking down at your grip, then back at your face, a question in his eyes. The TV cast flickering stripes across his bare chest.

"I'm ready," you insisted, your voice raspy but firm. Your other hand gestured impatiently at the prominent, hard ridge straining against the fly of his jeans. "I want you. Now. Not... not that."

You couldn't bring yourself to say 'dildo'. Not when the real thing was right there, thick and demanding.

Seongje’s expression hardened, the playful tease replaced by that Union-member seriousness. He settled back slightly, still kneeling on the couch between your legs, but didn't move closer. He kept his tone low and controlled. "You saw how tight you still were. Three fingers, baby. You need more. It's too much."

The rejection, the implication you couldn't handle him, stung. Heat flooded your face, mixing with the flush of arousal.

"I can take it," you argued, pushing yourself up further, frustration sharpening your words. "I want it. I want to feel you, Seongje. All of you. Why are you stopping?"

Your grip on his arm tightened. "Unless..."

A sudden, ugly thought bloomed, fueled by your wounded pride and the abrupt halt to your pleasure. Your eyes narrowed, dropping pointedly to the bulge in his jeans, then snapping back to his face, searching for a crack in his confidence. "Unless all that talk about being huge... was just talk? Are you fucking embarrassed? Is that it? You don't want me to see what you're really packing because it's not as big as you bragged?"

Seongje goes still. Not a muscle moved. The intensity in his dark eyes behind the glasses hardened. Something colder, more dangerous flickered in his eyes. He stared at you, his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle jumped in his cheek.

"You," he said, his voice low and devoid of its usual teasing, a rumble that vibrated with suppressed fury, "have no fucking idea what you're talking about."

You hit a nerve. You knew it. Why else the sudden darkness? Why else the refusal? It had to be the reason.

"Don't I?" you shot back, pushing yourself fully upright. "Seems pretty obvious. You talk a big game, Geum Seongje. Purple hair, cocky swagger, 'gotta stretch you first, baby'."

Your voice pitched higher, mocking his earlier words. "But the minute I actually want the real thing? You freeze. Pull back. Won’t even let me see it and you start talking about dildos. What am I supposed to think? That you’re packing a fucking cocktail straw down there?"

You saw the muscle in his jaw clench again, a hard knot of tension. His knuckles, where his hands rested on his knees, went white. The air crackled. The distant movie sounds felt like they were coming from another planet.

"You think that's it?" he asked, the question dangerously soft. He didn't move, but his stillness felt predatory now.

"I know that's it!" You doubled down, convinced you figured it out. "You're embarrassed. All that bullshit about hurting me? Just a cover because you're not as big as you claimed. You didn't want me to see, to be disappointed. Well, surprise! I figured it out. So, what now? Gonna run off?"

For a heartbeat longer, he remained frozen, a statue carved from shadow and simmering rage. Then, with a speed that stole your breath, he moved. One large hand shot out and clamped onto your ankle, yanking you flat onto your back on the couch with brutal efficiency. You gasped, the air knocked out of you. Before you could even register the shock, his weight slammed back down, pinning your hips entirely. His other hand went to his belt buckle, fingers working the leather with savage jerks. The metallic clink was unnaturally loud.

"You want to see?" His voice was a guttural snarl, inches from your face. The playful arrogance was obliterated, replaced by a terrifying intensity that made your blood run cold. "You want proof? Fine. See what you’re fucking asking for."

The belt buckle snapped open. The button of his jeans popped. The rasp of the zipper going down was obscenely deliberate. He shoved the rough denim and the waistband of his boxer briefs down over his hips in one harsh movement.

Your breath hitched, a strangled sound catching in your throat. Your defiant anger evaporated, replaced by pure, primal shock.

It wasn't small. It wasn't anything close to small. The heavy shaft lay rigid against his lower abdomen, pulsing faintly, flushed a deep, angry red. Even half-hard, the girth was intimidating. Veins stood out starkly, mapping the rigid length that seemed to swell further under your wide-eyed stare. The head, broad and smooth, was already glistening with a bead of pre-cum. Cocktail straw? It looked more like a weapon.

Seongje watched your face, the shock in your wide eyes and parted lips. There was no triumph in his gaze, only that chilling, dark fury. "Disappointed?" His voice was low and mocking.

You couldn't speak. Your mouth was dry. All you could do was stare, a sense of dread coiling in your stomach, mixing horribly with a traitorous, unwanted throb of heat deep inside.

The more you stared, the more obvious the sheer, brutal girth of him became. The earlier throb of heat deep inside you shriveled, replaced by a cold, slick wave of pure panic. Your mind screamed, a frantic, internal siren. No. No fucking way. That’s… that’s impossible. It won’t fit. It can’t. You instinctively tried to pull your hips back, to create distance, but his weight pinned you in place. The reality of what you demanded crashed over you, washing away the bravado and leaving only raw, visceral fear. Your fingers dug into the worn leather of the couch, seeking purchase that wasn’t there.

Seongje watched the panic flood your expression, saw the dilation of your pupils not just from arousal now, but primal alarm. A harsh scoff erupted from him, vibrating through the tense air. The sound was devoid of warmth, sharp as broken glass.

"See?" His voice was a low, gravelly rasp, dripping with bitter vindication and simmering anger. "That's exactly what I've been fucking saying this whole time. But sluts like you don’t listen. Too desperate to prove something. Too fucking arrogant to believe me when I said I wouldn't hurt you."

He shook his head, the movement tight with barely contained frustration. He leaned in closer, his face inches from yours. His eyes, dark and unforgiving behind the slightly fogged lenses, held yours captive.

"You pushed," he growled, the words deliberate, each syllable landing like a hammer blow. "You called my bluff. Fine. I showed you mine."

His gaze dropped to the intimidating length resting heavy against his abdomen, then snapped back to your wide, panicked eyes. "I proved the big talk wasn't bullshit."

A cruel, humorless smile touched his lips. "Now, baby," he said, his voice dropping even lower, becoming dangerously soft, "it's your turn. Time to prove yours."

He shifted his weight slightly, a subtle adjustment that pressed the thick head of his cock firmly against your slick entrance. Even that slight pressure, the sheer blunt force of it pushing against you, made you whimper.

"You were so fucking sure you could take it," he murmured, the words laced with a taunt. His hand clamped over your hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh there, holding you steady. "So fucking eager. Show me."

"You demanded proof. You called me a fucking liar." His hips shifted minutely, the broad, slick head of his cock grinding against your slick entrance, a blunt, demanding pressure that made you whimper again, high and desperate. "Then fucking take it."

He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t ease. His powerful hips snapped forward with terrifying force.

You screamed. A raw, ragged sound ripped from your throat as agonizing pressure exploded between your legs. The massive crown of his cock tore past your resisting outer lips, forcing its way through the tight ring of muscle guarding your entrance. The shock was white-hot, blinding. It felt like being ripped wide open. Your body instinctively clenched down, cunt muscles spasming in a futile attempt to repel the intruder. He stopped.

Only the swollen, flared head was inside her. Even that felt monumentally huge. Tears sprang to your eyes, blurring the harsh lines of his face. You could feel the immense thickness lodged there, the sheer pressure threatening to tear you apart. Your hips bucked involuntarily, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation, but Seongje’s iron grip on you pinned you mercilessly. One hand remained clamped on your hip, fingers digging deep into the soft flesh, the other splayed possessively over your lower belly, holding you down. His breath came in harsh, ragged pants, misting his lenses as he stared down at where you were joined.

"Fuck," he hissed through clenched teeth. His whole body was rigid, trembling with the effort of holding back, muscles corded in his neck and shoulders. The purple shock of his hair was dark with sweat at his temples. He could feel you clenching around just the tip, impossibly tight, the heat and resistance almost unbearable. "You’re so fucking tight."

You squeezed your eyes shut, tears leaking down your temples into your hair. The pain was intense, a deep, visceral tearing sensation mixed with a terrifying, unwanted pulse of heat. You felt stretched beyond belief around just the head of him.

"Hurts," you choked out, your voice thick and broken. "Seongje... it hurts... stop..."

He didn’t pull back. Instead, his thumb found your clit. He pressed down hard, grinding the sensitive nub in a ruthless, circular motion that was more punishment than pleasure. You cried out again, arching off the leather, the conflicting sensations of agony and sudden arousal short-circuiting your thoughts.

"Shut up," he snarled, his voice thick with lust and lingering fury. His thumb kept up its relentless assault. "You asked for this. You pushed. You made me do this." His hips rolled, the minute shift grinding the massive head deeper into your tight channel, wringing another sob from you. "Feel it? That's me. That's what you were so fucking eager for. Barely the tip and you're already screaming."

He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot and labored. "You think I wanted to hurt you? You think this is easy?" He ground his hips again, a fraction deeper, the pressure making you gasp. "Fucking look at me."

Trembling, you forced your eyes open. His face was inches away, showing the raw effort it took him not to simply slam the rest of himself inside you, consequences be damned. Sweat dripped from his jaw onto your chest.

"See? This is why. This fucking size. It’s not a goddamn joke. It’s not bragging. It’s a fucking problem." He paused, his thumb relentless on your clit, stoking a fire amidst the agony. "You wanted it inside you? You wanna take it? Then fucking relax. Stop fighting me. Or I swear to god, I will hurt you."

He pushed down harder on your clit, the pressure sharp and demanding.

"Relax, baby," he commanded, the endearment laced with iron. "Open up for me. Let me in. Or do you need me to stretch you more right fucking now?"

He emphasized the threat with another grinding roll of his hips, forcing the crown impossibly deeper, stretching your entrance wider around its girth. "Your choice. But you wanted this cock. So take it. Take it now."

He’s massive. Too big. The thought screamed through your panic. He warned you. Fuck, he warned you. You pushed, taunted him about holding back, called his claim of needing caution a lie. Now the impossible reality of him, just the thick, flared crown stretching you obscenely wide, was finally sinking in.

"Seongje…" His name was a broken whimper, catching on a sob as he ground down harder, the pressure on your clit a lightning strike that forked through your belly, momentarily eclipsing the stretching burn. "I… can't…"

"Can't?" His voice dripping with a dark challenge. "You begged for this cock. Right here. On this couch."

His hips shifted, a minute, deliberate roll that forced the bulbous head impossibly deeper, stretching you entrance wider. Your inner muscles clenched in reflexive terror, intensifying the sting.

"You called me a fucking liar. Said I was holding out on you." He pulled back a fraction, just enough to let you feel the agonizing drag of the thick ridge against your tender flesh, then thrust shallowly back in. You cried out, a wordless sound of shock. “Now fucking prove you can take it. Relax."

The vicious circle on your clit intensified, forcing your body to betray your fear. He was right. You had pushed. Stupid. So fucking stupid. The pain was real, a white-hot brand searing your core. But beneath it, under the terror, bloomed a heat you couldn't deny, fanned by his ruthless touch and the sheer overwhelming presence of him forcing his way into your body. His dominance, his absolute control in this moment, was terrifyingly electric. It shattered your resistance.

A ragged breath tore from your lungs. Relax. It felt impossible. You focused on the heat his thumb ignited, letting it spread. You forced your muscles, clenched so tight they trembled, to loosen. Just a fraction. A surrender. You stopped fighting the stretch, stopped trying to push him out with your body. It was terrifying. Vulnerable. Like dropping your guard against a predator.

Seongje felt it instantly. The iron band of muscle gripping just his crown yielded, softening to accept the impossible width. The burning resistance eased, replaced by a slick, yielding heat. A low groan rumbled deep in his chest, primal and raw.

"That's it," he hissed, his voice thick with strain and something else, a dark triumph. "Good girl. Open for me. Show me you deserve a real dick."

He pressed his thumb down hard one last time, making you gasp, then released your clit. His powerful hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding you steady. No hesitation now. He pushed.

The slide was brutal, inevitable. Inch after inch, his monstrous cock forced its way into your yielding depths. The stretch was beyond anything you imagined, a searing fullness that scraped you raw inside, completely different from the dildos he’d used before. You whimpered, a continuous, high-pitched sound. Your head thrashing back against the worn leather. He filled you, stretching your channel impossibly wide, deeper than you thought possible. He pushed until his hips met yours with a heavy, final slap of skin against skin.

He bottomed out.

Seongje froze. Utterly still. A choked sound, half-groan, half-curse, escaped his lips. His head dropped forward onto your heaving chest. His knuckles were white where he gripped your hips. Inside you, he was impossibly huge, stretching you to the absolute limit. You felt stuffed, impossibly full, every nerve ending screaming from the intense pressure. The sheer, overwhelming fullness stole your voice, leaving you gasping silently.

The feeling was staggering. He was deep inside your core, touching places you didn’t even know existed. You could feel his cock pulsing faintly, buried impossibly deep. Your walls fluttered weakly around the colossal intrusion. Seongje shuddered, a full-body tremor that vibrated through you.

"Fuck," he breathed, the word awed. "Holy fuck."

"Hurts," You gasped, the word tearing from your raw throat. "Seongje, it burns... so full..."

Your fingers clawed weakly at his shoulders, seeking an anchor against the overwhelming sensation. Tears blurred your vision again. Yet, beneath the searing ache, a treacherous heat coiled.

"Shh," he growled. His calloused thumb found your clit again, not punishing now, but circling with deliberate, demanding pressure. "Breathe, baby. Just breathe through it."

His hips shifted, the minute withdrawal creating an antagonizing friction between his thick cockhead and your stretched inner walls. The return thrust seated him deeper, the tip kissing your cervix. "Feel me? Every fucking inch?"

You whimpered, a desperate sound, arching into his touch on your clit despite the tearing sensation. "Yes! Fuck, yes! It’s too much.”

"It's mine," he countered, his voice thick with lust and a fierce possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine. His thumb worked your clit faster. "Your tight little cunt squeezing me.”

He began to move, not the brutal slam you feared, but a slow, deliberate drag. Out, inch by thick, the ridges of his shaft scraping your sensitized flesh. You cried out at the excruciating friction, the feeling of being hollowed out. Then back in stretching you anew with every thrust. The rhythmic invasion was torture and ecstasy intertwined, each push stoking the fire his thumb relentlessly fed.

The slow drag built a terrifying pressure inside you, a coiling tension that was hot and insistent. Your whimpers morphed, becoming less about pain and more about the unbearable, mounting need. Your hips lifted slightly, seeking more of that friction, more of the devastating fullness despite the ache.

"Seongje," you moaned, your voice pleading.

"Tell me," he demanded, his own breath coming in harsh pants. His thrusts gained a fraction of speed, the slap of his hips against yours a staccato beat undercutting the movie’s drone. Each powerful drive buried him to the hilt, grinding deep. "Tell me you feel it, that fucking cock splitting you open.”

"It's- too big! Oh god!" The words dissolved into a choked gasp as his thumb pressed hard, circling your clit with bruising intensity just as he slammed home. Pleasure, sharp and volcanic, exploded at your core. “Seongje!"

Your back arched violently off the couch, muscles locking rigid. Your inner walls convulsed around his buried cock, clenching and milking the thick shaft with shocking, involuntary force.

The sudden, fierce suction of your climax clamping down on him was too much. His iron control shattered. His powerful hips jackhammered forward, burying himself impossibly deep one final time as he erupted. Hot, thick jets of cum pulsed into you, each surge triggering another clench from your spasming cunt. He ground against you, emptying himself with deep, guttural groan. His body shuddered violently above you as your inner muscles rhythmically milked his cock. He collapsed forward, his weight pressing you into the leather, his face buried in your neck.

“What do you think of my cocktail straw?” He murmurs against your shoulder. “Give your compliments to the chef.”

“Shut up,” You groan, tiredly pushing him off. “I’m throwing away all those dildos you bought.”

[kinsuim]

SEX & LAB HABITS | MDNI 18+

headcanons: slurp/isaac x fem! reader

the old dorm’s legendary man is back to life— fortunately for your needy self, he has a mega crush on you. so what do you do? you welcome him with open arms and legs every. single. night.

WARNINGS: MDNI/18+, language, strong power play, bondage, hints of masochism + sadism, impact play, use of clamps + sex toys, praise + degradation kink, cum eating, fingering + cunnilingus, dacryphilia, overstimulation, marking, creampies, drooling, slight exhibitionism,

Isaac knows what he likes. He doesn’t need to do talking stages or courting rituals— once he has his eyes set on something, oh baby, he’s going to be on it. But what’s the relevance? Well, once he wants a partner, he’s going to have one.

Imagine seeing a tragic legend appear at your door, soaked in rain and blood. Of course you help the poor zombie! Night after night he’ll visit, perhaps leaving a gift or two of appreciation. That is, until he started giving other gifts.

I mean, you loved him already when he was fresh from the grave— so obviously you’re head over heels once you see his completely morphed form!

Isaac knows how to please women— teeth, lips, and hands are your main weakness, and he doesn’t even have to use his dick yet before you start becoming a moaning mess. But don’t forget, he’s a man who believes himself god— so he’s sure to have some power play in the room.

Bondages, cuffs, clamps, ever-lasting sex toys— he’s done it all to you. He’s done wicked combinations of nipple clamps as he finger-fucks your soppy pussy, and you’re trembling when the vibrating bullet overstimulates your puffy clit. He’d whisper words of praise;

“You’re doing so well for me.”

“Such a good patient you are.”

“Show me how bad you want to cum.”

He’d push you over the edge with your toys, sometimes humming in content, other times, in distaste when you hold back your sweet melodies. He needs to consider all the effects of his experimentations after all, so this simply won’t do.

You would be bent over his knee, one of his hands rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves, the other, spanking your weeping cunt. It would hurt more when he wore his gloves, but you didn’t complain, not when his filthy words rattled your diminished brain;

“You look so pretty like this, wet and sobbing over my knee.”

“Oh is it too much? That’s too bad, I haven’t even gotten to the best part sweetie.”

“Ah, ah, ah! Lick my gloves first— that’s a good girl.”

Isaac has a strong preference of seeing you below him. He loves seeing you whimper and tremble, begging him to never stop his lustful attempts. He even adores the pitiful way you try to push him, so, so, so weakly.

You would be bent over your bed, being a sweet pillow princess as you held onto the plush as your only leverage. The man would be ramming his cock into your pretty pussy, cooing at you to keep sobbing for him as he fills you up, one hand pushing down the back of your neck, and the other holding your hips in place.

You would always be left with fingerprinted bruises all over your body, and sometimes the occasional hungry bite. They littered your lower body, and if you were unlucky sometimes, your throat. It looked like you fell off a cliff every night, but there was only one difference— falling off a cliff doesn’t make your pussy flutter and drip with milky cum.

The sick man even likes it when you suck his cock; your brows furrowed and your throat erupting in choked air, unable to breathe properly. He would have your hair in a fist, a strong sign of who’s really dominant here.

Oh, and word of advice— don’t ever crawl away from him. It doesn’t matter if you’re trembling or if you’re drooling like some rabid dog, he will get mad. You could be overflowing with creampies, your body slick and dewy as you gasped for a brief break— and he would be very, very, very upset.

“Oh no, no, no! Where do you think you’re going sweetie?”

He’d either grab your neck or your hair— unkindly of course— and press you against your soaked bed once more. His weight is heavy upon you, his bloody breath tickling your ear as he whispered,

“You don’t get to walk out of this— ever. So open that pussy up, or I will.”

So what were you to do? Well, reach south and part your slippery folds of course.

Isaac is definitely a pussy guy. Sure, he’d give your ass an occasional smack or your tits a simple pinch and tug— but it’s not the same as the special thing you have down there.

His new tongue allows him to stretch at least a foot long (not sure? just ask him over…but it’ll come at a price), but he’s at least considerate enough to not shove it all up at you. He’s definitely more of a “lift your ass up as I lay down” kind of guy too, with a preference at keeping your thighs spread far apart for him.

You’d be moaning by the time his tongue slips inside your hole, practically scissoring your gummy walls as his thumb focused on stimulating your clit. Or, he’d definitely eat you out after he’s used your toys on you, being “kind” enough to clean you up internally.

Can’t say that you don’t like it though, because his soft growls vibrate into you— making you clench uncontrollably at the tongue you rode.

He’s also a Da Vinci— so he’s good with his hands. Whether it be having you on his lap as he thrusts his fingers into you slowly, his lips muttering incoherent equations to your head— or simply being unrelenting after your squirming orgasms as punishment— he knows it all.

Definitely not his fault that you couldn’t close your legs properly the other day.

Isaac may be a smart evil scientist, but he’s still a really sloppy guy. Uneven kisses, wet tongues, and even blatant biting— it’s his way of showing his carnal love.

Well, I suppose it depends. When he’s deeply in love, he’s the kind of guy to show it off. So expect to be on Lagos Tower, your tits and tummy pressed again the humid glass as he helps himself to your warm pussy.

Your cum would drip down your inner thighs, passing over healing bites and purple hickies, and then down to the dirty ground. Your lips would create the sweet noises that push him to start licking your dewy body, his hunger strong to simply mark you all over again.

It’s as if he found a purpose again.

“Aw, you like it when I touch you like this?”

His hand would wrap itself in front of you, applying pressure to your abdomen as your cunt squelched with each feverish thrust. You wouldn’t be able to process everything though— not when your knees were practically side to side and your head lolled onto his chest as your fucked-out face drooled down your bobbing throat.

“You have such a bad habit of drooling, now what shall we do about that?”

Clearly, your pretty lips needed to be plugged by his sweet cock once more.

work and rights belong to me, laurel.

[angelsworks]

Wednesday Masterlist

Tyler Galpin

Series

Nowhere to Hyde 1 2 3 4 5

[villainsoftheweek]

reverie.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 3,209 content: Morpheus / Dream of the Endless x f!reader, established relationship, sleep deprivation, mention of medication abuse, angry & possessive Dream, porn with plot, smut [throne sex, oral - giving, fingering - receiving, unprotected p in v]

what you'd intended to be a lesson taught to him Dream of the Endless turns to a lesson for you.

“Why have you been hiding yourself from me?” the familiar cadence filled your ears before the vision took form before you. The fog cleared, you could easily make out the mess of dark hair atop his head, his skin radiant in the eternal night glow, the stars shining in his eyes. Morpheus, the King of Dreams, perched on his throne as he awaited your response – one that you would have been foolish to think he wouldn’t demand eventually.

You’d last seen him an entire moon past, the weeks the first in eons that Morpheus found himself conscious of the passing time, and while in the larger scale of existence the time that passed meant nothing, to Morpheus, those were the first weeks he felt the pain of a ticking clock. You’d done everything to repress your dreams, to stay away from him, following the argument that the two of you had the last time you were together. The direct cause didn’t matter anymore, all that either of you had clung to was the heart of it all – Morpheus was a petty being. And though you were not Endless like he, that pettiness was only matched by your own.

You’d been taking a cocktail of medications and weed to numb your sleep at first, a successful attempt at withholding your mind from the Dreaming. When even that was overpowered by Morpheus, you’d opted for stimulants to force yourself to stay awake – though you were only human, and the sleep deprivation consumed you into the deep sleep you found yourself in now soon enough. It was never going to be forever, your punishment of him, your attempt at matching his attitude where it was…but you had to hope that it would communicate enough.

“I was dissatisfied at our last encounter in the Waking World, King of Dreams,” you gave your response as your feet carried you up several of the stairs to him, testing his anger. “You were not very kind to me.”

“And so, your response…” he began, his fingers twitching against the arms of his throne. His voice held no hint to indicate just how angry he was, and so you continued up the stairs in hope to make out his porcelain features soon enough. “Was to return my…shortcoming, with cruelty of your own?”

You knew he was likely to pick up on the playful smile that covered your features as it reached your voice – but you also didn’t care. “Precisely, my King. It only seemed fair.”

“Hmm,” he mused, attempting to cover the slight smile behind his voice as well. Though he’d seldom admit it, your quickness to mirror his own behavior when he deserved it often entertained him. “I suppose I did deserve to be withheld from you. And yet, it must be said that this long without you…it has been cruel.”

As he came into your view, the features of his face less indicative than you’d hoped, you approached with slow and intentional steps until you were just before him. Slowly sinking to your knees before him you gazed up between your lashes, your cheeks glowing the exact shade he always loved to see. If he were less angry, less petty, he would reach out to brush his fingers along one now – but the harshness of his mood toward your over-punishment had faltered far less than you’d hoped. Biting your bottom lip between your teeth briefly in nervousness, burning under the intensity of his eyes, you placed your hands experimentally on his thighs, maintaining the apologetic look – one far too innocent to be truly sincere.

“I guess we both have something to be sorry for, hmm?” You inquired as your hands slid higher onto his thighs, voice soft enough to coax him toward relaxation but serious enough to communicate you weren’t going to lighten on your stance. His jaw clenched slightly, the evidence he was still unwilling to falter himself.

“I learned my lesson weeks ago when you were simply numbing yourself from me, little one,” he chastised, his fingers twitching against his throne again as his want to touch you grew. Though he could now speak quietly – only to you – the anger present in his voice was now evident as he knew his words were only for you. “Your behavior these past couple of days…this absolute disregard for yourself…is what needs to be addressed now.”

“Are you angry because you were worried for my safety, my King?”

The question was taunting, attempting to push him into giving into you. With your hands sliding up his thighs as you leaned forward, reaching one hand to work open the button of his pants, it was growing harder to ignore the burn he felt for you.

“I am angry,” he began, eager to communicate what he needed to before his rough exterior completely faltered around you. “Because you threaten to harm someone very dear to me.”

“Those are different words for the same thing, Morpheus,” you taunted as you pressed a meaningful kiss to the top of his thigh, a quiet apology that he already knew you felt. One of his hands finally reached to grasp the hair at the back of your head, pulling you to rise to your knees until your face was mere inches from his. His grasp firm and a stern tone behind his words he leaned forward to brush the tip of his nose against yours, eyes piercing yours as his other hand reached to work his pants free from his waist.

“I do not enjoy being deprived of you,” he asserted as his hand at the back of your head slid to grasp your chin between his thumb and forefinger, an intensity and seriousness behind his eyes you’d never seen before…which was impressive considering intense and serious were in his nature. Behind it all lingered the anger still. “Do not do it again.”

You could barely bring yourself to nod, lost in the endless galaxies in his eyes, your mind desperately trying to focus on his words despite the fact that every cell that made up your body could do nothing but yearn for him. His grasp did not falter, his gaze holding yours still as he leaned forward to claim your lips in a heated, angry kiss, his desperation for you seeping through his every movement. Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching at the exquisite black fabric of the simple sweater he’d adorned himself in that day as you returned his kiss.

You began to trail your kisses down his perfectly smooth neck as he released his hold on your chin, both of his hands finding their way to your shoulders as you found yourself free of clothing. With an impatient tug at his shirt, you nipped at the skin of his neck eagerly, hoping your intent was clear without words. Thankfully, he took your sign to remove his shirt, leaving him gloriously bare before you. Your kisses trailed down the impossibly perfect frame before you until you reached his waist, placing a final kiss on his hip as one of your hands grasped his awaiting cock.

An impatient groan left his chest as his hand found the back of your head again, turning it toward his hardened length as his simple instruction – “open” – filled your ears and mind itself. Every movement he made was indicative of the anger he still harbored for you, and while your mind had to wonder if allowing the Endless his way was beneficial long-term, it was silenced by your fulfilled instinct to wrap your mouth around him.

As much as you loved listening to his voice, the sounds that left his mouth were the finest of them all – particularly the repressed groan that left erupted from his chest as your gaze connected with his once again. Grasping his fingers into your hair he thrust his hips up, pushing his cock further into your mouth and into your throat to urge you forward. Your pleasured moan vibrated through his body, your hands reaching to grasp his thighs as he found solace in the warmth of your mouth. As he began to repeat his thrusts into your mouth, he ensured you held his gaze, drinking in the sight of you coming undone for him – the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as he refamiliarized himself with your mouth, the drool dripping down your chin; perfectly imperfect and entirely for him.

“Don’t you know what you’re doing to me?” He inquired, fully aware that the only response you would offer were your fingernails digging into the tops of his thighs. “I do not wish to be angry with you, beloved.”

With a thrust hard enough, assuredly, to bruise your throat he pulled his throbbing cock free of your mouth, tilting your head back to look at his still-hardened face. Fighting for a proper breath you reached your hands to rest on his on either side of your face, nodding with your lips partially open in confirmation that you understood – pushing him this far was not an option again. He pulled you upward to reconnect your lips to his he kissed you harshly, releasing your face once you’d fully submitted to his kiss to lower his hands to grasp your hips.

Climbing to straddle his waist you immediately felt the intense wave of heat that rushed to your core. A blissful sigh slipped from your lips, your hands reaching to grasp into his tousled hair as ivory fingers slipped between your folds to test how wet you’d become for him. Ending at your clit and rubbing a gentle circle around the nub, there was no holding back your desperate moan which he gladly swallowed into the kiss.

“Although, I do think you enjoy when I’m angry with you,” he proclaimed as he released the kiss, his fingers sliding back toward your entrance to dip his forefinger into you teasingly. “Just feel how wet you are for me.”

Your hips jerked to his again, whimpering quietly at his long finger inside you, curling tantalizingly slow against the velvety patch within you, enjoying the way your mouth fell open for him once again and your eyes fluttered closed. Your hips jerked toward his hand, desperate for anything more he would offer you to take – the Dream Lord was often amused by your greed for his attentions. The friction of his palm against your clit pulled another moan from you, your hands grasping his shoulders desperately to steady yourself without his aid, hoping his hands would focus elsewhere.

Though he adored grasping your hips, he released his hold of you there to slide his unoccupied hand to your chest, cupping one of your breasts delicately as his cold thumb rubbed over your already-stiffened nipple. Somewhat bemused by the goosebumps that erupted across your skin at the feeling he took the nub between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it between the digits carefully before giving a harsh pinch – just as a second finger was added into your wet heat. Rolling your hips, you became keenly aware of the quiet, moaned pleas that were leaving your mouth, though the words sounded so foreign – it was always this way with him in the Dreaming, where nearly everything was too good to be true.

His fingers thrust into you expertly, his memory serving him well to remind him of all the ways to perfectly bend your body to his will until he felt your thighs begin to shake. As your walls clenched around his fingers ever-so-slightly tighter and your breathing hitched in your throat he removed his hand from your core, clicking his tongue against his teeth disapprovingly before leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. Once again, his tone was quiet – eerily resonating within your thoughts, almost as if Morpheus was inside your head, as well.

“Given how you’ve behaved so poorly these last weeks,” he began, his lips brushing yours in a tormentingly light kiss as he spoke. “Do you not think that you should have to beg me for your release?”

“Dream,” you whimpered, using the name only those closest to him seemed to these days, regretting the extra days you’d made yourself stay away from him. Your hips thrust toward his stilled hand, desperate for friction and to release the ecstasy that he’d built in you – though all you were met with was another opaque hum from his chest. “Please.”

You had to admit, you may have deserved the light smile that played on his lips – and despite its lightly sinister nature, you fawned at the realization he was beginning to falter for you. “I do enjoy the sounds of your pleas, little one. Perhaps you have more for me.”

A desperate whimper slipped through your lips as you attempted to seek a full kiss from him, your core grinding against his hand before he pulled it away entirely, grasping his admittedly throbbing cock in his hand. The view of his marble-esque hand around his own cock, languidly pumping himself as his eyes connected with yours, perhaps darker now than you had seen them before, always drove you to new depths of need for him – and you supposed that was quite the point.

“Please, Dream,” you whined, moving your kisses to his angled jaw where you knew he would not stop you. Your kisses trailed to his ear, breaths hot and desperate against the skin as you nibbled at his ear lobe. “I’ve learned my lesson, and I will never deny you again. Please, don’t deny me now. I cannot bare another moment.”

Turning his head to capture your lips in a heated kiss he guided his cock to your entrance, thrusting upward into your well-slickened walls entirely in one motion with a deep, appreciative groan. Your surprised cry bounced off the walls of the large chamber you sat in still, hands grasping at his shoulders as you accepted every inch of him until his velvety head knocked against your cervix. Normally, he would claim you in his bed, enjoying the look of you sprawled beautifully against his dark sheets – but tonight, his show of power included you riding his cock on his throne, knowing it would impart some message into your mind.

“You see how I reward you when you listen,” he groaned, his hand on your hip encouraging you to move your hips against his the moment he felt you adjust to him. With the perfect grind of your waist, he grasped at your hip tighter, his free hand reaching to grasp at the back of your head. Entangling his fingers in your hair he pulled backward slightly, leaning forward to press light kisses up the center of your neck, breathing in the scent of your perfume as he went. “It could be this way always if you simply trusted in my desires for you.”

Unable to refute his argument you nodded as best you could with his grasp on your hair, lifting yourself off of his length temporarily before dropping down, rolling your hips to emphasize the movement. His grasp tightened in both places he held, his hips thrusting up into yours wantonly as he found himself unable to resist the temptation to give into you fully – after all, you were listening to him so well now. You moaned his name – several of his names – as he picked up the pace of his thrusts, your eyes rolling back slightly at the repeated feeling of his cock hitting your most sensitive spot within.

Still somewhat angry he’d had to wait this long to claim you again, his thrusts became relentless, nearly forgetting that it was possible to hurt you too much – not that you would ever complain about what he wanted to give you. Pushing your head forward again he slotted his lips against yours, his tongue immediately seeking the taste he’d missed for so many hours – wondering if you knew that was truly what dreams were made of. You were certain from his pace that in the morning you would wake with bruised hips, unable to go about your usual activities or obligations – though if you’d complained, Dream would assert the only obligation that truly mattered was the one you held to one another.

It never took him long to push you to orgasm when he decided it was time, and now was no exception – your walls fluttering around him with embarrassing speed as your thighs began to shake again. Your moans became lighter, shorter, more feral as your nails dragged down his chest, clamoring for anything to grab onto before they slid back up and around his neck. As your own fingers found their way into his hair and you gave a light tug your ears were filled with a prolonged moan, his head falling forward shortly after to connect his lips above your pulse. His words were quiet, deliciously convincing and seductive directly in your ear – an effect you knew he was striving for.

“Let me treat you as art, beloved,” he groaned, sucking his mark into his chosen spot on your neck. “I wish to paint your walls with my release. If you will permit me that, you may cum for me.”

All you could do was nod, moaning his name in affirmation as your walls clenched around him tighter, silently begging him to reach his end with you. As his thrusts became harsher and sloppier you tugged at his hair slightly again, thighs shaking nearly uncontrollably as his hand at your hip slid to use his thumb to rub circles against your clit. Throwing your head back in pleasure his name left your mouth as slightly less than a scream as euphoria rushed over you, your walls clamping around him as you felt him release ropes of hot cum within you accompanied with a groan.

You collapsed against his chest when you’d both finished, burying your face in his neck and whispering a quiet thank you as his black cloak appeared around your shoulders, shielding you from the cold and wrapping you up within him. Moments later – impossibly fast – you found yourself against the satin sheets of his bed, unbelievable comfort encompassing you as he held you against him with one arm around your waist. Once he was satisfied with your stabilized breathing he reached his free hand to cup your face in his hand, urging you to look him in the eye before exhaustion took you over.

“Do not deny me again, little one,” he spoke, his words gentler than before and yet still firm, his fingers brushing against your cheek tenderly in the gentlest motion he’d offered that night. “My lesson will not be as kind the second time.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you promised, the choice of words intentionally coaxing a light smile onto his face, reserved only for those who truly held his affections. Pulling you closer with arms around your waist he ushered you to relaxation, watching as your eyes closed again before he leaned forward to place gentle kisses against each of your eyelids.

“I will join you in the Waking World, beloved.”

The night was full of dreams, and your day would be endless reverie.

masterlist.

[dearwalker]

Sex pollen - Clark Kent x reader

Word count: 3.2k

Description: When Clark gets poisoned with sex pollen, he tries everything in his power to stay away from you. Until he ends up crashing into your living room, and you have a god on his knees, with your name in his mouth and your body at his will.

Tags/warnings: smut, established relationship, clark is sorry, he gets freaky with his powers, consent kink, breaks you and worships you at the same time, begging, praising, hovering (yes hovering👀), so much dirty talk (he’s feral but sweet), overstimulation.

Note: Guess who watched superman today and got a new man to obsess about🙂‍↕️ honestly I don’t even know what took over me when I wrote this but all I can say is go ahead, live your best life and enjoy the sweet filth 🫶🏼

archive / masterlist

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You wake up with a loud crash coming from your living room. You jolt upright from your bed as you hear glass shatter, sprinting toward the noise. You curse as your body, only covered by Clark’s giant shirt, gets hit with the crisp midnight air as wind gushed through your apartment like a hurricane just passed by.

A figure stood where your glass door used to be, leaning weakly on what was left of the frame. You turned on the lamp next to you, illuminating your boyfriend’s stumbling body.

“Clark!?” you exclaim, confused by his abrupt arrival.

He doesn’t look up, just stands there against the frame, chest heaving, fists clenched. Like he is barely holding himself together.

Worry washes your features, something must be really wrong. You start making way over to him, but as soon as you take a step forward he puts a warning hand in front of him.

“Stop! Don’t move,” his deep voice comes out strangled, like he’s been screaming for hours. “Don’t come closer… please. Just–just stay there.”

He keeps his hand up to stop you, panting heavily as he swallowed to try to soothe his dry throat. He slowly looks up, and groans when he meets your eyes. His pupils are blown wide, dry lips parted, his breath ragged like he’s been flying across the globe. His usually perfect wavy hair is now flat, messy, sticking to his sweaty forehead.

“I didn’t want to come here,” he whines. “I–I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“What happened to you?” You ask from your spot, fighting the urge to run to his aid.

“I’ve been infected,” he chokes out, and your brows furrow more. “Some kind of … alien pollen. It hit me out there. I flew straight into it and fuck ... It’s messing with my head, my body, I…”

He suddenly turns away, pacing in small frantic circles on your balcony like he’s trying to shake something off. His hands tremble as he fights to not make eye contact, like just looking at you hurts.

“What do you need? D-do you have the antidote?” You ask, scared as hell. He never acts like this.

He just shakes his head first with a bitter laugh, only to nod frantically afterwards.

God, if only you knew.

“I tried to wait it out,” he groans, fists now in his hair. “I swear I did, my love, I locked myself away for hours … tried to fly as far as I could but I kept turning back because I could smell you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, somehow understanding what this was about.

“I can smell you, sweetheart. Even from across the city … I can hear you breathing … your heartbeat. I didn’t want to hurt you but right now I have you in front of me and I can see–dammit … I’m sorry–“

He stumbles backward like he’s ashamed of himself, like he can’t even look at you.

“You know can’t turn it off,” he whispers. “I never mean to look, I swear, but I can see you now. Everything.”

Of course you know what he means. You know he can see right past his giant shirt covering your body. And the guilt on his face is gutting. He looks like he’s trying to claw his own powers out of his skin.

“Clark… it’s okay. You don’t have to explain, ”you step forward, slowly, gently. “It’s not like we haven’t–“

“No you don’t get it!” He snaps, his voice booming through your walls so loud you were sure everyone on the block heard him. He instantly feels worse with the way you flinched to his volume. “S-sorry darling … you just don’t get it … you have no idea what it’s like to smell you and know how soft you are, how warm. My instincts are going crazy. I just need to be inside you … I need to touch you, mark you, fill you up until I can’t think straight,” he just rambles, eyes raking through your body.

You take a deep breath, his words making you clench your thighs together and he noticed. Of course you’ve had sex before. You know what he sounds like when he’s needy. But this? This is feral. You’ve never seen him like this.

But you’re willing to do anything to help him. Always.

“Clark… you don’t even have to ask,” you speak softly, your own eyes darkening with desire.

He shakes his head. You don’t even understand the amount of restraint he’s having right now.

“I do … I always do. Especially now. Because I’m not going to touch you like I should. I’m not going to make it about you. I’m going to use you. Because you’re the only one who can fix me … you are the antidote and I hate it. I hate that I can’t even think straight unless I’m inside you … I need you so bad, darling, I’m shaking–“ He cries, an actual tear comes out his desperate eyes.

You’re watching a god fall apart in front of you.

Because of you.

You finally cross the space left, and he doesn’t stop you this time. You grab his face between your hands, and kiss him without hesitation. His arms immediately cling to your frame, cold hands slipping under your shirt to roam every inch of your warm skin.

You moan into his lips, when you taste the salty tears on his face. His hands land on your ass, and he squeezes hard, bruising, making you squeal. He immediately pulls back, apologizing. Like he still can’t let himself go.

“I love you, I’m sorry–” he blurts out immediately, hands soothing the skin he pinched while he fought the urge to do it again, harder. “God I love you … and I would never hurt you. Never. I swore I’d never touch you like this. Unless you asked me to. Unless you wanted me to. So please … tell me you want this too. Say yes, or I’ll leave. I swear I will.”

He nods, frantically, like he’s trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to convince you.

“I’ll leave if you tell me to,” he breathes. “I’ll fly through a mountain. I’ll bury myself in the ocean. Just don’t say yes unless you want this. I’m barely holding on– if you say it, I won’t be able to stop.”

You want him. God you always want him.

The way he keeps asking makes you want him even more. Even if he’s not your Clark now. Even if he won’t take care of you like he always does. Even if you can’t breathe or move after. Because you love him too.

“I want it,” you whisper against his lips, nodding. “I want you. You need me? Use me. Take all you want … I can take it.”

It’s over.

The moment you say yes there’s no going back. He lunges forward, tightening his grip on you as he lifts you off the ground to fly you towards the wall, knocking the lamp when your back hit the wall, leaving you both in complete darkness. Only the moonlight left to shine over his hungry eyes.

His massive hand cradles the back of your head to protect it from the hit, while the other tears off your shirt like he needs your skin on his or he’ll die. Your panties don’t even last two seconds before they fly away too.

His lips hit yours. Tongue desperate, hands everywhere, so large, so shaky, everywhere at once. He groans into your mouth like a man dying of thirst finally tasting water.

“Thank you,” he gasps between kisses. “Thank you sweetheart … I’m so sorry I can’t help you first … but I need you … I need to feel you inside, please just let me…”

He knows it hurts you when he doesn’t prepare you properly, when he doesn’t make you cum at least twice on his fingers before he fucks you …but he can’t right now. Not when he can smell how soaked you are already, not when he swears it’s dripping on the carpet.

“Do it,” you pant, hungry for him. “Clark just do it … please.”

He doubts only for a second, and then without thinking he rips the suit. Literally tears it at the waist, tugging it to get rid of it completely. He’ll care about that later.

Right now he is just muscle in front of you.

His painful cock springs up, and he presses himself to you with a wet slap, your back hitting the wall again. Your pussy throbs at how impossibly huge he is over your stomach.

You’ve had him before. You’ve barely made it. You still want him to rearrange your guts.

“Feel that?” he groans. “That’s what you do to me, that’s what’s been driving me insane all day, darling.”

He’s not even pretending anymore, his cock is throbbing, massive, already leaking. He aligns himself between your soaked folds, rutting the tip against your pussy a few times like he’s lost control of his body entirely. You moan at the friction. Every nerve ending screaming.

You know he’s gonna wreck you. You weren’t ready. But at the same time you’ve never been more ready.

He grabs your thigh and lifts it against the wall, before whispering against your lips. “I’m sorry…”

He pushes his hips forward, and when he finally slides home with a snap … raw, hard, you let out a strangled scream.

One long, broken sound, high pitched and helpless, because he stretches you brutally, all at once, bottoming out with a growl. An actual growl. Like he finally felt some type of relief since he got hit with the pollen.

You fight back a cry, lunging forward to bite his shoulder. He starts fucking you into the wall as he whispers ‘I love you’ ‘thank you’ ‘sorry’ like some sort of chant. Like it’s the only thing keeping him rooted to the version of him that is still careful with you when you have sex.

Your breath leaves you in a gasp, your bare back against the cold plaster, legs around his waist, and arms clinging to his biceps for dear life. All you can do is moan as you get adjusted to his unfairly thick cock slamming in and out of you.

“Just like that … you’re taking me so well,” he pants. “You can do it, sweetheart … you’re doing so good … fuck, you were made for this … made for me.”

His hands grip your thighs. He fucks you like he’s possessed, no rhythm, no thought into it, just deep, hard thrusts that hit something devastating every time, shaking the wall with every slam of his hips.

And the whole time, he keeps whimpering into your neck.

“I love you … I’m sorry … I love you …I’m gonna ruin you …I need it…”

You think you’re about to white out when the room starts moving, but you quickly realize what’s happening.

He’s lifting your bodies off the ground.

Still fucking you.

Going up as much as your ceiling allowed him too. He pins you high on the wall when his head touches the roof, like gravity doesn’t apply anymore. It never does, not to you, not to him.

So now you’re fucking hovering. Literally. Unable to do anything but take it.

And you feel him like never before. A complete moaning mess. Nails dragging down his back, mouth open in shock as you look down to the floor. Your whole body is a live wire, and he’s fucking you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

His cock twitches inside you. He’s already close. Has been since he walked through that window. But he’s holding it, fighting it, because he needs to stay inside. Needs to keep taking. You can’t.

“Fuck Clark … I’m gonna–“

“Yes? do it … darling please, you’re doing so well. I’ve got you … cum all over this cock baby I got you.”

Your body breaks before you can breathe. Your first climax of the night hits hard, clenching down on him, while you pant into his chest. Your whole body goes limp and he feels it.

He fucks you through it. Rough thrusts with his hand stroking your back and the other wrapped under your thighs. He keeps thanking you as his cock splits you open over and over.

“I wanna give you everything,” he groans, voice cracking. “Fill you up, stuff you full of me … Can I? Please? Let me finish inside you …. let me have you–“

“Yes, yes, fill me up,” you blurt out, still seeing stars.

He slams in once more and chokes, hips locked, whole body shuddering as he comes with a moan so broken it feels like it came from his soul. He shakes as he fills you, mouth pressed to your neck.

He doesn’t pull out yet. He holds you there, trembling, pressed against the wall like he knows you’ll fall if he loosens his grip.

Even after the first wave passes, after the groans, the shaking, the desperate I love you’s, he holds you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this planet.

“…Are you okay?”

You just nod, breathless, a blissed out smile in your face. He smiles too. And then, slowly, he lowers you back down to the floor.

But he’s not soft for long. He doesn’t even give you a minute to recover. He can’t. The second round starts before the first one even finishes sinking in.

You’re still trembling in his arms, leaking down your thighs, whimpering his name into the crook of his neck. And he’s still inside you. Still painfully hard.

Still needing you.

“One more, please. Just–just one more,” he begs. “Let me have you again. Please, darling I need it.”

“Take it Clark, take all you need,” you nod, absolutely wrecked.

But what’s a few more rounds with your unearthly strong boyfriend?

He melts.

You usually go multiple rounds, but he’s softer, he gives you downtime, even brings you water in between orgasms. But right now he can’t believe the way he fucked you and you still let him have more. But he needs more. The pollen is fogging his brain.

He finally pulls out, just to set you down on the floor. The second your back hits the rug, he’s on top of you again. And god he’s heavy. Solid. He doesn’t even hold his weight like he usually does because all he’s thinking about is fucking you senseless.

He buries himself deep again, groaning, cursing under his breath. You close your eyes, nails digging the carpet, back arching when you feel him deeper from this angle. You pant small whines from the feeling.

“Shhh … don’t–“ he coos, he wants to be slow, but he can’t. His hips snap hard without even thinking. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart … so good for me… just need one more.”

You know it’s not just one more. And he fucking knows that too.

None of you cares.

“You’re so wet … so perfect” he groans, the filthy sound gushing loudly every time he thrusted. “I didn’t even give you time to come down … didn’t even let you breathe and you still take me so well”

He praises. Worships. He looks down to where your bodies meet, and he sees right through your skin. He can see his huge cock filling you with every thrust. He can see your walls clenching around him. And he looses it.

You’re suddenly running out of air when he presses his chest to yours, pining you tighter to the floor with his body as he pushes harder. And you feel all of him. The broadness of his chest against your ribs. The strain of his thighs bracketing yours. His cock still buried deep, rock hard.

You hit his bicep with your hand first, but he’s not paying attention, he’s too caught up on the way your pussy takes him to notice.

It’s not smooth. Not rhythmic. Just sharp, ragged thrusts that hit you so hard your body jerks on impact, tits bouncing, nails clawing at his back as he crushes you into the floor with every rut of his hips.

Your head starts spinning.

“Clark,” you choke out, hitting his bicep again. “I can’t–can’t breathe…”

His head finally snaps at you, eyes going wide. He lifts up a bit, but he doesn’t pull out, he just … can’t.

You finally gasp for air as he shushes you softly, tucking away the hair sticking to your sweaty forehead.

“I’m sorry … I can’t … can’t stop. I tried, I swear I tried,” his forehead presses to yours, without crushing you alive this time.

His hips don’t stop moving. You pant between moans. You’re close again, you can feel it.

“It’s okay, you’re just … you’re so big …so heavy.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m sorry, I know. I just … I don’t want to let you go–”

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t let me go.”

His expression breaks. Because he knows. And you know. He’s not really letting you go. Not all the way. He’s still pressing his weight into you, even as he tries not to. Because he needs to. Because letting go means losing you, even just for a second.

He doesn’t know what takes over him, he grabs your hands and pins them above your head. Watching you sob, moan, eyes rolling back, skin already bruising in multiple places by his grip. He’s not like this. He should be apologizing. Begging. But you just feel so damn good.

And you like it, god you love it.

“I–I love it when you fuck me like this,” you confess, voice barely above a whisper, dumb smile on your face as he hits that spot repeatedly. “I just- I can’t…”

“I know darling, I know … just a little more,” he groans. “One more please. You can take it …you’re doing so good.” He soothes, but he can’t slow down, not when you’re clenching him like that.

He picks up the pace.

“C-Clark … please, I’m gonna-“

“I’ve got you, darling …I’ve got you, let yourself go for me.”

You see white this time. You’re not even moaning anymore. Just gasping. Twitching. Letting him take what he needs because you want to. Because this is Clark, your Clark, and you’d give him your whole body a thousand times if he needed it.

And he does.

He fucks you like you’re his last breath.

Even after you’re wrecked, limp, twitching … he keeps going.

You don’t even remember the next time he finishes. Or the time after that. Or where it happened. Your body is a mess, trembling and raw and wet and full. Marked. Praised.

All while he keeps saying, “Just one more … just let me stay inside you a little longer… please sweetheart, I’m still hard I know you can take it … this is the last time I promise…”

Again and again. You’ve never heard him lie so much before.

Yet still, with your hair splayed, legs shaking, literal tears leaking from the corners of your eyes from the pleasure, the pain, the strain, the goddamn pollen he pumps into your body every time he comes…

You are having the time of your life being drunk on his cock.

“Fuck me harder.”

You beg, even when you can’t feel it anymore. Maybe that’s why you need it harder … deeper.

And because you knew that once he came back to normal he wouldn’t fuck you like this again. And he makes sure to let you know.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry I’m hurting you. I just need you so fucking much … I love you I love you I love you—”

You just nod, because it hurts embarrassingly good.

You lose count of how many times he comes in total. How many times you come. You only know time’s passed when the sky starts to lighten outside your broken window, and Clark is rocking into you so slowly it’s more like he’s just holding you in place, his mouth pressed to your shoulder, whispering thank you with every lazy thrust.

By the time he finally slows down, finally wears the substance out of his body after dumping it all inside you … you can’t move. You’re limp in his arms, boneless and dripping and his.

Your bed feels incredibly soft in contrast to all the spots he fucked you on last night.

You’re draped across his chest, tracing the muscles under his bare skin. His fingers are in your hair. Barely moving, just tracing small patterns. Soothing you like he didn’t cause all the pain in your body.

You’re still trembling a little. Just from… after. Your body’s still echoing with everything he gave you. Everything he took.

Worth it.

Clark kisses your temple. He hasn’t stopped kissing you every few minutes. It’s like he’s trying to apologize without saying it. Like he’s trying to prove that he’s still the man you love, the man who flinches when he bumps your head by accident, who picks you flowers and gets flustered when you kiss him in public. The one who always put you first in bed.

Not the one who just broke the sound barrier flying to your apartment because his cock told him to.

“…I broke your window,” he finally breaks the silence, a chuckle makes his chest vibrate against your ear.

“Clark … you broke a lot more than my window.”

You both start giggling … glowing. Your throat hurts, you’re sore, probably can’t even walk today or the whole week, and somehow, it feels like the safest place on Earth.

“I love you,” he whispers. “So much.”

“I know,” you whisper back. “You said it like 87 times while destroying me.”

⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆

I created a blog dedicated to Superman, where I’ll be posting my writing for him from now on 🫶🏼 so if you wanna check it out, go to -> @404superman

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