Nicole! @onlyforwoosan - Tumblr Blog

Wicked, Wild, and Yours— PT.2 ℧

Pairing: Choi San and Jung Wooyoung (Outlaw Hunter!AU) × Female Outlaw Reader (Enemies to Obsession)

Wordcount: 6.9k

Synopsis: After escaping San, days passed San and his partner Wooyoung "rescued" you from other attackers only to become their reclaimed possession. Forced into a terrifying game in the forest, you're then dragged to a hunting cabin. Within its walls, San and Wooyoung unleash relentless, brutal ownership. Do you stay, or do you leave again?

Genre: Smut, Dark Western Romance, Enemies to Lust to Something Else, Outlaw Hunter!AU

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, Rough sex, Dominant behavior, Gun violence, Knife use, Blood, Dirty talk (degrading & possessive), Overstimulation, Emotionally charged tension, Light gore (during fight scenes), threesome.

A/N: HEY. so im so sorry I havent posted in a while.. ive been busy and honestly have had no motivation.. but heres a part 2!!

A few days had passed.

The kind of days that crawled through San’s skin like splinters. The kind where time dragged on under the sun, blistering and endless, while every thought circled back to you.

The desert didn’t forget people like you.

And neither did he.

He and Wooyoung had been riding quietly for hours. The sun was long gone, replaced by the weight of desert night — cool air curling through the dry brush, the horizon silver with moonlight. The only sounds were the steady rhythm of hooves on dirt and the distant whisper of wind across rock.

San’s jaw was set, his eyes locked ahead. Every muscle in him was tight with that familiar sense — the kind of gut feeling that came with blood on the air and a trail still faintly warm.

“Still think she’s nearby?” Wooyoung’s voice was low, muffled slightly by the scarf tied around his face to cut the dust. “You’ve been saying that for two days.”

San didn’t look at him. “I’m not wrong.”

“Sure you’re not. That instinct of yours is batting a thousand this week.” Wooyoung kicked a small rock with his boot as they slowed their horses near a ridge. “Could’ve fooled me.”

San reined his horse in suddenly. He saw it — just beyond the brush, tucked in a break between two shallow hills — a faint flicker of orange licking against the blue dark. A campfire. Small. Controlled. Quiet.

But it was the silhouette near it that stopped his heart.

A figure sat low to the ground, a little slouched, like they’d been riding too long or hadn’t eaten enough. They were turning something over in their hand — a blade, maybe, reflecting the firelight in lazy flicks. A single saddlebag leaned up against a log nearby. A coat slung across one shoulder.

San recognized the curve of your spine before he ever saw your face.

He slid off his horse without a word.

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow and dismounted beside him, glancing toward the campfire. “That her?”

San only nodded once.

“Shit,” Wooyoung muttered, then gave a dry grin. “You really are a bloodhound.”

The two of them moved slowly, quietly, boots light on the earth. They didn’t bother calling out. Didn’t announce themselves. San wanted to see what you did when you thought you were alone.

And you did look alone.

But he should’ve known better.

The first shadow moved in the corner of his vision — too far left, crouched low behind a brush. Then another. Then two more. San stopped short, eyes narrowing.

There were six.

They were surrounding the fire, stepping out in slow, confident strides like they’d planned it all. One of them — broad-shouldered and grinning like a wolf — lifted a hand in mock greeting.

“Well, well,” the man called out, cocking his head toward you. “Was wonderin’ when you’d stop long enough to catch.”

You didn’t flinch. San could see it from his angle — how your shoulders shifted, tensing, your fingers curling tighter around the knife in your lap.

Another hunter chuckled, stepping beside the first. “Looks like you’re wounded too. Shit luck. Guess it saves us a struggle.”

You stood slowly, and even at this distance, San could see the limp, faint but there. Left side dragging, bandage visible beneath your coat. You were trying not to show it, but it was there.

That was all they needed.

One of them surged forward, grabbing for you, but you moved fast — the blade in your hand slicing upward across his forearm. He stumbled back with a curse, blood already dripping. You spun, kicking the next man in the gut, but your step faltered.

You were fast, still deadly — but not at full strength.

The third man slammed the butt of his rifle into your side. You crumpled halfway, catching yourself with one hand in the dirt, breath knocked from your lungs.

San didn’t hesitate. His revolver was out, raised, and barking a shot through the quiet.

The first man — the big one—jerked backward as the bullet punched through his collarbone, dropping him in a heap. The rest turned as Wooyoung opened fire too, twin pistols spitting lead through the brush.

“Go for the one on her left!” Wooyoung barked, moving like smoke around the outer edge.

San didn’t answer. He was already moving.

The clearing erupted — gunshots and shouts and the thud of boots scattering across the dirt. San caught the second man in the stomach with a knife and followed it up with a pistol shot to the knee. He fell screaming, grasping at the gory mess of his leg.

Wooyoung dropped a third with a single bullet between the eyes, blood spraying across the stones behind him.

But the others weren’t done. One tackled San from behind, dragging him to the ground. They rolled, struggling, fists slamming into bone and grit. San took a punch to the mouth and spat blood, then slammed his elbow into the man’s nose, shattering it with a sick crunch. He rolled, grabbed the man’s knife, and buried it under his chin.

More gunshots cracked. The air reeked of smoke and metal.

You were back on your feet now, knife in hand again, blood streaking your sleeve. You caught one of the remaining hunters in the ribs and shoved him into the fire. He screamed as his coat lit up, flailing, tumbling into the brush.

But then two more were on you.

You tried to twist away, but one grabbed your wrists, pinning them behind you, and the other slammed the barrel of a pistol against your temple.

San’s blood turned to ice.

He stopped mid-step, saw the panic flash in your eyes. You were frozen. And not in rage. Not in defiance. But in fear. That raw, silent kind.

You never looked scared.

Not until now.

“Drop your weapons,” the man barked at San. “Or we kill her.”

San’s gun lowered. His other hand opened.

Wooyoung cursed. “San, don’t—”

“She’s not dying tonight,” San snapped.

“Neither are you,” Wooyoung growled, already repositioning behind a fallen log.

Your eyes met San’s, then — blood dripping from your cheek, chest heaving. And something shifted.

In a blink, you dropped your weight, slamming your heel into the man’s shin. He shouted, faltering. You twisted free and went for your knife again. The second man’s grip faltered just enough for San to rush forward, tackling him, fists pounding into bone and flesh with blinding force.

You and the last hunter grappled. He tried to raise his gun again, but you drove your blade into his neck, twisting, blood spurting hot across your arm. He dropped hard, choking.

San dropped his attacker a second later, breathing ragged, chest heaving.

And then it was quiet.

Nothing but fire crackling and blood cooling on the dirt.

You stood shaking, blade still in hand, shoulders smeared red. Your breath came in short, hard bursts, eyes still wild.

San stepped toward you, slowly. He looked you up and down — at the cuts, the bruises, the red soaking your shirt.

“You alright?”

You didn’t answer. Just stared at him.

His voice dropped lower, rougher now. “I told you you shouldn’t have run.”

Your lips curled — blood drying at the edge of your mouth, firelight dancing in your eyes. That wild spark had returned.

“Maybe,” you said, breathing hard, “I wanted you to catch me.”

The fire still crackled behind you, casting long shadows across the trees, but the blood on the dirt had already started to cool.

You stood between them — San and Wooyoung — both of them stained from the fight, their shirts rumpled, faces half-lit by flame. They weren’t even breathing hard anymore. Calm. Steady. Focused.

Both of them looked at you like you were prey again.

But this time, it wasn’t for a bounty.

San cocked his head, one corner of his mouth lifting in a lazy smirk. "You planning on running again, sweetheart?"

Wooyoung stepped beside him, brows raised. “You always this difficult, or is it just for us?”

The air felt heavier suddenly. The silence that followed was thick, like the calm before another storm — except this time it wasn’t gunpowder in the air, but something hotter. Darker.

You smiled.

And tilted your head just slightly. “What if I am?”

San’s smirk deepened. Wooyoung’s eyes gleamed.

You took a single step backward, lifting your chin. “You said if you found me, I’d stay. But…”

Your tone dropped to a purr. “Didn’t say I’d make it easy.”

Then you turned and ran.

You didn’t wait to see their reactions. Didn’t need to. You heard it — the sound of boots scraping against dirt, Wooyoung’s voice behind you.

“Oh, she wants to play.”

You darted into the trees, heart pounding, lungs full of sharp, cold air. The firelight faded behind you as the forest swallowed you whole. Branches whipped past your arms, dry leaves cracking underfoot, and the shadows grew thicker the deeper you pushed.

It was just a game. You told yourself that.

But after five minutes of weaving between trees and ducking under low-hanging limbs, you slowed.

After ten, you stopped altogether.

There was no sound. Not even the crunch of leaves or a bird overhead. Just stillness. Moonlight streamed down in fractured beams through the tall pines, and the firelight was just a faint glow now—barely more than a memory.

You turned slowly, scanning the trees.

No footsteps. No voices.

Nothing. The silence made your skin prickle.

Your body buzzed, adrenaline and something hotter twisting together deep in your belly. You pressed your back to a tree, trying to still your breath. You could feel your pulse in your throat, your wrists, and between your legs.

A branch snapped to your right.

You spun, heart slamming against your ribs.

But there was no one.

Another soft sound behind you — like breath. Low, amused.

Still no one.

You started walking again, slower this time, your hand brushing the tree bark for balance.

Then a voice, deep and smooth, echoed out behind you: “Thought you said you’d stay if we found you.”

You spun again — and this time San was there.

He stepped out from the shadows like he’d always been part of them, eyes glinting in the moonlight. He didn’t give you time to react. One arm wrapped tight around your waist, the other clamping gently over your mouth, muffling the soft gasp that escaped your lips.

His body pressed flush against your back, chest to your spine, hard muscle pinning you to the rough bark of the tree. You could feel him — all of him — pressed against you.

Especially that.

“Look what I caught,” he murmured against your ear. His voice was low, teasing, dangerous.

His hand slid down from your waist, fingers tightening against your hip as he pulled you harder against him. His cock strained against his pants, unmistakable, and he made no effort to hide it.

“You scared yet?” he whispered. “Or is that just you shaking for me?”

Before you could mumble anything against his palm, another voice cut in from the dark ahead.

Wooyoung.

He stepped into the clearing with a wicked grin, one hand lazily resting on the hilt of his knife, the other hanging loose by his side.

“Well, look at this.” He tilted his head, taking in the sight of you squirming against San’s chest, breath heavy, thighs pressed together. “Tried to run, but got yourself caught anyway.”

You glared at him over San’s hand, your cheeks burning. His grin only widened.

“Maybe we should teach her what happens when she plays hard to get.”

San leaned into your ear again, voice darker now. “Think we should let Wooyoung have a taste?”

Your eyes widened slightly, and your breath hitched — not from fear, but from that deep, dangerous excitement curling low in your stomach.

San felt it.

He always did.

He hummed low, pleased. “I think that’s a yes.”

He let his hand slide from your mouth, slow, letting you breathe again — but he didn’t let go of your body.

Wooyoung was already stepping closer, his gloved hand brushing your chin, tilting your face toward him.

“You gonna be a good girl this time?” he asked softly. “Or are you gonna make us chase you again?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

His hand dipped lower, fingers grazing the hem of your skirt — and you felt it before you even heard it: the sharp rip of fabric, sudden and final, your panties torn away in one quick pull.

You gasped, grabbing at San’s wrist behind you, but he only chuckled, lips brushing your neck.

“You’re ours now,” he growled. “And we’re not letting you run again.”

San’s grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into the soft give of your flesh as he dragged you backward, away from the tree. The forest floor crunched under his boots, the cold air biting at your exposed thighs where Wooyoung’s blade had torn through fabric. You barely registered the sting of scraped knees when San forced you down, your palms slamming into damp earth and rotting leaves. He knelt behind you, his breath hot on the nape of your neck as he leaned close.

“Still think this is a game?” he growled, calloused hands sliding up your bare thighs, pushing what remained of your skirt higher. The night air kissed your ass, your cunt, and you shuddered—part humiliation, part anticipation.

Wooyoung’s laugh cut through the dark, sharp and bright as the knife he twirled between his fingers. You looked up to find him crouching in front of you, the shredded lace of your panties dangling from his fist. He brought the fabric to his face, inhaling deeply, his eyelids fluttering. “Fuck, San,” he purred, thumb brushing over the damp spot at the center. “She’s soaked from running. Bet she’s been aching for this since we cornered her.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but Wooyoung pressed the ruined lace to your lips, silencing you with the salt-sweet tang of your own arousal. “Suck,” he ordered, his voice dropping to a velvet-edged command. When you hesitated, he tangled his free hand in your hair, yanking your head back. “Suck. Or I’ll let San ruin you raw.”

You obeyed, your tongue darting out to drag the fabric into your mouth. The taste of yourself—musky, desperate—flooded your senses as Wooyoung’s thumb stroked your bottom lip. Above you, San chuckled, a low, dangerous sound that vibrated through his chest and into yours as he leaned over your back.

“Look at her,” he murmured, his cock sliding heavy and insistent between your thighs, smearing precum against your skin. “All that fire, and she’s still just a hungry little thing.”

Wooyoung’s gaze locked with yours as he unbuckled his belt, the leather sliding free with a serpentine hiss. “Open wider,” he said, pressing the head of his cock to your spit-slick lips. “And don’t you dare fucking bite.”

You took him in, the stretch of your jaw burning as he thrust deep, his groan mingling with the wet sound of your gagging. Behind you, San spat into his palm, the crude slickness of it catching the moonlight before he dragged his fingers through your folds. You jerked forward, impaling yourself further on Wooyoung’s length, as San’s thumb found your clit and pressed—hard.

“Fuck—” The word vibrated around Wooyoung’s cock, and he grinned, tilting his hips to fuck deeper into your throat.

“That’s it,” San murmured, his other hand spreading you open, the blunt head of his cock nudging against your entrance. “Take him. Take me.”

He sheathed himself in one brutal thrust, the stretch bordering on pain as he split you open. You screamed, the sound muffled by Wooyoung’s hips, your nails clawing at the forest floor. San didn’t pause, didn’t gentle—he set a punishing rhythm, each snap of his hips slamming you forward onto Wooyoung’s cock until tears streaked your cheeks.

Wooyoung pulled out just long enough to let you gasp for air, his thumb swiping at your tears. “Look at you,” he cooed, voice honeyed and cruel. “Choking on my dick while San fucks you like a stray. You love it, don’t you? Love being our little ruin.”

You didn’t answer—couldn’t—as San’s hand fisted in your hair, forcing your spine into a brutal arch. “Answer him,” he snarled, his pace never faltering, the slap of skin echoing through the trees.

“Yes—” you choked out, the admission tearing loose as San’s cock hit that deep, molten place inside you. “Yes, I love it—”

Wooyoung’s grin turned feral. He shoved back into your mouth, his fingers tightening like a vise in your hair. “Good girl. Now beg for it.”

And you did. You begged around his cock, your broken pleas swallowed by his thrusts. You begged when San’s fingers found your clit again, rubbing rough circles that had your thighs shaking. You begged as the coil in your gut tightened, as Wooyoung’s breath hitched, as San’s growls turned ragged and animal.

When release ripped through you, it felt like being flayed alive—your cunt clamping around San’s cock, your throat working desperately to swallow Wooyoung’s spend as he came with a curse. San followed, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he spilled inside you, his groan a primal thing that sent birds scattering from the trees.

You collapsed forward, Wooyoung’s softening cock slipping from your lips as San withdrew, his cum trickling down your thighs. For a moment, the only sounds were your ragged breaths and the distant crackle of the dying fire.

Then Wooyoung crouched in front of you, tilting your chin up with his knife. His eyes glinted in the moonlight, hungry and endless.

“Run again tomorrow,” he whispered, dragging the blade lightly over your cheek. “We’ll always catch you.”

The forest held its breath.

San’s teeth stayed buried in your shoulder as he rode out his climax, his grip on your hips hard enough to bruise. You could feel his pulse thundering through his cock, every twitch of his spent length inside you wringing a whimper from your raw throat. Wooyoung watched with rapt attention as San finally pulled out, his cum streaking your trembling thighs. He dragged a gloved finger through the mess, holding it up to the moonlight like a priest inspecting sacrament.

“Disgusting,” he murmured, though his smirk betrayed him as he sucked the finger clean. “You’d let him ruin you like this again, wouldn’t you?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your body felt flayed open, every nerve alight, the cold night air stinging where sweat and spit slicked your skin. San chuckled darkly, his hand sliding up your spine to fist in your hair. He yanked your head back, forcing you to meet Wooyoung’s gaze.

“She’s not done,” San growled. “Look at her eyes. Still hungry.”

Wooyoung tilted his head, moonlight catching the edge of his knife as he traced it down your sternum. “Should we feed her, then?”

The blade dipped lower, cold steel skating over your heaving stomach. You flinched as it reached the apex of your thighs—but he flipped the knife, pressing the polished obsidian hilt against your clit instead. You jerked, a broken sound escaping as he began rolling it in slow, torturous circles.

“Beg properly this time,” Wooyoung said, his voice sweet as poisoned wine. “Tell us what you want.”

San’s free hand found your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur at the edges. “Details,” he added. “Or I’ll leave you here, dripping and desperate, for the wolves to find.”

You choked out a sob, the dual sensations of Wooyoung’s cruel pressure and San’s threatening grip fracturing your resolve. “I want—fuck—I want you both. Again. Harder. I want—”

Wooyoung increased the pressure, the hilt’s intricate carvings biting into sensitive flesh. “Louder.”

“I want San to fuck me until I can’t walk!” The words tore from you, ragged and raw. “I want your cock in my mouth until I choke! I want—oh god—I want to be yours!”

The forest erupted.

San released your hair only to flip you onto your back, your shoulders grinding into the dirt as he hauled your hips up. Wooyoung’s knife clattered to the ground, replaced by his hand fisting in your hair, dragging your face toward his half-hard cock. “Clean me,” he ordered, shoving himself past your lips. “Work for it.”

San didn’t give you time to adjust. He slammed back into you, the stretch now a white-hot ache that bordered on agony. You screamed around Wooyoung’s girth, your nails clawing at his thighs as San set a brutal pace, each thrust jolting you up Wooyoung’s length. The younger man groaned, his free hand pawing at his chest, tearing his shirt open to expose the sweat-slick planes of his torso.

“Look at her,” Wooyoung gasped, grinding his cock deeper into your throat. “Taking us like she was made for it. Bet she’d let us break her.”

San’s only response was a feral snarl, his hands leaving bruises on your hips as he pistoned into you. The angle shifted, his cockhead now slamming against your cervix with every snap of his hips. You thrashed, tears and drool slicking Wooyoung’s base, your muffled screams echoing through the pines.

“Shh, shh,” Wooyoung cooed, petting your hair even as he fucked your face. “You wanted this, remember? Wanted us to turn you into our pretty little ruin.”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The world narrowed to the slap of skin, the copper tang of blood where Wooyoung’s zipper split your lip, the burn of San stretching you too full, too deep. Your body betrayed you, clenching around San’s cock as another orgasm built—a traitorous, shameful wave cresting despite the overstimulation.

San felt it. Of course he did.

“Gonna come?” he mocked, his voice guttural. “Again? Like the greedy slut you are?”

You nodded desperately, your eyes pleading. Wooyoung laughed, high and unhinged, as he pulled out just enough to let you gasp, “Please—please—”

San stilled.

The sudden absence of movement was worse than the brutality. You whimpered, hips stuttering, trying to chase the friction. San tutted, his thumb finding your clit and pressing down—hard.

“No,” he said simply.

Wooyoung’s grin widened. “Not until you earn it.”

You sobbed, the coiled tension in your gut pulled taut enough to snap. San leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “Crawl,” he whispered. “Crawl to me on your knees, and maybe I’ll let you come.”

He withdrew completely, leaving you gaping and empty. Wooyoung stepped back, tucking himself away with a wink. “Better hurry. San’s patience is…fleeting.”

You scrambled, twigs and stones biting into your palms as you crawled through the dirt. San stood near the remnants of the fire, his silhouette haloed by embers, stroking himself with lazy indifference.

“Pathetic,” he murmured as you reached him, your cheek pressing to his thigh. “You’d really debase yourself for a taste?”

You didn’t hesitate. You took him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, your tongue swirling around his head. Above you, San hissed, his fingers tangling in your hair. “Fucking insatiable,” he growled, thrusting into your throat.

Wooyoung appeared behind you, his hands roaming your bare back, your ass. “Think she’s learned her lesson?”

San’s hips stuttered, his cock swelling on your tongue. “Doubt it.”

The younger man hummed, his fingers trailing through your slick folds from behind. “Maybe she needs a reminder.”

He sheathed himself in one smooth thrust, the stretch bordering on obscene as he filled you from behind. You gagged around San’s length, your body arching between them like a bowstring. Wooyoung set a merciless rhythm, his hips slamming against your ass, each drive forward forcing San deeper into your throat.

San’s grip turned punishing. “Swallow me,” he ordered. “Every drop.”

You obeyed, even as Wooyoung’s pace turned erratic, even as your vision spotted, even as your body convulsed between them—a puppet with its strings cut. They used you ruthlessly, chasing their own release, until San’s groan echoed through the clearing and Wooyoung’s teeth found the juncture of your neck.

When they finally pulled away, you collapsed into the dirt, a twitching, gasping mess. San crouched beside you, tilting your face toward him with the tip of his knife. “Still think you can run?”

You shook your head, tears cutting tracks through the grime on your cheeks.

He smiled—a true, chilling smile—and wiped the blade clean on your thigh. “Good.”

Wooyoung hauled you up by the arm, his touch almost gentle as he draped his coat over your shoulders. “Don’t look so broken, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “The fun’s just starting.”

San’s arms locked around your waist before you could collapse, hauling you upright like you weighed nothing. Your legs, limp and heavy, barely responded — muscles reduced to useless thread after the chase, after what they did to you beneath the trees. The forest floor spun under your feet. You’d run until your lungs burned, and they still caught you like it was nothing.

“Careful,” San muttered, voice low near your ear, his breath warm against your temple.

Wooyoung circled from the left, slow and smug, like a wolf after a kill that was still twitching. His steps were deliberate, too quiet for the amount of weight in them, and his eyes were still shining with a kind of afterglow — not from the firelight, but from the way you’d broken apart for them against that rough pine bark.

“Pathetic,” he said, glancing down at your trembling legs and the deep finger-shaped bruises already forming along your thighs. “Can’t even stand after a little fun?”

You lifted your chin, tasted iron as your lip split wider, and spat blood onto the pine needles. It splattered close to his boots, hot and defiant.

“Go to hell.”

Wooyoung only grinned wider.

San’s chest moved under your weight as he chuckled, low and hoarse. “Already there, sweetheart.” Without warning, he hoisted you over his shoulder in one smooth, brutal motion. Your ribs protested as they collided with the hard plane of his shoulder, and your hands scrabbled instinctively for something to hold onto — the strap of his gear, the edge of his coat.

“Hold on or don’t,” he added, adjusting his grip on the back of your thighs. “Either way, you’re coming.”

The world blurred sideways. Cold air slapped your bare skin where your clothes had been ruined. You gritted your teeth against the motion, the soreness, the humiliation of being hauled like you were spoils of war. But part of you knew this wasn’t defeat.

Not really.

You just didn’t know what it was yet.

Wooyoung trailed behind San, whistling — something tuneless, sharp, irritating. A sound that felt like it came from somewhere too old and wild for the trail. You lifted your head a little, enough to glimpse his profile in the moonlight. He was twirling a pinecone between his fingers, bored and amused.

“Where…?” you rasped, throat raw.

Wooyoung grinned and gave you a wink. “Cabin.”

Your fingers curled tighter into San’s coat.

“Not mine,” Wooyoung added with a lazy shrug, tossing the pinecone into the dark. “Just a little place we use when the hunting’s good.”

His grin sharpened, voice dropping to something lower, closer to a growl. “And you? You’re the best catch we’ve had in years.”

Eventually, the woods thinned. Moss overtook the earth, and the trees bowed lower, older, until a small structure emerged from the shadows — crooked, half-swallowed by ivy, the wood dark with age and rot. It didn’t look like a place anyone lived. No chimney smoke. No lanterns. No footprints.

It looked like a trap.

San kicked the door open with his boot. Inside was worse than the outside — musty, dim, the floor warped in places, and the air heavy with mildew and old ash. He dropped you onto a low wooden frame in the center of the room — no mattress, just rough boards and a torn quilt that smelled like damp moss and old leather.

You hit it hard, ribs flaring, but you pushed yourself back quickly, dragging yourself away from them until your spine pressed to the wall. You could barely breathe, blood pounding in your ears. Your fingers scraped against the cracked plaster behind you, searching for something to grip, some anchor.

“Please…” The word came out raw. Your voice was shaking. “Don’t.”

San didn’t hesitate. He moved like a machine, like the sound of pleading didn’t register. His hand wrapped around your ankle and dragged you forward again, effortlessly, until your hips were at the edge of the frame. You kicked once, weak, and he caught your other leg.

“You lost ‘don’t’ privileges the second you ran,” he said, low and unflinching.

His knife came out, the blade gleaming dully in the moonlight filtering through the dusty windows. He slid it up your shirt without a word, the tip gliding cold against your sternum before he sliced the fabric open with practiced ease.

“Stay,” he ordered.

Behind him, Wooyoung turned to bar the door — using a rusted shovel wedged between two loops of exposed beam. When he turned back, there was something hungrier in his gaze. Something less playful.

He climbed up onto the frame, straddling your chest with his knees on either side of your ribs, forcing your back against the broken wood. His hands pressed to your throat — not choking, but holding, feeling the pulse jump wildly beneath your skin.

“Open.”

You turned your face away.

Wooyoung exhaled, disappointed. “Hard way it is.”

He gripped your hair and jerked your head back until your jaw cracked. His hand moved fast, a slap snapping across your cheek, making your vision flash white for a second.

“Open.”

Tears stung, involuntary, but your mouth parted. And Wooyoung rewarded you with a low groan that made your spine stiffen.

San’s hands spread your thighs wider. His mouth was suddenly there, kissing bruises, licking blood and sweat from your skin like it was sacrament. He sucked your clit into his mouth with maddening slowness while Wooyoung rocked against your lips, holding your head in both hands like you were the only thing grounding him.

Your body was nothing but friction and heat and overstimulation, your mind fracturing under the weight of it. You arched, moaned, choked — and San’s fingers curled inside you with ruthless precision.

“She’s still tight as a damn vice,” he muttered against your inner thigh, and it sounded like reverence.

Wooyoung groaned and pulled back, a line of saliva trailing from your mouth to his tip. “Let me in.”

San looked up sharply. “What?”

Wooyoung’s grin was vicious. “Both of us. Same time.”

You froze.

The air cracked with silence.

Then San’s expression changed — not refusal, not resistance. Just hunger.

It hurt. The stretch was unreal. San entered you first, his hips grinding into yours until you could barely breathe around the fullness. And then Wooyoung pressed in behind him — slower, with a hand between your shoulders as if to keep you from running again, even now.

Their cocks shifted together inside you, the pressure unbearable, the tightness blinding. You couldn’t scream. You could only take it — gasping for every ounce of breath between the panting and the pounding and the sound of your name broken between their teeth.

“Breathe,” San ordered, one hand flat on your stomach to keep you still, thumb stroking slow circles as you trembled.

Wooyoung bit your shoulder. “Taking us like you were made for this.”

You shattered.

The orgasm hit hard, dragging your body down with it, and your scream tore from your throat — a sound that made San curse and rut deeper, coming hard inside you as Wooyoung followed with a growl and a thrust that made your vision go black at the edges.

They stayed inside you for a long moment, pressed tight to you, bodies still twitching with the aftershocks, until your entire body began to tremble from the oversensitivity.

Your scream tore through the damp air, raw and desperate, as you clawed at San’s sweat-slicked shoulders. “F-fuck!” The curse ripped from your throat, more plea than defiance, swallowed instantly by the relentless, wet slap of skin on skin and their ragged breaths. Oversensitivity had become a white-hot brand inside you, every shift, every thrust sending jolts of agonizing sensation up your spine. Yet they didn’t stop. San drove into you with the same brutal, piston-like rhythm, his eyes locked on your face, watching the tears track through the grime on your cheeks. Wooyoung’s grip on your hips was iron, fingers digging deep into flesh as he pulled you back onto him, grinding deeper with a low, possessive growl that vibrated through your bones.

"Little late for protests," Wooyoung rasped, his breath hot against your ear. He nipped the lobe, sending a fresh shiver of unwanted sensation through you. "Just take it. Feels too damn good to stop."

San’s hand slid from your stomach, smearing sweat and your own slickness, and fisted in your hair instead. He wrenched your head back, forcing your spine into a painful arch. "Hold still," he commanded, his voice thick. The change in angle made him sink impossibly deeper, drawing a choked sob from you. Wooyung adjusted behind him, his thrusts becoming shorter, sharper, focused on grinding against that spot that made your vision pulse with darkness even as your body betrayed you, clenching helplessly around their invasion.

Too much. Too full. Too hot. The words screamed silently in your skull. Your legs trembled violently, threatening to buckle beneath the onslaught. Just as the unbearable pressure inside you threatened to crack your consciousness entirely, San shifted.

His hand in your hair tightened, pulling upwards. "Up," he grunted. Wooyoung understood instantly. His bruising grip on your hips lifted, helping San haul your limp, trembling body upwards, away from the rough wooden frame. Your knees hit the cold, warped floorboards hard, the impact jarring. Before you could collapse, San shoved your shoulders down. Your cheek scraped against the rough, musty quilt still clinging to the frame, the smell of damp moss and old leather filling your nostrils. Your backside was lifted, exposed, utterly vulnerable.

"Better," San murmured, the sound darkly satisfied. His calloused hands spread your thighs wider, his thumbs digging into the tender flesh of your inner thighs. He didn’t re-enter you immediately. Instead, he ran the blunt head of his cock along your soaked slit, coated with their mixed release and your own traitorous slickness, teasing the swollen, oversensitive entrance. The friction was exquisite torture.

Wooyoung didn’t wait. He stepped forward, his hands replacing San’s on your hips, fingers sinking into the bruises already forming. "Missed this view," he purred, his voice dropping into a predatory rumble. With no preamble, no gentleness, he sheathed himself inside you in one hard, deep thrust from behind. The angle was different, harsher, hitting places that hadn’t been touched before. You cried out, the sound muffled against the quilt, your fingers scrabbling uselessly at the rough wood beneath.

San watched for a moment, his gaze burning over Wooyoung’s back where he moved against you, then down to where Wooyoung disappeared inside your body. Hunger, raw and unchecked, flared in his eyes again. He spat into his palm, slicked himself roughly, and then pressed the thick head of his cock against your other entrance. The pressure was immense, alien, terrifying.

"No," you whimpered, the word barely audible, lost in the creak of the floorboards and Wooyoung’s low groans. "Please, San… not there…"

"Shhh," San murmured, but it held no comfort. It was the sound of a predator calming its prey. His other hand pressed firmly against the small of your back, pinning you in place for Wooyung’s thrusts. "Just relax." The command was absurd. He pushed. The initial stretch was a searing, tearing agony that ripped a ragged scream from your throat. You felt impossibly split open, stretched beyond capacity as San forced his way in behind Wooyoung. The pressure inside you was catastrophic, a crushing fullness that stole your breath and blurred your vision. They were both huge, thick, and the combined invasion felt like it would tear you apart.

"Fuck, yes," Wooyoung gasped, his rhythm faltering for a second as San seated himself fully, pressed tight against him, both buried deep within you. The sensation of them both moving, grinding against each other inside you, was maddening. Wooyoung began to thrust again, shallow and hard, his hips slamming against your raised backside. San followed, his movements slower, more deliberate, grinding deep rather than pulling out far, maximizing the friction, the stretch, the sheer overwhelming occupancy of your body.

They found a brutal, disjointed rhythm. Wooyung’s sharp, punishing thrusts rocked you forward, only to be met by San’s deep, grinding push back. You were nothing but a vessel caught between their relentless needs, your face pressed into the filthy quilt, your body arched and presented, taking everything they gave. San’s hand slid around your hip, his fingers finding your clit again, swollen and hypersensitive. He rubbed rough, relentless circles, sending jagged bolts of unwanted, overwhelming pleasure-pain through your core, perfectly timed with Wooyoung’s deepest thrusts.

"Taking both like a fucking champ," Wooyoung panted, his voice strained with effort and dark admiration. His fingers bit into your hips hard enough to leave permanent marks. "Made for this. Fucking made for us to use."

San didn’t speak. His breathing was harsh, his focus absolute. His thumb worked your clit ruthlessly, his hips grinding deep, keeping you impaled on him while Wooyoung hammered into you from the other side. The cabin dissolved into a haze of sweat, musk, the sharp scent of sex, the groan of wood, the wet, obscene sounds of their bodies using yours, and your own broken, muffled cries against the quilt. The orgasm, when it crashed over you this time, wasn’t sharp like before. It was a deep, drowning wave of sensation, pain and unwanted pleasure indistinguishable, pulling you under as Wooyoung roared and slammed home, spilling deep inside you again. San followed seconds later, a low, guttural groan escaping him as his hips stuttered against you, his fingers pressing hard on your clit, prolonging the agonizing ecstasy until you were sobbing uncontrollably, your body convulsing around their still-pulsing cocks.

They didn’t pull out. They stayed buried, pressed deep, their heavy breaths mingling above you, their weight keeping you pinned on your knees, trembling violently, feeling utterly ravaged and impossibly full. The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the drip of condensation somewhere in the cabin and the frantic hammering of your own heart. They weren’t done. The stillness was just the eye of the storm.

It was hours later when the fire finally came to life in the old hearth, its glow stretching long shadows across the rotting walls and water-stained beams. You lay limp, half-covered by San’s coat, legs numb, skin tacky with sweat and more.

San moved through the cabin with quiet purpose, pulling old supplies from a trunk: a rag, a battered bowl of snowmelt, a tin of salve.

“Sit up,” he said.

You didn’t.

Wooyoung crouched beside you, eyebrows raised, the smirk gone for once. “You dead or just dramatic?”

When you didn’t answer, he reached out and tapped your forehead. “Don’t make me pour water on you.”

You turned your face, glare sharp despite your exhaustion.

“There she is,” he muttered, and tossed a blanket over your legs.

San returned with the bowl. “Arms.”

You moved slowly, reluctantly. He began cleaning the blood first — not speaking, not rough, just wiping you down with practiced hands. His jaw was tight, his gaze darting occasionally to your face as if to check your breathing. He didn’t speak until he reached the bite marks along your inner thighs.

“Hurt?”

You nodded.

He opened the tin of salve, the scent of herbs and lavender oddly soothing in the thick, musty air. “This’ll sting.”

It did.

You winced, and Wooyoung grabbed your hand — not gently, but steady. “Told you not to squirm.”

San was silent as he worked. When he reached your face, cupping your jaw to clean the blood from your split lip, your body recoiled without meaning to.

His hand paused.

“Still scared?” he asked softly.

“Of you?” you rasped. “Always.”

Something shifted in his face — not shame, but a crack of something beneath the surface.

He said nothing.

Wooyoung passed you a canteen, water cool and sharp against your tongue. You drank slow. Coughed. He slapped your back.

“Careful,” he muttered. “Took me an hour to melt that snow.”

San peeled an apple with his knife, offering a slice balanced on the blade. You ate it without meeting his eyes.

“Why?” you asked.

Wooyoung looked up from where he was crouched near the fire. “Why what?”

“This.” You gestured weakly to the bandaged cuts, the quiet care, the coat on your shoulders. “Why bother?”

San didn’t answer.

Wooyoung’s voice filled the silence instead. “You think we’d waste a night on someone we hated?”

San stood. Sheathed his knife. Draped his coat over your shoulder again.

“Hate’s simple,” Wooyoung said. “This… isn’t.”

You closed your eyes.

You didn’t know if you wanted to sleep.

You only knew one thing.

If you ran again — they’d find you.

And this time, you weren’t sure if you wanted to escape.

Tag list: @hwa2tiny @n1ky-chan @danedehannie @treasuretobefound @sannies-tiddies @cosmic-w0lf @aneevar88200 @yunhopper @fixx0nn @hon3ysun @vanillakisss @nayiana0 @yuyusbabygirl @laumier

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

Nicole!