gunpark who breaks into your apartment whenever he wants silent, no trace. you wake up to him already between your thighs, tongue slow and methodical, licking you awake like he’s savoring a fine whiskey. doesn’t speak until you cum on his face, then flips you over, fucks you face-down into the mattress so deep you see stars. "missed me that much? your cunt’s already crying for it."
gunpark obsessed with marking you where only he can see. bites the insides of your thighs until they’re bruised purple, sucks hickeys along your ribs, leaves handprints on your ass that last days. when you complain about hiding them, he just smirks: "then stop wearing anything i don’t approve of." next day he sends a new dress—short, backless, sheer enough that the marks peek through if you move wrong.
gunpark who treats you like a prized weapon he personally forged. keeps you collared (literal thin black leather with a silver "g" tag) under your clothes at all times. tugs the hidden chain when you’re out in public, forcing you to stifle a whimper while he orders coffee like nothing’s happening. later he yanks it hard enough to make you drop to your knees in his penthouse: "good pet. now open."
gunpark with a breeding kink that borders on obsession. never pulls out. ever. fills you deep, grinds slow after he cums to push it further in, hand pressing on your lower stomach: "feel that? that’s me claiming what’s mine." whispers filthy promises while he’s still inside: "gonna keep you swollen with my kid. no one else gets to touch what’s carrying my bloodline."
gunpark who trains your body like he trains his fighting style. edges you for hours—fingers, tongue, toys, his cock—pulling back every time you’re close. makes you hold positions (spread-eagle, on all fours, back arched) while he watches, timing how long you can last before begging. when you finally break: "that’s my girl. now take your reward." slams in raw, no prep, pounding until you squirt so hard it soaks the sheets and his abs.
gunpark who loves when you fight back—just a little. you scratch his back, bite his shoulder, try to push him off-he laughs low, dark, flips you harder, fucks you meaner. "that’s it. show me teeth. makes me want to break you more." the more you resist, the rougher he gets, until you’re sobbing his name and cumming so hard you black out for a second.
gunpark who films everything. hidden cameras in his places, your place, even the car. watches the footage later while stroking himself-slow, controlled, replaying the moment you begged or squirted or passed out on his cock. sends you clips at random: "watch how pretty you look when you’re ruined. touch yourself to it. send proof."
gunpark who chokes you during sex not for show- for control. thumb and fingers perfect around your throat, feeling your pulse race, your gasps turn ragged. gets harder when your eyes roll back, when you claw at his wrist. "say my name. louder. let the whole building know who owns this pussy."
gunpark who plays with pain and pleasure like it’s an art form. slaps your clit mid-thrust just to hear you yelp, then soothes it with his tongue. pinches your nipples until they’re raw, then sucks them gentle while pounding you slow. the contrast makes you drip- always. "pain makes the pleasure sharper. you love it, don’t lie."
gunpark who knows your body better than you do. predicts when you’re ovulating, when you’re about to cum, when you’re lying about being "fine." uses it against you: fucks you harder on your fertile days, makes you ride him until you’re shaking, whispering "gonna knock you up tonight. no excuses." gunpark who, after wrecking you completely- cum leaking down your thighs, body marked, voice hoarse- switches to cold aftercare. carries you to the bath, washes you himself, fingers gentle now. kisses your forehead, your wrists where he bruised them. "you did well. my perfect fighter." but the second you relax, he smirks: "rest. round two in ten."
⚠️ Content Warning : This story contains explicit sexual content with rough sex, coercion, ambiguous consent, power imbalance, verbal degradation, breeding threats, hair-pulling, choking implications, physical marking (bruises/hickeys), and public sex (in a car). It includes strong language and dynamics that may be triggering, especially for readers sensitive to themes of sexual violence, control, or manipulation. Please read with caution.
She doesn’t get it.
Or maybe she does, and that’s why she keeps pushing.
The rain’s loud against the windshield, but not loud enough to drown her voice when she says, “If you want it easy, go find the woman your clan’s been grooming for you.”
It’s a cheap shot. She knows it. I know it.
But it lands anyway and I feel that familiar spark—not of hurt, but of heat. Because only her would stand in my car, after everything, and throw that in my face.
It's a cheap shot. She knows it. I know it.
But it lands anyway and I feel that familiar spark—not of hurt, but of heat. Because only her would stand in my car, after everything, and throw that in my face.
“You’re being difficult.” I said, gripping the wheels.
“If you want easy,” She shot back, “go find the woman your clan's been grooming for you.”
“You think I’d let anyone else talk to me like this?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You let Dongsoo.”
That’s when I stop thinking.
The engine’s off, and my hand’s in her hair before I realize I’ve moved. Her mouth is warm, stubborn, unyielding under mine. She shoves me once, twice, and I almost let her go, but then she grabs my shirt and pulls me back like she’s starving for it.
She pisses me off.
Every. Single. Time.
And it makes me want her more. I tell her she’s mine because she is. Even like this, even with her tongue sharp enough to cut me.
Her skirt’s bunched up in my fist before she’s fully on my lap, her legs bracketing me like she belongs here. She’s warm, wet, and furious, and I’m already thinking about how I’m going to fuck the fight out of her.
Sliding into her is like hitting that first drag of a cigarette after days without—it’s instant, heavy, addictive. She gasps against my ear, but her hips push back, matching me, like she’s just as desperate.
“Ahhh, Gun ….”
The car’s moving under us, the console digging into my side, the rain making the world outside vanish. I can feel her nails through my shirt, clawing down my back, and it’s not enough. So I take her hair in my hand and make her look at me.
Look at me while you’re falling apart. Remember who does this to you.
She clenches around me and my rhythm breaks just long enough to push harder, deeper, until she’s shaking. She comes first like she always does when I’ve got her where I want her and I’m not far behind, dragging her tight against me as I spill inside her.
We’re both breathing hard, the windows fogged so thick it’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. She stays in my lap, my hands still gripping her hips like I’m afraid she’ll vanish if I let go.
“You done being difficult?”
“Not even close.”
Good.
She’s still warm around me. Still pulsing from the last orgasm, every little twitch making it harder for me to think straight.
Not that I’m trying to.
Her breath is slowing, but she hasn’t moved. Neither have I. I’ve got her pinned in my lap, her knees hooked over the seat, my cock still buried in her and I’m not letting her go.
My hands slide under her shirt, palms hot against her skin. I push it up, slow, until it’s bunched under her arms and then unclipping her bra like I’ve been waiting all night for this. Her skin’s soft, flushed, perfect under my hands and I take my time cupping her, making her squirm. She smells like jasmine and me.
“Where’d you hear it?” My voice low enough to make her lean closer to catch it. Hands still brushing against her soft breast, her hips move in sync.
And her, still catching her breath. “Hear what?”
“That bullshit about the clan’s planned bride.” My thumbs brush over her nipples, makes her body shiver. “Who told you?”
She doesn’t answer right away, so I roll my hips, slow and deep. Her head tips back, and I know I’ve got her.
“You think I’d let them choose for me?” I say. “You think anyone in that clan can stop me from marrying you if I want to?”
Her gaze snaps to mine at that, but I don’t look away. I want her to see I mean it.
Every word.
“Gun—”
“Don’t care if it’s political suicide,” I cut her off. “Don’t care if it starts a war. If I decide you’re my wife, you’re my wife.” I pull her closer, my mouth brushing her ear. “And if you still don’t believe me .…”
I push deeper, grinding into her, making her gasp. “… I’ll put a baby in you right here. Right now. And then we’ll see how anyone else dares to lay claim on you.”
Her nails bite into my shoulders, but she doesn’t tell me to stop. She’s breathing faster again, her hips shifting like she’s caught between pushing me away and pulling me closer.
“You wouldn’t—”
“I would.” My grip tightens on her thighs. “And you’d take it. Because deep down, you know I’m the only one who gets to do this to you.”
The windows are still fogged. The rain’s still hammering the roof. But inside this car, it’s just her. Flushed, bare, trembling in my lap—and me, too far gone to care about anything except making sure she knows she’s mine.
Her mouth parted, her eyes locked on mine, but she’s holding the truth like she thinks she can keep it from me. Cute. Stupid. Dangerous. Her pretty hair messy, stick with her sweat on her beautiful neck.
I shift my grip on her hips and roll mine forward. Slow. Deliberate. Deep enough to feel the way she twitches around me. Her breath hitches and I feel it—all the way through my chest.
“You’re more sensitive than usual,” I murmur, squeezing her right breast, my thumb teasing the peak while my tongue drags slow over the slick, sweat-warmed skin of her neck. “I like that … Come on, tell me—who told you? Why the hell do you have to be so stubborn right now?”
My hand slides from her thigh to the curve of her ass, gripping it hard as I lift her with ease. The obscene, wet sound of our bodies fills the car when her slick heat drips down my cock, coating me. I bit inside of my bottom lip, watching her face as I hold her there.
“… you’re staying quiet on purpose. You want me to make you talk the hard way, huh?” My voice drops, filthier. “Should we move to the back seat? Because I’ll fuck you there until you break if you keep this up.”
“Bastard—don’t say shit like that when we’re like this—ngh, ahhh .…” She squeezes her eyes shut, her fists curling in my shirt like she’s hanging on for dear life. I can feel the way she’s holding herself back from slamming her hips down to take me deep again.
Oh, naughty girl.
She loves the way my cock fills her up completely.
“Talk,” My voice rough. “Where’d you hear it?”
She shakes her head, but I see the way her lashes flutter. God, she’s so easy to read when I’m inside her.
“Fine,” I say, my mouth curving into a slow grin. “Don’t answer. But understand something—”
Another thrust, harder this time, making her grab at my shoulders. The car rocks under us, the leather squeaking, the wet slap of our bodies echoing in the tight space. I bite out, watching the way her tits bounce with every thrust. “This is how you should take me, Love.”
“Gun—” She gasps, her voice cracking on my name.
“Don’t ‘Gun’ me now, Dear,” I rasp, my breath hot against her ear. “You want to be stubborn? I’ll fuck it out of you.”
I shift, angling her just enough to grind against that spot inside her that makes her shudder. Her thighs tighten around me instantly, her nails clawing down my back.
“If I wanted you in my bed every night, there isn’t a man in that clan who could stop me. Not my subordinates. Not theirs old man. Not even you.”
Her nails dig in. “Gun, nghhh—”
“Mm, there it is.” I hum against her neck, dragging my teeth along her skin. “That voice you get when you’re trying not to beg me.”
I push in again, slower, grinding just enough to make her toes curl. “You think I wouldn’t breed you right here, just to prove I can? In this seat, windows fogged, rain drowning out the sound of you screaming my name?”
She lets out a sharp breath. Not quite a moan, but close enough to make me want to drag it out of her.
“Say it,” I tell her. “Say you know I’d do it.”
She swallows hard. “You’d … do it.”
That makes me laugh, low and satisfied. “Damn right.” I pull her down hard on me, my hands bruising her hips. “And you’d take it like good little wife you are. Wouldn’t you?”
Her glare could cut steel, but it’s ruined by the way she gasps when I roll my hips again. She’s fighting me and giving in at the same time—my favorite version of her.
“Gun .…” She warns, but it comes out shaky. I love to ruined her, making my name the only thing she can say … or moan.
I kiss her, deep, filthy, owning her mouth the way my hands own her body.
When I pull back, I rest my forehead against hers. “One day, I’m gonna fuck you with my ring on your finger and my kid in your belly, and then no one—”another hard thrust, making her gasp—“no one will even think about taking you from me.”
She’s breathing hard now, eyes glassy, her body starting to tremble in my lap. I keep moving, slow but relentless, because I know the moment she comes like this—wrapped around me, trapped in my arms—the fight will leave her.
And she’ll remember exactly who she belongs to.
I keep my hands on her hips, guiding her in slow, deep rolls that make her nails bite into my shoulders. Every little sound she makes. Every sharp inhale, every bitten-off gasp, just makes me want to push harder. And I know she don't want it slow, she want it hard and fast like how I always taking her.
She want my teeth on her shoulder, her neck. Giving her hickeys that last till days. My hand on her throat, her tits, fingers teasing her clit until she cries and beg me not to stop half-way. The only thing prevent her from being as filthy and wild as me is, she don't like having sex in front seat.
“You’re not getting out of this car,” I tell her, my voice low and rough, “until you come again. Right here. Still full of me.” The idea of her dripping wet with my sperms when she walk out of my car making me groan. She tastes divine.
She opens her mouth to argue, but it turns into a moan when I thrust up, harder, hitting that spot I know she can’t ignore.
Her head drops forward against my forehead, our breaths colliding in the small space between us. Ah, I know I can't life without this. Without her body shaking because of me, her breath touching my cold skin, and her trembling fingers try to find anything to grip before losing her mind.
“You feel that?” I grind into her, slow and deep. “That’s mine. Every twitch, every clench. You own it.” Gentle smack to her rear, her body trembling like a little leaf.
Hips moving, try to pull back, but I don’t let her. I hold her down, making her take every inch of my throbbing cock. “You keep talking about some other woman the clan wants for me?” I murmur, my lips brushing her ear. “I couldn’t even remember her face if I tried. But this .…” I squeeze her ass, pulling her tight to me and moan.
“… this is burned into my fucking head. Your velvet walls clamp down around my cock like a fucking vice. I'll pump you full of my seeds and fill this fluttering pussy.”
She lets out a shaky whimper, the kind she hates giving me because it’s too honest. I chuckle against her skin. “There she is. My Dear, when she’s honest.”
My hand finds her tits, groping the soft weight before giving the mound a rough squeeze. I pinch her nipple hard, rolling the stiff peak between my fingers until I hear that sharp little gasp I like. Then I lean in, taking it into my mouth, sucking deep while my tongue flicks over it.
She cries out, a broken sound that melts into a whimper, her back arching to give me more. Her fingers curls into my hair, she grip on it while forcing my face into her body.
Oh, I’m not even close to being done with her.
The rain’s pounding harder outside, the car rocking with each thrust. And I know she’s close. I can feel it in the way her pussy clenching, in the heat radiating between us.
“Eyes on mine when you come, Love,” I growl. My body smells exactly like her sweat and hers like mine. “So you know exactly who’s doing this to you.”
Her lips part, her eyes locking on mine, and I don’t stop. “Nghhh, ahhh … Jonggun! A-ahh …” Her body convulsed and shuddered, her pussy clenching rhythmically around my pulsing shaft as she came undone. Her juices gushed out around my cock, dripping down her thighs as she milked me for all he had.
I keep grinding into her, my grip on her hips unyielding until she shudders, her breath catching in a sound halfway between a gasp and my name like a broken radion. I smirk at the sight of her nessy condition, my head spinning.
"That's it, ... take it. Scream for me while I ruin this pussy and fill you with my cum." I growled, slamming into her harder and deeper.
She tightens around me, pulling me deeper, and that’s all it takes for me to spill into her, my forehead pressed to hers, holding her there through every wave of it.
“Ahhh, take it all.” My gripped on her ass cheeks hard enough to leave bruises as I ground against her, making certain every last drop of my release was pumped deep inside her starving body.
Later, neither of us moves. The windows are fogged, the air thick with scent of sweat and sex. You still sitting on me, keeping me inside like she doesn’t want to let go either. She's warm, perfect, and mine.
I kiss her slow, claiming. “Tell me again I should go after someone else.”
She doesn’t. So, I smile.
Giving her forehead a kiss.
“Good job, Love …”
Hello! This is the first smut I’ve ever published on Tumblr. For now, I think I’ll only be writing for Gun since he’s my favorite character xD I'm not ready to write anyone else yet.
I’m sorry if for many mistakes (OOC and anything else). English isn’t my first language, but I still hope someone out there enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it~☆
your dad would lose his fucking mind if he ever found out.
that filthy thought only made your pussy clench harder as shintaro yamazaki slammed you face-down onto the kitchen counter, cold marble biting into your cheek. his tall, lean-muscled body pinned you completely from behind, one large hand fisted tight in your hair while the other roughly yanked your shorts and soaked panties down your thighs, exposing your dripping cunt to the cool air.
“been fucking teasing me for years, huh?” he growled low and rough against your ear, voice thick with barely-held control. his usually slicked-back black hair was messy now, strands falling over sharp eyes dark with hunger. tiger tattoos rippled across his arms as he ground the thick, heavy length of his cock against your ass. “prancing around in those tiny shorts every time i visit your dad. acting all innocent while i sit there trying not to bend his little girl over and ruin her.”
you whimpered, arching your back and pushing your ass back greedily against him. “then stop holding back and fuck me already, shintaro.”
he snarled, the last bit of his yamzaki discipline shattering. he freed his cock. thick, veined, flushed dark and leaking precum from the swollen tip and dragged it through your sloppy folds, coating himself in your slick.
“so fucking wet for your dad’s best friend,” he rasped, almost angry. “this greedy little cunt’s been aching for me, hasn’t it? dripping all over the counter like a desperate slut while he’s out of town.”
without another word he slammed in, one brutal thrust that buried his thick cock to the hilt inside your tight pussy. the stretch was obscene, burning so good it punched a raw moan out of you. he was so fucking big, splitting you open, the fat head kissing deep as your walls fluttered and clenched around every inch.
“damn you’re squeezing me good,” shintaro groaned, hips flush against your ass as he gave you a second to adjust. then the restraint snapped completely.
he pulled back and started pounding you hard, deep, relentless thrusts that made the counter shake. every snap of his hips drove his cock straight into that perfect spot, the wet, filthy slap of skin on skin echoing through the quiet kitchen. your pussy made obscene squelching sounds around him, slick dripping down your thighs with every brutal stroke.
“listen to how sloppy this cunt is for me,” he growled, one hand spreading your ass so he could watch his thick cock disappear into your dripping hole over and over. “taking me so fucking deep. your dad trusts me in his house and here i am balls deep in his daughter, ruining this pretty pussy raw.”
the dirty words hit straight to your core. shame burned hot in your chest but it only made you wetter, greedier pushing back to meet every punishing thrust like you couldn’t get enough. shintaro hissed and fucked you harder, one hand snaking around to rub rough, fast circles over your swollen clit.
“that’s it. squeeze my cock just like that, you little whore. love getting railed by a man old enough to be your father, don’t you? getting your cunt stuffed full while your dad’s gone.”
your thighs started shaking violently. the pressure built fast and ugly, every deep drag of his cock pushing you closer. shintaro’s pace turned frantic, sweat dripping from his hair onto your back as he manhandled you exactly how he wanted.
“cum on my cock,” he demanded, voice dark and commanding. “milk me with this tight little pussy. show me how bad you’ve needed your dad’s best friend to fuck you stupid.”
it crashed over you hard. your orgasm ripped through you. pussy clenching and pulsing violently around his thick cock, slick gushing as a broken cry tore from your throat. your vision whited out, legs buckling while he fucked you straight through it, dragging every last flutter and spasm out of your oversensitive cunt.
“good fucking girl, mhmm just like that,” shintaro groaned, thrusts turning erratic and desperate. a few more brutal slams and he buried himself as deep as possible, cock twitching hard as thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy. he kept grinding through it, pumping every drop deep inside until it leaked out around his shaft, messy and warm down your thighs.
he stayed buried inside you for a long moment, both of you panting, bodies slick with sweat. slowly he pulled out, dark eyes watching with satisfaction as his cum dripped from your used cunt onto the floor.
shintaro turned you around, gripping your chin firmly so you had to look up at him. his thumb brushed your swollen bottom lip as he leaned in close, voice still rough with lust.
“this doesn’t end tonight,” he rasped. “next time i’m dragging you to your dad’s bed, spreading these legs wide, and fucking load after load into this greedy cunt until you’re leaking me for hours.” while he kissed you.
warnings: 18+ MDNI. rough sex, breeding, mentions of bloodshed and killing, detailed descriptions of injuries.
sprinkle hammers the rusted warehouse roof like distant gunfire, the metallic tang of old blood and wet concrete thick in the air. gun steps through the half-creaked door, his silhouette cutting sharp against the neon bleed from outside. shirt already torn away in the fight, hanging in bits and shreds from one broad shoulder before he shrugs it off completely. his skin glistens under the single swinging bulb: pale, sweat-slicked, mapped with blood trail, a long raised scar slices horizontally across his pectorals. eli’s parting gift, pinkish-white against tanned flesh. smaller cuts fan out like lightning strikes. knife grazes on his ribs, fist impacts on abs, old bullet grazes faded to silver threads. tattoos crawl over his forearms and up his biceps, coiling black dragons with crimson accents, scales sharp enough to look like they could cut, inked deep into muscle that shifts and flexes with every controlled breath. his abs contract visibly as he moves, eight distinct ridges shadowed and gleaming.
he pauses just inside, letting the door clang shut. rainwater drips from his slicked-back hair, dark strands loosening and falling forward in messy spikes. he takes his glasses off, deliberately, lenses catching the light before they clatter to the floor. the scar bridging his eyes emerges: a brutal horizontal line, jagged at the edges, framing the shift that follows. sclera floods black like spilled ink, irises ignite pure, ghostly white. his ultra instinct; the white ghost regards you now. unblinking, predatory, calm fury coiled in every line of his body.
you don’t get to speak. in three long strides he’s across the space, scarred hands clamping around your waist like iron manacles. he lifts you up effortlessly, your feet leaving the ground and slams your back against the nearest metal support beam. the cold bites through your shirt, his heat counters it instantly as he presses flush, chest to chest. that horizontal scar drags rough against your sternum through thin fabric, textured like raised cord, warm and slightly tacky from drying sweat and blood.
his mouth claims yours without any warning, lips bruising, tongue invading with the taste of copper and rain. one hand fists your hair at the nape of your neck, tilting your head back to deepen the angle. the other jerks your thighs apart, hooking one leg high around his hip. you feel every inch of him, the hard ridge of his cock straining against his pants, thick and insistent. pressing into your core through layers of cloth. his breath ghosts hot breath against your ear when he breaks the kiss.
“you watched me dismantle them,” he murmurs, voice a low, velvet rasp edged with menace. “eyes wide, thighs clenched. you were soaked before i even finished.” his thumb traces your bottom lip, smearing saliva and a faint trace of his blood.
“so pathetic. yet so beautiful.”
he rips your yukata open in one sharp motion. cool air hits your exposed skin while his calloused palm slides up your side, thumb brushing the underside of your breast before pinching the nipple hard enough to make you gasp. he smirks at the sound, dark and approving.
he grinds forward once. letting you feel the full length of him rub against your clit through damp underwear. then fingers hook the waistband, yanking it aside roughly. no teasing preamble: he frees himself with a quick flick, cock springing heavy and flushed, tip already beading. thick veins pulse along the shaft, the head nudges your entrance, slick with your arousal and his pre-cum.
he thrusts in one long, unrelenting slide. stretching you wide, walls fluttering around the intrusion. you feel every ridge, every vein dragging inside, the slight upward curve hitting deep. his scars press harder against you now: chest scar scraping sensitive skin with each shallow roll of his hips, forearm tattoos flexing visibly as he holds you pinned. the dragon ink seems to writhe in the low light, scales shifting over corded muscle.
he stills buried to the hilt, letting you adjust to the fullness, throbbing deep, stretching you to the edge of ache. his free hand wraps your throat. not to choke you. his thumb stroking the frantic pulse there possessively.
“look at me,” he commands. you obey. those black-white reversed eyes bore into yours. demonic, glowing faintly, pupils blown with lust. rain drums louder outside: inside, only ragged breaths and the wet slide of skin.
then he moves.
hard. precise. each thrust snaps forward with karate-honed control. deep, punishing, angled to grind against that swollen spot inside until your vision whites out. the beam behind you rattles with the force. his abs contract visibly against your stomach, tattoos rippling like living shadows. sweat slicks between you, making his skin glide over yours, scars catching and dragging fire with every collision.
your nails dig into his back causing him to scar a little, raking over raised welts, tracing old knife scars, feeling fresh heat bloom under your touch. he growls low in his throat, approving, hips stuttering for a split second before slamming harder.
“mark me,” he hisses against your neck, teeth grazing the tendon. “carve your claim into the ghost. i’ll return it tenfold.”
he lifts you higher. changes the angle, fucks up into you with brutal, relentless rhythm. one hand slips between your bodies: fingers finding your pussy, rubbing tight. pressure coils molten and fast, thighs trembling around his waist.
“come,” he orders, voice dropping to a demonic rasp that vibrates through your bones. “clench around my cock like you were made for it. milk your man dry. let me breed you full until you’re leaking the white ghost’s seed.”
the command shatters you. walls spasm hard, fluttering and squeezing as orgasm rips through. sharp, blinding, legs locking around him. you cry his name: he swallows it with a bruising kiss, tongue mimicking the rhythm below.
he doesn’t stop. thrusts turn erratic, hips snapping erratically. throwing a low guttural curse, sharp, primal, as he buries himself impossibly deeper. heat floods you in thick, pulsing waves: endless, overflowing, dripping down your thighs even as he stays seated.
he holds there for long minutes, breathing ragged against your collarbone. scarred fingers trace lazy, almost tender patterns along your spine. contrasting the earlier bloodshed. his eyes slowly fade. black sclera receding, white irises dimming to normal dark, scar softening in the dim light.
when he finally pulls out. slow, a thick trickle follows. he watches with dark, satisfied hunger, thumb scooping it up and pushing it back inside like sealing a vow.
he doesn’t set you down yet. instead he leans in, forehead to yours, hair falling damp and messy.
“next time,” he promises quietly, a smirk curling his blood-tinged lips, “you try to resist. see how long the oni lets you pretend.”
summary- in the brutal yamazaki clan era, you’re delivered as a 19-year-old political tribute from a defeated hangure family to seal an alliance. you’re placed directly in the private quarters of the prodigy heir, gun ( park jonggun / white ghost,)—cold, scarred, eyes that flip black-and-white. you live together from day one: sharing baths, meals, futon, patching his wounds while the clan schemes around shingen’s lethargy and shintaro’s plots. he starts distant and testing, expecting you to break like every tribute before. your defiance cracks him instead he grows obsessed, refusing other women, breaking bones of anyone who touches you, secretly training you to survive. tension snaps one bloodied night: rough claiming with throat-fucking, him eating you out on tatami, bound wrists, raw deep sex, bites/bruises as marks, creampie. he falls in his twisted way, not sweet words but violent possession: you’re his forever in the clan’s shadows. or until you can be.
warnings/tags- smut (explicit), dark yakuza setting (blood, violence, betrayal, succession wars), power imbalance / age gap feel (heir vs tribute), possessive / yandere-ish gun (obsessive claiming, "mine" mentality), rough sex, oral (m/f receiving), throat-fucking, fingering, bondage (sash), marking (bites, bruises), creampie / unprotected, light degradation mixed with twisted praise, blood/scar play (subtle), brief vulnerability/soft aftercare, no fluff romance.
word limit: 3.8k? ( idk )
the yamazaki main house looms like a fortress carved from night tatami floors stained with old blood, paper screens hiding screams, the air thick with incense and gunpowder. you’re not born into this; you’re delivered. you father, a hangure lieutenant who lost a turf skirmish, offers you as tribute to seal the alliance. "a daughter for the heir," they say. you’re 19, sharp-tongued, eyes that don’t drop when men stare. they think you’ll break easy. they don’t know you.
they bring you to the inner quarters at dusk, kimono too thin for winter, wrists bound loosely with silk cord as custom demands. the guards shove you through sliding doors into his private wing dim lanterns, low table scattered with katana sheaths and bloodied wraps. gun park/ park jonggun sits cross-legged on the raised platform, shirtless after training, fresh bruises blooming across his scarred torso. his hair falls messy over black sclera, white irises glinting like blades. he doesn’t look up at first. just wipes blood from his knuckles with a cloth.
"untie her," he says, voice flat. the guards obey, vanish. you’re alone. you stand straight, chin up. no bow. no tremble. he finally glances slow scan from your tippy toes to your face. something flickers in those reversible eyes. not lust yet. curiosity. like you’re a puzzle in a world of broken pieces.
"you’re the hangure girl.” not a question. you nod once. "they call me the unchosen one here. your tribute." a huff almost a laugh, cold. "tributes break. or run. which are you?"
"neither." your voice doesn’t waver. "i’m here because I have to be. doesn’t mean i kneel easy." he rises tall, coiled muscle, scars mapping every fight he’s won since childhood. steps close enough you smell sweat and steel on him. his hand lifts, fingers brushing your jaw, tilting your face. testing. you don’t flinch. you meet his stare. his thumb presses your lower lip, parting it slightly. "bold. stupid, maybe."
"or exactly what this clan needs," you whisper. "someone who doesn’t shatter." he studies you longer. then drops his hand. "strip. bath's through there. you stink of travel." you do slow, deliberate, letting the kimono fall. his eyes follow every inch, but he doesn’t touch. not yet. just watches like you’re prey he’s deciding to keep or kill. the bath is steaming, cedar tub in a stone room. you sink in, water hot enough to burn. minutes later, the door slides. he’s there, naked now, bruises dark against pale skin. he steps in opposite you water ripples, his legs brushing yours.
no words at first. just silence, steam, his gaze locked on you. "why me?" you ask finally. "because they sent you." simple. "and because you didn’t beg." you lean forward, water dripping from your chest. "then what do you want from your tribute?" his hand shoots out grips your wrist under water, pulls you across the tub until you’re straddling his lap. water sloshes. his cock hard already presses against your thigh.
"obedience," he says low. "survival. and maybe… something else." you rock once- testing. he groans, quiet, fingers digging into your hips. that night he doesn’t fuck you. he makes you kneel on the futon in his quarters, hands behind your back. "open." you do. he guides himself past your lips- thick, hot, tasting of salt and power. slow at first, letting you adjust, then deeper. hand in your hair, controlling rhythm. when you gag, he pauses- just long enough for you to breathe- then pushes again. "good," he mutters- the first praise. "take it like you mean it."
you do. sucking harder, tongue swirling, eyes locked on his. his breathing turns ragged, hips stuttering. he pulls out before finishing, strokes himself once, twice- comes across your chest, marking you white. "clean up," he orders. "then sleep here. my room. no one else’s."
that’s how it starts.
days blur into weeks. you don’t leave his wing. the clan assumes you’re a toy- heir’s amusement. but gun keeps you close. meals together in silence. you patch his wounds after spars, fingers steady on torn skin. he watches you sleep sometimes- eyes tracing your face like memorizing a map.
the clan whispers. shintaro eyes you during meetings-calculating. other branches send "gifts" of women. gun refuses them all. one lieutenant tries to touch your arm during a dinner. gun's hand snaps open his wrist like dry wood. "mine," he says. one word. everyone hears.
you live together now- his quarters yours. futon shared. nights he trains late, comes back bloodied. you wait- wash him, let him pin you against the wall, fuck you standing while water runs red down the drain. rough, possessive thrusts. bites on your shoulder. bruises from his grip. he never says sorry. just licks the marks after, like claiming them.
one night, after shingen’s latest lethargic haze (he barely notices the world anymore), shintaro corners you in a hallway. "the heir’s pet. useful. but pets get replaced."
you spit back: "try it. see what happens."
gun finds out. that night he drags you to the private dojo- tatami mats, moonlight through screens. he’s furious- eyes white, ultra instinct flickering.
he shoves you down. "on your knees."
you drop. but this time it’s different- hungrier. he eats you first- mouth on your cunt, tongue broad and relentless, fingers curling inside while you claw his hair. you come shaking, crying his name- "jonggun- fuck-"
he flips you onto all fours. sash from his yukata binds your wrists behind your back. he notches himself- slides in slow, stretching you. then hard. skin slapping, wet and obscene.
“you’re not a tribute,” he growls, thrusting deep. “you’re mine.”
you push back crying meeting his eyes. "then prove it."
he does- fucks you raw, hand around your throat, other rubbing your clit until you’re sobbing. bites your neck hard enough to bruise- permanent mark. when he comes, he buries deep, floods you, holds you there while you pulse around him.
after, he unties you. pulls you against his chest- rare softness. fingers trace the bite. "no one takes you. not shintaro. not the clan. not even death."
you turn, kiss his scarred jaw. "then keep me."
he does.
months pass. the betrayals escalate- somi’s shadow looms (she’s already plotting with shintaro, though you don’t know yet). gun trains harder, fights dirtier. but you? you’re his anchor. he fucks you like it’s the last time every night- deep, desperate, you whisper crying against his skin: "stay alive. for me."
he falls- not with words. with actions. pulling you from clan dinners when eyes linger too long. training you in secret so you can fight back. sleeping with his arm over you like a shield. marking you inside and out.
one dawn, after a raid leaves him bleeding, he collapses beside you. you clean him, hold him. his eyes- black sclera, white irises- meet yours.
"you’re the only thing worth this hell," he murmurs. first crack in the ice.
you kiss him slow. "then let’s burn it together."
he claims you again- gentler this time, face-to-face, eyes locked. slow rolls of his hips, your legs wrapped around him. when you come together, he stays inside, forehead to yours.
"mine," he breathes. "forever."
in the yamazaki shadows, that’s as close to love as monsters get.
and he fell- hard, violent, eternal- for you. and only you.
professor! goo kim rewards you for studying hard ⊹₊˚‧
part 1, part 2 ( 18+ nsfw! mdni )
the office door clicks shut behind you at exactly 10:03 pm. campus security already did their last sweep an hour ago. the hallway’s dead silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioning.
professor kim-goo, though you only dare call him that when he’s buried inside you-sits behind his wide oak desk like he owns the whole fucking building. which he might as well. black shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, sleeves rolled, glasses off for once so you can see the dark, hungry glint in his eyes when he looks up from the stack of papers he’s pretending to grade.
“you’re late,” he says, voice low and smooth. but the corner of his mouth twitches. he’s not mad. he’s amused.
“traffic,” you lie, already kicking the door shut with your heel. your bag hits the floor. skirt shorter than last time, thin cotton panties already clinging because you’ve been throbbing since you left your dorm thinking about this.
he leans back in his chair. spreads his thighs just enough. “come here.”
you cross the room on shaky legs. he doesn’t stand. just watches you like prey. when you’re close enough he hooks one finger in the belt loop of your skirt and yanks you between his legs.
“you brought your notes?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.
you nod. “yes, professor.”
“good girl.” his hand slides up your thigh, under the skirt, fingertips brushing the damp cotton. “but i don’t need notes tonight.”
he tugs the panties to the side. drags two fingers through your slick folds-slow, deliberate. you whimper.
“already this wet just from walking here?” he murmurs. “fuck. you’ve been thinking about my cock all day, haven’t you?”
“yes,” you breathe. “please-
“shh.” he cuts you off. stands up slow. towers over you. backs you against the desk until your ass hits the edge.
he crowds you in, one hand braced on the wood beside your hip, the other tilting your chin up.
“you need me raw tonight?” his voice drops lower. rougher. “no barriers. just me filling that needy little pussy until it’s dripping?”
your breath hitches. you nod frantically. bottom lip caught between your teeth.
he smirks. proud. a little mean. “been begging me in that pretty head of yours for weeks. haven’t you, shalini?”
“yes-please, goo, i need-
his hand shoots to your throat. not hard. just enough to make you freeze. thumb pressing right under your jaw.
“say it properly.”
you swallow. voice small and wrecked. “please… i need you inside me. raw. no condom. just you. i need to feel all of you.”
he lets out a long, slow exhale. like he’s been holding it. his cock is straining against his slacks-thick outline you can see even in the dim desk lamp light.
“you know the risk,” he says. almost gentle. “you know i could knock you up like this.”
your thighs clench at the words. you nod again. needier. “i know. i don’t care. i just-i need it. need you to fill me up. please.”
he studies you another beat. then his mouth crashes into yours-hard, filthy, tongue claiming like he’s already decided.
when he pulls back you’re both breathing ragged.
“strip,” he orders. “everything but the panties. leave those on.”
you scramble to obey. blouse off. bra gone. skirt pooling at your feet. standing there in just the thin, soaked cotton, nipples hard, skin flushed.
he doesn’t undress fully. just unbuckles his belt. unzips. shoves his slacks and boxers down enough to free his cock-thick, flushed dark, already leaking at the tip. he strokes himself once. slow. watching your eyes go wide and glassy.
“straddle me.”
he sits back in the chair. you climb onto his lap-knees bracketing his hips, panties still on. he hooks the fabric to the side again. notches the fat head right at your entrance. teases. rubs it up and down your slit until you’re whining, hips twitching.
“look at me,” he growls. your eyes snap to his.
“beg one more time.”
your voice cracks. “please, goo… please fuck me raw. i need your cock inside me. need you to stretch me, fill me, come so deep i can feel it for days. please-i’m begging.”
he groans low in his throat. then he pulls you down-slow at first, letting you feel every thick inch splitting you open with no barrier. bare. hot. overwhelming.
you gasp. head falling back. he catches your neck again. forces you to look at him while he bottoms out.
“fuck,” he hisses. “so tight like this. so fucking wet for it.”
he doesn’t let you adjust long. starts moving—slow, deep rolls of his hips that make you feel him everywhere. the drag, the stretch, the way he hits that spot that makes your toes curl.
“you feel that?” he murmurs against your throat. biting softly. “that’s me claiming you. no rubber. just my cock owning this pussy.”
you’re already trembling. hands clutching his shoulders. nails digging in.
“more,” you whimper. “harder—please-
he snaps.
grabs your hips. lifts you just enough to slam you back down. again. again. brutal rhythm that has the chair creaking, desk rattling, your moans echoing off the bookshelves.
“gonna fill you up,” he growls. “gonna pump you so full you’ll be leaking me for hours. you want that, baby? want professor kim’s cum dripping out of your greedy little cunt?”
“yes—fuck yes—please-
one hand finds your clit. rubs fast, tight circles while he pounds up into you.
“come on my cock,” he orders. “milk me. take every drop like the needy slut who begged for it raw.”
you shatter-whole body locking, back arching, crying his name as you pulse around him. clenching so hard it drags his orgasm out of him.
he buries deep. groans broken and low. hot, thick spurts flooding you-deep, so much it overflows, leaking out around his cock, soaking your thighs, his slacks.
he keeps rocking slow through it. drawing it out. making sure you feel every pulse.
when he finally stills you’re both panting. sweaty. wrecked.
he doesn’t pull out yet. just holds you there. cock softening inside you. cum slowly dripping.
fingers brush damp hair off your forehead. almost tender.
“you’re keeping every bit of me inside,” he murmurs. “no cleaning up. walk back to your dorm like this. feel me leaking out the whole way.”
your cheeks burn. but you nod. already aching at the thought.
he kisses you slow. filthy. tasting like possession.
“next week,” he whispers against your lips. “my place. overnight. bring nothing but that needy pussy.”
he finally lifts you off. sets you on shaky legs. watches his cum slide down your inner thigh with dark satisfaction.
“go,” he says. smacks your ass lightly. “before i decide to bend you over the desk again.”
you stumble to the door on jelly legs. panties crooked. thighs sticky. heart hammering.
he calls your name just as your hand hits the handle.
you turn.
he’s still seated. cock tucked away but shirt still open. looking every inch the dangerous professor who just ruined you.
“i like hearing you beg,” he says quietly. “do it again next time.”
door clicks shut.
you walk home in the dark-his cum still warm inside you, trickling with every step-already counting the seconds until you can beg him all over again.
professor! goo kim rewards you for studying hard ⊹₊˚‧
18+nsfw! MDNI. ( part 1, part 2 )
the lecture hall is pin drop silent except for your pen scribbling on your notebook. everyone else bailed ages ago. just the warm desk lamp on professor kim’s table and the faint blue from his laptop left.
goo kim. oh well he’s tall, unfairly hot, sleeves always rolled to show those sexy forearms-leans back in his chair, one ankle over the other knee, staring at you like he already knows exactly how this ends.
“you stayed to finish the entire practice set,” he says, voice low and almost bored. “all five variants. every single one correct.”
you nod, cheeks heating up. “wanted to be sure.”
his head tilts. tiniest smirk. “sure… or wanted me to notice?” your heart slams against your ribs.
he stands. his shoes tapping on the wood like they’re mocking how loud your pulse is. he closes the distance in a few quiet steps and stops right in front of you-close enough for the cedar bite of his cologne to reach you, softened by the warmer, saltier scent that’s purely him after hours of lecturing.
“open your legs.”
you went “huh?”
“you heard me ma.”
there’s something almost gentle in his voice, but the edge underneath is sharp enough to make your thighs twitch
you freeze for half a second. one eyebrow lifts. that’s enough.
you spread your thighs under the desk, skirt sliding up on its own. no tights. just thin black panties already soaked through because you’ve been aching since he said your name in roll call earlier.
he doesn’t touch you yet.
he crouches instead. his forearms on your thighs, pushing them wider with his body weight alone. face level with your lap. every breath hits the damp cotton like a tease.
“look at this fucking mess,” he murmurs, dragging one fingertip down the wet centre seam-so light it’s torture. “you solved all those problems with your cunt dripping like this? pathetic.”
a tiny, embarrassed whimper escapes before you can choke it back.
he laughs—low, dark, velvet. “there she is. let me hear how thankful you are.”
then his mouth is on you. through the fabric first. hot, wet, tongue flattening the cotton right over your clit so you feel every flick. you grip the desk edge until your knuckles hurt.
pulls back just to hook fingers in the waistband and slide off the panties down your legs, leaving them dangling off one ankle. no slow licks. no buildup. he just dives in, face buried between your thighs like he’s been craving it all day.
the first hard suck on your clit makes your hips buck. he pins you down with one thick forearm, growls into your pussy when you try to wiggle away from how intense it is.
“don’t move.”
two words and you freeze.
he works you like it’s a fucking exam-methodical, ruthless, precise. broad flat tongue, then sharp little flicks right under the hood, then sucking so hard your vision blanks. when your legs start shaking he pushes two long fingers in without warning, curling straight into that spot that makes you choke on air.
“fuck—sir-w-wait plea-
“quiet.” he doesn’t even lift his head. just speaks right against your soaked folds, the vibration ripping another sob out of you. “good girls with perfect scores don’t beg. they take what they earned.”
you’re crying now-soft, overwhelmed tears because it’s too much and still not enough and he won’t stop.
adds a third finger. stretches you wide while his tongue stays brutal on your clit. the wet, filthy sounds bounce off the empty walls. you’re dripping down his wrist, soaking the chair, probably staining it forever. he doesn’t give a shit.
when you start clamping down hard he finally pulls back. lips shiny, chin dripping. looks completely wrecked and still somehow perfect.
“ask for it.”
you’re shaking so bad the words come out broken. “please—please let me come—professor kim i need- i need you.”
he stands. belt buckle clinks open with one hand while the other keeps pumping into you, slow and deep now, making sure you feel every inch.
“you did the work,” he says, freeing his cock-thick, dark, already leaking. “so i’m fucking you exactly as hard as you deserve.”
grabs your hips, yanks you forward until your ass is barely on the seat, lines up, and slams in one brutal stroke.
your mouth drops open on a silent scream. he’s so thick it stings perfectly, stuffing you full until you swear you feel him in your throat.
no pause. no mercy. he fucks you like he’s trying to break the desk-hard, punishing, relentless. wood creaks. your skirt’s bunched at your waist. one shoe’s gone who-knows-where. his tie’s still knotted perfectly while he pounds you senseless.
“look at me,” he orders.
you do. instantly.
eyes almost black with hunger. “that’s it. look at the man who’s going to ruin you for anyone else.”
one hand collars your throat-not squeezing, just claiming. the other finds your clit and rubs fast, tight circles.
“come,” he says. command, not request. “come on my cock like the perfect little student you are.”
you break.
body locking up, back arching, broken cry tearing out as you pulse around him so hard it milks his own orgasm out. he buries deep and groans low-hot, thick spurts filling you until it leaks out around his cock and drips onto the floor.
for a minute it’s just heavy breathing.
then he leans down. kisses you slow. filthy. lets you taste yourself on his tongue. pulls out while he watches his cum drip from your puffy cunt like it’s art.
“next quiz is in two weeks,” he murmurs, fixing his cufflinks like he didn’t just rearrange your insides. “i expect the same… dedication.”
smooths your skirt down almost sweetly, then leans in one last time.
“and next time?” lips brush your ear. “i’m bending you over the podium.”
as he’s about to walk out. “s-sir, i uh- i like you” you confess
the words tumble out whimpered and shaky, like you didn’t mean to say them out loud but couldn’t hold them in anymore.
he freezes. for one horrible second the room feels like it’s holding its breath with you. then he turns. slow. deliberate. the same way he does everything.
his expression is unreadable at first-dark eyes flicking over your face, taking in the way you’re still slumped in the chair, skirt rumpled, thighs sticky, cheeks flushed and tear-streaked from coming so hard you saw stars. you look wrecked. you feel wrecked. and now you just confessed something stupidly vulnerable right after he fucked you on his desk like it was nothing more than a reward.
he lets the door handle go. walks back toward you without a word.
every step makes your heart thump harder.
when he reaches you he doesn’t sit. just looms. one hand braces on the back of your chair, the other tips your chin up with two fingers so you have no choice but to meet his gaze.
“you like me,” he repeats. low. almost amused, but there’s something darker threaded through it. “after i just filled you up and told you i’m going to bend you over the podium next time?”
your throat clicks when you swallow. “y-yes.”
he studies you another long beat. thumb brushing the corner of your mouth where your lip is still swollen from biting it to keep quiet.
then he leans in until his mouth is right against your ear.
“cute.”
one word. soft. mocking. but his voice is rougher than before, like something in him just snapped a little. he pulls back just enough to look at you again.
“you think confessions change anything?” he murmurs. “you think saying you like me makes this sweet? romantic?”
you shake your head quickly. “n-no, i just-
“shh.”
he cuts you off with that single sound. thumb pressing firmer against your lower lip now, parting it slightly.
“you already earned one reward tonight,” he says. “you want another one? then earn it properly.” your breath hitches.
he straightens up, steps back, and-without breaking eye contact-starts unbuttoning his shirt. slow. one button at a time. crisp white fabric parting to show the hard planes of his chest, the faint trail of hair disappearing into his slacks.
“get on your knees,” he tells you. calm. like he’s giving an extension on an assignment. “under the desk.”
you move before your brain catches up-sliding off the chair onto the cool floor, knees hitting the wood. the space under his desk is tight, shadowed, smells faintly of old books and him.
he sits back down in his chair like nothing happened, legs spreading just enough for you to fit between them. belt already undone, cock still half-hard and glistening from being inside you minutes ago.
he reaches down, threads fingers through your hair-not pulling, just holding. guiding.
“open that beautiful mouth for me.” you do.
he feeds himself into your mouth slow this time. lets you feel every inch sliding over your tongue, the salty taste of both of you mixed together. when your lips stretch around the base he exhales through his nose, grip tightening just a fraction.
“good girl,” he murmurs above you. “now show me how much you like me.”
you start to move-tentative at first, then bolder when his thighs tense under your palms. he doesn’t rush you. just leans back, one hand still in your hair, the other resting casually on the armrest like he’s grading papers while you suck him off under his desk.
every so often he gives a quiet instruction.
“deeper.”
“tongue.”
“look up at me.”
when you do-eyes watering, cheeks hollowed, mascara probably smeared-he groans low in his throat. the sound vibrates straight to your core.
“that’s it,” he breathes. “keep looking at me while you choke on the cock that just ruined your pretty little cunt.” you whimper around him. the vibration makes his hips twitch.
he starts guiding you faster. not cruel, but firm. using your mouth the way he wants. when you gag he holds you there for a second-long enough for tears to spill-then lets you pull back just to breathe before pushing in again.
“you like me?” he asks suddenly, voice wrecked now. “then prove it. swallow every drop like a good student who knows her place.” you nod frantically, tongue working, cheeks aching, desperate to please him. his breathing turns ragged. fingers flex in your hair.
“fuck—take it.”
he comes hard-hot, thick pulses down your throat. you swallow around him, greedy, messy, not wanting to waste any. when he finally pulls out there’s a thin string of spit and cum connecting your lips to the tip. he swipes it with his thumb, pushes it back into your mouth. you suck it clean without being told.
he looks down at you-kneeling, wrecked, lips swollen and shiny-and something almost soft flickers in his eyes. gone in a blink. he tucks himself away. fixes his shirt. stands.nthen crouches so he’s eye-level with you again.bbrushes a damp strand of hair off your forehead.
“you don’t just like me,” he says quietly. “you’re fucking obsessed. and that’s exactly how i want you.”
he leans in, kisses you once-slow, deep, tasting himself on your tongue. when he pulls back he’s all professor again. calm. collected.
“next quiz,” he reminds you, standing up. “podium. after hours. don’t be late.” he walks to the door. pauses with his hand on the handle.
looks back at you still on your knees under his desk.
“and yo?”
you look at him. “mm?” your name in his mouth feels like a brand. “i like you too.” then he’s gone. leaving you on the floor, heart hammering, taste of him still thick on your tongue, already aching for the next time.
