all works are nsfw unless labeled (sfw!) please note that i post & interact with dark subject matters on this blog. minors please do not interact with my nsfw works, posts, and reblogs. let’s keep tumblr a safe & open space for everyone!
most series are infrequently updated to take the time necessary for proper storyboarding. in the interims, i release drabbles frequently to keep up the habit of writing. This blog does NOT use AI. All stories are written with my own blood, sweat, and tears.
About me:->
hi, my name’s MAVERICK— i’m 25 years old and write primarily for ATEEZ and enhypen, but i’ll branch out from time to time. i write fanfiction in hopes that it’ll make me brave enough to write and submit an actual manuscript someday after lots of practice. i’ll probably share some random blips and writings (journal entries, poetry, confessions) ambient sounds i record, and non-fanfiction based content on here as well. i think my existence is a fair balance between a chaotic, depraved, and primordial evil— and silent melancholia. some random facts about me, down below. (MDNI, this is an 18+ page.)
•i write A LOT. on the rougher weeks for my insomnia, i tend to write more to get the time going. it’s my comfort hobby.
•my favorite genres to write are suspense, horror, or supernatural-fantasy. oh! and especially tragedies.
•i like beautiful things.
•i’m a “somewhat” polyglot— a rather lame one. i have commitment issues, and i can’t seem to care enough about anything to finish it sometimes—but i’m at an intermediate level in several languages. (korean, japanese, mongolian, spanish, etc.)
•i’m filipino, spanish, and native (central) american.
•i write a list of inanimate objects and concepts i relate to on a daily basis. i also enjoy recording ambient sounds of places i frequent.
•my current read is a fiction novel called “the ten loves of mr. nishino” by hiromi kawakami. i’ve been doing lots of reading, as of late. i can get through three (albeit, 12 point large font) books in a day.
•i go by any pronouns— literally here to exist.
•i like fancy canned fish and cold tomatoes—but i hate marinara and cooked tomatoes. unsure why, really.
•my go-to cigarette brand is capris and i stick to the indigo 120’s. i hate non-menthols because they taste like kissing an ugly man, and menthols remind me of the time i kissed a girl and she spat her gum in my mouth. i liked that. therefore, i only smoke menthols. haha
•i write fanfiction as writing practice, and since i love ateez—character building comes easily, because it feels like i already have a template. eventually, i’d like to write my own stories, once i get comfortable developing my own characters from scratch.
•erotica’s cool and i like the human body— from the perspective of an artist.
Siren’s fic recs
siren’s ateez fic recs: first edition
To be released:
jeong yunho x reader
siren’s cinema, now playing:
a series of oneshot’s so i could crossover my love of film and fanfiction. including the craft, chungking express, the mummy, and more!
𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲: art heist, haunted art gallery, enemies to lovers, slow burn, suspense, extremely suggestive but not quite smut
pairings: thief! jung wooyoung x thief! reader, allusions to san x reader and mingi x reader, ot8! ateez
—synopsis: A groundbreaking discovery shakes the art world when a hidden painting by a revolutionary artist is unearthed from a secret storage unit after two centuries. Enter Jung Wooyoung—your long time enemy, always ready to grab at what remotely interests you. But he merely approaches with a warning: neither of you are the only ones eyeing the prize. Nine of the world’s most skilled escape artists, thieves, and art connoisseurs have gathered, each desperate to claim the infamous painting. But as the night unfolds, a deadly game begins—one by one, competitors fall victim to mysterious murders. The security around the artwork is tighter than anyone imagined, for reasons far beyond physical protection.
Because this isn’t just any painting. It’s a haunted masterpiece, out for vengeance, and no one will walk away unscathed.
As these are many of my own ideas, a multitude of what I post may become personal manuscripts after I work on my own original characters. (Non-fanfiction based storylines.) Due to this, I’m providing a disclaimer just in case. 💗
All rights reserved. These stories, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced or copied for posting on any other platform in any form without permission. These are works of fiction.
✂︎ 𝘚𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴: Mornings became sweeter and nights became much warmer. suddenly Seonghwa miscalculates. What he dismissed as just a simple and harmless visit—San’s presence begins to itch beneath his skin, an unshakable sense that something is shifting between you and him. His control slips, calm by day and volatile by night. It’s in the red room that you slightly come to your senses, where you notice that his proposal isn’t a choice but an ultimatum. You’re too far gone to even call yourself trapped, but all you know is that you’re damned either way. And all that matters is your undying love for him.
You had the kind of night where morning had come to soon. His breath , a centimetre away from your lips as his fingers dragged helplessly between your folds—swollen and silky. Seonghwa was what you call a "sex God" in contrast to his evident debonai. He knew his way around your body like a noose he'd tied himself.
"Do i make you feel good, my love?" His voice, such a sweet saccharine sound amidst your own shallow breaths. His index probed and painted between your folds, over you clit. Not quite digging into the place he knew better than yourself. "Hmm? Does hwa make you feel good, baby—
"God yes!" You breathlessly exclaimed, heaving as your back arched into his chest. His caress trickled upon your body in liberty and your body convulsed—the opposite of virtue, the unravelling of your sanity. Your climax had come as perfect as always, the everlasting stroke of him eased away your tensions, frustration, wiping you clean until you were deemed brand new…reborn.
And now he held you close to his chest, skin-to-skin close enough to swim in. Old y/n detested mornings. But like two spirits greeting at the edge of dawn, Seonghwa's affection felt brand new—fresh and indulgent…almost too perfect to question. He failed not in making sure of that.
You barely shifted enough to unclapse yourself from his hold when he held you even tighter, breasts squished against his forearm. "Uh-uh." He groaned against your nape, kissing your pulse a few times before you could hear his soft breaths. You just listened attentively—the villa's silence unsettled you no more, it eased you—the way he lulled against you all vulnerable and exhausted.
What have you done to score such a man, such a complicated gem?
You sigh loud enough for Seonghwa to chuckle, almost like a whine.
"What's the matter, baby?" He asked eyes half lidded as he lifted enough to see your smiling face. You playfully shook your head biting at your lip. But hwa knew it wasn't nothing. He couldn't help himself to pry—such a remarkable woman laid bare in his arms, the way your hair cascaded around your head like a halo—it was his iobligation to make sure you weren't troubled. "Why are you looking at me like that?" You asked voice taut. "Like what?" He smiled before dropping to kiss the tip of your nose then lifting again to look at you. "Like this?" Your cheeks tinted instantly, rose and nothing more than the heat that surged from your heart. "How can i not, when you look so breathtaking."
"I could stare all day without blinking , you know that dont you baby?" His voice dropped as he cooed and you couldnt help but to explode
"Hwa, stop—"
His hands brushed at your sides then drifted lower, slowly along your thighs unhurried, deliberate as always. "Not while im alive i won't." His lips caught yours unexpectedly, plump and indulgent before letting out a sound when he broke conatct. "I love you too much, my love."
His fingers always, always found their way between your legs, massaging your inner thighs softly. There was no telling who loved who the most, but Judging from the rasp in your moans—Seonghwa loved selflessly and you received endlessly. A love so absolute, such a scene could not be mounted on the walls in his gallery. Never documented, re-created…only evolving continuously.
A few hours later, the villa stirred with unusual life. Maids moved through the halls carrying fresh linens and arrangements, while a handful of members of the orphanage staff arrived to help prepare the house for its newest guests. The once-quiet space hummed with activity, every room being adjusted to feel a little more accommodating:; with strict instruction that no one set foot in the gallery or your shared bedroom.
Even eunji made an appearance after weeks of absence.
To your surprise, she headed straight for the closet—the one filled with the tagged clothing you had spent so many nights wondering about. Piece by Piece, the garments disappeared into early packed boxes.
Seonghwa had listened.
He had listened to every concerned, every uneasy question you had tried to dismiss. And without hesitation, he had spoken with woooyung and arranged an entirely new wardrobe to replace what remained. It was such a simple gesture, yet it carried the same unsettling thoroughness that seemed to follow everything he did—as though no discomfort of yours could exist for long without him reshaping the world around it.
But what you didn't know, was that hwa changed everything.
You paced along in the walk in closet you both shared now, searching for comfortable shoes to wear. But to no avail you go to pair was no where to be found.
"Hwa," you called softly, fixing your earrings. "Yes, angel?" He answered, stepping behind you as he fixed the sleeves of his beige quaterzip. "I'm looking for comfortable shoes, and i can't find the ones i wore last week."
Seonghwa not only didn't answer, he paused behind you, shifting his gaze over the shelves—slow, assessing—like he was retracing something only he could see. "I gave them away remember?" He said firmly.
Your brows knitted as you turned. "But they were a perfectly—
"They weren't suitabe, love." A faint smile touched his lips.
The word echoed in your mind, you don't recall ever agreeing on that part of "rebranding" but you laughed softly nevertheless. "It must've slipped my mind."
He stepped closer then, reaching past you—making sure you were caged between his chest and the shelf. Seonghwa pulled down a ivory colored box you hadn't noticed before, clean and untouched.
"I'm sure these will be to your liking."
Your eyes scanned the box again, no way—
The lid lifted with quiet ease, and inside, new and pristine custom heels from songzio. "They're a better fit, had them specifically made for you." He added, tone gentle, knowing very well it would've settled with no thought.
"…hwa, whe—you got these made, for me?" Your voice hitched in enamorment. He nodded proudly with a content hum. He watched closely when you window shopped online, specifically mulling over a specific pair for about 45 minutes before putting it in your cart for safe keeping.
Your smile glistened through the velvet of the closet. This is what he wanted. You happiness and nothing more, even if it meant disacrding the old and replacing it with the new. The softened of it all, his certainty and every other gesture made you exhale lightly.
"They're beautiful."
And the fit perfectly, as though he'd taken a mole of your feet to the outfitters. But hwa knew you like the back of his hand, inside out through the in. He watched silently and satisfied as you adjusted, like something small clicked into place. He took you in as you twirled around in your outfit: canary summaer dress, beige cardigan tied around your shoulders, and your new semi flat heels.
"Stunning, mrs. Park." He whispered to himself.
Settling into the dining area, everything was just about ready. Chandeliers were neatly polished, the dining table themed with finger foods and effects that would be to San and woo's liking. The guest room was as good as new, a whole new makeover from what it was the day you arrived. And those clothes were gone.
All the effort without lifting a finger, seonghwa ordered that you just sit comfortable as he helped around with what was left. About three strawberries in, your phone buzzed: mom.
mom: its a wonderful day, darling! Make sure woo and san don't get on hwa's bad side you know how your brother can be.
Why would they get on his bad side? You thought.
You: hwa doesn't have a bad side mom, besides he's welcoming so he'll be fine
Before you could type any more, eunji appeared. "Mrs. Park, have you been keeping well?" She greeted, more like a farewell with the way she carried her bag on her shoulder. "Eunji, are you leaving already?"
She nodded once with a tight smile, the fine lines in her eyes on full display. "Mr. Park has instructed that i return home and rest."
"O-oh, alright then…thank you for the help. I hope to see you again." You stood to hug her lightly. The contact came unexpectedly hence she flinched. But she returned the gesture with a soft tap on the back. "I should get going then." She intoned.
Not long after she'd left, a car pulled in the driveway. Onyx and sleek like the one that picked you up the first time you met him. You didn't;t have to get up to see who it was, you heard him the moment the rear foor opened.
"Noonna, we're here!"
Seonghwa appeared out of thin air, treading carefully towards the entrance. You followed suit with excitement. There they were all cute aand cuddly as hwa welcomed them to hi humble abode.
"There she is, my cash co—i meant sisterrr!"
You fake laughed, wrapping your arms round him in warm embrace. 'It's good to see you, how was the flight?"
"It was great besides the clay they fed us and called it chicken."
Woo was something else, there wasn't a day he never complained.
After greeting hwa, San walked over to you with a warm smile. Adorable as always no wonder woo fell in love with him. "Good to see you , sis." His arms wrapped over you like gift ribbon. It was natural, a fond way San greeted you. "Arghh, its been so long."
Wooyoung hauled the luggae from the trunk while one of the maids hurried over to help him. You lingered nearby, caught in easy conversation with San, the kind that came naturally after years of friendship. For only a few steps away, Seonghwa watched, close enough to notice the way san's hand settled against the small of your back when he laughed. Close enough to see how his smile lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary while you rambled n about something only the two of you seemed to understand. And just as San dipped his head, poised to murmur something into your ear, Seonghwa appeared at your side as though he had always belonged there.
"Why don't we head inside and show them around, love?" He suggested smoothly, his hand finding the curve of your waist with effortless familiarity.
Wooyoung let out a low whistle the moment he stepped inside, his eyes darting from one lavish detail to the next. The grandeur of the villa seemed to capture him instantly. Beside him, san was quieter, taking everything in with a careful eye—from effort down to execution woven into every choice.
"It was a team effort, right my love?" Seonghwa interrupted smoothly, draping an arm around your shoulders. You blinked before nodding along, the interruption felt oddly deliberate. If anything the maid-crew deserved most of the credit, but every corner carried hwa's fingerprints, his vision, his meticulous attention to detail, maybe he simply wanted to impress woo and San, to win them over. The thought made you lips twitch into a smile.
The tour began with the kitchen and dining area before flowing naturally into the lounge. From there, seonghwa guided them upstairs where the study was and then to the guest wing where their room awaited. "Wahhh…" wooyoung gawked, dragging his suitcase into the bedroom that looks as though it belonged in a palace. "I hope it's to your liking," hwa said softly, though there was a quiet confidence beneath his words. And why wouldn't there be? He'd just about done research on where woo and San lived who picked the place and why, then incorporating his findings in a way that could wi their hearts. So far, it was a solid 10 for accommodation.
The final stop came only after Seonghwa paused, as if remembering something.
"Oh. One more room."
The gallery. The familiar pace unfolds before you—paintings lining the walls, sculptures standing like silent gaurdians, and the seam…
Your stomach tightened. "This is my favorite room," Seonghwa said. "It's where i keep a part of myself."
You barely heard him. Growing up with woo had taught you one thing: curiosity ra in the family. If there was locked door, he wanted it opened. If there was a mystery, he wanted it solved.
San was worse. The smallest irregularities, the details everyone else overlooked, oh he noticed.
"Hyung, you're quite the catch, aren't you?" Wooyoung remarked, stopping in front of a sprawling landscape canvas. Meanwhile, sand drifted further into the room. Toward the sculptures, vases, toward the wall…toward the seam.
Your pulse climbed, as San skimmed across the concrete surface, narrowing ever so slightly as he studied it.
"Shouldn't we get lunch?" You blurted suddenly. 'You must a be hungry."
"We still have time, love. we can—"
San took another step closer.
"Now, please." Your words came out sharper than intended. Seonghwa turned his head, immediately catching the strain in your voice. And to your horror, amusement flickered across his features. He knew exactly what had rattled you.
Flustered didn't even begin to cover it. Mortified was closer. The thought of wooyoung or San discovering what lay beyond that hidden wall made your stomach churn. Would they look at you differently if what you joked about were true? Would they understand? Would they understAnd Seonghwa?
You doubted it.
San's hand hovered near one of the sculptures, his attention still on the section of the wall.
"Actually, lunch sounds amazing." Wooyoung groaned dramatically. The spell broke. San glanced away from the wall from the sound of wooyoung' voice.
Only then did you realise you were holding your breath, beside you hwa's thug brushed lazily against your shoulder—a silent acknowledgement. He knew exactly what you were afraid of…
Wooyoung slowly wandered out the gallery, loudl announcing his growing appetite as San followed after him with a bowing smile. The moment the others disappeared into the hallway, seonghwa stepped closer—hand settled lightly against the small of you back as though guiding you forward, but he leaned down just enough for only you to hear.
"Don't ever do that again, angel."
The softness in his voice made the warning all the more unsettling. You glanced up at him. "Hwa, i was just trying to—"
"Mm." His smile remained perfectly intact. "I know what you were trying to do." He drifted his gaze toward the gallery entaracne where San had vanished. "You don't need to carry burdens that belong to me."
His eyes softened, or perhaps they only appeared to. His thumb brushed once against your side. You searched his face for a moment.
"I'm sorry, hwa." Your answer came automatically, easing the crease between his brows. And with a soft smile and a lingering kiss to the forehead he praised…
"Good girl."
A/N: it’s been a long freaking time!! And I’m almost done editing chapter five, here’s a little something something for you guys. I hope it was worth the wait even though it’s a piece of what’s yet to come. Mwah 💋
SYNOPSIS: You were taught to know him only as “GOD”—until his true name slips. In every world, every god has favorites, and you were Yang Jungwon’s to a bloody extent. Unbeknownst to you, your body carries a lineage bounded to his through time.
GENRES!: Werewolf AU/Religious Cult Horror, Dark Smut, Psychological. Bonding AU, kind of ambiguous storytelling. NSFW / MDNI, 18+!
TWO SHOT WARNINGS!: Sacrilegious themes! Violence, bruising, hitting. d3ad animals, Worship & blood play, biting, oral. P in V (unprotected). jungwon is TAN/OLIVE TONED N NOT WHITEWASHED IN THIS STORYYYYYY. jungwon hates children btw and is a lil…obsessive. erotic body horror undertones…knotting. PT. I of II.
Please heed the warnings. Don’t like—simply don’t read.
—mav’s notes: wrote this in the morning cause i needed to get my brain going.
He liked it when you bit hard enough to scar.
Teeth marks were religion—indentations as worship: proof that you wanted to keep God close long enough to let him bleed. He’d return the favor, jaw tight around your throat as if it took everything in him not to break you, cold exterior straining under the effort. But his hands were always a dead giveaway: the tremor in his fingers, the shudder in his breath whenever the metal of your blood settled slow and heavy in his gut.
You never asked his name. Part of you still doubted his power, however otherworldly he seemed. If he wasn’t truly a god, you wouldn’t be surprised. God didn’t need a name—he needed an omnipresent title. And he was beautiful enough that it never felt worth questioning.
GOD ties your hair back with a small ribbon, coaxing the strands down your spine until your throat is laid bare, every scarred bite on display.
“There she is,” he says softly. “All done.”
You meet his eyes through the mirror’s reflection, palms folded neatly in your lap. “Am I pretty?”
He smiles with his teeth.
“Prettiest lamb I’ve ever seen.”
Truth was—he wanted to rip you open.
You haunted him even in his dreams: visions of curling inside your stomach, cradling your spine, blending so deeply into you that he ceased to exist anywhere else at all. The chair scrapes as he draws you back against him, pressing a kiss to your neck.
He chuckles under his breath, eyes glinting with mischief. Overgrown strands of hair veil his expression as he dips his head to rest against your nape. “Do you want to know my name?”
You still, eyes fixed on your lap. Despite the fear gnawing at you, you nod.
He mouths the syllables against your skin, breaking the name apart like meat, like something meant to be tasted before it’s taken whole.
You repeat it, hesitant.
Jungwon.
It feels like a death sentence.
It’s inevitable. There’s no going back.
Mother Mary seemed to sleep in the water, her stone palms gently pressed together, lily pads brushing her body before drifting away. A rosary is carved around her wrist, the stone slowly eroding as the statue lay flat and abandoned in the pond. The town was calm—strangely hollow at 2 p.m.—quiet except for mourning doves and the soft drift of shallow water. It breathed, it emptied itself. It smelled like the sulfuric skin of a young “God.”
The community was never “Godless.”
Long before he arrived—terribly young and deeply unsettling—religion still haunted the old white wood of every creaking establishment.
Maybe it was something in the water, a collective infection that craved the end of the world under the guise of preparing for it.
“There will be blood,” he’d say, his gaze downturned and unreadable as he dipped his fingers into ash. “We have to accept the process of bleeding. Only then can we be saved.”
God enjoyed rituals—the slow, gentle bleeding—and enjoyed the principle of never asking his name. When he arrived alone as a child, he said only that the human tongue could not withstand the weight of his name.
Communion is bloody, the way “God” liked it.
A small piece of meat, torn and raw, is placed on the tongue as the attendant pricks your finger and holds it over a brass goblet.
No one else questions. Not when he spoke so convincingly, it became gospel.
⏾
“Remember that I made you,” he’d always say—a baptism, a faithful mantra that crowded the room like smoke.
Every prayer he uttered drifted through the air like bleach, an attempt to sterilize the room of doubt. Of him. Of his ownership. The space buzzed like flies, lines forming at the epicenter as church attendants fed faithful mouths—ecstatic. Now clean.
When it’s your turn to receive communion, he rises from his seat, gently pushing aside the young boys reaching to feed you, to prick your finger.
He comes close. So close your breath catches when he lays his index and middle fingers flat against your tongue, gazing at you with that peculiar look in his eyes. Your saliva stretches and clings, silent and silken against his smooth fingers. Deliberate. Lingering. He touches you like he intends to stay.
“Remember that I made you,” he repeats.
You don’t wince when the prick comes. You notice the deliberate way he slides his finger against yours before anyone can see, and the press of his tongue against the bead of blood when he turns his back to the crowd.
He made me, you remind yourself.
‘I’m his.
He is not mine.’
⏾
[FLASHBACK: before you’d bore his mark.]
The previous cacophony of the great hall hushed the moment he stepped inside. Golden cheekbones cut through the vibrancy of the celebration, his dark hair fluttering in the rush of air from the newly opened door. People marveled at him, bowing their bodies in immediate acts of reverence.
“GOD”, or Jungwon—as you’d come to know later, appeared only a handful of strange times each year outside of sermon like he’d shot darts blindly at a calendar and decided from there. He would enter slowly, as though hoping to go unnoticed, sit to pick at his plate, then leave without a word. Most days he spent cradling a book in his thin hands and falling asleep on the porch until villagers would bring offerings to his door. He observed the festivities with a keen, distant gaze—occasionally nodding at stray facts his attendant murmured—before turning away again.
You noticed he only ate red things.
Sometimes you’d see his eyes flicker back to you, smoldering. All too aware. It made your stomach churn, licking at your intestines like the flickering of a lantern.
You remember meeting him once, when you were twelve—he was young then, standing level with your chest. Even then, there was something unnerving about him, about his eyes: a dark, vast abyss that scanned his surroundings as though he could sense its pulse without effort.
He bit you once. You forget how it happened. His attendant apologized, explaining it was a habit he was learning to grow out of.
But you could’ve sworn you heard the whispered words, this one’s mine, just before you instinctively tore him from your shoulder. Jungwon didn’t blink. He sank his sharp teeth into you as if he knew the mark would scar—something he’d use to trace his way back to you someday with ease. He sensed something you didn’t. Til this day, you don’t know what it was.
Even now, from across the room, his eyes lay on the thinly covered slope of your shoulder, where the scar still gleams faintly whenever a shift of movement betrays a sliver of skin. You’re older now. Worn. A little jaded from a failed engagement five years ago: You’d never wanted children and that incompatibility wretched you two apart after eight years of being together.
“The grapes.”
Your spine straightens at the sudden sound of his voice. He rarely spoke outside of sermon, and hearing the timber of it so close catches you off guard. He tilts his head to look down at you, lifting a flippant hand to gesture his thin finger toward the bowl behind you.
You were hardly in the way.
Still, you keep your eyes on his as you reach back, take the bowl, and offer it to him. He reaches to calmly pluck from the stem, keeping his eyes on you as he peels the skin with his teeth, and sucks the pulp lightly into his mouth.
A faint glimmer cuts across his eyes before it’s gone. He notices the way you don’t look away, the way your spine stays ramrod straight instead of curling instinctively beneath his presence. The moment is cut short the moment all false bravado seemed to leave you at his sharp inhale. He didn’t mean to make his frustration obvious.
Your silence, however, unsettled him.
Years of watching you from afar never once broke your resolve to keep your distance—and today, the prideful God finally relented.
“Do you always do that?” He questioned.
“Do what?” Your hand unconsciously reaches to smooth down your dress. Jungwon tilts his head.
“Avoid gazing at me for too long.” He starts, stepping around you. The air around him seemed molten—dangerous. A unseen black fog that seemed to stifle only you from its sickening sweetness, sticking to the clamminess of your skin.
You swallow hard, braving yourself to raise your head just enough to peer at him through your dense line of lashes. “Is that not what one should do in the presence of a God?”
“True reverence is being unable to look away even when etiquette calls for it.” He replied.
“Reverence looks different on everyone.” A strange fever drips from between your legs and the apple of your cheeks flush at his mere scent. Being around him has always been strange. It made you strange. And that’s why you avoided him like the plague.
He clenches his jaw before turning to his attendant briefly. The man bows in immediate understanding, quickly looping an arm through yours to guide you outside the hall.
Most of God’s lovers couldn’t say no. They never wanted to, even if there was an initial fire to resist for the sake of rebellion—but when his gaze would finally fall onto them: quiet, domineering, and intensely magnetic—their breaths would catch in their throat, before they’d part their mouths to welcome him in. If he beckoned you—you’d come. That was your bible. His words were gospel.
He says nothing at first. Eying you like it’s the first time he’s ever truly done it, and—for a moment—you start to doubt he remembers that incident.
Blue moonlight bled into the marbled hallway. Vast windows, framed by towering arches, were frigid to the touch. You leaned against the wooden railing along the wall, almost sitting, one leg left to hang idly.
“Will you let me in?”
He shivered at your doe-eyed gaze, at the unconscious way your legs drew together—as if you understood his meaning before you let yourself admit it.
“Let you in?” you echoed, breath slipping out of you. It had been years since you’d spoken, yet he was as jarring as the day you first met him.
Keeping his eyes on you, he slowly sank to his knees. Your hands darted forward to steady him, but you flinched as his teeth sank lightly into your wrist—hard enough to leave indentations, not enough to draw blood.
You interrupt him, gasping as his hands slide from your ankles to lift your dress past your thighs.
He huffs a laugh, leaning back on his knees, eyes fixed on you with an almost arrogant intensity. “Don’t you feel it—the pull? Or are we still going to play dumb?
He leans forward to hold your dress up again, boldly saddling his face between your legs—breath pressing hot against the thin fabric of your underwear.
Your stomach tenses, hips automatically flinching forward when you feel his eerily long tongue lick up the fabric, barely missing your clit. Your eyes briefly catch on the ominous shape of his shadow as it looms and stretches across the hallway’s white wall. For a moment, it seems almost alive. But his wandering hands pull your attention away before you can study it any further.
You feel his thick palm push your leg up to drape over his shoulder, grinding his nose into the meat of your thigh before inhaling deeply.
“You’ve always been mine—” It almost sounds like an unintended confession when it leaves his lips absentmindedly.
His hand snakes upward, trailing past your abdomen and grazing your sensitive, flinching chest before his index finger traces the raised ridges of the scar his teeth left behind years ago.
Slowly, he draws aside the fabric of your dress, exposing the marked skin in the pale light. The silvered lines of the old wound emerge beneath his touch, stark against the softness surrounding them.
In the moonlight, the scar seemed to beckon him. His fingers slipped into your mouth, gathering your saliva as it coated his skin. What excess remained spilled past the corners of your lips, trailing down his wrist while the rest slid down your throat.
When he pressed deeper, the heated muscles of your throat tightened reflexively around the intrusion, constricting with each measured movement. His gaze never left you.
And then he bites.
Your back arches as a searing pain blooms through the soft flesh of your inner thigh, radiating outward in hot, pulsing waves. Jungwon presses closer, his mouth lingering against your skin as his grip tightens. A faint shudder runs through him at the feel of you beneath his hands—soft, yielding, all too easy for him to hold. The sound that leaves him is low and strained, caught somewhere between hunger and restraint.
He draws the blood from you, drinking until all you can see is red. The metallic tang lingers on your tongue—thick and pungent. Through the haze, you squint, your brows knitting together.
When you lower your gaze, you find him already watching you. Searching. Waiting for a sign you don’t yet understand—for the taste of blood to hit you, despite his fingers being the only things held in your mouth.
The slightest movement of your tongue—a minute reaction to the strange taste flooding your mouth—makes something gleam in his eyes. He pulls away, grinning.
Blood stains his teeth. “Your mouth is my mouth,” he says softly. “What I taste, you taste.” His pearly canines catch beneath the cold blue light as his eyes darken into polished obsidian.
And then it dawns on you.
He’s no god.
He’s a monster.
⏾
You jolt from your sleep. It was more dream than memory, some of its details lost to the wind. That memory, in particular, was still fresh despite the years that had come and gone.
The memory of Jungwon’s claiming.
But as much as he hated to admit it, Jungwon had grown soft for you: the god loved you enough to go hungry. That devotion didn’t tame the monster within him, if anything, it only drove it mad. The longer he denied himself, the sharper his hunger became. His fondness festered alongside his appetite, twisting affection into something ravenous and possessive.
Peering through a sliver of an opening near his door, you hear the soft, muffled sound of squelching seep into the hallway. Jungwon leans over the table, handling flesh with absent-minded brutality—shoving and tearing at raw meat until tough tendons split apart. Intestines lie scattered across the surface, some draping over the edges almost mournfully.
The carcass of a lamb stares back at you with unsettlingly blank eyes. And once again, Jungwon’s shadow seems to possess a life and shape of its own.
At the sound of your sharp inhale, Jungwon stills. His back remains turned to you, illuminated by the flickering glow of tapered candles. Now and then, molten wax drips onto the surface below, each slow descent resembling a falling tear. They are the only witnesses to his monstrosity—save for you. Yet despite his stillness, only the head of his shadow turns toward you.
Slowly, you step back before retreating to your room. Beyond your bedroom window, a pale gray morning stretches across a field of wheat, the stalks swaying gently in the breeze, quiet and serene. But only the two of you understood the weight of the silence that filled the home you shared.
A soft humming leaves your throat, absentminded gaze resting outward as you dragged a boars brush down your lengthy hair.
You never asked questions. He waited until you were ready to. At least that’s what he told himself—it’s all the more likely he wasn’t brave enough to disrupt the illusion of your calm life together.
The longer Jungwon went without having you, the harder it became for him to sate his appetites.
One by one, the women in your village who shared your particular shade of hair disappeared. Your perfume became an omen—a hunter’s mark upon prey—though no one in town ever dared speak of it aloud. The offerings doubled in number, and meat grew increasingly scarce as the villagers prioritized satisfying their god’s insatiable demands.
You knew it was your fault. Maybe being so close to a god for so long had made it easier to feel detached from the rest of humanity. The more you bled into him, the more you wanted him to consume you whole.
He arrives like smoke, drifting to your vanity with effortless grace. His hands trail down your arm in silence before brushing the loose strands of hair from the nape of your neck. Your lips are still bitten raw, stained a deep plum from the night before.
You catch his hand and press it to your cheek, gazing up at him through lowered lashes. “Still hungry?”
He smiles sharply. “Always.”
⏾
Something wicked gathered in the air.
You felt it before you understood it—an ancient pull, familiar as a forgotten dream. It lingered at the edges of your consciousness like a homecoming gone wrong, a summons delivered to your doorstep by something neither living nor dead.
Beyond the windows, the wind moaned through the dark, rattling the old wooden frames, and only the soft clinking of cutlery against porcelain plates accompanied the ghastly sound. Raw meat and pomegranate seeds littered Jungwon’s plate—He ate slowly, absentmindedly, his gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the walls of the house.
You had long since abandoned your own meal. Instead, your attention lingered on him.
Something stirred deep within you—a hunger without a name. It coiled through your ribs and unfurled beneath your skin, restless and aching. The feeling was unbearable in its familiarity, as though some invisible thread buried inside your soul had suddenly gone taut. It nearly drew you toward him.
A sudden pull seizes you. A dull ringing echoes somewhere deep within your mind, insistent.
Go outside. Look at her.
Before you can think better of it, you’re rising from your seat. Your fingers curl around the front door’s handle, and moments later you’re padding barefoot across the cool grass.
Moonlight spills over the clearing, silver and damning. It washes over your figure, turning the thin fabric of your nightgown nearly translucent as you lift your gaze toward the sky. It felt like a spell had washed over you.
Something in your blood was calling you home.
In the distance, the full moon peered through a thick, haunting haze of clouds. Jungwon steps out slowly, eying you with veiled caution.
“Little lamb,” he called softly, taking a cautious step forward. “Why don't you head back inside? You aren't even wearing your shoes—”
The words faltered once a sharp breath tore from your lungs. The sensation struck without warning.
Everything felt as though it had caught fire—a violent lurch tearing through you, urging your palms against your temples as the thudding of your own heart ricocheted against your ears. You hear Jungwon curse under his breath before rushing to your side, hauling you upright with a firm grip on your upper arm.
Sweat beads along your forehead as Jungwon slams a hand over your eyes.
“Don’t look at it,” he says. “Don’t.”
Your pupils dilate, irises blazing the color of burning coals before bleeding into an ominous black, like ink unfurling through water. Your teeth begin to tremble, rattling in your jaw until they fall out one by one, replaced by sharper, predatory incisors. Jungwon’s expression crumples as he watches, his gaze turning forlorn the moment you pull his hand away and stare up at the moon once more, bathed in her haunting light. Then, the hallucinatios arrive like a fever.
Everything is red.
The clearing is suddenly littered with bodies. Blood soaks the grass beneath your feet. The air is thick with the scent of it—copper, bile, and something rotten. Entrails spill across the earth, tangled among limbs and torn flesh. Humans, creatures, beasts all lie at your feet.
For a moment, you feel something in your hands. Bones. Sharp. Freshly broken—You can almost feel them splintering beneath your grip. Then, in the blink of an eye, they’re gone.
An almost primordial hunger rises from within you. It’s terrible, urging you to gnaw at its flesh before it beats you to the punch and swallows you instead.
Your eyes find Jungwon.
You want to rip him open. Want to feel skin give way beneath your nails. Want to taste his spine and feel it clatter in your mouth like porcelain, salt, and marble.
The thought arrives so naturally it startles you. nd then—Calm. The hunger recedes like a tide. It stills, like a lock finally clicking open.
Everything is suddenly, terrifyingly, right.
“I understand now,” you say between ragged breaths, resisting the urge to blink.
His brows knit together, confusion flickering across his face.
“True reverence,” you murmur, unable to tear your eyes away, “means not being able to look away.”
And then all fades to black as you sink to your knees, thudding against the dampened grass.
⏾
You awake to an overwhelming chorus of whispers. Even the rustle of the sheets, the morning dew slipping down the banisters, the restless rhythm of Jungwon’s pacing—every sound reached you with startling clarity. They crashed against your senses until nausea churned in your stomach.
“—she’s not ready,” Jungwon hisses at another man.
Even with your eyes closed, you can feel them. At least three others linger in the room, their presences pressing against your sharpened senses.
“She’s been ready,” an unfamiliar voice replies. “You’re the one who’s been delaying the truth. For how long now, Jungwon?”
A heavy silence follows.
“How many more lambs—”
A sharp thud cuts him off, followed by the clatter of bones scattering across a table.
“How many more lambs will you have to tear through just to make it another week?” the man continues, undeterred. “The people are running out of offerings. You’ve been here too long. Any longer, and the locals will realize they've been worshipping a beast instead of a god.”
Another voice chimes in, softer than the last.
“Jay, that’s enough. What’s done is done. But Jungwon… you’re out of time. We have to get her out of here.”
You hear Jungwon exhale shakily as he runs a hand through his hair.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. She awakened for the first time last night, but her bloodlust…” He swallows hard. “It was far too intense for a fledgling.”
“All the more reason to take her away from here.” Jay’s voice tightens as he struggles to contain his frustration. “You’ve already accomplished what you set out to do years ago—kept the myth of us being gods alive, performed enough miracles to keep the offerings coming, and kept all those disappearances quiet. Finding her.”
He turns away with a sigh. “Jake, please talk some sense into him. It’s like he gets off on doing the exact opposite of everything I advise.”
Jake steps forward. It seems he was the owner of the softer voice from earlier.
“Won…” he begins carefully. “I fear her bloodlust is the result of you delaying the bond. Remember, she feels what you feel, even if you’ve only claimed her thus far. It’s only natural that your instincts, your hunger, have been driving hers into a frenzy.”
His voice remains measured, almost placating.
“And you have to remember that her beast has been dormant far longer than normal. The rest of us in The Selene grew up knowing what we were. But for whatever reason, she resisted awakening until yesterday.”
A smooth, timbered voice rises from the darkest corner of the room. “We know why.”
A strange tension settles over the room.
“Ni-ki, don’t—”
Ni-ki ignores the warning. “When you killed your brother, her original mate, during the Succession War, I’d wager that’s what forced the ‘true’ her into slumber.”
The room falls silent.
“Enough,” Jake snaps. “That’s not his fault, Ni-ki. This is the nature of choosing a successor.”
“He was never fated to be our leader.” Ni-ki’s gaze shifts toward your motionless body. He points at you.
“She was the sign.” His voice hardens.
“She was the omen. The proof. And your brother…” He pauses, eyes never leaving you. “She was his.”
Mate? Brother? The Selene?
Your head reels from the onslaught of information. Without answers, none of it fully clicks into place. Jay is the first to break the silence.
“Ni-ki, it’s been years. And while your point may be valid, it doesn’t change the fact that Won is our leader. That’s the oath you swore to uphold—”
“I swore my loyalty to Sunghoon.” Ni-ki’s voice cuts through the room like a blade.
“And I swore to protect her from the day she was born.” His gaze flickers toward your unmoving form, anger simmering beneath the surface. “So forgive me if I’m not thrilled to find her like this after Jungwon apparently spent years delaying the binding.”
The room grows heavier with every word. “Hell no.” He takes a step back, jaw tight.
“I’ve been waiting for her return longer than anyone.” Ni-ki’s eyes flick toward Jungwon. “Even longer than him.”
A bitter laugh escapes him.
“Because while he abandoned The Selene to search for her, the rest of us stayed behind. And for what? Just to discover she’d been right under our noses the entire time?” His gaze hardens. “You call him our leader?”
“Tell me, then—who’s been watching over the Selene in his absence? Who’s been carrying the weight of his responsibilities? It’s been both of you.”
His jaw clenches. “But Sunghoon wouldn’t have left.” The room falls silent. “He would’ve stayed. He would’ve protected his people.”
Ni-ki’s eyes drift to your sleeping form once more.“And he would’ve protected her even if it meant pulling the rug under her feet.”
You can feel Jungwon's dark eyes on you. Even now, the sensation ignites every fiber of your being. Heavy footsteps retreat toward the door. You hear shoes being kicked off, followed by the soft rustle of bare feet against grass. Ni-ki steps out—his particular scent of tobacco and cedar wafting away.
You aren't naive.
You've grown up on the folktales that cling to the forests surrounding your village—the stories of men who never seemed to age, of livestock found mutilated at the edge of the woods, of grotesquely mangled bodies discovered far from home. The elders always dismissed such things as tragedies or bad luck. But everyone knew what the stories were truly about.
Wolves that weren't just wolves.
You're not sure how no one has realized what Jungwon truly is. Not a god—An entity far older. Something maybe more malevolent in nature.
His voice cuts through your thoughts as though he knew what coursed through you. Perhaps he had.
He knew you were awake.
"Each generation of the Selene is born with a gift," he says. "Mine is Compulsion." His gaze drifts toward the village beyond the trees.
"Illusions. Commands. Suggestions. The whole nine yards.” A faint smile touches his lips.
"If I don't want someone questioning me, I simply will it. It’s the only reason why I was even considered for succession, when my brother was everything that one could hope for in a leader.”
The smile disappears.
"But even gifts have limits. Time dulls their effectiveness. The villagers have been under my influence for so long that some have begun building a resistance to it—especially when their minds recognize that something is terribly, terribly wrong."
You sit upright—movements feel strange, almost doll-like. Every twist to your wrist, every small shuffle felt new. An awareness that felt all too real for your body. Curiosity pulls your gaze around the room.
The first stranger you notice is tall and lithe, dressed entirely in black. Short-cropped hair frames sharp features, while silver hoops line one ear. The second is smaller in stature but no less striking. Beautiful in an unsettlingly gentle way, his features softer, almost feline compared to the man beside him.
Both stare at you openly.
"Hi," the taller one says dryly. His eyes sweep over you with unconcealed curiosity. "Should've met you centuries ago, but... circumstances got in the way. I'm Jay."
The other steps forward immediately, smiling warmly. "It's nice to finally meet our Luna." He tilts his head. "I'm Jake."
Outside, Jungwon slips into the darkness, little more than a living shadow beneath the moonlight. He’ll leave it to Jay and Jake to answer the questions he’s never had to bravery to.
Ni-ki ignores him. Standing in the middle of the clearing, Ni-ki takes a slow drag from his cigarette.
"You're right."
Jungwon's voice is calm. His hands disappear into his pockets as he approaches. The shadow stretching from his feet seems unnaturally large tonight.
Ni-ki notices it too.
"But Sunghoon would've loved her out of obligation." The words settle heavily between them.
"To this day, I don't know why, but the thing inside me..." Jungwon pauses. "It was drawn to her in a way it's never been drawn to anything else." His eyes flick toward Ni-ki.
"You know about my beast, don't you? I'm sure you've heard stories."
Ni-ki remains silent for several moments. "I've heard nothing directly from you."
Jungwon nods. "Unlike the others, feeding has always been a necessity for me. Never a thrill. Never a hunt." His gaze drifts toward the forest.
"I don't enjoy chasing prey. I don't crave conquest. My nature is selective. Detached." A laugh leaves him. "Most things bore me."
"I've never been ambitious.” His eyes find yours through the window. "And then I met her."
Something dark flashes across his face.
"Even now, I don't understand how someone fated to be my brother's mate became mine after his death."
His jaw tightens. "Sometimes I wonder if some part of me always knew. If some part of me understood what would happen long before I did."
Then, "Tell me, Ni-ki."
"Imagine every instinct you possess. Every urge to hunt, to possess and to claim." The shadows around him seem to deepen. "Now imagine all of it directed toward a single person."
His eyes never leave yours.
“I never knew hunger until the day I met her."
Ni-ki lights another cigarette, eying Jungwon thoughtfully. “Did you stay here for her?”
“I liked living the myth. Not because I was a god, but because I could live peacefully beside her. Once I take her to the Selene…” Jungwon furrowed his brows, digging his heels into the soil. “You know things will change.”
He glanced at Ni-ki.
“I’ll only admit this once. You’re the only one who willingly acknowledges all the ways I fall short. The only one who has no love for me, no real loyalty. So listen carefully: I never wanted to lead the pack. But I’ve always wanted to be hers.”
“And now I’m here.”
Silence stretched between them.
“Sunghoon’s dead. I ate his body to prove my place.”
Ni-ki’s eyes remained as blank and cold as gunmetal as he stared into the darkness beyond the trees, digesting Jungwon’s words. He crushed his cigarette beneath his heel, then turned and walked away without another word.
⏾
The three other men remained scattered throughout the house. Jake brewed tea with quiet ease, Jay had fallen asleep on the old dusty couch in the living room with a book draped across his face, and Ni-ki soaked in the bathtub until his fingers wrinkled and the water turned cold.
Being near them felt right, like pieces of a puzzle slowly falling into place. You still couldn’t see the full picture, but you imagined this was what it felt like to have a home—to belong to a family.
A single candle illuminated the room. Jungwon’s lithe frame seemed to glow amber in its flickering light, his skin still damp from the lingering humidity of the warm summer night. He undid the buttons of his loose white dress shirt before easing it from his shoulders, the subtle flex of muscle beneath his skin effortless and unintentional.
He crawled onto the bed the moment he registered you lying on your back, completely nude, legs coquettishly swinging in the air as if beckoning him.
Your chest rose and fell calmly, shaking from your subtle giggle. His large hand grasped at your left ankle before he leaned his head down to lick a trail from there to your inner thigh.
Without a single word, his mouth meets your core—long tongue dragging along your lips to suck eagerly at your clit. An open-mouthed moan leaves your throat, and his arms loop around the soft meat of your thighs, strands of hair brushing your pelvis and stomach.
“Missed you. Missed this.” He breathes out, gasping against your slick. A faint flush adorns his nose bridge as he stares up at you with glossy eyes.
You huff out a laugh, clenching your thighs around his throat. “You had me just the other day.”
"I never have enough of you." He prods his tongue out, slipping inside of you before a thick finger curls alongside the muscle. You jolt, your breasts heaving as you press your hands onto his shoulders.
"We have company."
Jungwon raises a brow. "And you thought lying here naked was a good idea?"
You grin. "I thought it'd be fun to test you."
He moves to loom over your body before crashing his lips into yours deliberately, molding his mouth to engulf your tongue. He pulls his sweats off and rolls his hips against yours, the friction leaving a sinful squelch between your bodies, panting against your mouth before pressing his temple onto yours. "Has that ever gone well for you?"
You lock him in place with a leg wrapped around his slim waist. "It’s gone wonderfully for me, actually."
In a heartbeat, he pushes himself in completely. A small scream tumbles out of you as you pulse and contract around him. Immediately, he pounds into you and forces you to wrap your arms around his neck—pushing your knees to your chest as you jostle at his force. "So you enjoy not walking?"
"T-there’s something enticing about being kept under lock and key, I suppose." You force out.
The reality of his words hits you as his thrusts sharpen, driving you deeper into the mattress. The rough friction against your sensitive walls has your head spinning, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity. Each impact is almost brutal in the small room, wet and loud, and your fingernails dig into his shoulders, leaving half-moon marks that seem to spur him on.
“Will you do anything for me? As I’ve done for you?”
You didn’t quite know what he meant. All you know is that something inside of you said yes in less than a heartbeat.
Before you can answer, he pulls back slightly to watch his cock slide in and out of you, glistening with your arousal. The sight is impossibly lewd, and your back arches off the bed, seeking more friction. He smirks, leaning down to capture one of your breasts in his mouth, his tongue swirling over your nipple before he bites down gently.
"Faster," you plead, legs trembling. "Please."
He reaches down to grip your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he lifts and drops you to meet his every stroke.
Look at me," he demands, his voice rough. "I want to see you when I take you."
He wraps his arms under your thighs and pushes your legs back further, opening you up completely. The view is humiliating and erotic, and your face burns with heat. He stares down at you, his eyes dark with something carnal , before leaning down to capture your mouth again, swallowing your moans.
he thrusts hard and deep, burying himself to the hilt. He holds himself there, grinding against you, before leaning down and sinking his teeth into the curve of your neck. You cry out, your nails raking down his back, leaving angry red scratches. He bites harder—enough to draw blood. Enough to bruise and blotch your skin purple.
Only this time, your mouth drags along his shoulder before it nestles on the curve between his throat and collarbone, before biting down mindlessly. You don't register the copper tang of his blood flooding your mouth, nor do you notice the way his body shudders against yours as he spills into you—thick and full.
The rhythm doesn't slow. He drives into you with punishing force, the wood of the headboard shrieking in protest before snapping completely off, leaving your back scraping harshly against the bare wall as your body curls inward in a pathetic, obedient arch. You take him in, bowing beneath his weight, a submissive doll opening wide for his use.
When you bite again—even barder this time, you tear the skin clean through.
But Jungwon only holds your head in position against his throat, smiling softly.
“There’s my Luna.” He gasps out, eyes dilated and black, fighting to resist the urge to swallow you whole.
When you finally pull away, wet with surrender, you watch as his skin seals within seconds. He licks into your mouth softly before laughing lightly.
“I’d say we need a new bed, but we have to leave this place first.” He lay on his back, one forearm draped across his eyes.
You jolted, staring at him in surprise. “Leave?”
Truth be told, there was nothing here for you. Even so, it was all you had ever known.
He remained silent for several minutes, waging an internal battle you had no hope of deciphering. When he finally spoke, the tension in the room seemed to ease.
“There’s a place I’ve needed to take you for a long time now, and there’s no avoiding it anymore.” He rolled onto his side, tucking his hands beneath his cheek as he looked at you.
“The Selene. Only there can you finally understand what all of this means.”
You studied his face for a moment before reaching out to brush your fingers along his cheek.
“Well… when do we leave?”
His eyes fluttered shut, a soft smile touching his lips.
“Tomorrow.” He mutters tiredly. “We leave everything behind tomorrow.”
Tomorrow, everything changes. For good, Jungwon thought.
But maybe things had already changed, and he simply hadn’t allowed himself to admit it yet.
⏾
AUTHORS NOTE: i know we hate when i do two part series bc i take my absolute time with updating. however, i couldn’t resist posting this one after much time deliberating during my hiatus….
life’s been crazy. absolutely plot worthy, and i needed to write something to deal with the tyranny of being a hot girl in my mid twenties amen.
next update for this will be EXTREMELY steamy (as we haven’t really gotten into the smut aspects this chapter) and have a lot more character details/plot clarification! hope anyone who reads this enjoys. <3
predominantly nsfw works! MDNI, 18+! please note that this blog does post & interact with dark content. i write predominantly fetish content-> dark smut, angst, tragedies. all work is original and does not incorporate nor enlist the help of AI. series are slow to update for storyboarding. credits to @v4mpblog for the amazing dividers! a lot of these are older works…but i hope you can appreciate my growth (LMAO)
artapprentice!seonghwa x muse!reader x famouspainter!yeosang
⋆.˚✮synopsis: park seonghwa is a newly appointed art apprentice studying under kang yeosang, a prolific painter who’s infamous for his intensely controversial and erotic oil paintings. when he meets y/n, yeosang’s one and only muse and object of obsession—seonghwa is seduced into a decade long affair of yearning for another man’s muse he cannot touch.
for the thrill of the hunt (m): smut, comedy, angst, fantasy/supernatural, fluff (18+) ‘☆’ [hiatus, for storyboard planning!]
ancient vampire! seonghwa & reader x poker player! wooyoung
synopsis: being an ancient vampire sucks, sometimes—both literally and figuratively.
when seonghwa refuses to feed and forces himself into a deep slumber after declaring that he’s unwilling to face the painful boredom of everyday life, you’re forced to devise a delicious plan that’s heinous enough to awaken your very mopey husband. this is why jung wooyoung— a world star poker player with not only a great mug to pair with his skills, but the world’s rarest blood type, golden blood— gets a big red x on his photo that you shoddily pin onto the wall of your dining room when your frustrated efforts at getting your husband to stop moping grow frantic. your villainous husband— not one to opt out of a well crafted game, rises to join you on this particular excursion.
the mission?
play an all stakes game of cat and mouse with jung wooyoung’s life
for the thrill of the hunt.
𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔲𝔟’𝔰 𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔷 ⛧⃝ : one-shot, hard smut, dark romance-fantasy, unreliable narrator, obsession, psychological, stockholm syndrome, love triangle, pwp, BDSM 18+ COMPLETED. ‘☆’
⃝ Pairing: yandere hunter! seonghwa x captive angel! reader x guard! san
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ summary: you come to terms with your distorted desire for your captor—damning yourself to never return to heaven in favor of living in his ominous and vulgar captivity. the entanglement only complicates further when he instructs his personal guard to watch over you while he's on a mission.
—synopsis: after the sudden passing of your husband due to a fatal car accident, your memory of him is slowly deteriorating at the wake of your grief. however, as more hair raising coincidences progressively get strange, you realize you’re not only haunted by your husbands memory.
♰𖣐♰ devil’s catch (m): religious horror, suggestive, supernatural-fantasy, SMUT, series. (18+) ‘☆’ [hiatus, for storyboard planning!]
pairings: exorcist!hongjoong x psychic!racially and bodily diverse reader (some ot8 x reader but heavily focused on hongjoong. however, everyone will still be intertwined.)
synopsis: “the order” is a secret organization of exorcists blessed with special abilities dedicated to expelling higher class demons—located in a ancient crypt hidden beneath the vatican. when an exceptionally gifted child is followed by prophetic omens and falls into possession of an unclassified s-class demon—kim hongjoong, considered the greatest exorcist of the 21st century, is dispatched under the mysterious order of convincing an enigmatic psychic hiding away in a metropolis to accompany he and his team in what might be their most daunting exorcism yet.
pairing: sub professor! mingi x honor roll (college) dom student! reader
—synopsis: in which your rigid professor has a taste for seeing you after hours.
𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳: 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦, 𝘯𝘦𝘰-𝘴𝘦𝘰𝘶𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵, 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘤𝘺𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘬 𝘢𝘶, 18+! COMPLETED! pairing: rebel member! mingi x stripper ex! reader
—synopsis: 𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙞𝙨 𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙, 𝙎𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙈𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙞'𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙫𝙤𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙞𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙞𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚: 𝙂𝙤 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙗𝙖𝙧, 𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝙗𝙤𝙢𝙗, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙚𝙭—𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙝𝙚 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙨 𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙤𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨.
sugarcoat: 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵, 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵, 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘩, 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘺'𝘢𝘭𝘭, (evil) secret camboy with a corruption kink au, 18+
𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙩 𝙗𝙛! 𝙎𝙖𝙣 (𝙝𝙚'𝙨 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙖𝙣𝙚) 𝙭 𝙄𝙣𝙣𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙩! 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧
He was sweet—almost too sweet. The kind of boyfriend who said all the right things, touched you like you mattered, and smiled like he had nothing to hide. But the charm was a mask, carefully crafted to disarm. Behind the softness lurked something darker: a hidden lifestyle he documented regularly online under the pseudonym ‘ch0i-kitty’, who posted content of girls he slowly corrupted on camera, vulgar perversion and live streamed conversations about his target of choice.
You thought you were falling in love.
You didn’t realize you were being documented.
AKA In which your sweet boyfriend isn’t as sweet as you originally thought and is a pervert with a taste for corrupting girls on camera.
KEEP YOUR EYES ON ME: racer au, exes to lovers, smut, san ain’t shit fr
𝐸𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅: drabble, best friends to lovers to idiots, fluff, mutual pining, comedy. (SFW!!)
pairings: best friend! san x best friend! reader
—synopsis: choi san’s been smitten since he’s first laid eyes on you playing in the sandbox; in other words—he’s loved you for as long as he can remember. all is well until you find the resolve to try and move on from the feelings he doesn’t know you have, and he’s faced with a choice: lose the girl of his dreams forever or finally step up and end the friendship.
: ͙͘͡★ a faint signal: Cosmic nostalgia, fantasy, fluff, cosmic deities, 1980's Hong Kong, episodical. (SFW!) COMPLETED!
.͙͘͡★Pairings: Cosmic spirit/ Star child! San x Weary soul! childhood friend reader ͙͙͘͡★WC: 3.4k
͙͘͡★Synopsis: It’s the year 1982–Hong Kong’s once awe-inspiring neon lights are now a dull visage of what it once was for you in your youth. Drained and dreamless, you find yourself bawling in a telephone booth after every unanswered call, until an old imaginary friend visits you. You’re then thrusted into a strange and cosmic reality where the dreams of your youth weren’t so imaginary at all
scotty doesn’t know: drabble series. ‘☆’ 🎸⋆⭒˚ pairings: drummer!wooyoung x guitarist! reader x vocalist! seonghwa
🎸⋆⭒˚ genre: cheating, drabble series, smut, toxic relationships. this chapter starts with woo’s pov and shifts to readers pov.
🎸⋆⭒˚ synopsis: seonghwa doesn’t know wooyoung screws you in the van whenever he fucks up and wooyoung doesn’t mind cleaning up after his messes so long as you end the night with him. inspired by the song “scotty doesn’t know” by lustra.
pt ii. be quiet and drive 🎤✩♬ ₊˚.
🎤✩♬ ₊˚. synopsis: seonghwa wants bigger things but he can’t bring himself to let you go just yet. (based on the song be quiet and drive by the deftones.)
pt.iii ˚✮ cherry boy—boy toy! ˚✮ 🎸⋆⭒˚ pairings: drummer!wooyoung x guitarist! reader x vocalist! seonghwa
🎸⋆⭒˚ synopsis: after a stunt you pulled onstage, wooyoung needs you tonight—even if all hell breaks loose in the process.
I give my first love to you: short letter entry, hurt, right person wrong timing, drabble. part i. of the drabble series. (COMPLETED!) ‘☆’ (SFW!)
pairings: first love! wooyoung x first love! reader
synopsis: A mini drabble series beginning with an unsent love letter. I crafted two endings for the first drabble and to provide some vague insight for the character relationships— but one of the endings is based in an alternate universe. You, dearest reader, are free to choose who to love and what universe is entirely yours—and what love almost was.
pt.ii extended drabble, san’s ending. [green light] new boyfriend! san x reader x first love! wooyoung (SFW!)
͙͘͡★ synopsis: wooyoung may have given him his first love, but san’s never going to give her back to him.
pt.iii extended drabble, one shot—wooyoung’s ending [the last time] first love ex! wooyoung x first love ex!reader (SFW!)
͙͘͡★ synopsis: this was the last time wooyoung was halfway to loving you.
Incubus! Wooyoung x Reverend’s Daughter! Reader (Incubus Ateez mentioned)
You’ve been afflicted by distorted dreams for as long as you could remember. Ostracized by your community for your tendencies to drift in and out of delusions even while awake. All the more you’re agonized by the ravenous and erotic nature that accompany your episodes—unaware that the Devil has his eyes on you.
INK & IVORY: forbidden romance, angst, eventual hard smut, semi-slow burn, enemies/lovers/manipulative counterparts, vampires 18+ (read the warnings please!)
Pureblood! Stepbrother Wooyoung x Pureblood! Reader, Pureblood Childhood Friend! Hongjoong x Pureblood! Reader
Summary: Pure bloods are a dying breed in vampyr society—coveted, revered, and feared. When your father suddenly weds the widowed matriarch of the influential Jung family, the union is meant to strengthen alliances. But behind the flawless image of your new blended family festers something far more twisted: an illicit entanglement with your enigmatic stepbrother, Wooyoung.
He’s possessive, sharp, and impossible to predict. You're the only one who can sate his bloodlust, and he knows it. What begins as an unspoken dependency spirals into a brutal game of dominance, jealousy, and seduction. In a house ruled by secrets and power, love is just another weapon—and you’re both armed to the teeth.
WARNINGS: masterbation, “e-sex”, voyeurism? sort of. video taping and light degradation. some photos as reference for their text messages. :)
[𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚒-𝚋𝚘𝚢: 𝚛 𝚞 𝚞𝚙?]
The corner of your lips quirks upward the moment the notification slides across your screen. Adjusting your skirt, you flip your phone facedown on the desk, fingers drumming idly against the tabletop.
Across the conference room, Hongjoong drones on about company stocks, marketing strategies, and projected growth—essentially the same corporate jargon you’ve heard a hundred times before.
It’s a typical day in the life of a salary woman: an iced Americano at 7 a.m., surviving the morning commute in a skirt that skirts the edge of professionalism, then enduring meetings, presentations, and appointments for the next six hours. From nine to five, you’re living the dream fresh graduates chase—but it took years of effort, sleepless nights, and relentless ambition to get here.
Marriage always seemed like a distant, uninspiring idea. Companionship was best enjoyed at arm’s length, you thought.
Motherhood had never appealed to you, nor had the idea of legally binding yourself to another person. Still, as a single woman in her thirties, you had your own…indulgences. Preferences even.
Your digi-boy, to be exact. Song Mingi—late twenties, six feet tall, effortlessly fashionable, and… well.
Big.
Big enough for the fantasy to leave you salivating.
By the time you arrive at your loft, kick off your heels, and work the tension from your scalp after letting your hair tumble free from a meticulous updo, you’re exhausted. Wine glass in hand and still clad in your stockings, you settle onto the couch—only for your face to light up at his next message.
Mingi was smooth. The kind of guy that knew exactly what to say and when to say it. You knew that’s why he was able to make a business out of it, and nodded your head at his prices.
You sip at your wine slowly with a grin, opening the first attachment with a raised brow.
A thong?
How cute.
You know better than to expect anything just cute from Mingi. Your eyes narrow, suspicion rising as your finger hovers over the play button. The screen remains black for a beat before his breathy chuckle cuts through the initial static.
"You mentioned a thing for gloves, right? Specifically the black leather ones, so…"
The camera angle is deliberately low, capturing only the sharp line of his jaw, the frantic pulse in his throat, and the tensing skin of his abdomen. His stomach clenches, flinching at a subtle movement just out of frame below.
With one hand, he hooks a gloved finger between his teeth, pulling the leather off slowly, then spits onto his palm. a He’s already slick, pre-cum beading and tracing a path down his straining, twitching length. The head is a furious, engorged red, strained to its limit by the cock ring rolled to its base. His other hand, still sheathed in black leather, digs hard into the thick muscle of his thigh, a white-knuckled grip hidden beneath the smooth, black cloth.
He works himself over, his strokes slow and agonizing, every pull of his hand accompanied by a flinch.
You lean in, the screen amplifying the clear sheen of fluid coating his stomach. He already came, you realized. The realization sparks an entertained grin. It had to be multiple times with how wet it looked.
You flinch when you hear him call your name.
“—you’re just watching, aren't you? little freak." His voice drops, breathless as he tilts his head back, his gaze fixed on the lens. He’s watching himself. The dark quirk to his lip tells you he’s more than happy at what he sees.
“But I like that about you. You like watching me as much as I like watching myself,” He admits and doesn't let the sentence hang; instead, he tightens his fist around his cock with a hint of desperation now. The head leaks more pre-cum, dragging slickly against the prominent, map-like veins of his skin. The leather glove makes a wet, obscene sound against his skin, abdominal muscles clenching so hard they look like they might bruise,
“Highkey…I’d be down to pound that little pussy.” He chokes out, a flush trail paint his nose bridge and cheeks—platinum blonde hair plastered to his forehead, falling into his wet mouth. You think you catch a stray droplet glistening on his lip and commit the look in his unfocused, wandering eyes to memory.
“Should’ve seen how hard I got when you finally sent a photo back.” He lets out a shaky laugh, finally locking eyes with the camera, his gaze intense and entirely on the fantasy of you. “I’d be so good. I’d get you to relax the way you deserve to after a long day.”
His head snaps back against the pillow, his back arching violently as he fumbles to yank off the cock ring. The pressure snaps and he cums, his release shooting up hard enough to paint his face and chest. He shudders, overwhelmed by the overstimulation, before propping himself up on his elbows.
Grinning at the lens, one eye squeezed shut to keep the mess from dripping down—he smiles coquettishly.
“Send the addy, miss.”
You grin in reply—waiting a week before sending your address and a brief note:
gurl is u alive and well bcuz we really need that part two of only if you play nicely😫
i’m so alive rn. too alive, even.
(LMAO)
and yeth as for that part two… she’s still in there somewhere, but i got a major writers block when it came to the smut scenes. worry not—i’m doing market research AKA, i’m gonna have a hot girl summer if u know what i mean.
hello darling! I’m not a request driven blog, but I have some male reader ateez fics in the works (in my drafts, specifically) ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ i also have some gender neutral fics coming out eventually as well!
hello darling! <3 i’m back for now, but I may end up taking a step back if i get burnt out again. i’m so happy to hear from you! <3 i hope you’ve been well sweetie. ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡
Mavvvv I miss you so much. I didn’t know you were on haitis. I was wondering why I saw so little of you and my feed lately. I hope all is well❤️
hello my love! thank you so much for sending your regards~ i miss all of you so much! i took some time off from tumblr, since life was PLOTTING on me lately + the whole enhypen situation had me down in the dumps—but I’m momentarily back!
sending so much love and hopes that all is well for you too ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡
SYNOPSIS: You were taught to know him only as “GOD”—until his true name slips. In every world, every god has favorites, and you were Yang Jungwon’s to a bloody extent. Unbeknownst to you, your body carries a lineage bounded to his through time.
GENRES!: Werewolf AU/Religious Cult Horror, Dark Smut, Psychological. Bonding AU, kind of ambiguous storytelling. NSFW / MDNI, 18+!
TWO SHOT WARNINGS!: Sacrilegious themes! Violence, bruising, hitting. d3ad animals, Worship & blood play, biting, oral. P in V (unprotected). jungwon is TAN/OLIVE TONED N NOT WHITEWASHED IN THIS STORYYYYYY. jungwon hates children btw and is a lil…obsessive. erotic body horror undertones…knotting. PT. I of II.
Please heed the warnings. Don’t like—simply don’t read.
—mav’s notes: wrote this in the morning cause i needed to get my brain going.
He liked it when you bit hard enough to scar.
Teeth marks were religion—indentations as worship: proof that you wanted to keep God close long enough to let him bleed. He’d return the favor, jaw tight around your throat as if it took everything in him not to break you, cold exterior straining under the effort. But his hands were always a dead giveaway: the tremor in his fingers, the shudder in his breath whenever the metal of your blood settled slow and heavy in his gut.
You never asked his name. Part of you still doubted his power, however otherworldly he seemed. If he wasn’t truly a god, you wouldn’t be surprised. God didn’t need a name—he needed an omnipresent title. And he was beautiful enough that it never felt worth questioning.
GOD ties your hair back with a small ribbon, coaxing the strands down your spine until your throat is laid bare, every scarred bite on display.
“There she is,” he says softly. “All done.”
You meet his eyes through the mirror’s reflection, palms folded neatly in your lap. “Am I pretty?”
He smiles with his teeth.
“Prettiest lamb I’ve ever seen.”
Truth was—he wanted to rip you open.
You haunted him even in his dreams: visions of curling inside your stomach, cradling your spine, blending so deeply into you that he ceased to exist anywhere else at all. The chair scrapes as he draws you back against him, pressing a kiss to your neck.
He chuckles under his breath, eyes glinting with mischief. Overgrown strands of hair veil his expression as he dips his head to rest against your nape. “Do you want to know my name?”
You still, eyes fixed on your lap. Despite the fear gnawing at you, you nod.
He mouths the syllables against your skin, breaking the name apart like meat, like something meant to be tasted before it’s taken whole.
You repeat it, hesitant.
Jungwon.
It feels like a death sentence.
It’s inevitable. There’s no going back.
Mother Mary seemed to sleep in the water, her stone palms gently pressed together, lily pads brushing her body before drifting away. A rosary is carved around her wrist, the stone slowly eroding as the statue lay flat and abandoned in the pond. The town was calm—strangely hollow at 2 p.m.—quiet except for mourning doves and the soft drift of shallow water. It breathed, it emptied itself. It smelled like the sulfuric skin of a young “God.”
The community was never “Godless.”
Long before he arrived—terribly young and deeply unsettling—religion still haunted the old white wood of every creaking establishment.
Maybe it was something in the water, a collective infection that craved the end of the world under the guise of preparing for it.
“There will be blood,” he’d say, his gaze downturned and unreadable as he dipped his fingers into ash. “We have to accept the process of bleeding. Only then can we be saved.”
God enjoyed rituals—the slow, gentle bleeding—and enjoyed the principle of never asking his name. When he arrived alone as a child, he said only that the human tongue could not withstand the weight of his name.
Communion is bloody, the way “God” liked it.
A small piece of meat, torn and raw, is placed on the tongue as the attendant pricks your finger and holds it over a brass goblet.
No one else questions. Not when he spoke so convincingly, it became gospel.
⏾
“Remember that I made you,” he’d always say—a baptism, a faithful mantra that crowded the room like smoke.
Every prayer he uttered drifted through the air like bleach, an attempt to sterilize the room of doubt. Of him. Of his ownership. The space buzzed like flies, lines forming at the epicenter as church attendants fed faithful mouths—ecstatic. Now clean.
When it’s your turn to receive communion, he rises from his seat, gently pushing aside the young boys reaching to feed you, to prick your finger.
He comes close. So close your breath catches when he lays his index and middle fingers flat against your tongue, gazing at you with that peculiar look in his eyes. Your saliva stretches and clings, silent and silken against his smooth fingers. Deliberate. Lingering. He touches you like he intends to stay.
“Remember that I made you,” he repeats.
You don’t wince when the prick comes. You notice the deliberate way he slides his finger against yours before anyone can see, and the press of his tongue against the bead of blood when he turns his back to the crowd.
He made me, you remind yourself.
‘I’m his.
He is not mine.’
⏾
[FLASHBACK: before you’d bore his mark.]
The previous cacophony of the great hall hushed the moment he stepped inside. Golden cheekbones cut through the vibrancy of the celebration, his dark hair fluttering in the rush of air from the newly opened door. People marveled at him, bowing their bodies in immediate acts of reverence.
“GOD”, or Jungwon—as you’d come to know later, appeared only a handful of strange times each year outside of sermon like he’d shot darts blindly at a calendar and decided from there. He would enter slowly, as though hoping to go unnoticed, sit to pick at his plate, then leave without a word. Most days he spent cradling a book in his thin hands and falling asleep on the porch until villagers would bring offerings to his door. He observed the festivities with a keen, distant gaze—occasionally nodding at stray facts his attendant murmured—before turning away again.
You noticed he only ate red things.
Sometimes you’d see his eyes flicker back to you, smoldering. All too aware. It made your stomach churn, licking at your intestines like the flickering of a lantern.
You remember meeting him once, when you were twelve—he was young then, standing level with your chest. Even then, there was something unnerving about him, about his eyes: a dark, vast abyss that scanned his surroundings as though he could sense its pulse without effort.
He bit you once. You forget how it happened. His attendant apologized, explaining it was a habit he was learning to grow out of.
But you could’ve sworn you heard the whispered words, this one’s mine, just before you instinctively tore him from your shoulder. Jungwon didn’t blink. He sank his sharp teeth into you as if he knew the mark would scar—something he’d use to trace his way back to you someday with ease. He sensed something you didn’t. Til this day, you don’t know what it was.
Even now, from across the room, his eyes lay on the thinly covered slope of your shoulder, where the scar still gleams faintly whenever a shift of movement betrays a sliver of skin. You’re older now. Worn. A little jaded from a failed engagement five years ago: You’d never wanted children and that incompatibility wretched you two apart after eight years of being together.
“The grapes.”
Your spine straightens at the sudden sound of his voice. He rarely spoke outside of sermon, and hearing the timber of it so close catches you off guard. He tilts his head to look down at you, lifting a flippant hand to gesture his thin finger toward the bowl behind you.
You were hardly in the way.
Still, you keep your eyes on his as you reach back, take the bowl, and offer it to him. He reaches to calmly pluck from the stem, keeping his eyes on you as he peels the skin with his teeth, and sucks the pulp lightly into his mouth.
A faint glimmer cuts across his eyes before it’s gone. He notices the way you don’t look away, the way your spine stays ramrod straight instead of curling instinctively beneath his presence. The moment is cut short the moment all false bravado seemed to leave you at his sharp inhale. He didn’t mean to make his frustration obvious.
Your silence, however, unsettled him.
Years of watching you from afar never once broke your resolve to keep your distance—and today, the prideful God finally relented.
“Do you always do that?” He questioned.
“Do what?” Your hand unconsciously reaches to smooth down your dress. Jungwon tilts his head.
“Avoid gazing at me for too long.” He starts, stepping around you. The air around him seemed molten—dangerous. A unseen black fog that seemed to stifle only you from its sickening sweetness, sticking to the clamminess of your skin.
You swallow hard, braving yourself to raise your head just enough to peer at him through your dense line of lashes. “Is that not what one should do in the presence of a God?”
“True reverence is being unable to look away even when etiquette calls for it.” He replied.
“Reverence looks different on everyone.” A strange fever drips from between your legs and the apple of your cheeks flush at his mere scent. Being around him has always been strange. It made you strange. And that’s why you avoided him like the plague.
He clenches his jaw before turning to his attendant briefly. The man bows in immediate understanding, quickly looping an arm through yours to guide you outside the hall.
Most of God’s lovers couldn’t say no. They never wanted to, even if there was an initial fire to resist for the sake of rebellion—but when his gaze would finally fall onto them: quiet, domineering, and intensely magnetic—their breaths would catch in their throat, before they’d part their mouths to welcome him in. If he beckoned you—you’d come. That was your bible. His words were gospel.
He says nothing at first. Eying you like it’s the first time he’s ever truly done it, and—for a moment—you start to doubt he remembers that incident.
Blue moonlight bled into the marbled hallway. Vast windows, framed by towering arches, were frigid to the touch. You leaned against the wooden railing along the wall, almost sitting, one leg left to hang idly.
“Will you let me in?”
He shivered at your doe-eyed gaze, at the unconscious way your legs drew together—as if you understood his meaning before you let yourself admit it.
“Let you in?” you echoed, breath slipping out of you. It had been years since you’d spoken, yet he was as jarring as the day you first met him.
Keeping his eyes on you, he slowly sank to his knees. Your hands darted forward to steady him, but you flinched as his teeth sank lightly into your wrist—hard enough to leave indentations, not enough to draw blood.
You interrupt him, gasping as his hands slide from your ankles to lift your dress past your thighs.
He huffs a laugh, leaning back on his knees, eyes fixed on you with an almost arrogant intensity. “Don’t you feel it—the pull? Or are we still going to play dumb?
He leans forward to hold your dress up again, boldly saddling his face between your legs—breath pressing hot against the thin fabric of your underwear.
Your stomach tenses, hips automatically flinching forward when you feel his eerily long tongue lick up the fabric, barely missing your clit. Your eyes briefly catch on the ominous shape of his shadow as it looms and stretches across the hallway’s white wall. For a moment, it seems almost alive. But his wandering hands pull your attention away before you can study it any further.
You feel his thick palm push your leg up to drape over his shoulder, grinding his nose into the meat of your thigh before inhaling deeply.
“You’ve always been mine—” It almost sounds like an unintended confession when it leaves his lips absentmindedly.
His hand snakes upward, trailing past your abdomen and grazing your sensitive, flinching chest before his index finger traces the raised ridges of the scar his teeth left behind years ago.
Slowly, he draws aside the fabric of your dress, exposing the marked skin in the pale light. The silvered lines of the old wound emerge beneath his touch, stark against the softness surrounding them.
In the moonlight, the scar seemed to beckon him. His fingers slipped into your mouth, gathering your saliva as it coated his skin. What excess remained spilled past the corners of your lips, trailing down his wrist while the rest slid down your throat.
When he pressed deeper, the heated muscles of your throat tightened reflexively around the intrusion, constricting with each measured movement. His gaze never left you.
And then he bites.
Your back arches as a searing pain blooms through the soft flesh of your inner thigh, radiating outward in hot, pulsing waves. Jungwon presses closer, his mouth lingering against your skin as his grip tightens. A faint shudder runs through him at the feel of you beneath his hands—soft, yielding, all too easy for him to hold. The sound that leaves him is low and strained, caught somewhere between hunger and restraint.
He draws the blood from you, drinking until all you can see is red. The metallic tang lingers on your tongue—thick and pungent. Through the haze, you squint, your brows knitting together.
When you lower your gaze, you find him already watching you. Searching. Waiting for a sign you don’t yet understand—for the taste of blood to hit you, despite his fingers being the only things held in your mouth.
The slightest movement of your tongue—a minute reaction to the strange taste flooding your mouth—makes something gleam in his eyes. He pulls away, grinning.
Blood stains his teeth. “Your mouth is my mouth,” he says softly. “What I taste, you taste.” His pearly canines catch beneath the cold blue light as his eyes darken into polished obsidian.
And then it dawns on you.
He’s no god.
He’s a monster.
⏾
You jolt from your sleep. It was more dream than memory, some of its details lost to the wind. That memory, in particular, was still fresh despite the years that had come and gone.
The memory of Jungwon’s claiming.
But as much as he hated to admit it, Jungwon had grown soft for you: the god loved you enough to go hungry. That devotion didn’t tame the monster within him, if anything, it only drove it mad. The longer he denied himself, the sharper his hunger became. His fondness festered alongside his appetite, twisting affection into something ravenous and possessive.
Peering through a sliver of an opening near his door, you hear the soft, muffled sound of squelching seep into the hallway. Jungwon leans over the table, handling flesh with absent-minded brutality—shoving and tearing at raw meat until tough tendons split apart. Intestines lie scattered across the surface, some draping over the edges almost mournfully.
The carcass of a lamb stares back at you with unsettlingly blank eyes. And once again, Jungwon’s shadow seems to possess a life and shape of its own.
At the sound of your sharp inhale, Jungwon stills. His back remains turned to you, illuminated by the flickering glow of tapered candles. Now and then, molten wax drips onto the surface below, each slow descent resembling a falling tear. They are the only witnesses to his monstrosity—save for you. Yet despite his stillness, only the head of his shadow turns toward you.
Slowly, you step back before retreating to your room. Beyond your bedroom window, a pale gray morning stretches across a field of wheat, the stalks swaying gently in the breeze, quiet and serene. But only the two of you understood the weight of the silence that filled the home you shared.
A soft humming leaves your throat, absentminded gaze resting outward as you dragged a boars brush down your lengthy hair.
You never asked questions. He waited until you were ready to. At least that’s what he told himself—it’s all the more likely he wasn’t brave enough to disrupt the illusion of your calm life together.
The longer Jungwon went without having you, the harder it became for him to sate his appetites.
One by one, the women in your village who shared your particular shade of hair disappeared. Your perfume became an omen—a hunter’s mark upon prey—though no one in town ever dared speak of it aloud. The offerings doubled in number, and meat grew increasingly scarce as the villagers prioritized satisfying their god’s insatiable demands.
You knew it was your fault. Maybe being so close to a god for so long had made it easier to feel detached from the rest of humanity. The more you bled into him, the more you wanted him to consume you whole.
He arrives like smoke, drifting to your vanity with effortless grace. His hands trail down your arm in silence before brushing the loose strands of hair from the nape of your neck. Your lips are still bitten raw, stained a deep plum from the night before.
You catch his hand and press it to your cheek, gazing up at him through lowered lashes. “Still hungry?”
He smiles sharply. “Always.”
⏾
Something wicked gathered in the air.
You felt it before you understood it—an ancient pull, familiar as a forgotten dream. It lingered at the edges of your consciousness like a homecoming gone wrong, a summons delivered to your doorstep by something neither living nor dead.
Beyond the windows, the wind moaned through the dark, rattling the old wooden frames, and only the soft clinking of cutlery against porcelain plates accompanied the ghastly sound. Raw meat and pomegranate seeds littered Jungwon’s plate—He ate slowly, absentmindedly, his gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the walls of the house.
You had long since abandoned your own meal. Instead, your attention lingered on him.
Something stirred deep within you—a hunger without a name. It coiled through your ribs and unfurled beneath your skin, restless and aching. The feeling was unbearable in its familiarity, as though some invisible thread buried inside your soul had suddenly gone taut. It nearly drew you toward him.
A sudden pull seizes you. A dull ringing echoes somewhere deep within your mind, insistent.
Go outside. Look at her.
Before you can think better of it, you’re rising from your seat. Your fingers curl around the front door’s handle, and moments later you’re padding barefoot across the cool grass.
Moonlight spills over the clearing, silver and damning. It washes over your figure, turning the thin fabric of your nightgown nearly translucent as you lift your gaze toward the sky. It felt like a spell had washed over you.
Something in your blood was calling you home.
In the distance, the full moon peered through a thick, haunting haze of clouds. Jungwon steps out slowly, eying you with veiled caution.
“Little lamb,” he called softly, taking a cautious step forward. “Why don't you head back inside? You aren't even wearing your shoes—”
The words faltered once a sharp breath tore from your lungs. The sensation struck without warning.
Everything felt as though it had caught fire—a violent lurch tearing through you, urging your palms against your temples as the thudding of your own heart ricocheted against your ears. You hear Jungwon curse under his breath before rushing to your side, hauling you upright with a firm grip on your upper arm.
Sweat beads along your forehead as Jungwon slams a hand over your eyes.
“Don’t look at it,” he says. “Don’t.”
Your pupils dilate, irises blazing the color of burning coals before bleeding into an ominous black, like ink unfurling through water. Your teeth begin to tremble, rattling in your jaw until they fall out one by one, replaced by sharper, predatory incisors. Jungwon’s expression crumples as he watches, his gaze turning forlorn the moment you pull his hand away and stare up at the moon once more, bathed in her haunting light. Then, the hallucinatios arrive like a fever.
Everything is red.
The clearing is suddenly littered with bodies. Blood soaks the grass beneath your feet. The air is thick with the scent of it—copper, bile, and something rotten. Entrails spill across the earth, tangled among limbs and torn flesh. Humans, creatures, beasts all lie at your feet.
For a moment, you feel something in your hands. Bones. Sharp. Freshly broken—You can almost feel them splintering beneath your grip. Then, in the blink of an eye, they’re gone.
An almost primordial hunger rises from within you. It’s terrible, urging you to gnaw at its flesh before it beats you to the punch and swallows you instead.
Your eyes find Jungwon.
You want to rip him open. Want to feel skin give way beneath your nails. Want to taste his spine and feel it clatter in your mouth like porcelain, salt, and marble.
The thought arrives so naturally it startles you. nd then—Calm. The hunger recedes like a tide. It stills, like a lock finally clicking open.
Everything is suddenly, terrifyingly, right.
“I understand now,” you say between ragged breaths, resisting the urge to blink.
His brows knit together, confusion flickering across his face.
“True reverence,” you murmur, unable to tear your eyes away, “means not being able to look away.”
And then all fades to black as you sink to your knees, thudding against the dampened grass.
⏾
You awake to an overwhelming chorus of whispers. Even the rustle of the sheets, the morning dew slipping down the banisters, the restless rhythm of Jungwon’s pacing—every sound reached you with startling clarity. They crashed against your senses until nausea churned in your stomach.
“—she’s not ready,” Jungwon hisses at another man.
Even with your eyes closed, you can feel them. At least three others linger in the room, their presences pressing against your sharpened senses.
“She’s been ready,” an unfamiliar voice replies. “You’re the one who’s been delaying the truth. For how long now, Jungwon?”
A heavy silence follows.
“How many more lambs—”
A sharp thud cuts him off, followed by the clatter of bones scattering across a table.
“How many more lambs will you have to tear through just to make it another week?” the man continues, undeterred. “The people are running out of offerings. You’ve been here too long. Any longer, and the locals will realize they've been worshipping a beast instead of a god.”
Another voice chimes in, softer than the last.
“Jay, that’s enough. What’s done is done. But Jungwon… you’re out of time. We have to get her out of here.”
You hear Jungwon exhale shakily as he runs a hand through his hair.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. She awakened for the first time last night, but her bloodlust…” He swallows hard. “It was far too intense for a fledgling.”
“All the more reason to take her away from here.” Jay’s voice tightens as he struggles to contain his frustration. “You’ve already accomplished what you set out to do years ago—kept the myth of us being gods alive, performed enough miracles to keep the offerings coming, and kept all those disappearances quiet. Finding her.”
He turns away with a sigh. “Jake, please talk some sense into him. It’s like he gets off on doing the exact opposite of everything I advise.”
Jake steps forward. It seems he was the owner of the softer voice from earlier.
“Won…” he begins carefully. “I fear her bloodlust is the result of you delaying the bond. Remember, she feels what you feel, even if you’ve only claimed her thus far. It’s only natural that your instincts, your hunger, have been driving hers into a frenzy.”
His voice remains measured, almost placating.
“And you have to remember that her beast has been dormant far longer than normal. The rest of us in The Selene grew up knowing what we were. But for whatever reason, she resisted awakening until yesterday.”
A smooth, timbered voice rises from the darkest corner of the room. “We know why.”
A strange tension settles over the room.
“Ni-ki, don’t—”
Ni-ki ignores the warning. “When you killed your brother, her original mate, during the Succession War, I’d wager that’s what forced the ‘true’ her into slumber.”
The room falls silent.
“Enough,” Jake snaps. “That’s not his fault, Ni-ki. This is the nature of choosing a successor.”
“He was never fated to be our leader.” Ni-ki’s gaze shifts toward your motionless body. He points at you.
“She was the sign.” His voice hardens.
“She was the omen. The proof. And your brother…” He pauses, eyes never leaving you. “She was his.”
Mate? Brother? The Selene?
Your head reels from the onslaught of information. Without answers, none of it fully clicks into place. Jay is the first to break the silence.
“Ni-ki, it’s been years. And while your point may be valid, it doesn’t change the fact that Won is our leader. That’s the oath you swore to uphold—”
“I swore my loyalty to Sunghoon.” Ni-ki’s voice cuts through the room like a blade.
“And I swore to protect her from the day she was born.” His gaze flickers toward your unmoving form, anger simmering beneath the surface. “So forgive me if I’m not thrilled to find her like this after Jungwon apparently spent years delaying the binding.”
The room grows heavier with every word. “Hell no.” He takes a step back, jaw tight.
“I’ve been waiting for her return longer than anyone.” Ni-ki’s eyes flick toward Jungwon. “Even longer than him.”
A bitter laugh escapes him.
“Because while he abandoned The Selene to search for her, the rest of us stayed behind. And for what? Just to discover she’d been right under our noses the entire time?” His gaze hardens. “You call him our leader?”
“Tell me, then—who’s been watching over the Selene in his absence? Who’s been carrying the weight of his responsibilities? It’s been both of you.”
His jaw clenches. “But Sunghoon wouldn’t have left.” The room falls silent. “He would’ve stayed. He would’ve protected his people.”
Ni-ki’s eyes drift to your sleeping form once more.“And he would’ve protected her even if it meant pulling the rug under her feet.”
You can feel Jungwon's dark eyes on you. Even now, the sensation ignites every fiber of your being. Heavy footsteps retreat toward the door. You hear shoes being kicked off, followed by the soft rustle of bare feet against grass. Ni-ki steps out—his particular scent of tobacco and cedar wafting away.
You aren't naive.
You've grown up on the folktales that cling to the forests surrounding your village—the stories of men who never seemed to age, of livestock found mutilated at the edge of the woods, of grotesquely mangled bodies discovered far from home. The elders always dismissed such things as tragedies or bad luck. But everyone knew what the stories were truly about.
Wolves that weren't just wolves.
You're not sure how no one has realized what Jungwon truly is. Not a god—An entity far older. Something maybe more malevolent in nature.
His voice cuts through your thoughts as though he knew what coursed through you. Perhaps he had.
He knew you were awake.
"Each generation of the Selene is born with a gift," he says. "Mine is Compulsion." His gaze drifts toward the village beyond the trees.
"Illusions. Commands. Suggestions. The whole nine yards.” A faint smile touches his lips.
"If I don't want someone questioning me, I simply will it. It’s the only reason why I was even considered for succession, when my brother was everything that one could hope for in a leader.”
The smile disappears.
"But even gifts have limits. Time dulls their effectiveness. The villagers have been under my influence for so long that some have begun building a resistance to it—especially when their minds recognize that something is terribly, terribly wrong."
You sit upright—movements feel strange, almost doll-like. Every twist to your wrist, every small shuffle felt new. An awareness that felt all too real for your body. Curiosity pulls your gaze around the room.
The first stranger you notice is tall and lithe, dressed entirely in black. Short-cropped hair frames sharp features, while silver hoops line one ear. The second is smaller in stature but no less striking. Beautiful in an unsettlingly gentle way, his features softer, almost feline compared to the man beside him.
Both stare at you openly.
"Hi," the taller one says dryly. His eyes sweep over you with unconcealed curiosity. "Should've met you centuries ago, but... circumstances got in the way. I'm Jay."
The other steps forward immediately, smiling warmly. "It's nice to finally meet our Luna." He tilts his head. "I'm Jake."
Outside, Jungwon slips into the darkness, little more than a living shadow beneath the moonlight. He’ll leave it to Jay and Jake to answer the questions he’s never had to bravery to.
Ni-ki ignores him. Standing in the middle of the clearing, Ni-ki takes a slow drag from his cigarette.
"You're right."
Jungwon's voice is calm. His hands disappear into his pockets as he approaches. The shadow stretching from his feet seems unnaturally large tonight.
Ni-ki notices it too.
"But Sunghoon would've loved her out of obligation." The words settle heavily between them.
"To this day, I don't know why, but the thing inside me..." Jungwon pauses. "It was drawn to her in a way it's never been drawn to anything else." His eyes flick toward Ni-ki.
"You know about my beast, don't you? I'm sure you've heard stories."
Ni-ki remains silent for several moments. "I've heard nothing directly from you."
Jungwon nods. "Unlike the others, feeding has always been a necessity for me. Never a thrill. Never a hunt." His gaze drifts toward the forest.
"I don't enjoy chasing prey. I don't crave conquest. My nature is selective. Detached." A laugh leaves him. "Most things bore me."
"I've never been ambitious.” His eyes find yours through the window. "And then I met her."
Something dark flashes across his face.
"Even now, I don't understand how someone fated to be my brother's mate became mine after his death."
His jaw tightens. "Sometimes I wonder if some part of me always knew. If some part of me understood what would happen long before I did."
Then, "Tell me, Ni-ki."
"Imagine every instinct you possess. Every urge to hunt, to possess and to claim." The shadows around him seem to deepen. "Now imagine all of it directed toward a single person."
His eyes never leave yours.
“I never knew hunger until the day I met her."
Ni-ki lights another cigarette, eying Jungwon thoughtfully. “Did you stay here for her?”
“I liked living the myth. Not because I was a god, but because I could live peacefully beside her. Once I take her to the Selene…” Jungwon furrowed his brows, digging his heels into the soil. “You know things will change.”
He glanced at Ni-ki.
“I’ll only admit this once. You’re the only one who willingly acknowledges all the ways I fall short. The only one who has no love for me, no real loyalty. So listen carefully: I never wanted to lead the pack. But I’ve always wanted to be hers.”
“And now I’m here.”
Silence stretched between them.
“Sunghoon’s dead. I ate his body to prove my place.”
Ni-ki’s eyes remained as blank and cold as gunmetal as he stared into the darkness beyond the trees, digesting Jungwon’s words. He crushed his cigarette beneath his heel, then turned and walked away without another word.
⏾
The three other men remained scattered throughout the house. Jake brewed tea with quiet ease, Jay had fallen asleep on the old dusty couch in the living room with a book draped across his face, and Ni-ki soaked in the bathtub until his fingers wrinkled and the water turned cold.
Being near them felt right, like pieces of a puzzle slowly falling into place. You still couldn’t see the full picture, but you imagined this was what it felt like to have a home—to belong to a family.
A single candle illuminated the room. Jungwon’s lithe frame seemed to glow amber in its flickering light, his skin still damp from the lingering humidity of the warm summer night. He undid the buttons of his loose white dress shirt before easing it from his shoulders, the subtle flex of muscle beneath his skin effortless and unintentional.
He crawled onto the bed the moment he registered you lying on your back, completely nude, legs coquettishly swinging in the air as if beckoning him.
Your chest rose and fell calmly, shaking from your subtle giggle. His large hand grasped at your left ankle before he leaned his head down to lick a trail from there to your inner thigh.
Without a single word, his mouth meets your core—long tongue dragging along your lips to suck eagerly at your clit. An open-mouthed moan leaves your throat, and his arms loop around the soft meat of your thighs, strands of hair brushing your pelvis and stomach.
“Missed you. Missed this.” He breathes out, gasping against your slick. A faint flush adorns his nose bridge as he stares up at you with glossy eyes.
You huff out a laugh, clenching your thighs around his throat. “You had me just the other day.”
"I never have enough of you." He prods his tongue out, slipping inside of you before a thick finger curls alongside the muscle. You jolt, your breasts heaving as you press your hands onto his shoulders.
"We have company."
Jungwon raises a brow. "And you thought lying here naked was a good idea?"
You grin. "I thought it'd be fun to test you."
He moves to loom over your body before crashing his lips into yours deliberately, molding his mouth to engulf your tongue. He pulls his sweats off and rolls his hips against yours, the friction leaving a sinful squelch between your bodies, panting against your mouth before pressing his temple onto yours. "Has that ever gone well for you?"
You lock him in place with a leg wrapped around his slim waist. "It’s gone wonderfully for me, actually."
In a heartbeat, he pushes himself in completely. A small scream tumbles out of you as you pulse and contract around him. Immediately, he pounds into you and forces you to wrap your arms around his neck—pushing your knees to your chest as you jostle at his force. "So you enjoy not walking?"
"T-there’s something enticing about being kept under lock and key, I suppose." You force out.
The reality of his words hits you as his thrusts sharpen, driving you deeper into the mattress. The rough friction against your sensitive walls has your head spinning, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity. Each impact is almost brutal in the small room, wet and loud, and your fingernails dig into his shoulders, leaving half-moon marks that seem to spur him on.
“Will you do anything for me? As I’ve done for you?”
You didn’t quite know what he meant. All you know is that something inside of you said yes in less than a heartbeat.
Before you can answer, he pulls back slightly to watch his cock slide in and out of you, glistening with your arousal. The sight is impossibly lewd, and your back arches off the bed, seeking more friction. He smirks, leaning down to capture one of your breasts in his mouth, his tongue swirling over your nipple before he bites down gently.
"Faster," you plead, legs trembling. "Please."
He reaches down to grip your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he lifts and drops you to meet his every stroke.
Look at me," he demands, his voice rough. "I want to see you when I take you."
He wraps his arms under your thighs and pushes your legs back further, opening you up completely. The view is humiliating and erotic, and your face burns with heat. He stares down at you, his eyes dark with something carnal , before leaning down to capture your mouth again, swallowing your moans.
he thrusts hard and deep, burying himself to the hilt. He holds himself there, grinding against you, before leaning down and sinking his teeth into the curve of your neck. You cry out, your nails raking down his back, leaving angry red scratches. He bites harder—enough to draw blood. Enough to bruise and blotch your skin purple.
Only this time, your mouth drags along his shoulder before it nestles on the curve between his throat and collarbone, before biting down mindlessly. You don't register the copper tang of his blood flooding your mouth, nor do you notice the way his body shudders against yours as he spills into you—thick and full.
The rhythm doesn't slow. He drives into you with punishing force, the wood of the headboard shrieking in protest before snapping completely off, leaving your back scraping harshly against the bare wall as your body curls inward in a pathetic, obedient arch. You take him in, bowing beneath his weight, a submissive doll opening wide for his use.
When you bite again—even barder this time, you tear the skin clean through.
But Jungwon only holds your head in position against his throat, smiling softly.
“There’s my Luna.” He gasps out, eyes dilated and black, fighting to resist the urge to swallow you whole.
When you finally pull away, wet with surrender, you watch as his skin seals within seconds. He licks into your mouth softly before laughing lightly.
“I’d say we need a new bed, but we have to leave this place first.” He lay on his back, one forearm draped across his eyes.
You jolted, staring at him in surprise. “Leave?”
Truth be told, there was nothing here for you. Even so, it was all you had ever known.
He remained silent for several minutes, waging an internal battle you had no hope of deciphering. When he finally spoke, the tension in the room seemed to ease.
“There’s a place I’ve needed to take you for a long time now, and there’s no avoiding it anymore.” He rolled onto his side, tucking his hands beneath his cheek as he looked at you.
“The Selene. Only there can you finally understand what all of this means.”
You studied his face for a moment before reaching out to brush your fingers along his cheek.
“Well… when do we leave?”
His eyes fluttered shut, a soft smile touching his lips.
“Tomorrow.” He mutters tiredly. “We leave everything behind tomorrow.”
Tomorrow, everything changes. For good, Jungwon thought.
But maybe things had already changed, and he simply hadn’t allowed himself to admit it yet.
⏾
AUTHORS NOTE: i know we hate when i do two part series bc i take my absolute time with updating. however, i couldn’t resist posting this one after much time deliberating during my hiatus….
life’s been crazy. absolutely plot worthy, and i needed to write something to deal with the tyranny of being a hot girl in my mid twenties amen.
next update for this will be EXTREMELY steamy (as we haven’t really gotten into the smut aspects this chapter) and have a lot more character details/plot clarification! hope anyone who reads this enjoys. <3
❀ SYNOPSIS: When you’re sent screenshots of your boyfriend admitting he’s still hung up on his ex and secretly trying to crawl back—you’re out for blood. You’re already on edge with your heat cycle only three weeks away, and emotions running hotter than they should. Two drinks in, fueled by humiliation and spite, your friends toss out a joke that doesn’t feel like a joke for long: sleep with his ex. It’s petty. It’s reckless—perfect, even. There’s just one unexpected detail.
Sunoo isn’t the girl you imagined. He’s a man—punk, pierced, and also a strikingly beautiful omega.
❀ WARNINGS: oral, marking, biting, lots of fluids, they fuck like bunnies, and sunoo gets pussy drunk, praising, kind of switch! coded sunoo, but they’re both submissives. sunoo’s bisexual and has piercings… (nipple piercings, tongue piercing, eyebrow, lips…u get the gist) (LOL.), and heat cycles—they’re both VERY sub coded and i’m in love w them ur honor… sunoo’s only sweet to the reader. definitely, probably, most likely not accurate in regards to alpha/omega stuff but we get the gist. wc: 4k-ish, unedited.
Jisoo flinches the moment your forehead knocks against the bar. A half-empty shot glass hangs from your right hand, its rim smudged pale pink with lipstick—while in your left, a cigarette burns slow and bitter. You take the occasional drag between swiping at your runny mascara—only to remember you still had it threaded in your fingers.
“Five months of my fucking life. Five, ‘Soo.” You whine, platforms clicking against the metal spinners of the chair.
Eunchae raises a brow, only slightly amused. She tries her best to not say she warned you, but it slips out anyway. “It’s Sunghoon, babe. What’d you expect from such a…hot-blooded Alpha?”
“He was different! Not that bad! Or Evil!!” You muffle your scream with your sleeve, then lift your head to stare at your best friends with puffy eyes.
The bar doesn’t lose its vibrancy: the bartender doesn’t acknowledge your half hearted attempts at convincing your friends and nosy patrons (by proximity), and the music still plays on. You cry a little harder when a song Sunghoon had on his ‘my life’s a movie fr’ playlist coincidentally blares through the speakers.
Eunchae stifles a groan. “Get a grip, bitch. He’s evil. And dumb. Or evil, because he’s dumb—I don’t fucking know.” Her eyes bulge a little as she leans across Jisoo toward you. Naturally, you cower at the sudden wave of energetic dominance she emanates, and although you’ve been friends for years—Eunchae’s still an Alpha and you’re still an Omega.
She softens, but Jisoo lays a hand over hers before speaking.
“I know it’s frustrating… but maybe it’s a blessing in disguise?” She hesitantly starts. You look up and squeeze the shot glass between your palms, warming its surface.
“What do you mean?”
“I just think a guy who could mentally stimulate you might be a better match.”
Eunchae cackles, quickly butting in after taking a swig from her glass. “—what Jisoo’s trying to say is Sunghoon’s an actual dumbass. Like, the lights aren’t on at home. Ever.”
You pout at that. While a huge part of you wanted to defend him, you couldn’t lie. Sunghoon’s the kind of guy who looked like he walked straight of a Sports Illustrated magazine—a dream in dark blue jersey crop tops and denim low-rise jeans—but he’s an absolute himbo, and most conversations about your hobbies required…further explanation.
“Yeah, but he’s the only Alpha that’s never treated me like I’m dumb.” You say, downcast gaze watching the condensation mark your glass.
“That’s because he’s dumber than you—“
Eunchae groans once Jisoo’s sharp elbow hits her stomach, and stifles a scream.
“I know, sweetie. But if he was an actually good guy, he wouldn’t talk about planning ways to get back with his ex.” She utters gently, doe eyes glistening as she clasped a hand around yours comfortingly.
“What an asshole.” Eunchae grits out, before absentmindedly muttering “If I were you—I’d fuck his ex. Get my lick back, you know?”
You still, the gears immediately churning and straightening your back. You zone out on the array of bottled liquor, squinting as you rolled her words in your mouth.
“That’s a great idea, actually.”
Your best friends whip toward you with wide eyes. “Ayo, it was a joke—“ Eunchae squeaks, folding under the weight of Jisoo’s thinly veiled anger.
You push to your feet abruptly, palms slamming against the bar. Quickly, you smooth a hand over your perfectly glossed curled hair, steadying yourself, then swing around and toss your bag over your shoulder.
“Gotta get my beauty sleep. Big day tomorrow.” You say and vanish—leaving a trail of vanilla and brown sugar in your wake.
Eunchae and Jisoo stare at each other before Jisoo rolls her eyes with a groan. “Oh god—this is so bad.”
Heads turn at the sharp, charming click of your kitten heels against the marbled floors of the art department. After cornering Heeseung—who had originally refused to tell you anything more about Sunghoon, even after guiltily sending those screenshots from the boys’ group chat—you finally wore him down. A few well-placed crocodile tears later, he cracked.
And that’s how you end up in the fine arts building, scanning hallways for the sculpture studio. More people are staring than usual. Not because of your doe eyes and perfectly painted lipstick. But because your heat is only a few weeks away, and you deliberately didn’t take your suppressants so that Sunghoon would catch your scent all over campus—your scent is stronger than it should be.
Another scent dances into the hall the closer you get to the studio: something like yuzu tea and sunshine bottled up into a singular room. It was strong. Effortlessly enticing—Beautiful before you’d even laid your eyes on her. You knew it was her the moment you caught a whiff.
The studio is empty, save for a single silhouette standing at its center. A fitted black sweater clings to a narrow waist, dark hair cut short enough to curl softly at the nape. She’s taller than you imagined—almost as tall as Sunghoon—and the realization stings. You’d always assumed he preferred shorter partners. Most alphas, after all, gravitate toward omegas smaller than them.
Her pale hands dragged along a clay statue, molding the shape with a delicate, deliberate touch. She turns her head at the sound of your steps—
And what you see steals your breath from your throat.
Sharp, fox-like eyes run along your form—his pierced, pale pink tongue licks over the other cold metal piercing on his lips. A natural, dewy flush decorates the bridge of his nose, and his voice shocks you from your trance. Holy fuck.
That’s…not a girl. You think.
“…do you need something?” It’s soft. A little hesitant. Shy. The sound tickles your ears as you duck your head.
You stutter, clasping your small hands together, before bubbling the words out.
“I—oh god, you’re beautiful.”
His lips part slightly at that, a flush creeping down the line of his throat. The two of you lapse into a flustered silence, and he just stands there—wide-eyed, like a deer caught in headlights.
After a second, he ducks his head, peering at you shyly through his bangs. “That’s sweet of you to say—” he begins, voice even softer now, before glancing off to the side as if the wall has suddenly become fascinating. “Do you… need help with anything in the studio?”
You stare back at his face with your heart caught in your throat. It’d be easier to lie—to form a ruse just to get close enough to touch—but it didn’t feel right. Staring at him now, you’re struck with the realization of how shady this sort of ordeal would be.
“Honestly? I came here without thinking,” you admit, lifting your chin as you step closer.
You have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes—and he reddens instantly at the shortened distance. God, you’re pretty. There’s something almost doll-like about you, unsettling in its perfection. He has to bite down on the dangerous thought that you might be the prettiest girl he’s ever seen before it distracts him completely.
He waits, silent, patient.
“I—I’m Sunghoon’s girlfriend.” Your fingers tighten around your own wrist. “Or… I was.”
Something in his expression shifts. The light in his eyes dims, brows pulling together in a complicated crease. He fucking hated that guy.
“Oh.”
Oh? That’s it?
You shake your head, and anxiously turn away. “I’m sorry, this was a stupid idea—“
“W-wait.” He pipes up, grasping your wrist hesitantly. “You don’t have to leave.”
To your absolute horror, a tiny sob squeaks out of you. It’s embarrassingly small—but in the quiet studio, it might as well echo. You blink up at him with comically watery eyes, lashes clumping together as you try (and fail) to look dignified. Without thinking, you throw yourself into his arms.
“I’m sorry—I came in here with really awful intentions,” you blurt, words tumbling over each other. “I wanted to screw him over by sleeping with you. I thought you were a woman at first, and doesn’t even matter that you’re not—and he’s just so mean. He didn’t even have the decency to break up with me before planning to get you back.”
Sunoo goes completely rigid, eyes wide as he tries to process the avalanche you’ve just dumped on him. Then something sharp—almost offended—flickers in his gaze.
“I would rather get run over by my own kiln,” he says flatly, “than get back with that dumbass.”
“He always wants what he can’t have. Pretty sure his processing rate is below average.” He finalizes blandly. “Take a seat.” He slides a stool forward and gently pushes you to sit.
Sunoo leans back against a table, perching his weight on his palms as they grasped the sides.
“Listen, I don’t want him back. To be honest, I had no clue that he was even trying to reach out because he’s blocked.”
You sniffle, folding your hands on your lap anxiously. This is so embarrassing. What were you even thinking? The next time you see Eunchae, you’re going to wring her neck.
“It’s not even that. Good Alphas are hard to come by nowadays, and I thought I’d found one who actually cared about me,” you admit.
Sunoo watches you thoughtfully before replying, “I get it. Being an Omega’s no easy feat. That’s why I hate Alphas most of the time…guess I got too distracted by his washboard abs when I agreed to go out with him.” He laughs softly.
Being near him is strangely calming. The day drifts on, and you find yourself sitting on that stool for hours, talking about Sunghoon—and then about life as an Omega. You bond over your shared love for beauty and aesthetics, and he even lets you touch his eyebrow piercing while continuing to sculpt. The goodbye is silent, but warm when he drops you off at your dorms before striding off—taking the only sound of his earrings softly clinking with him.
The next day, Sunoo leans against the wall of your Socioeconomics class, quietly watching as you approach in an excited flurry.
His dark hair is styled straight, three silver piercings dangling from each ear. A fitted turtleneck hugs his lithe figure, paired with baggy, low-waisted dark jeans. When you instinctively reach for his hands, the vision of you together is a clash of black and pastel pink.
“Sunoo!” you squeal, the scent of vanilla stronger in the presence of your joy—even after taking suppressants. Gazing up at him, you hold onto his hand. “What are you doing here?”
He smiles softly, voice low, naturally tinged with melancholia. “Yesterday was fun. Stopped by to tell you you’re welcome to come to the studio whenever. Helped me pass the time.”
A genuine smile curls your lips, the sunlight catching flecks on your gloss.
“No takesie backsies.”
Hangouts at the studio steadily turned into hangouts everywhere else. Over time, you became a regular face at the fine arts department—and people took notice of how close the two of you’d gotten in a short span of time.
Friendship with Sunoo’s as easy as breathing: cute friend dates to dessert cafes, shopping for matching collars, cozy nights in with shared self-care routines, and trips to the photo booth—it fit snugly. Comfortably. He never unsettled you the way an Alpha did. Your shared love of physical touch always resulted in the two of you curling your bodies together—or walking around campus palm in palm, and pressing your temples against each other when greeting.
✿
You sit near a large banana tree plant, at the corner of the campus cafe—catching up between classes.
Heeseung sips on his iced coffee loudly, eying you suspiciously. “You’ve gotten…real close to Sunoo, lately. That’s a surprise.”
You giggle, a happy churning in your stomach at the mention of someone who was growing more special to you by the day. “Yeah—I’m surprised too, given the situation. Guess we bonded over having a shared ex rather than fighting.”
He pops open the cap of his cup and tips it back, pouring a few cubes of ice into his mouth before crunching down on them.
“Well, yeah,” he says around the cold, “but Sunoo’s so fucking grouchy all the time. He can be a real asshole. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t bite your head off the second you mentioned Sunghoon.”
Sunoo? Grouchy?
You stare at Heeseung, bewildered. “He’s so sweet and soft spoken most of the time. Not a single mean bone in his body, Hee.”
Heeseung almost spits out his ice.
“The fuck? Are we talking about the same person?”
“Pretty sure?”
“I fucking thought something was up.” He pips, face painted with delight. “He’s into you.”
“Stop it—“ You utter shyly, gaze dropping to your lap. “We’re good friends. He’d never see me like that.”
“You don’t know Kim Sunoo the way I do,” Heeseung says, voice low and a little mischievous. “He might be an omega, but he’s a total menace. The first time Riki met him, he made the guy cry with just one sentence…because he stood too close. Oh, and he also hated Riki’s designs. Brutal, right?”
“You’re not lying?” you ask, voice sweet and innocent, eyes wide. Your fingers reach to fiddle with the thin collar on your neck.
Heeseung almost coos at the sight, completely undone by how earnestly adorable you look: all pastel pink, draped in lace. “Scouts honor.” He replies, his index finger signing an invisible x over his heart.
“Wanna know a secret, though?” He whispers and leans forward, eyes glinting dangerously. Your eyes widen at the sudden dizzying scent of his pheromones—cedar, cinnamon, and black pepper.
You crane your neck towards him, nodding vigorously
“Sunoo’s a huge masochist—that’s why he has so many piercings.” He grins at you, clearly enjoying how red you’ve gone. He could practically see steam rising off you.
You bury your face in your hands and let out a muffled squeak. “Hee, what the—what the fuck?”
Heeseung reaches over to tug your pinky into his grip, holding it playfully for a moment before pausing. He glances over your shoulder, casual yet deliberate. “Incoming.”
You follow his gaze and brighten immediately.
Sunoo’s dark hair is spiked, styled just messy enough to look effortless. Silver rings gleam along his knuckles when he moves, catching the light. Your gaze drifts—slow and shameless—over the rest of him, taking in the long sleeve layered beneath a baggy graphic tee, the matching collar to yours snug around his throat. You stop yourself short of inhaling his scent deeply.
His eyes, however, are trained onto your hand in Heeseung’s.
“Shouldn’t you be in class?” He utters at the man dryly, running the ball of his tongue piercing across his teeth. He pops his gum disinterestedly.
Heeseung smiles hard enough to crease his eyes into little moons. “I’d much rather be here.”
“Of course—mommy and daddy are gonna pay your way into graduation, right?” He shoves his hands into his pockets, staring at Heeseung with an empty expression.
Your eyes flicker between them, bewildered. “Why are you guys acting so… strange?” you ask, reaching out to tug gently at Sunoo’s fingers. He softens instantly at the way you look up at him from your seat.
“I got you a slice of matcha cake,” he says, leaning down slightly to meet your eyes, ignoring Heeseung completely. “There’s a cafe I think you’d like.”
He chuckles softly when he notices the white lace parasol perched beside the table and takes in the pale pink baby doll dress you had on. “And what a cute little dress.”
You jump up to spin for him excitedly. “This is the one you picked out, remember?”
Sunoo takes your hands gently, smiling brightly. “I knew you’d look pretty in it.”
Heeseung gags silently in the corner. All he wanted was a chance to tease Sunoo, but now he’s stuck third-wheeling—and on the verge of throwing himself into mid-day traffic. Neither you nor Sunoo notice, still chatting excitedly with each other. Heeseung watches a little longer, smiling softly when he realizes the two of you look like little bunnies side by side.
Seriously—the two of you were the prettiest Omegas he’s ever known, and seeing you side by side was no joke. He stills the moment a…particular scent wafts in his direction. A fragrant haze of pink and hot, gooey vanilla drape across the cafe—turning heads in alarm at its heaviness.
His eyes flash before standing to take a step away from you.
“Sweetie, did you forget to take your suppressants?”
You pause in horror. How could you be so stupid? Your heat’s right around the corner—
With fumbling hands, you tug your phone out of your handbag and check the date.
Fuck.
It’s today.
Your heat cycle’s today and you’re seated in a crowded cafe without your pheromone suppressants.
Shakily, you glance around the room, your heart hammering as several Alphas cast uneasy glances, struggling to control their reactions to your trigger-happy scent.
You’re scared.
Really scared.
And you can’t will yourself to move. Even Heeseung’s struggling to stay neutral, a slow fever bleeding into his eyes. When his chest starts heaving, he hastily turns.
“I’m so sorry, I have to go.” His gaze is heavy with apology—but you knew it was for the best. Heeseung’s an Alpha, and a chaotic one at that. You knew he’d never endanger you willingly, no matter how most Alpha’s scared you.
Sunoo wakes you from your frightened trance.
“Come on—let’s get you out of here.” He slides a slim arm around your neck protectively, sharp eyes pointing defensively at any lingering looks.
You can’t believe you forgot one of the worst parts of breaking up with Sunghoon: having to face your heat cycle alone.
The day has arrived, and you don’t have the slightest idea how you’re going to get through it.
The hot pink corner light casts soft, intimate shadows across your room. Sunoo helps you peel off your dress, leaving you in your undergarments, and gently wipes the sweat from your skin. The heat cycle feels more like a fever the longer you’re not touched.
“Sunoo, it hurts.” You arch your back softly, hair spilling on the pillow messily, as strands stick to the sweat on your skin.
His unreadable eyes stay locked on your face as he watches you writhe for five long minutes. Then he rises, the bed creaking softly under him as he climbs on and begins to peel off his layers slowly.
Your breath catches, pink blooming across your flushed cheeks as you stare at him with glossy eyes. The soft, curved tips of your acrylic nails brush against your lips, trembling as you gaze at him in shock.
He kneels on the bed, abdomen twitching and tensing without meaning to. His pale hand reaches to nervously tug at his collar. “You can…use me. As much as you want.”
After a couple of moments of stunned silence, he squirms. Even under the pink light, the red in his cheeks seemed to glow. “I know i’m not an Alpha, but I can keep up. I can handle most things.”
The slick tacking your thighs together thickens. His flush only deepens when he hears it.
“Sun, you really don’t have to—“
“I want to.” He interrupts.
You rise to crawl towards him on all fours, peering up shyly. He sucks in a breath, slightly flinching.
The soft chime of your collars marks each small movement. His lips part as you slip your fingers inside, pressing gently against the sharp edge of an incisor.
“When I’m in heat… I like biting. And being bitten,” you admit, your voice a soft murmur. “Is that okay?”
“Do whatever you want,” he breathes. “I’ll let you know if I don’t like something.”
“You can do anything to me too,” you reply, your palms resting on the soft flesh of your thighs. The glint of his nipple piercings catches the light, almost winking in the dimness.
Everything about the moment feels strangely innocent, despite the context. The sight of his bare body, his willingness to touch you without any need to dominate, offers a comfort you never knew you needed—or were even allowed to have. Its saccharine. Warm. A clouded devotion that perfumes the air around you with something soft and tender—something Omegas like you both rarely have the privilege of knowing.
You both lean in, necks craning toward each other, breaths mingling in the narrow space between you, just a hair strand away from falling into each other.
Slick pools between your legs almost gelatinously, a soft pour trickling down your inner thigh. He sees it, and his hand rises slowly, fingers curling to cup you, stroking two fingers down the lining of your cunt. You throb at the contact, clenching as he petted the surface.
When the cold metal of his piercings press against your lips, as he slides his thin fingers in you, it settles in softly. The kiss isn’t a dramatic homecoming—it’s gentle. Quietly sacred. Reassuring in all the ways Sunoo knew how to calm the anxiety Omega’s always felt even during the high of being in heat.
Your hands find his shoulders, steadying yourself against their surprising breadth. The slow building pace he settles into physically shakes your body as he switches between driving upwards and rubbing your clit. You push deeper, licking shyly into his mouth, and gasp as he boldly pushes into yours. Your brow lifts at the feel of his tongue piercing, the smooth metal rolling against your own muscle. His left hand reaches to grip onto the meat of your hip with a strength you didn’t know he could summon.
Wet sounds fill the room—saliva strands hanging between your lips every time you pulled away just to dive back in. Your fingers lift to roll over his nipples experimentally, and sigh happily into his mouth when you hear the small moan leave him
Sunoo pulls his hand away, and you whine softly at the sudden loss of contact. When you finally break the kiss, you barely have time to steady yourself before you meet his gaze—and flinch. His eyes are intense, almost dizzying, dark irises blown wide and glossed over with something feverish. There’s a glazed heat in them, a look that makes your pulse stutter.
He pushes you onto your back, and crawls face first between your legs.
Without pause, he drags his nose up the fabric of your underwear—sucking the slick from the fabric, then pushes it aside.
A low whine escapes him as his hips roll instinctively, seeking friction against nothing. His boxers are already soaked, a dark patch spreading where his own cock strains against the fabric. You can see the throbbing length twitch as he laps at you, his tongue tracing a slow, deliberate stripe up your slit before circling your clit. The metal ball of his piercing glints in the dim light as he flicks it against the sensitive bud, alternating between rapid flicks and deep, suctioning pulls that leave his chin dripping.
Your body twitches in little spasms once it registers the feeling of his tongue piercing rolling around the sensitive bud. His tongue pumps shallowly at first, then deeper, the knob of his piercing stroking your inner walls. Your knees threaten to knock together, but his arms lock around your thighs, holding you open as he buries his face deeper, devouring you
You comb your fingers through his hair.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently. "Sunoo—breathe," you gasp, but he only whines against you, his eyes rolling back as he presses closer. The sound of his collar rattles softly as he shakes his head, refusing to pull away. When your legs lock around his neck, trapping him, he twitches violently, his fingers curling as he finds that spongy spot inside you that makes your vision blur.
He shakes his head side to side, collar rattling. He’s right where he wants to be.
The metal on his mouth grows warm. Your body feels like something molten—hot to the touch. D
Sunoo doesn’t notice—already lost in the fog of things, as your legs shook and hands fumbled to softly push at his head. He can’t will himself to pull his mouth away, drunk on the taste and heat of you. All he can smell is your particular scent of vanilla, and to his smug delight, traces of his own clean yuzu—erasing Heeseung’s earlier scent of cedar and cinnamon. The entangling scents calm his own anxieties: the ones that’ve been rearing their head every time he saw you with someone else. With someone bigger. Taller. More dominant.
He fucking hated Alphas.
You hide your hot face in your palms as you watch him continue to practically eat you, taking in the slender of his pale back and the small freckles peppering the surface of his shoulder blades and spine. His eyes flick up to meet yours, dark and hungry, as he widens his jaw, taking all of you in his mouth. Seeing his lips stretched around your pussy, his chin glistening with your release, sends another jolt through you.
Fisting the pillow, you bite your lip so hard it draws blood. Reaching out with a trembling hand, you caress his cheek. “Sunoo, it's sensitive”
He finally comes to his senses with a deep inhale, then slowly unlatches his lips from you. The surface is rubbed raw—pink, plump, and glistening. You clench around nothing at the sound of his voice.
“Tastes so good,” he mumbles, rubbing his cheek over your inner thigh in the moment of quiet, before he peers up at you.
You stare at each other, the reality of what just happened dawning in a flushed silence. Shame heats your face as you remember how much slick your body produces in heat, a detail alphas never failed to tease you about.
Sensing your embarrassment, Sunoo watches you from between your thighs. From there, he sees the muscles in your neck tense, your gaze drift away to something suddenly interesting on your left, and feels the faint tremble running through your legs. Slowly, he rises: sliding his cock out of his boxers with ease.
A gasp tumbles out of you at the sight of his own slick. Calmly, he tugs on your thighs until his cock settles between your folds, rubbing against them with ease. The sound of your combined slick is sinful—jarringly loud. He bites and toys with his lip piercing as his gaze fixes on where your bodies teeter on the edge of entry. “See how perfect this is? Look at you.” He marvels.
Clasping his neck, you press your chest to his, rubbing your nipples against his piercings. He hisses, a pretty moan stuttering from his lips as his head falls, overwhelmed by the sensitivity.
Gliding down, you wrap your lips prettily over his chest, your tits dragging against his abdomen before you flick your tongue across the surface—your pale pink gloss staining his porcelain skin.
Heeseung’s words rise to the surface: Sunoo’s a huge masochist.
And then, you bite.
His eyes widen when your teeth clack! against the metal, and you feel his cock twitch directly above your clit. “A-ah!”
One arm wraps around his waist while your small hand lifts to trace delicate fingers over his right nipple. You widen your jaw and bite again; leaving indentations circling around the glinting piercing. Sunoo’s eyes gleam in the pink light, lashes lining with pearl-like tears from the raw sensitivity.
His hips snap forward, drawing a whine from both of you. “God, you feel s-so good,” he stutters, his hand finding the back of your head to hold you sweetly against his chest. His eyes nearly roll back when you bat your lashes and look up at him innocently. “F-feel so pretty against me like this.”
He stares at how the soft fat of your pussy practically tugs his cock down, hugging it—a sloppy, messy sound resonating from between you. His eyes widen when you pull back, your thin hand moving down to part your pussy with two fingers, revealing the silky pink insides.
Flinching, his abdomen catches the stray droplets from between your damp, rocking bodies.
“Sun'—I want it inside.” You lie back fully, releasing his waist to hold your legs open, your arms hooked under your knees. Sunoo sucks in a sharp breath: never in his life has he seen something so fucking pretty. Your cheekbones catch the light, a blooming flush dusting the bridge of your nose and warming your skin. Your hair falls around you like a soft halo, framing your silhouette in a quiet glow.
“My sweet girl wants it inside?” He cups your face in his palm and presses a firm kisses to your temple, lingering there for a moment before nuzzling his nose into your hair and inhaling softly. One of your eyes squeeze shut at his affection, as you lean into it warmly. Your arms loosen where they’re wrapped around your legs, posture softening as you tip your face up to look at him. Your hands reach to run along his slim silhouette.
You quietly nod, biting back a smile. When he slides inside of you, your hands drag up to delicately wrap around his throat—his cock throbs are the pressure. Your back arches at the stretch.
It’s a cacophony of sweet depravity—each time he pulls his hips away, you draw him back with an open mouthed kiss. Everything’s damp. Heated— in a room full of pleasured sighs and slick skin. You feel his hand slide up your abdomen and hold your under-breast in his palm, tits bouncing erratically at the weight of his surprising force.
Small mumbles leave his mouth like a chant against your throat when the flesh is held between his teeth.
“So pretty.”
“Feels so fucking good.”
“Mine.”
The last one had you practically purring in his arms, pointing your breasts upward so he can latch on and mark them. A guiding hand grasps on the meat of your thighs to roll your hips on him manually.
Everything’s doused pink. Sunoo doesn’t even flinch when you squirt hard around him, only opting to fuck into you even harder.
Eventually, you’re on top of him with your hands pressing down on his throat—shaking on his cock after he fills you up for the third time. And another time, he’s saddled in your throat while his mouth works you into another orgasm.
Instinct takes over and memory gives way to an occasional blackness. If you pass out—you don’t pass out for long.
You don’t know how long it’s been. All you know is that your back is impossibly arched, tits pressed flat against the mattress, and that Sunoo’s fucking you hard enough that your head’s deliciously empty. Even the sides of your mouth are sore and raw from the amount of times Sunoo’s crammed himself down your throat until you cried. The sheets are soaked beyond repair and if you were in the right mind, you’d shriek at the almost… jammy texture.
Both your and Sunoo’s bodies are marred with bite marks, the skin flushed, red, and damp. His hips rolled against the soft flesh of your ass, rhythmically stretching your pussy—devastatingly entranced by the way you’re crying into your pillow, how your body seems to glow under the pink light of your room, and how the meat of your body shakes intensely every time he drove back down into you.
His own slick only aids how seamlessly he glides into you, nipple piercings rattling at his force. You drool a little when he shoves himself deep into your stomach, and you attempt to crawl away instinctively. Sunoo only grips onto your elbow and pulls your back flush against his chest, before sliding back in and fucking into you.
Your collars rattle in unison, soft moans painting the air. His skin is soft. Satin, despite the rough nature of his movements. And you couldn’t help the repetitive thought chanting in your head that you’ve never been with someone so beautiful before.
You piss around his cock the moment he prods at a particular spot, eyes rolling to the back of your head. On cue, he brushes your hair away from your neck, his fingers lingering for a breath before his teeth graze the soft skin at the back. He bites into the flesh mid-orgasm, abdomen caving and tensing as he whimpers against your skin.
Sunoo collapses, chest heaving, eyes squinting from the light peaking over the horizon.
It’s morning already. How long have you been going at it?
You tug on his arm until he settles beside you, then slink into his embrace as the two of you catch your breath. You brush your fingers through his hair—occasionally nipping at the skin of his neck.
His finger traces along your spine, thoughtful and slow, before he speaks.
“Can I be yours?”
You lift your head from his neck, your chin pressing against his chest as you stare up at him with tender eyes. Nervously, you toy with his collar, finding comfort in the soft, bell-like chime of the silver star–shaped charm.
Would he really be okay with you?
He stares at you, wide-eyed.
Shit—you hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
Something steadies in him then. He fixes his gaze on yours and speaks softly. “I’m no Alpha. I won’t be the strongest guy in the room, and I probably enjoy getting beat up more than I enjoy throwing a punch—but I’ll keep you safe in the ways I know how. I’ll love you right, in all the ways Sunghoon or any other douchey Alpha didn’t.”
A bright giggle bubbles from your chest.
“I’ll be yours if you’ll have me.”
Sunoo swoops down to steal your breath with a kiss—only pulling away when you’re on the brink of passing out again.
The two of you curl together like Siamese cats at the edge of the bleachers, either oblivious to—or deliberately ignoring—the stares from every direction. People gawk openly; the sight of two Omegas tangled up like this is a rarity.
You’re only here because Heeseung insisted. He’d dragged you both to his home game with a dramatic sigh and a vague gesture between you. “If I hadn’t been around,” he’d said, waving a hand at the two of you, “it wouldn’t have happened.”
At some point, Sunoo’s hands are on you—fingers digging into your waist, tongue warm against yours. The world dissolves into background noise. The roar of the crowd, the sharp whistle of plays, even the game itself fades away.
You don’t notice a thing—until a collective gasp ripples through the stands.
Out on the field, Park Sunghoon goes rigid, the ball still in his hands as he stares at the two of you kissing with reckless abandon. A split second later, he’s flattened beneath a brutal pile of incoming bodies.
Sunoo laughs against your mouth. “Serves him right,” he murmurs, stealing another indulgent kiss. “Maybe I should join the team too. Gives me an excuse to pull something like that.”
You giggle, nudging your nose against his. “Only if you play nicely.”
In the distance, Sunghoon lets out one long, pained groan—and you can’t help but think life has never felt more right.
fin.
wrote this in a single day, so pls excuse funky pacing and/or mistakes lmao
i’ve been on a hiatus for ssssooooooo long, but wanted to come on here to say thank you so much for 2k on only if you play nicely! so happy that everyone has come to love these two as much, or even more, than me~
Hii, just wanna ask if you will be continuing your Heeseung's fanfic, "Moonmarked"? I have been waiting for it for so long 😭
hi darling! 🫶🏼
everything that i still have up on my masterlist are pieces i plan on writing/completing, otherwise i private the ones i scrap.
i usually have a super informal and loose way of approaching what i write, since i don’t want to get caught in the habit of forcing myself to write for the sake of posting it on time—so nowadays, i try not to give any expected timelines for the pieces i do post! but i try to prioritize what i’ve already written teasers for. :) i’m sort of a creative libertine and write when i have the creative flow + time, since a lot of my time this academic term has been dedicated to my (other) artistic mediums.
and as for moonmarked…it’s really hard for me to write about Hee right now.
i definitely intend on finishing the oneshot when it comes, but i’m taking a hiatus from posting atm bc of how genuinely bummed out i am. enhypen is one of my ult groups and seeing everything that’s happening to them right now is so heartbreaking man :/ i just hope everyone ends up alright, but since i write plots w smut…it doesn’t feel right (for me! personally, not for everyone) to write about it rn. i’ll enjoy reading everyone else’s work for now! <3
I’m so sorry to keep you waiting! but when i do release moonmarked, it’ll be when i know she’s as good as i can get her and when it feels like a piece that would also bring comfort to anyone who might read it. 🫶🏼 hee is def gonna be a comfort character (naughty & complex) in moonmarked.
❀ SYNOPSIS: When you’re sent screenshots of your boyfriend admitting he’s still hung up on his ex and secretly trying to crawl back—you’re out for blood. You’re already on edge with your heat cycle only three weeks away, and emotions running hotter than they should. Two drinks in, fueled by humiliation and spite, your friends toss out a joke that doesn’t feel like a joke for long: sleep with his ex. It’s petty. It’s reckless—perfect, even. There’s just one unexpected detail.
Sunoo isn’t the girl you imagined. He’s a man—punk, pierced, and also a strikingly beautiful omega.
❀ WARNINGS: oral, marking, biting, lots of fluids, they fuck like bunnies, and sunoo gets pussy drunk, praising, kind of switch! coded sunoo, but they’re both submissives. sunoo’s bisexual and has piercings… (nipple piercings, tongue piercing, eyebrow, lips…u get the gist) (LOL.), and heat cycles—they’re both VERY sub coded and i’m in love w them ur honor… sunoo’s only sweet to the reader. definitely, probably, most likely not accurate in regards to alpha/omega stuff but we get the gist. wc: 4k-ish, unedited.
Jisoo flinches the moment your forehead knocks against the bar. A half-empty shot glass hangs from your right hand, its rim smudged pale pink with lipstick—while in your left, a cigarette burns slow and bitter. You take the occasional drag between swiping at your runny mascara—only to remember you still had it threaded in your fingers.
“Five months of my fucking life. Five, ‘Soo.” You whine, platforms clicking against the metal spinners of the chair.
Eunchae raises a brow, only slightly amused. She tries her best to not say she warned you, but it slips out anyway. “It’s Sunghoon, babe. What’d you expect from such a…hot-blooded Alpha?”
“He was different! Not that bad! Or Evil!!” You muffle your scream with your sleeve, then lift your head to stare at your best friends with puffy eyes.
The bar doesn’t lose its vibrancy: the bartender doesn’t acknowledge your half hearted attempts at convincing your friends and nosy patrons (by proximity), and the music still plays on. You cry a little harder when a song Sunghoon had on his ‘my life’s a movie fr’ playlist coincidentally blares through the speakers.
Eunchae stifles a groan. “Get a grip, bitch. He’s evil. And dumb. Or evil, because he’s dumb—I don’t fucking know.” Her eyes bulge a little as she leans across Jisoo toward you. Naturally, you cower at the sudden wave of energetic dominance she emanates, and although you’ve been friends for years—Eunchae’s still an Alpha and you’re still an Omega.
She softens, but Jisoo lays a hand over hers before speaking.
“I know it’s frustrating… but maybe it’s a blessing in disguise?” She hesitantly starts. You look up and squeeze the shot glass between your palms, warming its surface.
“What do you mean?”
“I just think a guy who could mentally stimulate you might be a better match.”
Eunchae cackles, quickly butting in after taking a swig from her glass. “—what Jisoo’s trying to say is Sunghoon’s an actual dumbass. Like, the lights aren’t on at home. Ever.”
You pout at that. While a huge part of you wanted to defend him, you couldn’t lie. Sunghoon’s the kind of guy who looked like he walked straight of a Sports Illustrated magazine—a dream in dark blue jersey crop tops and denim low-rise jeans—but he’s an absolute himbo, and most conversations about your hobbies required…further explanation.
“Yeah, but he’s the only Alpha that’s never treated me like I’m dumb.” You say, downcast gaze watching the condensation mark your glass.
“That’s because he’s dumber than you—“
Eunchae groans once Jisoo’s sharp elbow hits her stomach, and stifles a scream.
“I know, sweetie. But if he was an actually good guy, he wouldn’t talk about planning ways to get back with his ex.” She utters gently, doe eyes glistening as she clasped a hand around yours comfortingly.
“What an asshole.” Eunchae grits out, before absentmindedly muttering “If I were you—I’d fuck his ex. Get my lick back, you know?”
You still, the gears immediately churning and straightening your back. You zone out on the array of bottled liquor, squinting as you rolled her words in your mouth.
“That’s a great idea, actually.”
Your best friends whip toward you with wide eyes. “Ayo, it was a joke—“ Eunchae squeaks, folding under the weight of Jisoo’s thinly veiled anger.
You push to your feet abruptly, palms slamming against the bar. Quickly, you smooth a hand over your perfectly glossed curled hair, steadying yourself, then swing around and toss your bag over your shoulder.
“Gotta get my beauty sleep. Big day tomorrow.” You say and vanish—leaving a trail of vanilla and brown sugar in your wake.
Eunchae and Jisoo stare at each other before Jisoo rolls her eyes with a groan. “Oh god—this is so bad.”
Heads turn at the sharp, charming click of your kitten heels against the marbled floors of the art department. After cornering Heeseung—who had originally refused to tell you anything more about Sunghoon, even after guiltily sending those screenshots from the boys’ group chat—you finally wore him down. A few well-placed crocodile tears later, he cracked.
And that’s how you end up in the fine arts building, scanning hallways for the sculpture studio. More people are staring than usual. Not because of your doe eyes and perfectly painted lipstick. But because your heat is only a few weeks away, and you deliberately didn’t take your suppressants so that Sunghoon would catch your scent all over campus—your scent is stronger than it should be.
Another scent dances into the hall the closer you get to the studio: something like yuzu tea and sunshine bottled up into a singular room. It was strong. Effortlessly enticing—Beautiful before you’d even laid your eyes on her. You knew it was her the moment you caught a whiff.
The studio is empty, save for a single silhouette standing at its center. A fitted black sweater clings to a narrow waist, dark hair cut short enough to curl softly at the nape. She’s taller than you imagined—almost as tall as Sunghoon—and the realization stings. You’d always assumed he preferred shorter partners. Most alphas, after all, gravitate toward omegas smaller than them.
Her pale hands dragged along a clay statue, molding the shape with a delicate, deliberate touch. She turns her head at the sound of your steps—
And what you see steals your breath from your throat.
Sharp, fox-like eyes run along your form—his pierced, pale pink tongue licks over the other cold metal piercing on his lips. A natural, dewy flush decorates the bridge of his nose, and his voice shocks you from your trance. Holy fuck.
That’s…not a girl. You think.
“…do you need something?” It’s soft. A little hesitant. Shy. The sound tickles your ears as you duck your head.
You stutter, clasping your small hands together, before bubbling the words out.
“I—oh god, you’re beautiful.”
His lips part slightly at that, a flush creeping down the line of his throat. The two of you lapse into a flustered silence, and he just stands there—wide-eyed, like a deer caught in headlights.
After a second, he ducks his head, peering at you shyly through his bangs. “That’s sweet of you to say—” he begins, voice even softer now, before glancing off to the side as if the wall has suddenly become fascinating. “Do you… need help with anything in the studio?”
You stare back at his face with your heart caught in your throat. It’d be easier to lie—to form a ruse just to get close enough to touch—but it didn’t feel right. Staring at him now, you’re struck with the realization of how shady this sort of ordeal would be.
“Honestly? I came here without thinking,” you admit, lifting your chin as you step closer.
You have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes—and he reddens instantly at the shortened distance. God, you’re pretty. There’s something almost doll-like about you, unsettling in its perfection. He has to bite down on the dangerous thought that you might be the prettiest girl he’s ever seen before it distracts him completely.
He waits, silent, patient.
“I—I’m Sunghoon’s girlfriend.” Your fingers tighten around your own wrist. “Or… I was.”
Something in his expression shifts. The light in his eyes dims, brows pulling together in a complicated crease. He fucking hated that guy.
“Oh.”
Oh? That’s it?
You shake your head, and anxiously turn away. “I’m sorry, this was a stupid idea—“
“W-wait.” He pipes up, grasping your wrist hesitantly. “You don’t have to leave.”
To your absolute horror, a tiny sob squeaks out of you. It’s embarrassingly small—but in the quiet studio, it might as well echo. You blink up at him with comically watery eyes, lashes clumping together as you try (and fail) to look dignified. Without thinking, you throw yourself into his arms.
“I’m sorry—I came in here with really awful intentions,” you blurt, words tumbling over each other. “I wanted to screw him over by sleeping with you. I thought you were a woman at first, and doesn’t even matter that you’re not—and he’s just so mean. He didn’t even have the decency to break up with me before planning to get you back.”
Sunoo goes completely rigid, eyes wide as he tries to process the avalanche you’ve just dumped on him. Then something sharp—almost offended—flickers in his gaze.
“I would rather get run over by my own kiln,” he says flatly, “than get back with that dumbass.”
“He always wants what he can’t have. Pretty sure his processing rate is below average.” He finalizes blandly. “Take a seat.” He slides a stool forward and gently pushes you to sit.
Sunoo leans back against a table, perching his weight on his palms as they grasped the sides.
“Listen, I don’t want him back. To be honest, I had no clue that he was even trying to reach out because he’s blocked.”
You sniffle, folding your hands on your lap anxiously. This is so embarrassing. What were you even thinking? The next time you see Eunchae, you’re going to wring her neck.
“It’s not even that. Good Alphas are hard to come by nowadays, and I thought I’d found one who actually cared about me,” you admit.
Sunoo watches you thoughtfully before replying, “I get it. Being an Omega’s no easy feat. That’s why I hate Alphas most of the time…guess I got too distracted by his washboard abs when I agreed to go out with him.” He laughs softly.
Being near him is strangely calming. The day drifts on, and you find yourself sitting on that stool for hours, talking about Sunghoon—and then about life as an Omega. You bond over your shared love for beauty and aesthetics, and he even lets you touch his eyebrow piercing while continuing to sculpt. The goodbye is silent, but warm when he drops you off at your dorms before striding off—taking the only sound of his earrings softly clinking with him.
The next day, Sunoo leans against the wall of your Socioeconomics class, quietly watching as you approach in an excited flurry.
His dark hair is styled straight, three silver piercings dangling from each ear. A fitted turtleneck hugs his lithe figure, paired with baggy, low-waisted dark jeans. When you instinctively reach for his hands, the vision of you together is a clash of black and pastel pink.
“Sunoo!” you squeal, the scent of vanilla stronger in the presence of your joy—even after taking suppressants. Gazing up at him, you hold onto his hand. “What are you doing here?”
He smiles softly, voice low, naturally tinged with melancholia. “Yesterday was fun. Stopped by to tell you you’re welcome to come to the studio whenever. Helped me pass the time.”
A genuine smile curls your lips, the sunlight catching flecks on your gloss.
“No takesie backsies.”
Hangouts at the studio steadily turned into hangouts everywhere else. Over time, you became a regular face at the fine arts department—and people took notice of how close the two of you’d gotten in a short span of time.
Friendship with Sunoo’s as easy as breathing: cute friend dates to dessert cafes, shopping for matching collars, cozy nights in with shared self-care routines, and trips to the photo booth—it fit snugly. Comfortably. He never unsettled you the way an Alpha did. Your shared love of physical touch always resulted in the two of you curling your bodies together—or walking around campus palm in palm, and pressing your temples against each other when greeting.
✿
You sit near a large banana tree plant, at the corner of the campus cafe—catching up between classes.
Heeseung sips on his iced coffee loudly, eying you suspiciously. “You’ve gotten…real close to Sunoo, lately. That’s a surprise.”
You giggle, a happy churning in your stomach at the mention of someone who was growing more special to you by the day. “Yeah—I’m surprised too, given the situation. Guess we bonded over having a shared ex rather than fighting.”
He pops open the cap of his cup and tips it back, pouring a few cubes of ice into his mouth before crunching down on them.
“Well, yeah,” he says around the cold, “but Sunoo’s so fucking grouchy all the time. He can be a real asshole. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t bite your head off the second you mentioned Sunghoon.”
Sunoo? Grouchy?
You stare at Heeseung, bewildered. “He’s so sweet and soft spoken most of the time. Not a single mean bone in his body, Hee.”
Heeseung almost spits out his ice.
“The fuck? Are we talking about the same person?”
“Pretty sure?”
“I fucking thought something was up.” He pips, face painted with delight. “He’s into you.”
“Stop it—“ You utter shyly, gaze dropping to your lap. “We’re good friends. He’d never see me like that.”
“You don’t know Kim Sunoo the way I do,” Heeseung says, voice low and a little mischievous. “He might be an omega, but he’s a total menace. The first time Riki met him, he made the guy cry with just one sentence…because he stood too close. Oh, and he also hated Riki’s designs. Brutal, right?”
“You’re not lying?” you ask, voice sweet and innocent, eyes wide. Your fingers reach to fiddle with the thin collar on your neck.
Heeseung almost coos at the sight, completely undone by how earnestly adorable you look: all pastel pink, draped in lace. “Scouts honor.” He replies, his index finger signing an invisible x over his heart.
“Wanna know a secret, though?” He whispers and leans forward, eyes glinting dangerously. Your eyes widen at the sudden dizzying scent of his pheromones—cedar, cinnamon, and black pepper.
You crane your neck towards him, nodding vigorously
“Sunoo’s a huge masochist—that’s why he has so many piercings.” He grins at you, clearly enjoying how red you’ve gone. He could practically see steam rising off you.
You bury your face in your hands and let out a muffled squeak. “Hee, what the—what the fuck?”
Heeseung reaches over to tug your pinky into his grip, holding it playfully for a moment before pausing. He glances over your shoulder, casual yet deliberate. “Incoming.”
You follow his gaze and brighten immediately.
Sunoo’s dark hair is spiked, styled just messy enough to look effortless. Silver rings gleam along his knuckles when he moves, catching the light. Your gaze drifts—slow and shameless—over the rest of him, taking in the long sleeve layered beneath a baggy graphic tee, the matching collar to yours snug around his throat. You stop yourself short of inhaling his scent deeply.
His eyes, however, are trained onto your hand in Heeseung’s.
“Shouldn’t you be in class?” He utters at the man dryly, running the ball of his tongue piercing across his teeth. He pops his gum disinterestedly.
Heeseung smiles hard enough to crease his eyes into little moons. “I’d much rather be here.”
“Of course—mommy and daddy are gonna pay your way into graduation, right?” He shoves his hands into his pockets, staring at Heeseung with an empty expression.
Your eyes flicker between them, bewildered. “Why are you guys acting so… strange?” you ask, reaching out to tug gently at Sunoo’s fingers. He softens instantly at the way you look up at him from your seat.
“I got you a slice of matcha cake,” he says, leaning down slightly to meet your eyes, ignoring Heeseung completely. “There’s a cafe I think you’d like.”
He chuckles softly when he notices the white lace parasol perched beside the table and takes in the pale pink baby doll dress you had on. “And what a cute little dress.”
You jump up to spin for him excitedly. “This is the one you picked out, remember?”
Sunoo takes your hands gently, smiling brightly. “I knew you’d look pretty in it.”
Heeseung gags silently in the corner. All he wanted was a chance to tease Sunoo, but now he’s stuck third-wheeling—and on the verge of throwing himself into mid-day traffic. Neither you nor Sunoo notice, still chatting excitedly with each other. Heeseung watches a little longer, smiling softly when he realizes the two of you look like little bunnies side by side.
Seriously—the two of you were the prettiest Omegas he’s ever known, and seeing you side by side was no joke. He stills the moment a…particular scent wafts in his direction. A fragrant haze of pink and hot, gooey vanilla drape across the cafe—turning heads in alarm at its heaviness.
His eyes flash before standing to take a step away from you.
“Sweetie, did you forget to take your suppressants?”
You pause in horror. How could you be so stupid? Your heat’s right around the corner—
With fumbling hands, you tug your phone out of your handbag and check the date.
Fuck.
It’s today.
Your heat cycle’s today and you’re seated in a crowded cafe without your pheromone suppressants.
Shakily, you glance around the room, your heart hammering as several Alphas cast uneasy glances, struggling to control their reactions to your trigger-happy scent.
You’re scared.
Really scared.
And you can’t will yourself to move. Even Heeseung’s struggling to stay neutral, a slow fever bleeding into his eyes. When his chest starts heaving, he hastily turns.
“I’m so sorry, I have to go.” His gaze is heavy with apology—but you knew it was for the best. Heeseung’s an Alpha, and a chaotic one at that. You knew he’d never endanger you willingly, no matter how most Alpha’s scared you.
Sunoo wakes you from your frightened trance.
“Come on—let’s get you out of here.” He slides a slim arm around your neck protectively, sharp eyes pointing defensively at any lingering looks.
You can’t believe you forgot one of the worst parts of breaking up with Sunghoon: having to face your heat cycle alone.
The day has arrived, and you don’t have the slightest idea how you’re going to get through it.
The hot pink corner light casts soft, intimate shadows across your room. Sunoo helps you peel off your dress, leaving you in your undergarments, and gently wipes the sweat from your skin. The heat cycle feels more like a fever the longer you’re not touched.
“Sunoo, it hurts.” You arch your back softly, hair spilling on the pillow messily, as strands stick to the sweat on your skin.
His unreadable eyes stay locked on your face as he watches you writhe for five long minutes. Then he rises, the bed creaking softly under him as he climbs on and begins to peel off his layers slowly.
Your breath catches, pink blooming across your flushed cheeks as you stare at him with glossy eyes. The soft, curved tips of your acrylic nails brush against your lips, trembling as you gaze at him in shock.
He kneels on the bed, abdomen twitching and tensing without meaning to. His pale hand reaches to nervously tug at his collar. “You can…use me. As much as you want.”
After a couple of moments of stunned silence, he squirms. Even under the pink light, the red in his cheeks seemed to glow. “I know i’m not an Alpha, but I can keep up. I can handle most things.”
The slick tacking your thighs together thickens. His flush only deepens when he hears it.
“Sun, you really don’t have to—“
“I want to.” He interrupts.
You rise to crawl towards him on all fours, peering up shyly. He sucks in a breath, slightly flinching.
The soft chime of your collars marks each small movement. His lips part as you slip your fingers inside, pressing gently against the sharp edge of an incisor.
“When I’m in heat… I like biting. And being bitten,” you admit, your voice a soft murmur. “Is that okay?”
“Do whatever you want,” he breathes. “I’ll let you know if I don’t like something.”
“You can do anything to me too,” you reply, your palms resting on the soft flesh of your thighs. The glint of his nipple piercings catches the light, almost winking in the dimness.
Everything about the moment feels strangely innocent, despite the context. The sight of his bare body, his willingness to touch you without any need to dominate, offers a comfort you never knew you needed—or were even allowed to have. Its saccharine. Warm. A clouded devotion that perfumes the air around you with something soft and tender—something Omegas like you both rarely have the privilege of knowing.
You both lean in, necks craning toward each other, breaths mingling in the narrow space between you, just a hair strand away from falling into each other.
Slick pools between your legs almost gelatinously, a soft pour trickling down your inner thigh. He sees it, and his hand rises slowly, fingers curling to cup you, stroking two fingers down the lining of your cunt. You throb at the contact, clenching as he petted the surface.
When the cold metal of his piercings press against your lips, as he slides his thin fingers in you, it settles in softly. The kiss isn’t a dramatic homecoming—it’s gentle. Quietly sacred. Reassuring in all the ways Sunoo knew how to calm the anxiety Omega’s always felt even during the high of being in heat.
Your hands find his shoulders, steadying yourself against their surprising breadth. The slow building pace he settles into physically shakes your body as he switches between driving upwards and rubbing your clit. You push deeper, licking shyly into his mouth, and gasp as he boldly pushes into yours. Your brow lifts at the feel of his tongue piercing, the smooth metal rolling against your own muscle. His left hand reaches to grip onto the meat of your hip with a strength you didn’t know he could summon.
Wet sounds fill the room—saliva strands hanging between your lips every time you pulled away just to dive back in. Your fingers lift to roll over his nipples experimentally, and sigh happily into his mouth when you hear the small moan leave him
Sunoo pulls his hand away, and you whine softly at the sudden loss of contact. When you finally break the kiss, you barely have time to steady yourself before you meet his gaze—and flinch. His eyes are intense, almost dizzying, dark irises blown wide and glossed over with something feverish. There’s a glazed heat in them, a look that makes your pulse stutter.
He pushes you onto your back, and crawls face first between your legs.
Without pause, he drags his nose up the fabric of your underwear—sucking the slick from the fabric, then pushes it aside.
A low whine escapes him as his hips roll instinctively, seeking friction against nothing. His boxers are already soaked, a dark patch spreading where his own cock strains against the fabric. You can see the throbbing length twitch as he laps at you, his tongue tracing a slow, deliberate stripe up your slit before circling your clit. The metal ball of his piercing glints in the dim light as he flicks it against the sensitive bud, alternating between rapid flicks and deep, suctioning pulls that leave his chin dripping.
Your body twitches in little spasms once it registers the feeling of his tongue piercing rolling around the sensitive bud. His tongue pumps shallowly at first, then deeper, the knob of his piercing stroking your inner walls. Your knees threaten to knock together, but his arms lock around your thighs, holding you open as he buries his face deeper, devouring you
You comb your fingers through his hair.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently. "Sunoo—breathe," you gasp, but he only whines against you, his eyes rolling back as he presses closer. The sound of his collar rattles softly as he shakes his head, refusing to pull away. When your legs lock around his neck, trapping him, he twitches violently, his fingers curling as he finds that spongy spot inside you that makes your vision blur.
He shakes his head side to side, collar rattling. He’s right where he wants to be.
The metal on his mouth grows warm. Your body feels like something molten—hot to the touch. D
Sunoo doesn’t notice—already lost in the fog of things, as your legs shook and hands fumbled to softly push at his head. He can’t will himself to pull his mouth away, drunk on the taste and heat of you. All he can smell is your particular scent of vanilla, and to his smug delight, traces of his own clean yuzu—erasing Heeseung’s earlier scent of cedar and cinnamon. The entangling scents calm his own anxieties: the ones that’ve been rearing their head every time he saw you with someone else. With someone bigger. Taller. More dominant.
He fucking hated Alphas.
You hide your hot face in your palms as you watch him continue to practically eat you, taking in the slender of his pale back and the small freckles peppering the surface of his shoulder blades and spine. His eyes flick up to meet yours, dark and hungry, as he widens his jaw, taking all of you in his mouth. Seeing his lips stretched around your pussy, his chin glistening with your release, sends another jolt through you.
Fisting the pillow, you bite your lip so hard it draws blood. Reaching out with a trembling hand, you caress his cheek. “Sunoo, it's sensitive”
He finally comes to his senses with a deep inhale, then slowly unlatches his lips from you. The surface is rubbed raw—pink, plump, and glistening. You clench around nothing at the sound of his voice.
“Tastes so good,” he mumbles, rubbing his cheek over your inner thigh in the moment of quiet, before he peers up at you.
You stare at each other, the reality of what just happened dawning in a flushed silence. Shame heats your face as you remember how much slick your body produces in heat, a detail alphas never failed to tease you about.
Sensing your embarrassment, Sunoo watches you from between your thighs. From there, he sees the muscles in your neck tense, your gaze drift away to something suddenly interesting on your left, and feels the faint tremble running through your legs. Slowly, he rises: sliding his cock out of his boxers with ease.
A gasp tumbles out of you at the sight of his own slick. Calmly, he tugs on your thighs until his cock settles between your folds, rubbing against them with ease. The sound of your combined slick is sinful—jarringly loud. He bites and toys with his lip piercing as his gaze fixes on where your bodies teeter on the edge of entry. “See how perfect this is? Look at you.” He marvels.
Clasping his neck, you press your chest to his, rubbing your nipples against his piercings. He hisses, a pretty moan stuttering from his lips as his head falls, overwhelmed by the sensitivity.
Gliding down, you wrap your lips prettily over his chest, your tits dragging against his abdomen before you flick your tongue across the surface—your pale pink gloss staining his porcelain skin.
Heeseung’s words rise to the surface: Sunoo’s a huge masochist.
And then, you bite.
His eyes widen when your teeth clack! against the metal, and you feel his cock twitch directly above your clit. “A-ah!”
One arm wraps around his waist while your small hand lifts to trace delicate fingers over his right nipple. You widen your jaw and bite again; leaving indentations circling around the glinting piercing. Sunoo’s eyes gleam in the pink light, lashes lining with pearl-like tears from the raw sensitivity.
His hips snap forward, drawing a whine from both of you. “God, you feel s-so good,” he stutters, his hand finding the back of your head to hold you sweetly against his chest. His eyes nearly roll back when you bat your lashes and look up at him innocently. “F-feel so pretty against me like this.”
He stares at how the soft fat of your pussy practically tugs his cock down, hugging it—a sloppy, messy sound resonating from between you. His eyes widen when you pull back, your thin hand moving down to part your pussy with two fingers, revealing the silky pink insides.
Flinching, his abdomen catches the stray droplets from between your damp, rocking bodies.
“Sun'—I want it inside.” You lie back fully, releasing his waist to hold your legs open, your arms hooked under your knees. Sunoo sucks in a sharp breath: never in his life has he seen something so fucking pretty. Your cheekbones catch the light, a blooming flush dusting the bridge of your nose and warming your skin. Your hair falls around you like a soft halo, framing your silhouette in a quiet glow.
“My sweet girl wants it inside?” He cups your face in his palm and presses a firm kisses to your temple, lingering there for a moment before nuzzling his nose into your hair and inhaling softly. One of your eyes squeeze shut at his affection, as you lean into it warmly. Your arms loosen where they’re wrapped around your legs, posture softening as you tip your face up to look at him. Your hands reach to run along his slim silhouette.
You quietly nod, biting back a smile. When he slides inside of you, your hands drag up to delicately wrap around his throat—his cock throbs are the pressure. Your back arches at the stretch.
It’s a cacophony of sweet depravity—each time he pulls his hips away, you draw him back with an open mouthed kiss. Everything’s damp. Heated— in a room full of pleasured sighs and slick skin. You feel his hand slide up your abdomen and hold your under-breast in his palm, tits bouncing erratically at the weight of his surprising force.
Small mumbles leave his mouth like a chant against your throat when the flesh is held between his teeth.
“So pretty.”
“Feels so fucking good.”
“Mine.”
The last one had you practically purring in his arms, pointing your breasts upward so he can latch on and mark them. A guiding hand grasps on the meat of your thighs to roll your hips on him manually.
Everything’s doused pink. Sunoo doesn’t even flinch when you squirt hard around him, only opting to fuck into you even harder.
Eventually, you’re on top of him with your hands pressing down on his throat—shaking on his cock after he fills you up for the third time. And another time, he’s saddled in your throat while his mouth works you into another orgasm.
Instinct takes over and memory gives way to an occasional blackness. If you pass out—you don’t pass out for long.
You don’t know how long it’s been. All you know is that your back is impossibly arched, tits pressed flat against the mattress, and that Sunoo’s fucking you hard enough that your head’s deliciously empty. Even the sides of your mouth are sore and raw from the amount of times Sunoo’s crammed himself down your throat until you cried. The sheets are soaked beyond repair and if you were in the right mind, you’d shriek at the almost… jammy texture.
Both your and Sunoo’s bodies are marred with bite marks, the skin flushed, red, and damp. His hips rolled against the soft flesh of your ass, rhythmically stretching your pussy—devastatingly entranced by the way you’re crying into your pillow, how your body seems to glow under the pink light of your room, and how the meat of your body shakes intensely every time he drove back down into you.
His own slick only aids how seamlessly he glides into you, nipple piercings rattling at his force. You drool a little when he shoves himself deep into your stomach, and you attempt to crawl away instinctively. Sunoo only grips onto your elbow and pulls your back flush against his chest, before sliding back in and fucking into you.
Your collars rattle in unison, soft moans painting the air. His skin is soft. Satin, despite the rough nature of his movements. And you couldn’t help the repetitive thought chanting in your head that you’ve never been with someone so beautiful before.
You piss around his cock the moment he prods at a particular spot, eyes rolling to the back of your head. On cue, he brushes your hair away from your neck, his fingers lingering for a breath before his teeth graze the soft skin at the back. He bites into the flesh mid-orgasm, abdomen caving and tensing as he whimpers against your skin.
Sunoo collapses, chest heaving, eyes squinting from the light peaking over the horizon.
It’s morning already. How long have you been going at it?
You tug on his arm until he settles beside you, then slink into his embrace as the two of you catch your breath. You brush your fingers through his hair—occasionally nipping at the skin of his neck.
His finger traces along your spine, thoughtful and slow, before he speaks.
“Can I be yours?”
You lift your head from his neck, your chin pressing against his chest as you stare up at him with tender eyes. Nervously, you toy with his collar, finding comfort in the soft, bell-like chime of the silver star–shaped charm.
Would he really be okay with you?
He stares at you, wide-eyed.
Shit—you hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
Something steadies in him then. He fixes his gaze on yours and speaks softly. “I’m no Alpha. I won’t be the strongest guy in the room, and I probably enjoy getting beat up more than I enjoy throwing a punch—but I’ll keep you safe in the ways I know how. I’ll love you right, in all the ways Sunghoon or any other douchey Alpha didn’t.”
A bright giggle bubbles from your chest.
“I’ll be yours if you’ll have me.”
Sunoo swoops down to steal your breath with a kiss—only pulling away when you’re on the brink of passing out again.
The two of you curl together like Siamese cats at the edge of the bleachers, either oblivious to—or deliberately ignoring—the stares from every direction. People gawk openly; the sight of two Omegas tangled up like this is a rarity.
You’re only here because Heeseung insisted. He’d dragged you both to his home game with a dramatic sigh and a vague gesture between you. “If I hadn’t been around,” he’d said, waving a hand at the two of you, “it wouldn’t have happened.”
At some point, Sunoo’s hands are on you—fingers digging into your waist, tongue warm against yours. The world dissolves into background noise. The roar of the crowd, the sharp whistle of plays, even the game itself fades away.
You don’t notice a thing—until a collective gasp ripples through the stands.
Out on the field, Park Sunghoon goes rigid, the ball still in his hands as he stares at the two of you kissing with reckless abandon. A split second later, he’s flattened beneath a brutal pile of incoming bodies.
Sunoo laughs against your mouth. “Serves him right,” he murmurs, stealing another indulgent kiss. “Maybe I should join the team too. Gives me an excuse to pull something like that.”
You giggle, nudging your nose against his. “Only if you play nicely.”
In the distance, Sunghoon lets out one long, pained groan—and you can’t help but think life has never felt more right.
fin.
wrote this in a single day, so pls excuse funky pacing and/or mistakes lmao
