#Desert Physical Medicine

[xtruss]

Brain samples are taken from the Copper-Age Mummy Ötzi, who was encased in ice shortly after death. This Natural Mummification preserved the body for some 5,000 years before its discovery in 1991. Photograph By Robert Clark, National Geographic Image Collection

These Mummies Were Made … By Accident?

Freeze-dried, salted, or buried in a bog: Thousands of years before humans intentionally mummified their dead, nature took care of it for them.

— By Elise Cutts | August 7, 2023

A mummy isn’t exactly something one would expect to make by accident.

Left to nature, a human body would usually be reduced to bones within a few years. Mummy-making cultures like the ancient Egyptians were only able to stave off the inevitable thanks to complex funerary practices involving all manner of specialized tools, chemicals, and procedures.

But there are paths to mummified eternity that don’t involve canopic jars, natron salts, or brain-removing hooks. In fact, some of the oldest Egyptian mummies were likely accidents, says Frank Rühli, director of the University of Zurich’s Institute of Evolutionary Medicine and head of the Paleopathology and Mummy Studies Group.

Buried in shallow graves, bodies can be naturally preserved for thousands of years by the dry heat of the Sahara’s desert air and sand. Rühli says he believes this could have inspired ancient Egyptians to start mummifying their honored dead.

Hot deserts are just one of many environments in which corpses naturally mummify. Scientists explain how environments ranging from bogs to icy mountaintops can stave off decay and—with a bit of luck—mummify bodies.

Deserts

The Egyptians aren’t the only desert culture known for their mummies. The Chinchorro people of northern Chile started to intentionally mummify their dead about 2,000 years before the Egyptians—and thousands of years before that, the Atacama Desert was doing it for them.

“One of the things that's interesting about the Chinchorro mummies is that some of them were intentionally prepared, while other were naturally mummified,” says physical anthropologist Bernardo Arriaza of the University of Tarapacá in Chile, who spent his career studying the Chinchorro mummies.

A bone-dry corpse, perhaps ironically, will likely leave more than bones.

A Landscape of the Desert! The Atacama desert plateau is one of the driest places in the World. Mummies have been found here that predate ancient Egypt’s by 2,000 years. Photograph By Naftali Hilger, Laif/Redux

Decay is a biological process and without water, biology can’t work. This is why deserts preserve bodies so well and why Egyptian and Chinchorro mummification practices involved steps to dry out the body.

The oldest Chinchorro mummy, Acha Man, was naturally preserved by the desert for more than 9,000 years. Natural mummies have been found in deserts around the world. Among the most well-preserved are the Tarim mummies of Xinjiang, China, who were buried in boat-shaped coffins up to 4,000 years ago in the Taklamakan Desert.

Salt

For a handful unfortunate Iranian miners caught in cave-ins at the Chehrabad salt mine, salt did the job just as well as deserts.

"They were working in the salt mine and then it collapsed,” says Rühli, who studied the mummies. This actually happened multiple times—at least twice, says Rühli—over about 1000 years, entombing young men separated from one another by centuries in the salt they’d come to mine. Though the weight of the salt crushed the miners, flattening their corpses, the salty rock drew the water out of their bodies and mummified their squashed remains.

Salts in the dry soils of the Atacama Desert also helped preserve the Chinchorro mummies, says Arriaza. The soils are rich in nitrate compounds, nitrogen, potassium, sodium, calcium. “Mostly salts,” he says. “That's going to help dehydrate the body.”

Ice

Removing the water from a corpse isn’t the only way to stop decay. Low temperatures slow down most biological processes, and freezing a body completely can keep it from rotting for thousands of years.

Pathologist Andreas Nerlich of the Munich Klinik Bogenhausen studied Ötzi, a 5,300-year-old ice mummy who was found poking out of melting glacier ice in the Ötztal alps near the Austrian-Italian border. “They're preserved as long as the ice is there,” he says of mummies like Ötzi.

While “very rare,” adds Nerlich, ice mummies like Ötzi can be remarkably well-preserved compared to dehydrated mummies. That’s because dehydration shrivels and distorts tissues, but frozen organs mostly keep their shape.

Permafrost, earth that remains frozen year-round, can also mummify. One Siberian mummy, the 2,500 year-old Ice Maiden, was quite literally frozen in a block of ice after her burial chamber flooded and the water quickly froze. Because her burial chamber was constructed from permafrost earth, the ice that formed inside never melted.

Freeze-Drying

Combining cold and dry conditions can mummify bodies even when it’s not consistently chilly enough to keep a body frozen year-round. That’s what happened to a handful of Thule Inuit women and children in Greenland. They were naturally mummified in their graves after their deaths, likely caused by famine or disease, in the 15th and 16th centuries.

It’s a bit like natural freeze-drying, says paleopathologist Niels Lynnerup of the University of Copenhagen, who studied the mummies.

“Even though it's very cold in Greenland, it's not like it's in the high Arctic with permafrost,” he says. The bodies were buried under rocky covers or cairns, so “they still had wind blowing through.” The wind desiccated the bodies and, combined with the bacteria-slowing effect of cold temperatures, mummified them.

Many of the Inca mummies discovered high on Andean mountaintops were preserved by freeze-drying, too. The exceptionally well-preserved Maiden of Llullaillaco, the mummy of a teenage Inca girl left to succumb to cold on an Andean mountaintop as a sacrifice, is a unique case as she was frozen solid.

Even the conditions in cool, dry crypts can sometimes preserve remains in a similar way so long as bodies are either well-ventilated or kept under airtight conditions after being dried out, says Nerlich. Several natural mummies in crypts weren’t entirely accidents. One Upper Austrian mummy known as the Luftg’selchter Pfarrer was intentionally stuffed with water-absorbing materials and treated with salts to delay decay temporarily before he naturally mummified in his crypt.

Bogs

Natural mummification almost always involves somehow getting rid of water, either by removing it entirely or turning it into ice. So may be a bit surprising that wet, swampy bogs can preserve human remains for millennia.

The oldest bog mummy is Cashel Man, who was probably killed in a sacrifice around 2,000 B.C. His body was naturally mummified because of the unusual chemical conditions in bogs.

“There are several factors which cause human remains to be mummified in bogs,” says archaeologist Isabella Mulhall of the National Museum of Ireland. “The lack of oxygen, the cool dark environment… the [acidity] levels of the bog also has a role to play.”

A type of moss often found in bogs also helps mummify bodies, Mulhall adds. Sphagnum moss releases an acidic sugary molecule called sphagnan, which takes up the nutrients that would otherwise nourish microbes that cause decay. This helps mummify corpses—though sphagnan also leaches the calcium out of bones, weakening them.

The acidic fluids in bogs chemically alter the body, not unlike leather tanning or pickling. That’s why most bog bodies, no matter how they looked in life, have dark, leathery skin and bright red hair.

Many bog bodies appear to have met rather violent ends—a fate shared with many other natural mummies. But because luck happened to preserve their bodies, the victims of these ancient tragedies can still tell scientists about themselves and their societies. The same processes that mummify human skin and organs can also sometimes preserve undigested food in the stomach, blood, traces of disease-causing microbes, and even clues about the ecosystems and climates that ancient people lived in.

“In a sense,” says Arriaza, “all these ancient remains are time capsules.”

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Summer Heat | S.R

Summary - By orders or the director, the BAU must undertake a team building hike in the woods. You and Spencer have never gotten along and not even the summer heat seems to be able thaw the ice that exists between you. But then you get yourselves lost and while waiting for rescue, you have to find a way to pass the time…

A/N - set somewhere in the realms of s15. This is my second entry for @imagining-in-the-margins Summer Sunshine Challenge.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / BAU Fem! Reader

Warnings - enemies to lovers, Spencer’s awkward info dumping about hiking related deaths, swearing, public urination, talks of bladder control techniques, treating wounds, Spencer is touch starved, mentions of prison and Cat Adams and Max, Spencer and reader are oblivious idiots, make outs, handjob, fingering, public sexual acts, interruptions.

WC - 8.9k

The potency of the early afternoon Virginia sun infiltrating the towering thicket of loblolly pines caressed your skin, peppering its honeyed kisses across your flesh. 

The warm earthy scents combined with the aromas of moss and the sharp, almost sweet notes of the pine trees engulfed you in a blanket of mother earth's creation. 

You hummed to yourself as you trekked up a grassy incline barely registering the weight of your oversized pack on your back. You were no stranger to hiking or the heat and you were barely phased by it. 

Unlike some people. 

Doctor Spencer Reid was equipped for neither physical activity or the weather, despite the fact he grew up in desert climates. You could hear him huffing and puffing behind you as he struggled up even the smallest of hills. 

You reached the brow and turned back to him with your hands on your hips. His face was flushed red from a combination of the sun and exertion. His hair stuck to his sweaty brow and his chest heaved with his breaths. 

When he reached you, he doubled over, hands on his knees and he fought to catch his breath. You rolled your eyes and waited somewhat impatiently for him to stand again. 

“Are you really this out of shape?” You scoffed. 

He glanced up through a curtain of hair, puffing uneven breaths out between parted lips. 

“Clearly.” He bit back. 

It wasn’t a secret that the two of you didn’t exactly see eye to eye. You’d been with the team for almost a year now, but you and Spencer had never been close. 

You’d gotten off on the wrong foot on your very first case. He’d spent almost all day on the phone to someone talking about his mother and you’d made a flippant comment about him being a mama's boy. 

This led Spencer to launch into a rant about how his mother suffered from schizophrenia and altzeimers and how he was talking to her doctor because she was struggling to adjust to the new home he’d put her in DC. 

He didn’t stop there. He continued to inform that she had been moved to DC because she wasn’t responding well to medication or her living facility in Vegas. He detailed how he’d moved her to the east coast and then gotten arrested in Mexico whilst trying to procure some experimental medicine. 

He was seething by the time he told you that the same woman who’d gotten him arrested then had his mother kidnapped and almost killed. 

He wasn’t as standoffish towards you as he used to be, his iciness thawing somewhat over time. But you were never going to be his favourite person. And as a result, he wasn’t yours either. 

He forced himself to stand up straight, grabbing his canteen from where it was hanging from the strap of his backpack and taking a hefty sip before wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. 

“It’s just a little hike. It’s not like you’re running a marathon or anything.” You clucked. “Can we continue now?” 

“Just a little hike?” He groaned but started walking nonetheless. “It’s ten miles! And I have to do it with you.” 

“Oh you poor, unfortunate soul.” You rolled your eyes as you fell in step with him. 

The hike had been an idea which was floated down from the director. A team building exercise it had been dubbed. Although it wasn’t strictly mandatory it would look bad on those who didn’t participate. 

So the BAU was spending a rare weekend off on a ten mile hike through the Shenandoah National Park followed by spending the night camping at the valley’s campground. 

The Shenandoah National Park was more than five hundred miles of hiking trails extending along the Blue Ridge Mountains which included a section of long distance Appalachian Trail. 

As someone who relished in the outdoors you’d always wanted the chance to visit Shenandoah but had never had the opportunity. And if you were paired up with anyone other than Spencer you might have been able to enjoy yourself. 

Garcia had everyone draw straws in order to team up for the hike before you would all meet up later at the campground. You’d quite literally drawn the short straw with Spencer whilst Penelope was paired with Matt, Luke with JJ whilst Tara, Emily and Rossi made a group of three. 

Spencer was the least athletic of the BAU members, the least outdoorsy, and so far had not stopped complaining. 

You regarded your GPS as you walked to ensure you were headed in the right direction and the two of you fell back into silence. 

Spencer breathed heavily even when the trail was flat, groaning a little every time you came to another incline. 

You watched him out of the corner of your eye. It was a strange sight to behold, an academic who was far more comfortable indoors trekking through the woods like this. But what was even weirder was his outfit. 

You’d never seen Spencer out of a shirt and slacks but he’d tried to at least look the part of a hiker today. He wore a thin black t-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts which showed off his surprisingly toned legs. You didn’t even think he would own such an item of clothing. 

He’d tried to look the part, probably only taking into account the heat and not the fact that he was leaving his legs exposed to bug bites and poison ivy. You wouldn’t be the one to tell him that though. 

He’d ditched his satchel in lieu of a backpack but still had his trusty converse on with obligatory mismatched socks. You’d told him converse would be hard to hike in, their thin soles alone not conducive to walking on the forest floor. 

Judging by the way he grimaced with nearly every step, he was starting to wish he’d listened to you. 

You continued to walk in silence, watching the way Spencer’s wary eyes cast around through the thick tree trunks, ears pricking at every tiny sound. 

“If you didn’t need to stop and catch your breath every five minutes we’d be back by now.” You couldn’t hold your tongue. 

Spencer’s head turned towards you, brows furrowed. 

“If we hadn’t taken such a hilly trail I wouldn’t need to keep stopping every five minutes. Did you know hikers use twenty eight percent more energy when traversing uneven terrain as opposed to flatter land?” He grabbed his canteen again and took another sip. 

“Don’t come crying to me when you’ve run out of water.” You ignored his statistical rambling, increasing your gait a little. 

“I won’t run out of water. I’ve calculated exactly how much I can afford to drink per hour when approximating how long it will take to walk ten miles.” He told you smugly. 

“Of course you have.” You rolled your eyes, picking up your pace a little more. 

“I can’t believe the bureau is making us do this. Do they not realise that hiking related deaths have been on the rise? They’ve increased as much as twenty one percent in recent years.” He grumbled as he tried to match your pace. 

“Oh please, do tell me more.” You huffed and clearly Spencer either didn’t sense your sarcasm or he chose to ignore it because he did tell you more.

“Fifty percent of all hiking related deaths are caused by a fall or drowning. Men make up seventy two percent of those victims.” He pulled a face, focusing on the ground beneath him now he’d drawn his own attention to that fact. 

“Well you for one are particularly clumsy.” You replied, your tone one of boredom. 

“The other fifty percent are due to medical conditions such as heart attacks while engaging in physical activity.” 

“What kind of physical activity?” You smirked suggestively, nudging him in his arm. 

Spencer shook his head as your childish insinuation. 

“Oh grow up, Y/L/N.” He spat. 

“I’m just saying if there is a man out there so good in bed he can induce a heart attack, I wanna meet him.” You chuckled, seeing him roll his eyes in your peripheral vision. 

“And I’m saying, hiking is inherently dangerous.” 

“We chase serial killers for a living.” You huffed, checking your navigational device again. 

“Which I am well versed in due to years of hands-on experience. I am not educated in outdoor pursuits.” He scoffed. 

“You seem to know a lot about hiking related deaths.” You cast your gaze upwards towards the sun peaking between the high trees. 

You could hear faint rhythmic buzzing from insects nearby, distance scuffling through the underbrush. Every now and again you picked up on various bird songs as they chirped from the high branches. 

It made a smile blossom on your features, being one with nature, the summer air cleansing your lungs. The sounds and the smells were a comfort to you, taking you back to childhood memories camping and trekking through forests just like this with your family and fond recollections of years spent at summer camps. 

Summer was without a doubt your favourite season. It elicited waves of nostalgia, taking you back to years spent at camp lake edges, eating ice cream hurriedly before it melted, giving you brain freeze.

It evoked images of burning campfires, the smell of the wood as it smouldered and the marshmallows roasting ready to be made into s’mores. Dulcet tones of an acoustic guitar played under the moonlight by Andy Duncan, your camp crush. 

And later when he’d walked you back to your cabin and bestowed upon you your first ever kiss. Summer held some of your best memories and kindled your sentimental side. 

You toyed with the GPS device in your hand as you walked, twigs and leaves crunching under foot. You didn’t realise Spencer was staring at you. 

“You okay?” He spoke up, snapping you out of your reminiscing. 

“Huh?” You glanced at him sideways. 

Spencer had a hint of amusement in his eyes as he looked at you, something you’d never seen on him before, not directed towards you anyway. 

“You look awfully wistful.” He shrugged. 

“I just love summer I guess.” You mirrored his action. 

“That makes sense.” Spencer turned away and looked back at the ground so he could avoid any potential trip hazards. 

“What does that mean?” You swatted at a bug that landed on your arm. 

“It means I’m not surprised you like summer, arguably the worst season.” He clucked. 

“The worst? Oh please. Let me guess Doc, you’re a fan of gloomy winter? That would make sense.” 

“Winter isn’t gloomy. Winter is oversized sweaters and hot cocoa by a fireplace. Huddled under blankets, the holidays. Sometimes even snow.” He told you as if you’d never heard of winter before. “But it’s not my favourite season. My favourite season is fall.” 

“Hmm, dark and moody tones, nature dying. That tracks.” You spoke in a clipped tone. 

“It’s not dying, it’s the start of rebirth. Shedding one layer so it can grow into something more than it ever thought it could be. It’s hauntingly beautiful really. And autumnal tones are stunning, all those earthy hues and streets littered in leaves. It makes me think of cinnamon and old books. Reading in the park with my mom when she was lucid and watching the leaves fall from the trees all around us.” It was Spencer’s turn to grow wistful. 

You noticed his eyes glaze over slightly, his lip quirking up at the corner as he got lost in a fond childhood memory. 

Spencer never talked to you about his youth or his mother after your initial falling out. He’d never been so candid with you before. As if he realised this, he shook his head, snapping himself out of his own revere. 

“I, uh, didn’t mean to share all that.” He grumbled, grabbing his canteen and sipping the water just for something to do. 

“I don’t mind.” 

“Well I do.” He spat, slowing a little as the two of you neared another slight slope. “You’re the last person I want to talk to about my mother.” 

You slowed with him until you both stopped. You folded your arms across your chest and glared at him. 

“Reid, come on. It’s been a long time. I’ve apologised for calling you a mama’s boy multiple times. How could I have possibly known about your mother?” You shook your head. 

Spencer’s jaw tightened, the muscle in the side of his face pulsing as he stared at you. You could all but see the cogs turning in his head as he fashioned a response. 

“I don’t want your apologies, Y/L/N.” He huffed out. 

He suddenly started walking again, ignoring how much his legs ached as he started up the small slope. You watched him go for a moment or two, feeling awash with anger. 

You’d been looking forward to this hike, to an excuse to spend the weekend outdoors in the sun. You were not going to let Doctor Spencer Reid ruin that for you. 

***

You carried on walking for another hour or so and not another word was spoken between you. It was tense and awkward and the sun was getting lower in the sky. 

It wouldn’t be at all long before it started getting dark and you were growing a little concerned that you might not make it back before the sunset. 

Spencer was clearly thinking the same as his brows had been furrowed for at least the past ten minutes and he was furiously chewing on his lip.

You halted in your tracks and pulled the GPS device back out. You stared down at it with a heavy frown, feeling the heat radiating off of Spencer as he drew closer to you. He peered at the GPS over your shoulder with a scrunched brow similar to your own. 

“That says we’re only a few hundred yards from the camp. We should be able to see it.” Spencer looked up but all he saw was trees.

He turned a complete three hundred and sixty degrees but was met by trees as far as the eye could see. 

“I think…I think it’s busted.” You groaned deeply, the sound reverberating out into the forest. 

“No? No!” Spencer snatched it from your hand and shook it as if that would help matters. “Call someone! It’s going to get dark soon!”

You did not miss the blatant panic in his voice and if you didn’t feel the same you might have made a jab at him for it. 

You reached for your phone in your pants pocket and unlocked the screen but groaned as soon as you did so. 

“Fuck, I have no signal.” 

“What?” Spencer scrabbled for his own device and huffed seeing he had no bars either. “We’re stuck out here?” 

“Uh,” you glanced around. “Yes?” 

“No, no. I am not dying out in the woods with you.” His tone was even more fraught. 

“Trust me, you are not my first choice of death partner either.” You scoffed.

“If we’re out here long enough we could dehydrate! Or get hypothermia! I told you fifty percent of hiking related deaths are caused by medical conditions.” He was spiralling. 

“How many hiking related deaths are caused by homicide?” You shot him an unamused look. 

“Eighteen percent of 990 deaths at national parks were considered intentional. That includes suicide and homicide.” 

“It was a rhetorical question.” You shook your head. “Maybe if we get to higher ground we can get some cell service.” 

You started to walk but had no idea where you were going. You just had to hope you would find some higher ground. 

Spencer followed you for lack of any better suggestions. He was sulking like a petulant child, clearly there was something on his mind as he huffed a few times as he trailed behind you. 

You walked no more than a few minutes before his constant sighing and pouting caused you to stop again. 

“What?” You spat. “What is it?” 

Spencer frowned, halting in his tracks too. He was rolling his lip frantically between his teeth now and jiggling a little where he stood. 

“I, uh,” his cheeks flushed red. “I need to use the bathroom.” 

You closed your eyes for a second, pinched the bridge of your nose. 

“I hate to break it to you but there are no bathrooms way out here.” 

“It’s a figure of speech.” He grumbled. “I need to…pee.” 

“Okay, well take your pick.” You motioned around to the copious trees surrounding you. 

“I’m not a dog.” He rolled his eyes. 

“I’m sorry princess but it’s the best I can offer you.” 

Spencer sucked in a deep breath, clenching his hands at his side. His leg was still jiggling with his need to urinate. 

Spencer had developed an extremely strong bladder in his time in prison. The toilets on offer at Milburn were some of the most unhygienic he’d ever seen and as such had used them as little as humanly possible. 

He’s trained himself to strengthen his bladder, exercising his pelvic floor in order to reduce the amount of times in a day he needed to use the bathroom. 

As such during the hike he hadn’t been once while you had been multiple times. And now it had snuck up on him, coming out of nowhere and he wouldn’t be able to hold it long. 

“Goddamn I hate nature.” He grumbled, glancing around for the largest looking tree he could use to shield himself from you. 

You watched as he turned his back on you, hurrying off in one direction, further than was strictly necessary. You rolled your eyes with a shake of your head. 

“Don’t worry, Doc I’m not looking to catch a glimpse.” You called after him. You heard a tut in response but he didn’t rise to it. 

Spencer pushed forwards through some bushes and weaved in and out large pines before he found a tree trunk far enough away from you that he could have some semblance of peace while he expelled himself. 

He made sure the trunk was blocking his body before he unbuttoned his cargo shorts and freed himself from his pants. Within a fraction of a second he was already urinating.

He let out a relieved sigh, holding the base of his cock in one hand for aiming purposes whilst leaning the other on the tree. 

He closed his eyes as the blissful sensation of his bladder emptying consumed him. He didn’t relish doing this in the woods but he couldn’t deny how nice it felt. 

It felt so good in fact he didn’t even notice the itching of his calves. He finished his business and tucked himself away before buttoning his shorts. 

He swung his pack off his back and rummaged in the side pocket for a little bottle of hand sanitiser. He squirted a little in his palm and rubbed his hands together. 

Returning it to his bag and putting it back on, he noticed a stinging in his left calf but ignored it as he walked back over to you. As he walked his other leg started to sting too. 

When he reached you he subconsciously reached down and started scratching the backs of his bare legs with his blunt nails. You stared at him curiously. 

“You okay?” 

“Just a little itchy. Think I’ve been bitten or something.” He grumbled. 

You walked around him and regarded his legs. His skin was flushed red with little raised blisters dotted up the backs of both calves. 

“Reid,” you took his wrists and guided his hands away from his frantic scratching. “I think you’ve walked in poison ivy.” 

He snapped back to his full height, eyes wide. 

“What? No? Come on!” He moaned, glancing back at the rash forming. “Could this day get any worse?” 

“I’ve got a first aid kit in my bag, I’m going to need to treat those. If you keep scratching they could scar. Maybe this will teach you for wearing shorts on a hike.” You put down your backpack and rummaged for the kit. 

“It’s nearly eighty degrees.” He scoffed. “And I’ve never been hiking before.” 

“Just shut up and stand still. Give me your water.” You knelt down on the ground behind him.

“You’ve got your own water.” 

“I’m not wasting my water on cleaning your rash because you were the idiot who wore shorts. Give me your water.” 

Spencer huffed out a breath to show he wasn’t happy but then he unlatched his canteen from his bag strap and passed it back to you. So much for his calculations. 

You uncapped it and poured a little on the back of each leg causing him to shudder. You used a small hand towel you had in your backpack to dry them off before sanitising your hands.

You located the hydrocortisone ointment in the first aid kit and squeezed a little on the pads of your fingers. You cautiously started on his left leg, massaging the cream into the small blisters. 

Spencer hissed and his legs buckled a little. He was silent though and allowed you to treat his rash. Soon you were moving onto the other leg and although it stung Spencer couldn’t deny he enjoyed the skin to skin contact. 

As much as he hated to admit it, Spencer was touch starved. He hadn’t felt another set of hands on him in such a tender way since before prison. 

He’d deliberately kept everyone at arms length since, not trusting himself or deeming himself worthy to be so close to another person. 

He’d almost allowed himself to go there with Max, to succumb to the kind of pleasure he’d sorely missed. They’d kissed but ultimately that was the furthest he’d let himself go. 

And somehow your benevolent touch was more intimate than kissing Max. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking on his part. 

He was sure you knew the real reason he was so brusque with you wasn’t because of what you’d call him during your first case. He was annoyed about it at first but he hadn’t held a grudge over it. 

His curt behaviour towards you stemmed from his almost overwhelming crush on you. He’d pushed you away because when he met you he wasn’t ready to be close to someone. But in doing so he had inevitably sealed his own fate so that now when he might actually want to pursue something, you could barely stand him.

He tried to omit the feeling of your fingertips on his calves and focused his attention on the warbling of a nearby bird. Its song wasn’t the prettiest he’d ever heard but it had a certain cadence to it which he found oddly calming. 

All too soon you were finished and your touch was gone, leaving Spencer feeling dissatisfied. You wrapped both of his rashes in gauze bandages but your fingers barely ghosted over his flesh again.

You stuffed the kit back away and pushed yourself to your feet, brushing the dirt off of your knees. Spencer looked down at his newly bandaged legs with a small frown. 

“Do you have a change of clothes? Some pants perhaps?” You asked.

“No, for all my planning and research I did not think to bring long pants.” He shook his head at his oversight. 

“I know we don’t always see eye to eye, but you could have asked me what you should bring. The whole team knows I’m big on hiking and camping.” You turned away from him, looking back out through the trees to try and ascertain the best direction to head. “I also could have told you that converse was a dumb choice for hiking. I can only imagine how much your feet hurt.” 

Spencer made a noise that sounded somewhat like he agreed with you but didn’t want to say it out loud. You pulled out a piece of crumpled paper from your backpack and unfolded it, staring intently at it for a few moments. 

Spencer came closer, glancing down at the wrinkled paper in your hands. It looked to be a topographic map of the area. Finally something Spencer understood about hiking. 

“Didn’t know Garcia gave us those.” He spoke as you studied it.

“She didn’t. This isn’t my first rodeo, I would never have come out here without one.” You didn’t look at him. 

“So I can read this but how do you work out where we are? There’s nothing but trees for miles.” He scratched the back of his neck. 

“Observation. We passed a small body of water about a mile back. I didn’t see it but I could hear it off to the west. And this incline,” you pointed in front of you. “Will help figure it out.” 

“Okay, so a small body of water and an area where the contour lines aren’t too close as the hill isn’t too steep.” He nodded.

“Exactly.” You agreed. “And if my bearings are right I believe we’re facing north east.” 

Spencer looked around briefly before a smile tugged at his lips. 

“Because of the position of the sun.” 

“Yep. And the moss.” You nodded towards the trees. “It’s not an exact science but in the whole moss tends to grow on the north side of trees in the northern hemisphere.”

Spencer watched while you ran your index finger along the map, trying to draw on everything you knew in order to get the two of you to higher ground. 

“Wow I’m…I’m actually impressed.” He chuckled a little and you looked up at him with a frown. 

“Are you patronising me?” 

“What? No! I mean it. I’m really impressed.” 

“Oh,” you looked back at the map. “Thanks.” 

A minute or so later and you’d estimated a few miles worth of trail you believed the two of you to be on. If you were right you were still miles from the camp and wouldn’t make it there by nightfall. 

Your plan was to find somewhere to get cell service so you could call the team and hopefully they could get park rangers out here to find you as they were the only ones equipped to traverse the forest after dark. 

Spencer followed you while you kept the map in your hand. The two of you walked for another mile or so, by this point Spencer’s water rations were nearly depleted. 

Eventually you stopped at the foot of a large, steep hill and Spencer looked up at it with a dubious expression. 

“You want me to climb that?” He whined. 

“Well we have a better chance of getting cell service when we have two phones.” You rolled your eyes, folding the map and slotting it in your pocket. 

“Can’t you just take mine up there with you?” He pulled a face. “I really do not possess the physical prowess for this.”

“No kidding.” You scoffed. “But we’re in this together. I could get hurt or something, I need you for backup.” 

Spencer groaned, pouting his bottom lip like a child. 

“Oh jeez, fine.” He huffed. “But I will complain every step of the way.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less.” With a shake of your head you started forward and Spencer reluctantly followed you.

You got less than twenty paces before he almost slipped and fell on his face. To steady himself he instinctively reached for your hand. He didn’t let go the whole way up. 

You hated to admit it but there was something oddly comforting about Spencer’s hand in yours. His hand was warm and surprisingly soft and it was so much larger than your own he all but encompassed yours. 

He held onto you tightly, fingers squeezing your hand every time his foot slipped a little on the hilly ground. A part of you didn’t want to make it to the top because you didn’t want him to let go. 

But of course as soon as the ground levelled out he slipped his hand away and all but collapsed onto the damp ground below, huffing and puffing. You watched him grab his canteen and finish the water without a second thought. 

He removed his pack and rolled onto his back, relishing in every last drop of liquid and clearly not concerned he had now emptied his reserves. He closed his eyes and pushed his hair back off his sweaty forehead. 

You pulled your cell phone out and unlocked it. You had one tiny bar of signal which you hoped was enough to make a call. You nudged Spencer in the ribs with the toe of your hiking boot. His eyes shot open and he stared up at you, the exhaustion heavy in his eyes. 

“I’ve got one bar, I’m going to try and call Prentiss.” You informed him, bringing up your contacts. 

You found Emily’s name quickly and hit the call button before putting the device on speaker. The dial tone was crackly and you knew the signal could cut out at any minute. It rang four times before Emily answered but her words were muffled and you only caught a handful of what she said.

“Y/N…are you?...Gone hours…thing okay?” 

“Emily, we got lost. Our GPS was misprogrammed. We need help.” You had no idea how much she could hear of what you were saying.

“...are you?...send a rang…coordinates?” 

You reeled off your approximate coordinates, explaining that you could be anywhere within a few miles of that spot but again you don’t know what she heard due to the spotty service. 

“Hold tight…get a ranger…be okay.” 

“Thanks Emily.” You finished before hanging up.

Spencer was still on the floor on his back, his brows furrowed in concern.

“How much of that do you think she got?” He was rolling his lip between his teeth.

“I have no idea.” You pocketed the phone again. “I’m almost certain Garcia would have brought her laptop with her. If she can get to the rangers station and get on the WiFi she might be able to locate us.”

“Yeah, good point. Garcia is the best.” His eyes closed again, a strangely dreamy smile on his lips. 

“What are you doing?” You kicked him again and his eyes quickly opened and he stared at you.

“Resting, what does it look like?” He scowled.

“Reid, the second the sun goes down the temperature is going to plummet. We need to make a fire.” 

“Goddamnit,” he pushed himself to a sitting position. “I hate the outdoors.” 

You chose to ignore him and didn’t help him to his feet, instead started wandering around in the search for some sticks for the fire. Spencer eventually got himself up and started to help. The sun was barely a sliver in the sky by the time you collected enough wood.

You created a crisscross on the ground with the kindling, explaining to Spencer this type of fire would burn for longer and not need as much wood. You had no idea how long you would be out here and you needed to stay warm. The smoke would also help draw attention to your whereabouts. 

You retrieved a pack of matches from your back, Spencer once again impressed by your preparedness. He simply watched while you went about lighting the fire, in silent awe. It was several minutes before the fire started to grow and he shuffled closer to it, sitting cross legged on the dirty forest floor and holding his hands towards the flames. 

You sat down next to him, but not too close. You got out a fleece hoodie from your bag and slipped it over your head. As if jogging some kind of memory for Spencer he opened his own bag and found his oversized CalTech sweatshirt, thankful he’d had the forethought to pack this even if he had overlooked bringing pants. 

Sitting by the fire you felt the fatigue wash over you. You could quite easily curl up and fall asleep after the day's events. Spencer noticed your fluttering eyelids and how you were desperately trying to stay awake.

He suddenly felt extremely bad for how difficult he’d been all day, complaining and moaning while you tried to keep him safe and alive. He huffed out a breath and the sound caused you to look at him.

Half of his face was illuminated by the glow of the fire, the other side set in deep shadow from where the sun had now almost completely vanished beneath the horizon. His golden brown eyes shimmered as he looked at you.

“I, uh, I’m sorry I’ve been such hard work today.” He rolled his lip between his teeth.

“Reid, I’m used to you being hard work.” Your lip twitched at the corner. 

“I’m sorry about that too.” He swallowed. “Do you…do you want to lay your head down on my lap? You deserve to rest.” 

You frowned a little sceptical, mildly concerned by the offer as Spencer had never been so nice to you. But you were too tired to question it and the idea of laying down sounded wonderful. You nodded slowly, prompting Spencer to uncross his legs and stretch them out in front of himself.

You sucked in a breath, shuffling in the dirt so you could lay on your side with your head in his lap while you stretched your own body out on the ground. 

Without meaning to, Spencer's hand was soon brushing through your hair. You couldn’t help the hum of appreciation that you let escape and it goaded him to continue. 

His touch elicited the sweetest sounds from your lips, some sounding dangerously like moans. Spencer was only human and his body reacted of its own accord at the noises. 

He could sense the blood rushing south, feel the swelling in his shorts despite how much he willed it stop. He stilled his movements on your hair, hoping if you weren’t making those delirious sounds it would stop the blood rushing and he wouldn’t get hard enough for you to notice…

…You suddenly sat up, looking right at him with wide eyes. Of course you’d noticed, his crotch was right beneath your head. 

His cheeks instantly flushed red and he pulled a face full of apologies and mortification. You continued to stare at him and he felt more uncomfortable with each silent second. 

“Please,” he whimpered. “Just…don’t mention it.” 

“Kinda hard not to…pun not intended.” You frowned at your own choice of words and Spencer groaned. 

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head. “It has been a long time since I’ve had any kind of closeness with another person. I can’t be held responsible for my body’s carnal reactions. Especially when you’re making such sinful noises.” 

Your own cheeks turned red now and you glanced away from him towards the fire. 

“I, uh…I didn’t realise I was. Sorry.” You croaked. “Full disclosure, it’s also been a long time since I’ve had any kind of closeness with another person.” 

Spencer’s brows furrowed as he regarded you. He found that incredibly hard to believe. You were just so beautiful he imagined men fell at your feet everywhere you went. 

“Seriously?” He couldn’t help but ask. 

“Seriously.” You confirmed with a huff as you turned back to him. 

“But why?” 

“Why what? I don’t understand.” 

“I mean…you’re you. You’re beautiful and smart and charismatic. Surely you could have your pick of men?” Spencer was really frowning. 

“I’m…fussy I suppose? And I don’t really like the whole casual sex thing…” You trailed off with your own frown. “Wait did you call me beautiful?”

“And smart and charismatic.” He nodded. 

“Uh, thanks?” You were rightfully confused, Spencer had never said anything nice about you. “What about you? You don’t have women lining up at your door? And weren’t you dating someone?”

Spencer let out a hearty laugh at this, shaking his head dramatically. 

“Max and I broke up not long after Cat and her games. We never…you know…and trust me when I say women do not fawn over a neurotic, socially awkward ex-con.” Spencer sighed sadly. 

“Oh, I didn’t realise about Max, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. It wouldn’t have worked out even if Cat hadn’t interfered.” He pulled a face, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “You didn’t know me before prison. I’m not the same man I used to be. I had to do things on the inside just to survive and it changed me. For a long time I didn’t trust myself to get close to anyone. A part of me still doesn't but I’m trying I guess? Max was the closest I came to allowing myself to be vulnerable again.” 

You simply stared at him, unsure what to say. You’d never spoken so personally with Spencer before, he’d never opened up to you in such a way and you didn’t know how to respond. 

You knew you needed to tread lightly, not wanting to risk him clamming up and shutting you down. You were making progress for the first time since you’d met him and you didn’t want to give him a reason not to continue. 

“I didn’t know you before prison and I have no idea the things you would have gone through in there. But I do know you now. I know you shield yourself behind these huge walls to keep people from hurting you, probably because you’ve already been hurt enough for one lifetime. 

“You kept me at arms length because you don’t like change, you worried I would threaten the team dynamic. But once you realised that wasn’t the case, you were too far gone and it was easier for you to keep treating me with disdain rather than thaw towards me.” 

Spencer was silent while you talked, ingesting your words, mulling them over in his head. His expression tightened, his eyebrows knitted together and his lips drawn into a line. 

“I guess you’re right, at least about some of it.” He exhaled. “I was always guarded to a degree even before prison. People have always disappointed me I guess and so I learnt not to rely on anyone, not to let anyone get too close. It’s easier to be alone than to risk getting hurt. 

“But you’re wrong about why I kept you away. Your comment about me being a mama’s boy stung but I didn’t hold it against you. I needed to put distance between us because from the first time I met you I knew how effortless it would be for me to fall for you.

“I was too raw at the time, I wasn’t ready to give my heart away to someone who might not even want it. I had to keep you at arms length because it was safer than letting myself develop feelings for someone who probably wouldn’t reciprocate. But I guess the jokes on me because my plan was far from foolproof and I managed to fall for you anyway. 

“I don’t expect anything from you in return, and I’m hoping once we’re rescued we can just forget this whole thing ever happened. But I suppose you deserve to know why I am the way I am with you and maybe going forward we can try to be…I don’t know…friends? Or at the very least I hope we can get along better.” He sucked in a breath when he finished speaking, looking completely exhausted and utterly heartbroken.

You couldn’t speak. You took in every single word, toyed with them in your mind and tried to make sense of them. But really they didn’t make any sense. In the year you’d known Spencer you had never even gotten so much as a hint that he had feelings for you. He was detached, withdrawn and oftentimes entirely unapproachable. 

It seemed implausible that he could have been hiding these feelings all this time and for you not to have a clue. You were a profiler, wasn’t it your job to pick up on these things? Did the rest of the team figure it out? Were you the only one in the dark? 

He looked increasingly uncomfortable by his confession with every passing second of silence. The fire crackled, its warmth washing over you both. It cast you both in a cosy glow. 

Spencer seemed closer somehow. Did you move nearer or had he, or was it simply all in your head? 

There were so many things you could say, so many possibilities but you couldn’t form a simple sentence. Every time you tried to speak your words caught in your throat and his own played over in a loop in your brain. 

I guess the jokes on me because my plan was far from foolproof and I managed to fall for you anyway. 

Spencer had feelings for you and he thought you wouldn’t feel the same. Perhaps neither of you were as good at profiling as you thought. 

Spencer rolled his lip between his teeth, growing self conscious in your lack of response. He sucked in a deep breath and exhaled it through his nose. 

“I should not have said any of that.” He averted his gaze to the fire. “I don’t even know why I did. Jeez, I’m a moron. Please can you just pretended I didn’t…” 

He trailed off when your hand cupped his chin and you turned him gently to look at you. 

“Yes, you are a moron.” You smiled meekly. “But only because you missed what was right in front of you. How can you think I didn’t feel the same?” 

His mouth fell open, your hand still on his jaw. He blinked rapidly as if trying to clear some kind of fog in his brain. 

“You…I’m confused.” He frowned. 

“Let me clear it up for you then.” You dropped your hand to your side but seconds later your lips crushed against his. 

Spencer gasped at the sudden action, in a million years he never dreamed to actually feel your lips on his. And if he never got this chance again, he was going to make the most of it. 

He raised his hands to cup your face and ran his tongue along your bottom lip, gently asking for passageway. You obliged by parting your lips enough for his tongue to slide inside. 

You were quick to explore the contours of each other's mouths, both of your desperations evident in the way your teeth knocked together while you worked to find your rhythm. 

One of his hands worked its way into the back of your hair and held you firmly as he deepened the kiss further. He pulled you into his lap and you manoeuvred yourself so you were straddling him, kneeling in the dirt either side of his hips. 

He kept one hand cradling your head and the other moved down over your ribs. It dipped beneath the thick fabric of your hoodie, sandwiched between it and your shirt underneath. 

You rocked in his lap, wrapping your arms tightly around neck. The friction caused him to moan languidly into your mouth and it wasn’t long before you felt him growing hard again. 

When he pulled back and opened his eyes, his pupils were blown out, heavy with lust. He was begging you for more without the use of words, he removed one of your hands from around his neck and moved it between your bodies. 

He placed your palm on his rapidly growing erection, rolling his swollen lip with his teeth whilst silently asking if this was okay. You smiled at him and your other hand joined it so you could pop the button of his shorts.

One hand wasted no time in diving straight into his boxers and wrapping around his shaft. You quickly tugged him free of the confines of both his shorts and underwear. 

You sat back a little on your haunches to look down on him. You couldn’t hold back your lamentation as you surveyed every inch of him in your hand. He was long and thick, heavy against your palm. Honestly you hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t this. 

The vein that ran up the underside throbbed as you brushed your thumb over it and he bucked his hips when you moved it to rub over his swollen red tip. You slowly brought your fist all the way back down, squeezing his base whilst nestled in a bed of scratchy pubic hair.

You tore your eyes away from his crotch and looked up to meet his eyes. They held a hint of uncertainty, as though he was worried you wouldn’t like what you saw. Spencer never was blessed with body confidence, he was always too skinny or too tall or too gangly. 

He wasn’t dumb though, he knew that particular appendage was above average. He didn’t have a wealth of sexual experience but he had enough to know that he was often a tight fit for most. But that didn’t stop him from feeling self conscious under your gaze.

The smile on your face and the glint in your eye was enough for him to know that you were pleased by what you’d seen and it allowed him to relax a little. He felt a wave of heat wash over him as your hand slowly started to move and it had nothing to do with his proximity to the fire. 

He wriggled beneath you as you started moving your hand up and down, your thumb brushing over his sensitive head each time. A string of wanton moans left his lips and he was momentarily dumbfounded while you worked him, not able to do anything but sit and relish in this feeling.

Your petite hand couldn’t fit all the way around him but it didn’t make your movements any less mind blowing. He had never been touched like this before, with such a combination of care and desperation. 

Once he got his brain working for long enough to think straight, he moved his hands towards the buttons of your pants. You didn’t let up on your ministrations while he got them undone, swiping your thumb through the precum collecting on his head. 

He swiftly popped the buttons and his right hand dipped inside straight inside your panties. He moaned animalistically when he discovered how wet you were already, the sound dissipating out into the forest. 

You kept eye contact with each other as his fingers slid between your legs, collecting your arousal before moving to settle on your needy clit. You whimpered as he rubbed the sensitive bud with two fingers, rocking against his hand whilst increasing your speed on his cock.

The sounds coming from the both of you were nothing short of feral and became eaten up by the vast woods surrounding you. You grinded against his hand while he flicked your nub deftly, eager to bring you to orgasm.

You returned the favour and matched his speed. The sounds of your arousal and his flesh against yours filled your ears. The fire continued to crackle behind you, casting you in an ethereal glow from where you perched on top of him. 

His chest heaved and his stomach was coiling into thick knots. He wanted this to last forever but knew his orgasm was imminent. It had been all too long since someone had touched him so intimately and it would be impossible to stave off his release for too long.

But judging by the noises you were making, the sinful whines and moans leaving your parted lips and how frantically you bucked against his hand, he assumed you were in the same boat. 

“Jesus, Reid,” you panted heavily. “Who knew you’d be so good at that?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, increasing his speed even further as if to prove that point.

“Likewise.” He replied, whimpering as you swiped your thumb through more beads of precum. 

“I’m so close.” You whined, throwing your head back to your shoulders.

“M-me too.” He stuttered, stomach clenching at the way you twisted your fist around his shaft. 

Somewhere in the distance you heard a twig snap but paid it no attention. You kept your focus here on Spencer, on how he was making you feel and on how you were making him feel. But then you heard another crunch followed by a faint voice.

“Reid? Y/LN?” It called. “I see smoke! That has to be them!”

“Is that…?” Spencer frowned, breathing heavily.

“G-Garcia.” You mumbled. 

“Fuck,” Spencer groaned, his frustration evident.

“Reid? Y/L/N? It’s Penny G, can you hear me, my loves?” 

You and Spencer exchanged a look while you both stilled your movements at the same time. He kept his hand inside your panties while you held the base of his shaft limply. You felt dizzy, you were on the cusp of orgasm, about to fall over the ledge when Garcia’s voice had dragged you back from the brink. Looking at Spencer, he felt much the same.

“Y/L/N, Reid! We’re coming angels!”

“Oof,” Spencer groaned, cautiously withdrawing his hand from inside your pants. “Poor choice of words.” 

You reluctantly let go of his shaft and crawled away from him while you both readjusted yourself and got your pants done up.

“Over here, Garcia.” You called, hoping she didn’t notice the way your voice shook. 

Your body tingled, so close to release a soft breeze could get you there. Spencer pushed himself to his feet, legs shaking and reached out to help you up. He was tenting his shorts, unable to get the blood flowing elsewhere due to how close he’d been. He picked up his backpack and held it in front of him so Garcia wouldn’t notice.

Your underwear was soaked and sticky. You tried to adjust your stance so it was less uncomfortable but it was almost impossible. You could see three flashlights in the distance and the footsteps were growing closer. 

Soon enough Garcia and two park rangers appeared through the thicket. If she noticed the flush of your cheeks she didn’t say anything. She immediately threw her arms around both of you, Spencer cloying to keep his bag as a barrier between himself and the bubbly blonde for fear she might feel his unyielding erection.

“Oh my sweet angels!” She cooed over you both. “Let's get you back to camp and get you warmed up and fed.” 

You both silently agreed and let the rangers lead you back towards a clearing where their vehicle awaited you. Garcia hopped in the backseat first and Spencer held open the door for you, offering a meek smile as you passed him. 

Perhaps it was for the best you’d been interrupted before you could go too far. Perhaps Garcia had inadvertently helped you dodge a bullet.

***

Several hours later after making it back to the camp and feasting on Rossi’s campfire soup and bread and whilst being wrapped in Garcia’s fluffy blankets, one by one the other members of the BAU retired for the night. 

The fire was still dwindling as you perched on a log next to Spencer, silence deafening you once the two of you were alone. You watched the small flames flicker and dance in the soft breeze, soaking up the last of the summer evening before calling it a night yourself.

Before you did, you turned to face him to find he was already looking at you. He smiled softly, a little bashfully and you returned it. Words and emotions bubbled under the surface and neither one of you knew where to start. 

“Some day, huh.” You shrugged, wrapping the blanket tighter around your body.

“It was certainly eye opening.” Spencer agreed.

“It was probably for the best that Garcia and those rangers found us when they did, right?” 

“Oh yeah, for sure. Probably stopped us from doing something even more stupid.” Spencer chuckled nervously. 

“Exactly.” You nodded, getting to your feet. Spencer did the same. “We can just pretend nothing happened. We were tired, probably a little dehydrated. The sun makes us do weird things.” 

“Yeah, the sun.” He nodded too. 

You swallowed thickly, giving him one last look before turning towards your tent. Spencer scuffed the toe of his converse on the ground and found himself speaking again without really meaning to. 

“I mean…it would have been nice to at least finish. I’ve been kinda on edge ever since.” 

You spun back to look at him and he looked so unsure of himself. His hands were in his pockets and his shoulders were pitched up to his ears. 

“Uh, yeah same here.” You took a couple of tentative steps back towards him. “There’s no doubt I could go back to my tent right now and finish what we started alone but…”

“But your hand feels so much better than my own.” Spencer finished for you. 

You both chuckled as you reached him again, letting go of your blanket and letting it fall to the floor so you wrap your arms around Spencer’s neck. 

“It would just be a one time thing.” You whispered, your breath fanning across his face. 

“Even though you don’t like casual sex.” He placed his hands on your hips. 

“Even though I don’t like casual sex.” You repeated. 

“We’re just…two colleagues helping each other.” Spencer smirked, inching his face closer to yours. 

“And if anyone ever found out…” 

“We’d blame the sun. Summer heat got to us.” 

“Summer heat.” You agreed and with that he kissed you again, drawing you into his body whilst tugging you in the direction of his own tent. 

Spencer had never been a fan of summer. But after today he may have been converted. And he was certain this summer heat between you would continue to smoulder through the seasons. 

[devotedlypinkpeanut]

Make Me Lose Control — Part 1

SUMMARY: Park Sunghoon, a boxer with a difficult career, devotes his life to fights that leave marks on his body as well as his soul. His neighbor, Y/n, a nurse with a big heart, then becomes a pillar in his existence. After each match, she welcomes him to heal his wounds and lighten, even briefly, the weight of his solitude. Over the course of the care, a discreet bond develops between them, hinting at the possibility of a relationship that could turn their lives upside down.

PAIRING : Park Sunghoon x Neighbor Nurse! Reader.

GENRE : Romance, Drama, Psychological Darkness, Slice of Life, Erotica.

WARNING: Contains melancholy, intense physical pain, emotional distress, oppressive atmosphere, psychological manipulation, domination and submission, possession, extreme vulnerability, emotional dependence and hidden suffering. Scenes of dehumanization, control, physical and emotional tension, inner struggle, intense desire mixed with pain and ecstasy, as well as implied violence are present. The passage explores deep anguish, fear of abandonment, power dynamics and emotional dependence, acts of tenderness linked to suffering, the anguish of obsessive and destructive love, emotional exhaustion, betrayal, inner rage, frustration, denial of pain, guilt, self-rejection and internal conflict. This content addresses emotional tension, deep loss, betrayal and painful introspection, which may offend some sensibilities due to the emotional violence and the depiction of psychological and physical suffering.

‼️FINAL WARNING : This story contains explicit sex scenes, as well as potentially disturbing themes. It is intended for mature audiences. If you are sensitive to topics such as physical violence, emotional abuse, or self-destructive behavior, it is best not to continue reading. The content explores dark aspects of human psychology and may shock or disturb some readers. Please use discretion before engaging in this reading.

Number of words : ~48k

Author’s Note: I would like to clarify that I don’t have much knowledge about nursing, medicine, or boxing, and I’m not familiar with what really happens in the ring. I mainly relied on my imagination and Google research to write this story. I apologize if there are any inaccuracies.

Happy reading! Not proofread, sorry for the mistakes! If you enjoyed the story, don’t hesitate to comment, reblog, or like!

⤑ Main Masterlist — Series Masterlist | Next Chapter ⇢

The darkness slowly invades the living room, every corner of the room melting into shadow, as if the night itself has infiltrated the most intimate corners of your mind. Lying on the couch, your body half relaxed, half still trapped in sleep, you let yourself be drawn in by the distant murmur of Gossip Girl , the voices mixing with the loneliness that weighs on you. It is not really attention that you pay to the screen, but rather a background noise, a distraction that tries to fill this heavy emptiness that invades you. Yet, deep down, you know that it is not the silence that weighs on you, but rather the oppression of your own thoughts, which, at this late hour, have no other company than the blackness of the night. Each moment seems suspended, frozen in the wait for a breakup, like a calm sea, ready to welcome the storm.

Your thoughts then wander, float, get lost in the immensity of silence, like waves of despair breaking on a deserted beach, without noise. Melancholy seeps into you, soft and insidious, enveloping you like a blanket too heavy, too dark, that you don't want to take off, despite the heat that struggles to pierce the night. The heaviness of the moment, of solitude, sucks you in and slowly engulfs you.

Suddenly, the shrill ringing of the front door tears the silence with a brutal blow. Your heart skips a beat. A shiver of surprise runs through you before a start shakes your body still numb with sleep. Your eyes barely open, as if your body doesn't want to come back to reality. For a moment, you remain frozen, like a bird trapped by a noise it shouldn't have heard. The seconds stretch, stretch to infinity, and your mind begins to go round in circles. Who could it be, at this late hour, to come and disturb your peace? The television continues to stir its empty words in the background, but your mind is elsewhere, prisoner of this sudden noise, this sound that has brutally brought you back to reality, pulling you out of your torpor and leaving you in an icy uncertainty.

Still half asleep, your bare feet touch the cold floor, a shiver running up your spine. You don't hesitate, or maybe you just don't have the strength to think. Your actions are automatic, as if a part of you already knows what to do. You remove the safety chain and open the door. The moment you turn the handle, a strange feeling passes through you, something heavy, worrying. The door opens slowly, with a creak that seems endless, and there he is in front of you. Park Sunghoon. Your neighbor. But he's not the Sunghoon you know anymore.

He is no longer the charming, smiling young man whose presence always seemed shrouded in mystery. Tonight, he is another man, a man you never imagined seeing in this light. He sways slightly, his dark eyes drowned in pain. One eye is closed, a purplish bruise marking his face from a violent blow. His features, usually so clear, are distorted by pain, a too intense blue that veils the depth of his gaze. The marks of blows streak his face, visible scratches appear along his jaw and neck. Every movement he makes seems to require considerable effort. And yet, despite the state he is in, he tries to smile, a weak and distorted smile, a desperate attempt to mask the pain he struggles to hide.

A shiver runs through you, heavier this time, a mixture of shock, fear, confusion. You don't have the words. You can't even move, so much does the strangeness of the scene nail you to the spot. Then, finally, instinctively, your legs move. Your arms reach out to him, and your hands rest on his shoulders, without thinking, to help him stabilize. You feel his warmth, his skin that, under your fingers, seems burning. The tension in his muscles jumps out at you, the way he fights not to collapse. You bring him inside, gently, but he weighs heavy, too heavy, like a weight you hadn't planned to carry. He lets himself go against you, his weight seeming almost unbearable to you, but he has no other choice. He leans weakly on you, and at the same time you feel the dampness of his blood, still fresh, soaking his clothes, which touches you and freezes your skin.

And in the dim light of the living room, each second stretches, each movement seems to be in slow motion. You gently lead him to the couch, taking care with each step. His body tenses with each effort, with each movement you make him make, as if the slightest change in position were torture. And yet, he says nothing. He doesn't even make a sound. But you see his muscles tense, you see the effort he's making. It breaks you. You feel his body struggling against yours, his broken soul seeking comfort, support, in your closeness.

When he finally sits on the couch, you lean over him, every detail of his face etched in your memory. His eyes are closed, his jaw clenched, as if he is trying to contain the pain that overwhelms him. You scan his face, detailing the marks of violence, the wounds that testify to the brutality to which he has been subjected. His lips, split, pale, as if he has forgotten how to smile other than through a mask of pain. There is something frightening in this vulnerability. Something tragic and beautiful at the same time, a dark beauty, a reflection of injustice. The bruises, the contusions, the cuts… all of it makes your throat tighten. Yet, in a strange way, you remain calm, almost icy calm, as if you are no longer there, like a nurse caught in the coldness of professionalism, facing a seriously injured patient. But deep down, your heart beats hard, too hard. You hold back, ignoring the pain that rises inside you with every second, with every breath. The pain of seeing him like this. But you know you can't break down now. Not yet.

“What happened, Sunghoon?” Your voice, trembling but driven by uncontrollable worry, breaks the oppressive silence that reigns in the room. Each word seems to slip between your lips, fragile and frightened, caught in a throat that is too tight. It is a silent cry, a desperate attempt to reach the other side of this abyss that separates you. The pain of each syllable burns your tongue, like a flame, and your heart races, beating frantically in your chest. You feel that he is the only thing that still ties you to this unbearable reality. Anguish squeezes your stomach, an icy and implacable vice. You lack air, each breath seems to take your breath away, stuck by everything that has not been said, everything that weighs, heavy and unbearable, in this room.

You scan his face, your eyes clinging to it like a lost soul searching for a glimmer of light in the darkness. His features are marked, hollowed by fatigue and a suffering that can no longer hide itself. But he hides everything. His eyes, drowned in a whirlwind of exhaustion and pain, slowly turn away from yours, as if he fears that the truth will escape too quickly. It is as if the light in his gaze has been extinguished, swallowed up by an abyss that he refuses to let appear. And yet, in those broken pupils, you perceive something. A raw vulnerability, but also something inaccessible, terribly distant. It pierces you, a shiver shakes you, like a shock that makes you waver under the violence of his gaze.

Then slowly, he raises his head. His gestures are slow, cautious, as if he had to draw immense energy for each movement. His gaze wavers between a broken, fragile pride, and a pain that seems to want to destroy him instantly. His dark eyes, drowned in fatigue, seek to hide behind a facade of pride, this last vestige of a strength that he wants to hide at all costs. He tries to sketch what could resemble a smile, but it is a distorted, bitter, almost grotesque grin. A grimace of pain that he no longer even tries to hide. This smile trembles under the weight of the truth that he does not want to free, but which haunts each of his gestures, his thoughts. The cracks are there, visible in his facade, and something deeply human shines through in his pain. He wants to preserve his pride, but you know that it is nothing more than a fragile illusion.

“A fight,” he finally whispers. His voice is hoarse, raspy, like a worn rope, each word seeming to tear more of himself away. It’s a whispered confession, almost torn from his throat, the pain palpable in every word, every breath he lets out. “It was a fight… The other guy was… like a beast. He wouldn’t back down from anything.” His voice breaks on those last words, and he tries to laugh, but it’s only a broken breath, a desperate attempt that turns into a shudder of pain. The laughter isn’t a burst of joy, but a bright pain, a wrench, and his features tense with the pain of his wounds. While every word he speaks is a dagger piercing you, every syllable digging the blade deeper into your heart.

You close your eyes for a moment, as if to contain this pain that threatens to engulf you. You try to breathe, but everything seems unbreathable. The anguish rises, tightens around your lungs, invades your mind. You nod, even if everything in you breaks, fades into an abyss of silence and despair. You want to believe that he won, that in this fight, he found a little of this pride that seems to be all he has left. But a part of you refuses to believe it, refuses to accept it. It is too heavy, too much pain in his words, in his gaze. "And you won, I suppose?" Your voice trembles as you whisper this question, your smile almost absent, forced, a desperate attempt to lighten this moment. Even the laughter that you let cross the barrier of your lips seems bitter, like a burst of light that goes out as soon as it lights up. It's not a laugh, it's a crack, a burst of sadness. Your smile fades like a flower under a sky that's too heavy, and what's left is an emptiness, a dull pain that swallows you up.

The silence that follows is heavy, oppressive. It stretches between you like a menacing shadow, laden with everything you haven't said, everything you can't say. The air around you becomes denser and denser, almost suffocating, as if the space itself were heavy with tension, with the unsaid. A cold shiver runs through you, but you can't even tell if it comes from the air or from yourself, from this helplessness, this pain that eats away at you. You know he's there, broken in front of you, and you feel so small, so fragile, in the face of this reality that crushes you.

Sunghoon nods slowly, without saying a word. His eyes, usually filled with that quiet strength you had admired so much, are now drowned in an ocean of suffering. He is a shadow of himself. Yet, despite everything, he holds on. His posture wavers, but he seems to refuse to let himself be defeated. In his pain, there is still that silent stubbornness, that refusal to let himself be consumed. But the cracks are there. Invisible, but very real. And you see them, you feel them in every fiber of his being, the ones he can no longer hide, the ones that mark his soul forever.

You sit up abruptly, unable to remain still in front of him, in front of this being you love, this bruised body that hurts you more than you would like to admit. Your legs tremble under the weight of your despair and confusion, but you force yourself to move, not to give in to this paralysis. The urgency to heal him, to protect him, to do something, anything, overwhelms you. Your trembling hands grab the first aid kit, but everything seems unreal, as if you were living in a nightmare from which you cannot escape. As if this bleeding, suffering body in front of you could not be his. It is too real, too alive, for you to accept this violence.

When you come back to him, a strange serenity invades you, like a new strength, a determination that you had never felt. But as you get closer, reality hits you hard. The marks on his face, the deep, violent wounds, scream at you the brutality of the fight he must have fought, remind you of every moment of suffering he endured. And this reality takes your breath away, paralyzes you for a moment. You can't believe what your eyes are showing you. You can't accept the violence of this situation.

Slowly, almost timidly, you approach him. Your now gloved hands brush his jaw with infinite caution, as if you fear breaking something that might never be repaired. You know that the slightest pressure could revive an unbearable pain, so you try to be as gentle as possible, even if every fiber of your being trembles. Sunghoon doesn't move, his half-closed eyes remain fixed on you. In his gaze, you see a strange glow, a raw fragility, but also this strength that still inhabits him. It's an internal battle, between pain and the will to survive.

He's looking for something in your eyes, you know it. A silent promise, a comfort, an answer to this pain he can't share. But you know it too. Nothing is right. Not now. Not in this suspended moment, where every breath seems a challenge. Maybe never.

“It’s not broken,” you whisper hesitantly, your fingers gently resting on his bruised jaw, the crook of your thumb brushing the warm, swollen skin. Your voice, firm at first, almost breaks into a sigh, betraying the inner struggle that’s tearing you apart. Each word seems to cost you an energy you no longer have, as if by touching his bruised skin you’re absorbing a bit of his pain. He tries to smile, but it’s not a comforting smile, quite the opposite. It’s too fragile, too uncertain, like a cracked vase that threatens to shatter at any moment under the slightest pressure. It’s a smile laden with all the pain he refuses to show, and yet, you see this weakness he hides, this fragility he doesn’t dare reveal.

His gaze, however, strikes you more than anything else. It is dark, almost burning, like an ember ready to explode, and you feel that, behind this intense glow, he lets you glimpse an ocean of unspoken things, of buried wounds. He looks at you as if he were trying to transmit something to you, a weight too heavy to bear alone. It is a gaze that penetrates you, that passes through you, and for a moment, you have the impression that everything around you disappears. There is only the two of you, suspended in a frozen space where time seems to have stopped. His features relax a little, but even in this relaxation, you see this wounded pride that fights against the vulnerability that he tries to ignore.

You shake your head slightly, as if to chase away this heaviness, but the words you seek to say are almost inaccessible to you, drowned under the wave of tenderness and pain that invades you. "Congratulations on... the victory," you finally breathe, your voice almost inaudible, drowned by emotion. These words, although spoken, have nothing joyful, nothing triumphant. They are charged with sadness, a deep pain for him, for what he has just been through, for what he continues to hide under this facade of an invincible fighter. Your hands, hesitant, move instinctively to his hair, brushing his locks, looking for something to hold on to, a simple gesture to show him that he is not alone in this moment. The grip of your fingers on his hair is almost timid, but there is in it a silent love, an implicit support.

He closes his eyes under your touch, as if he’s finally allowing himself to feel this moment of peace, this rare moment where he can let go. A shiver runs down his shoulders, and for a moment, you feel his muscles relax, a part of him surrendering to the pain, to the exhaustion. Then, a low moan escapes his lips, interrupted by a broken breath. This moan, this simple sound, is both a confession and a cry of pain, but also a breath of relief, an acceptance of what is inevitable. He’s no longer a fighter, he’s a man, simply a broken, tired man, trying to hold on to this last bit of dignity.

You look at his face, and something even heavier settles inside you. The scene changes, as if the world around you dissolves, giving way to this suspended moment. “But… I don’t like seeing you like this,” you whisper, your voice fading into the air, broken by a pain you can’t contain. Each word comes out with a force that surprises you. There is anger in your voice, yes, but also a pain that he may not perceive, or that he refuses to see. You don’t like what he becomes in pain, what he hides under this fighter’s armor. “You don’t deserve this, Sunghoon. Not for… a fight.” Your words, heavy with frustration, with sorrow, come out with more force than you had imagined. They echo in the room, carrying a pain that you can no longer contain. You see it's not just a fight he lost. It's a part of himself he sacrificed, and it all upsets you.

He looks down at those words, as if you’ve just put your finger on a gaping wound that he’s trying to hide. His wounded fists slowly clench, with the slowness of a man struggling to face his own humanity. A drop of blood trickles from one of his wounds, slowly descending onto his skin, like a silent testimony to the battle he’s just fought. “I know…” His voice is barely a whisper, strangled, trembling. The words are heavy with shame, with regret, as if he’s betrayed something in you, something he can’t fix. “I… I didn’t want you to see me like this. I’m sorry, Y/n. So sorry…” He repeats the words with heartbreaking gentleness, as if he’s trying to convince himself that he’s still worthy of your compassion.

A lone tear slowly rolls down his cheek, that lone tear that seems to carry a part of his soul with it, and it breaks everything that remains in you. It is a confession, a silent admission of everything he doesn't know how to say. He sniffles, grimaces, and you can see that his nose, now swollen, inflicts a new unbearable pain on him. But what pierces you, what tears you apart deep down, is this vulnerability that he no longer hides, this raw humanity that is finally revealed. In that moment, Sunghoon is no longer the invincible fighter you know, he is just a man, broken, wounded, and you suddenly feel helpless in the face of this transformation.

You approach him again, with that slowness full of precautions, as if each gesture could break something between you. Your hands tremble slightly as you place your palm against his cheek, the softness of your gesture contrasting with the brutality of the situation. Then, without thinking, you brush his nose with your fingertips, your heart heavy with fear and tenderness. He looks at you, and in his gaze, there is a whole world of trust, of suffering, but also this silent acceptance. He seems to tell you that, no matter what you are going to make him go through, he will be there, by your side. Everything he endures, everything he suffers, it is in the hope that you will lift him up, that you will be the one who gives him back his dignity, even in pain.

“This is going to hurt,” you whisper, your breath short and shaky. The heat of his body against yours is unbearable, thick with sweat and the metallic smell of blood. You can feel the intensity of his pain, it cuts through you like a stab. The air is heavy, saturated with unspoken tension, and you focus on his eyes, those eyes that seem to beg you not to break him. “Sorry…” you breathe, your words barely audible, but filled with a sincerity that pierces you.

Then you press your thumb and index finger gently but firmly on either side of his nose, feeling the resistance of his bones beneath your skin, and the pain he tries to hide. The crack echoes, dry and sinister, in the room, and you feel like the noise is swallowing you up, suffocating you. Sunghoon grits his teeth, his lips already swollen and bruised from the blows, bitten to stifle the moans rising in his throat. His features tense, distorted by pain, and you see beads of sweat beading on his forehead, testifying to the intensity of the effort he is making to hold himself back. And yet, even in this pure pain, you perceive a glint in his eyes, a glint of defiance, of strength. It is as if he is telling you: “I am stronger than this.”

You release the pressure, and in that moment, you see a spark flicker in his eyes, a silent promise that he will hold on, that he will not let you down. But what upsets you, what tears you apart, is that lone tear that still rolls, a painful path down his cheek. “I’m… so sorry, Sunghoon,” you breathe, your voice cracking with the weight of the emotions choking you. You didn’t want this. But in this moment, everything seems to have changed, and you know that nothing will ever be the same between you again.

“Hey… I’m tough, I can handle it,” he whispers, his voice cracked by a wavering bravado, a silent cry of resistance to the truth he refuses to admit. He speaks with a conviction he tries to force upon himself, but everything in his posture, in his gaze, betrays the pain he can no longer contain. Each word seems like an unbearable burden, a desperate attempt to maintain some semblance of control. But deep down, he knows his efforts are futile. His lips tremble slightly, and in the intensity of his gaze, one can see the cracks in a mask that is slowly crumbling. A flicker of doubt, fleeting but burning, creeps into his eyes. The humanity of his pain bursts, fragile and broken, into the pride he tries to preserve. That flickering light, however tiny, is the only thing he cannot hide.

He tries to raise his hand to wipe away the cold sweat that beads on his forehead, but it is his right hand, bloody and trembling, that rises awkwardly towards his face. Each gesture seems like a superhuman effort, a fight against the weakness that he refuses to admit. He touches his cheek, where tears slide without restraint, and his gesture, completely involuntary, is as heavy as a confession. His fingers are red, covered in blood, but he no longer even pays attention to it. He tries to erase the humiliation, to repress this vulnerability that seems to sneak up on him despite himself. His gaze wavers, seeking an anchor, but he ends up letting his hand fall, unable to get rid of the pain weighing on his shoulders.

“It’s just a scratch,” he says then, louder this time, as if to convince himself that reality is what he wants it to be. He shakes his head, that desperate little movement that seeks to push back the horror of his own weaknesses. But his voice trembles with the effort of keeping up appearances, each syllable shattering like glass under the pressure of his own denial. “I’m a boxer… not a weak man.” He repeats the words like a mantra, but they ring hollow, like one more sentence in the echo of his own defeat. The pain of his physical injuries, of his broken ribs, only scratches the surface. What chokes him, what grinds him silently, is the collapse of everything he’s built.

Everything about him speaks of a pain far greater than that of his broken bones or his tense muscles. This pain has no name, it has no face. It is an invisible presence, an all-consuming void. Every breath is an effort, every movement a challenge. His hands tremble, his eyes are shifty, and his heart, terribly fast, resonates like a drum, an irregular cadence that even physical pain cannot conceal.

You see his body tense, freeze under the effort of maintaining this facade of an invincible hero. He tries to convince himself that he is strong, that he can bear anything, but everything inside him screams the opposite. His gestures, clumsy and desperate, are a futile attempt to prove that he does not need pity, that he can face everything alone. Yet his soul is in ruins. His pride and bravery, once powerful, are now manifestly fragile. His eyes seek yours, but they are empty of the assurance he would like to find there. They seek a comfort that he dares not hope for, a pity that he refuses to accept.

The tears continue to fall, each drop seeming heavier than the last, more painful to hold back. They are proof that he can no longer control what is happening inside him, a whirlwind that he tries to escape but that engulfs him little by little. He does not show it, he hides it behind his trembling smile and his pride, but he is broken, and each tear that slides on his skin is a victory of this pain that he tries to escape.

He closes his eyes briefly, as if hoping the pain would suddenly disappear, as if wishing it all to end. But when he opens them again, it is to look at you, a new fragility in his gaze, an abyss of suffering that he tries to hide with a forced smile. His hands tighten against his arms, as if to hold back what might escape. But he knows that all is already lost, that the battle is already won by pain, and that his mind is a field of ruins.

“Don’t say that…” Your voice breaks under the weight of emotion, a wave of sadness, helplessness, and frustration overwhelms you. You want to help him, save him, tell him that he doesn’t have to carry all this alone, but the words get stuck in your throat. It’s not the words that matter, you know that. It’s this silent truth that creeps between the two of you, this truth that he can’t accept. “You’re much more than that. You… you’re human.” The words escape in a breath, a whisper of confession that you hadn’t planned. But they are the truth. And even if this truth breaks him even more, you know that he has to hear it. Because, despite everything he tries to hide, you see deep in his eyes this part of humanity that he wants to run away from, this fragility that he hates and that he can’t accept.

He turns away slightly, as if those words had struck him with a violence he cannot counter. Anger flares in his gaze, pride rises, but it is weak, hesitant, wavering. He tries to defend himself, but he is too exhausted, too broken. He knows that what he feels, this shame, this pain he carries, is stronger than his pride. His eyes, full of defiance and resentment, meet yours, wet with tears, but he finds none of the answers he seeks there. On the contrary, the flame of his pride flickers for a moment, hesitates, then hides, no longer finding refuge in his own heart as he sees your tears flow down your cheeks, without any restraint.

He closes his eyes again, a shiver running through his body. This shiver is not due to physical pain, but to the emotion that runs through him, an emotion that he can no longer hold back. He whispers, almost inaudible, as if each word is a burden too heavy to bear. “Y/n, please don’t cry… I’m not worth it.” These words are knives in the air, a confession that he has repeated a thousand times in his head, but never with this fragility. Never with this pain. His voice trembles, breaks, and you see the shame invade his features, almost unbearable to watch. “Your tears… they are too precious to be wasted on me.” He seems to be punishing himself, inflicting a torture on himself that he has not deserved, as if his own suffering is a fault, a fault that he must atone for.

He tries to detach himself from you, to push away this tenderness that you offer him, but something inside him draws him back to you. He leans slightly, as if the gravity of his pain irresistibly draws him to you. And, in an almost trembling gesture, his hands come to your face to wipe away your tears, spreading his blood on your skin. It is not only a gesture of comfort, but a desperate attempt to hold on to something, to you, to the only thing that still seems real in this world that is collapsing around him.

He fights back his own tears that well up in the apple of his eye, but they persist, making his face even more painful to look at. His sobs are faint, but persistent, and you can hear them mixing with the sounds of his wheezing. “I’m so not worth it… Princess…” His voice grows a little hoarse, as if each word lays him bare, and his eyes close, as if he can run away from the truth he’s carried inside for so long. “I’m done for.” His words echo in the air, heavy, laden with regret and abandonment. He lets himself go against you, as if he hopes your body can hold him before he finally sinks into the night of his own thoughts. “That’s why no one stays with me for too long… I know I’ll end up losing you… too.”

Those words strike like an iron bell in your mind, and a new, more violent pain creeps into you. He condemns himself before he even has the chance to see what he could be with you. The stones he throws are heavy and cold, and you feel them as if they are crushing your heart. You want to scream, to tell him that none of this matters, that you will be there, no matter what. But your words die in your throat, because you know that he would have told you: he does not believe in love, not in the one you offer him. He believes himself unworthy of all this, and he offers it to you as a burden that he does not want you to carry. But you are not afraid. You know that what he is experiencing is not what you are ready to let go of.

“Don’t say that, Sunghoon.” Your voice is firmer this time, an anchor in the storm that consumes him. “I’m here… and I plan to stay, even if it hurts.” Your words aren’t just words of comfort, but a challenge to his fears. The truth, simple but powerful, escapes from you like a ray of light in a dark room. He stares at you then, his eyes filled with incomprehension, as if he’s about to push you away again, but he can’t. He searches for you in the chaos of his mind, searching for meaning in what you’re saying, but deep down, he knows it’s the truth.

He shuts down again, shaking his head, fighting the torrent of emotions that overwhelms him. His breathing becomes faster, more erratic, each breath seems to cost him energy he no longer has. You see his throat tighten, the muscles in his neck tense with the effort. He begins to panic, the crisis that is eating away at him is taking him faster and faster. You see the terror in his eyes, this irrational but devouring anguish, which makes his hands tremble, which squeezes his heart. He seeks to flee, to hide in a comfort zone that his demons refuse to offer him.

Without even thinking, you step closer, fighting the distance he tries to create, taking his bloodied hands in yours. You feel the heat of his skin, the erratic beating of his heart through his palms. “Look at me, Sunghoon. Breathe with me,” you say softly, but with a calm authority that cuts through the air. You want him to focus, to stay with you, to not fall into this downward spiral. You make eye contact, each glance an anchor, each heartbeat a promise. And you see the hesitation, the fear in his eyes, but also that little spark of recognition. He struggles, but he’s willing to try. He closes his eyes, trying to cling to your voice, to your presence, like a castaway clinging to a buoy.

“Breathe in… and breathe out,” you say softly, your voice filled with a tenderness that contrasts with the gravity of the moment. You struggle to synchronize your breathing with his, like an anchor in a rough sea, hoping to offer him some stability as the world around you seems to fall apart. Each breath you take seems to hang in the air, as you seek to convey a calm determination. He follows you, hesitantly at first, his ragged breaths betraying the panic inside him. Then, gradually, a sort of synchronization is created, each breath becoming more assured, more grounded. He fights against himself, against the pain, against the fear, but with each exhalation, something inside him relaxes, slowly, imperceptibly.

“That’s good, Sunghoon… you’re getting there,” you murmur, the words sliding out softly, like an invisible caress. You see his face relax, his features tense with the effort of maintaining control gradually unraveling. The weight of his thoughts seems to dissipate, a little with each breath. His hands, which were tense, almost painfully clenched around you, become less rigid. They still shake, but this shaking becomes less frantic, less desperate. He hasn’t completely abandoned this facade of resistance yet, but he’s starting to accept that in this moment, maybe, he can allow himself to let go, even if it’s only a little.

“I’m here…” you say, and those words, which you repeat almost mechanically, are more than just a promise. They are a silent oath, an anchor in the storm he has been going through alone for too long. They float in the air between you, heavy with meaning. Your voice, soft but firm, penetrates the pain, the fear and the silence that surround you. You see his eyes lock on yours, searching for answers, a stability he hasn’t known for too long. In this suspended moment, you are the only thing he can still lean on. And that’s all you can offer him. “We’re going to get through this together.” Those words, spoken like a promise he’s not used to receiving, nevertheless seem to soothe something broken inside him.

His eyes close for a moment, as if the weight of those words hit him hard. His lips part slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but nothing comes out. A heavy silence, saturated with everything he can't express, settles between you. Then he sighs, deeply, a breath that seems to hold back a lifetime of suffering. It's not a sigh of resignation, but a sigh of relief, very small, fragile, but terribly real. His hands, still trembling, find your skin and, with a gentleness you didn't think possible, he rests his forehead against yours. This gesture, seemingly innocuous, is a form of abandonment, a silent act that says it all. You are there, together, in this suspended moment where pain, suffering and hope merge, mix.

In this silence, you barely hold back a sob, the emotion rising in you, uncontrollable. This simple contact, this closeness, tears you as much as it comforts you. The pain of seeing him like this, broken, vulnerable, takes you by the throat. But there is also this warmth, this spark of hope in his eyes, a fragile glow that tells you that he has not given up everything. This moment, you know that it will remain engraved in you forever: an instant where you saw Sunghoon's soul in its purest, most real form.

When you slowly pull away, it's as if a part of you wants to stay there, suspended in this contact, as if breaking this fragile balance could break something in both of you. The smile that sketches itself on your lips is almost imperceptible, but it is there, despite the pain that invades you. A dull, indefinable pain, but which intensifies when you see the weariness and exhaustion in his eyes. He looks at you, this strange look, marked by helplessness and despair, but also a bit of hope, however fragile it may be. He no longer knows how to read you, or how to accept what he feels, but he still searches for you in the darkness of his soul. And in the way his eyes fix on you, you know that there is something that has changed in him.

Kneeling before Sunghoon, an unbearable heaviness descends upon you, a whirlwind of emotions colliding in your mind, nearly stealing your breath. Your heart is pounding so hard you can hear it resonating in your temples, in every fiber of your body. There is a palpable tension between you, a power dynamic that is silent but very real. Your fingers tremble slightly, hesitant, as you gently lift his t-shirt. The contact of your hand with his bare skin is a shock that sends shivers down your spine. What you discover pierces you. Under the dim light of the room, his torso is marked, almost disfigured, with scars, bruises and purple. Each blow, each wound that adorns his skin is a silent image of violence, a story of pain and struggle. You can’t look away.

A wave of conflicting emotions overwhelms you. On one side, the visual shock twists your insides, a pain that seems to be yours, an echo of solidarity. On the other, a disturbing admiration for this broken but still standing body, a resilience that moves you, forces you to recognize a strength you would never have imagined. The bruises are shards of a macabre painting, an arrangement of blue, black and purple that overlap, creating a mosaic of pain. Each mark seems to have its own story, and you are irremediably drawn to explore them with your eyes, trying to understand where they come from, what they mean. But it's more than that, isn't it? It's a silent call, a manifestation of a suffering that he didn't ask for, but that he carries in spite of himself. He never wanted all this, but it's there, imprinted on his skin like an indelible mark.

Your fingers slide timidly over his chest, caressing his quivering skin, brushing his bruises with an unreal softness, as if you were afraid that too much pressure would shatter the reality around you. You know that the pain he feels is far more intense than anything you can imagine, and yet, you can't help but search for answers in the tension of his muscles under your hand. A shiver runs over his skin, and you realize that your touch affects him more than he wants to show. You see his body react, a subtle tensing, a shudder that escapes your senses. It's not just the coolness of the air that makes him react, it's your touch, your touch. As if a part of him, the one he tries to hide, awakens at your touch.

When you linger on his ribs, you see his face contort with pain. Sunghoon's features tense, his eyes close for a moment, and you know that every movement, every pressure you apply is torment for him. A shiver of excitement runs through you, taking you by surprise, disturbing you. Maybe it's this confrontation with his pain, this strange beauty of seeing him suffer while remaining there, while resisting. But there's something else too, something more intimate. His body is an enigma, and you want to understand, you want to be the one to decipher this mystery. When you press a little harder, he growls, a guttural, almost animal noise, that makes you stop for a moment, frozen. The sound resonates in space, heavy, desperate, but also of a singular beauty in its vulnerability.

You try to reassure him, but you know it’s not easy. “It’s just swelling, nothing serious, but I’m going to give you antibiotics to help with the pain. You have to take it all, Mr. Park!” Your voice is authoritative, almost amused, a strange contrast to the situation. You speak to fill the void, to break the tension a little, but a part of you knows that these words are more for you than for him. Maybe you’re just trying to convince yourself that everything will be okay. But you see his reaction. He grimaces, his face tightening, and a pout of disgust forms on his lips. It’s not just a rejection of the medication, it’s a rejection of the very idea of ​​depending on something or someone, even in this situation.

A light, almost nervous laugh escapes from your mouth, breaking the weight of the atmosphere for a moment. This laugh is strange, inappropriate even, but necessary, like a way to bring a little lightness into this too heavy moment. But, even if you laugh, your eyes can't help but capture every detail of his suffering, every movement that betrays a little more of what he wants to hide. Inside, a struggle tears you apart, a tug. You want to protect him, but this desire to touch him, to see him suffer and fight against the pain, troubles you in a way you don't understand. It's a strange mixture of care and morbid fascination, an attraction that unsettles you.

“But first, I’m going to disinfect your bruises and scrapes,” you say, your tone becoming more serious, a gesture that goes far beyond simple medical care. There’s an intimacy to it, an intrusion into his personal space, a moment of painful sharing, a connection that goes far beyond what words can express.

You grab a gauze, soak it in alcohol, and the strong smell of disinfectant invades your nostrils. It’s a pungent, familiar scent, that of treatment rooms, of moments when pain becomes omnipresent. The smell almost makes you sway, plunging you further into the intensity of what’s playing out between you. You stand up slightly, leaning towards him, your gaze meeting his, that silent challenge burning in his eyes. Each beat of his heart is a palpable vibration in the air, a rhythm that captivates you. As you bring the gauze to his wounds, you give him a smile, almost cruel in its sweetness. You know the pain is inevitable, but there’s nothing you can do to avoid it. The muscles in his body tense, every fiber ready to react.

“This is going to hurt,” you whisper, your voice soft, tinged with an almost disturbing intimacy. Looking into his eyes, you see the storm raging inside him. The physical pain, yes, but also this inner struggle, this humiliation of being in this position, this unspoken desire for connection. A cry for help disguised as a challenge. The look becomes a silent exchange, an unspoken promise of what could be born between you, of this chaos you create together.

The first touches are both gentle and violent, a strange dance between gentleness and brutality. Sunghoon winces at every touch, his face twisting in pain, but there is also this glimmer of defiance, this fierce will not to give in, not to show himself vulnerable. In his eyes, you see a mixture of frustration and desire, an inner struggle that absorbs you. Each harder pressure on a bruise fills you with a shiver, a palpable tension between you, a macabre dance of conflicting emotions that seems to transcend words. It is as if each pain he suffers allows you to delve further into his world, to understand his limits, his fears, and in a strange way, it binds you to him.

You continue to gently apply the disinfectant to his wounds, each small tap on his skin resonating like a percussion, an echo that crosses your heart and creates waves of intense emotions within you. The fragility of this moment hits you hard, as if each gesture, however trivial, carried an immense weight. Each movement becomes a fragile dance between gentleness and violence, between the tenderness with which you treat his wounds and the pain he suffers without a word. With each contact with his skin, a shiver runs through your body, as if the simple act of touching him awakens in you an alchemy that you had not anticipated.

Sunghoon's face is tense, his features drawn with effort. You see his jaw clench, his teeth almost cracking with the strain. He keeps his eyes closed, probably to keep any evidence of his pain from slipping out, but in every fiber of his body, you feel that the intensity of the moment is affecting him as much as it is you. His muscles are tense, his breathing deep and irregular, but there is something in the way he presses his lips together that betrays an inner struggle. A silent duel between the pain coursing through his body and the fierce desire not to falter, not to let it get to him.

The cotton soaked in disinfectant brushes the damaged skin of his torso, and you can almost feel, in every shiver that escapes him, in every small movement, the magnitude of what he is enduring. The pain intrudes into the air like an invisible presence, a shadow that floats between you, a palpable tension that you feel almost as if it is passing through you too. Every blow, every scar, every bruise, it is like a weight crushing your heart. The violence he has suffered seems to have been imprinted on your own flesh, like a shared wound. You feel like an extension of him, a part of his being, as if you were one, linked by this silent suffering and, paradoxically, a strange desire. A desire that emerges slowly, imperceptibly, like a gentle but inescapable breeze.

Your gaze doesn't leave his wounds. The skin still red, marked by the imprint of the blows, the persistent blue of the bruises, all this under the subdued light that floods the room. But he says nothing, doesn't moan, he just endures. And you can't help but feel a silent admiration for him. A raw, inexplicable, almost painful respect. There is something fascinating, magnetic in his resistance, but also an infinite sadness, a pain that seems to want to invade you, overwhelm you.

The disinfectant slowly slides between your fingers, but each gesture becomes heavier, more difficult. Not because of the sight of his wounds, but because each small movement brings you closer to him, makes you feel his warmth, the tension of his muscles under your hand, each shiver that runs through his skin. The sound of the cotton soaked in alcohol coming into contact with his skin seems to amplify the distance between you, and at the same time, reduce it, almost dissolve it. It's strange, almost unreal. An insidious need to get even closer, but you know that certain limits cannot be crossed, certain spaces must be respected.

When you finish, the room seems to freeze in an even more oppressive silence. The only sound that remains is that of your breaths, broken, heavy, charged with contradictory emotions. Your heart beats faster, irregularly, as if each beat seeks to escape the intensity of the moment. You feel as if you have done much more than heal his wounds. Something deeper has taken place between the two of you, something that neither he nor you can quite name. You know it in every fiber of your being, in every tense muscle of your body. But there is no time to think further. The moment is still too fresh, too intense.

You know it's not over. You still have to wrap it up, dress it in bandages, even more closeness, even more contact, even more intimacy. The bandages are there, in the box, waiting to be used. Each gesture becomes heavier, more thoughtful, as if the moment were stretching out, hanging in the air. You open the box slowly, as if each movement were a conquest, as if you were preparing to appropriate the space, to penetrate a little more into its universe.

Your hands shiver at the thought of touching him again, but it's not nervousness. It's something much more complex, an excitement that tightens your throat, an unexpected emotion that grabs you by the throat. You slowly unroll the bandage, the rough texture of the fabric slipping under your fingers, each meter you unroll bringing you closer to him. As you wrap the bandage around his right shoulder, your body moves even closer to his. You can feel the heat of his skin, marked by the brutality of the blows, and yet, you have no desire to move away. On the contrary, you want to be there, close to him, to feel each shiver running through his skin, each vibration that seems to spring from the contact between you. You wrap the bandage slowly, your hand brushing his arm, his rough skin, marked by violence. His body tenses under your gestures, but it's not only the pain he feels. It's this closeness, this tension between you, this strange alchemy that you can't ignore.

And with each pass of the bandage, you get closer. Your body brushes against his, you feel the warmth of his chest against your arms, the muscles contracting under your fingers, each breath deepening. You see his muscles tense with pain, but also with the power of this moment. Every inch of skin you cover brings you closer to him, and to that fragile boundary between pain and desire, between suffering and shared intimacy.

You prepare to slowly descend towards his torso, a new strip of bandage in hand. The first turn of the bandage is simple, almost mechanical. But with each movement of your wrist, your fingers brush his marked skin, and you perceive, with painful acuity, the shivers that cross his muscles. Sunghoon's jaw tightens, his gaze becomes more distant, almost frozen, like a mask that he weaves around himself. Yet, you know, you feel this slight tremor under his skin, this invisible tension that hides in his arms, in the rigidity of his body. It is a pain that he hides, a silent suffering that your touch manages to awaken, and you feel it deeply, like an echo of this inner struggle that boils inside him. His torso, red and swollen, is a painful map of the violence he has suffered. Each bruise is a memory, a battle that he will never be able to erase. The bandage you apply becomes more pressing as you continue, each movement more sustained, as if you were seeking to soothe what cannot be soothed.

Your body is tense, your mind both focused and nervous, as you continue to wrap the bandage around his ribs, your fingers brushing every curve, every line of his body. There is in each brush a silent call, an invitation to go deeper, to discover areas of his skin that no one else touches. There, in this proximity, you intrude into a space that he jealously guards, protected from any outside gaze. But his muscles, despite his implacable air, react to each gesture, trembling under the pressure of your touch. This is not simply a care, it is a transgression, an imposed intimacy, a gentle but irreversible invasion.

Sunghoon says nothing. Not a word. Not a gesture. But his eyes… His eyes don’t leave you. They stare at you, with that strange, contradictory glow, wavering between defiance and submission. A hard and cold look, but beneath which you can guess a fragility that he tries to hide. You know it’s an inner struggle, a silent war, a fight not to give in, not to let his flaws show. He wants to be unwavering, but you perceive this tiny crack in his gaze. A vulnerability that he’s not used to exposing.

Your gaze slowly descends, your body moving closer to his, every inch of you sinking into the intimacy of his space. The bandage continues to slide beneath your hands, each brush an almost imperceptible touch, but charged with a palpable energy. The rhythm of his breathing becomes heavier, deeper, as if each movement of your finger on his skin exacerbates the pain, but also the intensity of the moment. There is something heavy, inexpressible in the air between you two. A thick silence, almost tangible. The slightest breath you let escape seems to resonate in the room, and yet it makes no sound. He endures, as he always has, gritting his teeth to stifle the grunts of pain.

Then you wrap the bandages around his wrists. His hands… His hands, wounded, deeply scarred. The moment becomes heavier, almost charged with meaning. A shudder of recoil when your hand brushes his skin, a movement so subtle it could go unnoticed. But you know he feels it. He clenches his fists, as if to repress any manifestation of pain. Yet he submits to the pressure, to the imposed intimacy, and you continue to wrap the fabric, carefully, patiently. With each turn, your fingers brush his. The contact is weak, almost imperceptible, but still heavy, as insidious as a promise. It is more than simple care, it is a connection. A silent bond woven in the gentleness and intensity of your gestures. A contact that takes charge of everything he hides, everything he does not want to say, everything he does not dare to show.

And each wrap becomes heavier. It carries within it a strange intensity, a tension that you cannot ignore. As if this bandage, a simple object of care, becomes the invisible thread that binds you, the only authentic bond, more powerful than anything you can say or keep silent. When you finish tightening the last turn around his wrists, a strange silence settles. He looks at you. This time, he does not flee. His eyes meet yours, and in this look hides an acceptance, a silent confession that he does not have the words to express. A fragile moment, where he allows himself, finally, to be vulnerable, to give himself to what you do to him, even if he does not show it entirely.

You stand in front of Sunghoon, so close you can feel the heat of his skin, the air between you as thick as the heavy atmosphere of an impending storm. Even the slightest breath seems to resonate. A slight, almost imperceptible shudder makes the air around you shiver, as if the silence itself were holding its breath, hanging on this precise moment to see what you’re going to do or say. There’s a palpable tension between you of a substance that could be cut with a knife. The shadows in the room lengthen, stretching across the walls, dancing in the dim light, accentuating the eerie softness of this shared intimacy.

Your hand, hesitant at first, gently rests on the part of his torso that is not bandaged, following the contours of his tense muscles. You feel the warmth of his body through your fingers, and the more you touch him, the more you feel enchanted by this strange connection, this dark alchemy that is born between you. The scars that mark his skin, these indelible marks left by past battles, are silent memories that you explore with your fingertips. Each line, each curve tells a story that you guess without really wanting to know it, but that you feel in the intensity of this contact.

Your breathing becomes more irregular, heavier, as you feel each rough scar on his flesh under your fingers. Each tension of his muscles under your hand pushes you to come even closer, to pierce what he hides, what he does not want to show you. You are aware of each movement of his body, of each tiny shift. Your fingers descend slowly, lower, following the lines of his abs, brushing his skin marked by violence. Your heart accelerates with each gesture, each brush. This is not a simple contact, not an act of care. It is a dance, an exploration, a test. A test of his limits, but also of your own capacity to lose yourself in this connection between pain and desire. And you feel that this bond, as fragile and ephemeral as it is, brings you closer to him in a strange, irresistible way.

“Does it still hurt?” you whisper, the words floating between you, heavy with meaning. It’s not simply a question of whether he’s still hurting. It’s not just a concern for his well-being. Beneath those words, there’s something more complex, darker: a desire to test his reactions, to understand what he’s feeling through this touch, to discover what he’s hiding in the dark recesses of himself. There’s no worry in your voice, just curiosity, almost clinical, almost pitiless.

He doesn't answer immediately, but you feel his body react, almost imperceptibly. A subtle shudder under your fingers, a slight movement of the muscles in his torso, like a response to this pressure, to this attention. And then, slowly, his lips curve into an ironic smile, a grimace that betrays a form of defiance, of provocation. His eyes, still fixed on yours, are burning, intense, but also calculating. He's playing with you, he knows perfectly well what impact his words will have, and he doesn't waste a second in delivering them to you, weighing each syllable with cold precision.

“Pain is nothing. But you… you are more dangerous than any wound.”

These words hit you like a punch. They hit you, slip into your mind, disrupt your thinking. It’s a game, a trap he’s setting, and you know you’re falling for it, but you can’t seem to break away. Sunghoon has perfectly understood the effect he’s having on you. He’s playing with you, manipulating you without you being fully aware of it, testing your limits, pushing them to force you to go further. The dynamic between you has changed in that moment. It’s no longer a simple interaction between two individuals. It’s a silent war, a fight of looks, gestures, touches, where every movement becomes a declaration of power, a quest for a fragile and unstable balance.

Unable to help yourself, your hand moves lower, your fingers tracing invisible lines on his stomach, lingering where the scars intersect, where the pain has accumulated. Each movement becomes more sensual, more intimate, and you feel it, you know that he feels every tiny gesture, every pressure you exert. His breath quickens beneath you, his muscles tense, and you see a shiver run down his body, betraying this complex mixture of pain and pleasure that he seems to be experiencing. He is both vulnerable and dangerous, all at once, and this paradox brushes against you, bewitches you, captivates you.

“Maybe you like it, the pain,” you breathe, your smile turning into a provocative glint that slides between you like a poisonous caress, soft and captivating. Your voice, though fluid and light, carries an intensity he can’t ignore. It rises like a silent invitation, the explosion of an unbearable desire hidden beneath seemingly innocent words. But these are not harmless words. They are the conflagration of a challenge, the spark of a question that you know will make him react. You want to test his limits, to plumb the depths of his soul, to feel how far he is willing to go, how much his control can withstand before everything collapses under the weight of the storm raging between you.

Your gaze fixes on him, incisive, penetrating. He can no longer look away, can no longer pretend not to understand what you are implying, what you expect from him. Sunghoon's eyes are no longer the same. A wild flame burns in his pupils, like a fire he can no longer contain. He stares at you, his gaze more intense than ever, as if he were trying to read your thoughts, to decipher every nuance of what you just said. But he knows. He knows exactly where you are going with this. And he knows, too, that if he crosses that line, there will be no going back.

There’s palpable tension in the air, a hold on his breath. You see his muscles tense, every fiber of his body reacting to the intensity of the moment. A silent war is playing out in his mind. And yet he doesn’t move. Not yet. He waits, like a predator stalking its prey, but doesn’t want to strike yet. He holds back, because he understands that this game is dangerous. But this inner struggle only intensifies the atmosphere. The room itself seems to hold its breath, suspended between control and imminent collapse.

He finally moves, and that simple gesture breaks everything. His hand rises, and in an instant, he grabs yours, taking it with such force that you almost feel the pain. His fingers close around your hand, heavy and powerful, like a burden, but also a promise. The heat of his skin burns against yours, and you feel every beat of his heart resonate in the space between you. This is not a simple touch. This is the hold of a man on a woman, of a will on the other. A touch that leaves an indelible mark, an invisible but deep mark, on your mind, on your body. Pain mixes with sweetness, submission turns into desire, and you feel lost in this intoxicating duality.

And you don't move. You let him do it, because you know that this gesture, although it is brutal, is part of the game. You move closer, so close to him that your breaths mingle, the outside world disappears. You are alone now, the two inhabitants of a bubble of pure electricity. The heat of his breath against your skin is so close to your lips that you could almost touch them. Your heart races, each beat resonating like a drum in your chest, like an echo of the tension that connects you.

The silence becomes almost unbearable, each second stretching like an eternity. Each movement, however small, seems loaded with meaning. He is there, very close, but you do not dare to move. His eyes, anchored in yours, burn with this flame that he tries to hide, a flame that he does not want to admit, but which bursts in his pupils, a truth that he can no longer hide. Their sparks collide with yours, fight in a silent exchange. You see him. You know what he feels. You know that he is about to give in.

Then his lips part just a little. A low, hoarse whisper escapes his throat. “Maybe so,” he says, but it’s not a simple answer. It’s an admission. A confession, almost a prayer whispered into the void. His words carry a heavy weight of unspoken meanings, charged with the same tension that floats between you. He’s just given you a part of himself he’s always hidden, a part of fragility he’s never shown to anyone. It’s not submission, but a raw, naked truth that vibrates in the air. He says nothing else, but it’s enough. He’s told you the essential. And you know now that everything between you has changed, that the boundary has been crossed forever.

His fingers tighten around your hand. You feel the pressure grow stronger, more urgent, almost desperate, as if he wants to make sure you’re here, present, that this tension, this connection, is real. He wants you here, he wants you now, but not just in a physical way. Sunghoon wants you to be anchored in this moment, to be engraved in you as much as you are in him. You feel the warmth of his hand against yours, but also the pain of his grip. It’s a bittersweet pressure, like a warning.

At that moment, everything changes. Time seems to stand still, the sounds of the outside world fade away, and there's only the two of you left, trapped in this silent dance. You realize then that this is no longer a simple game. It's not just a provocation, an exploration of desire. It's a test, a test of its limits, a test of your own ability to lose yourself in this strange connection, this fascination that mixes pain and pleasure. It's a point of no return. And you have no desire to go back.

Your heart, like a frantic drum, is pounding so hard in your chest that you feel like it’s going to burst, each beat faster, more disordered, than it’s ever been. Adrenaline pulses through your veins, but it’s a strange feeling, a mixture of excitement and tension unlike anything you’ve ever felt, as if every fiber of your being is stretched by an invisible thread. The air around you seems to be charged with a palpable energy, a gentle but piercing electricity that electrifies the space between you, drawing you in with a magnetic force that you can neither ignore nor suppress.

Sunghoon stands there, so close, and yet every movement of his body seems torn by a pain he tries to hide, a suffering that goes beyond physical pain, something deeper, anchored in every gesture, every breath he takes. You see his tense features, the stiffness in his shoulders, as if every second spent with you is an internal struggle, and yet, something inside him pushes him to stay, not to turn away. His wounds, visible and invisible, resonate like an echo of a war he wages within himself, a silent battle, and you know it will not have an easy end. Against all odds, you feel drawn to this darkness that consumes him. It is an unhealthy curiosity, but also an irrepressible need to understand the part of him that he hides, to reach this depth that he hides so skillfully under an icy surface.

A part of you feels hopelessly captivated by his defenselessness, this raw vulnerability that he only lets glimpse on rare occasions, but these moments… these moments, they are the ones that plunge you into a whirlwind of conflicting feelings. You want to touch him, to cross this distance he tries to maintain, to show him that you know, that you feel, that you understand this pain that boils inside him. It is like a chain that twists around your heart, forcing you to move forward despite the fear, despite the doubts.

The invisible boundary between you becomes harder and harder to bear, an invisible pressure that crushes everything around you. You feel it, this tension between you two, more tangible than any words. The moment seems to stretch out in exquisite slowness, and you know that you no longer have a choice, you must move forward. Each breath seems suspended in time, and you let yourself be guided by an inexplicable force, an irresistible attraction that pushes you to cross this threshold.

Your body leans towards him slowly, as if each movement is a struggle against the inevitable. You hear his breath, becoming more panting now, heavier, and each second becomes an eternity, each beat of your heart an echo that reminds you how close Sunghoon is, how he occupies the center of everything you feel. You brush your face against his neck, your lips brushing the tender, smooth skin, yet marked by his inner struggle. The smell of sweat, of dried blood, a raw and intoxicating scent, rises between you, and everything that exists around you seems to evaporate. Nothing else matters. Only this proximity, this strange connection that binds you in this suspended moment. The outside world slowly disappears, as if everything is paused, frozen in a silent dance.

You feel yourself shivering, a heat that invades your body as you brush against him. Each sensation becomes more intense, more vivid. Your breath becomes deeper, slower, as you smell his scent more and more present, invasive. The mixture of sweat, pain, adrenaline and raw virility that emanates from him consumes you, envelops you. The brightness of his eyes, dark, but also full of something more… heavier, more elusive, hits you, and you know he feels the same way. Every part of you awakens, every desire buried in the recesses of your mind awakens with the force of a wild fire. This is no longer a simple physical attraction. It is as if your emotions are mixed with his, drawing you into a whirlwind of sensations that you can no longer ignore.

Your heart races even faster as you say the words, each syllable escaping your mouth slowly, your voice softer, more husky, like a whisper, an invitation: “Maybe you need this… maybe you need someone to make you feel something real, something raw, something painful.” Your words slide between you like a caress, but a sharp caress, one that tears at the last bulwarks of his control. They’re charged with this murky, dangerous promise, and you know they’re hitting him hard, hitting him where he’s vulnerable.

You watch his reactions, fascinated by the way his body tenses more, like a rope ready to break. He closes his eyes for a moment, and in that silence, you know he's letting your words sink into his mind, accepting this idea, accepting what you're offering him and what you expect in return. When he opens his eyes again, everything has changed. There's no more restraint, no more facade. His gaze is darker, almost bestial, but also torn, broken. In his eyes, there's a wild desire, an urgency he can no longer hide. The walls he's built are starting to crack, and something inside you burns even brighter at the sight of this fragility that's revealed.

Sunghoon whispers, his voice hoarse, thick with desire and desperation, “I don’t need someone… I need you.” The words hit you like a hammer blow. They resonate in your bones, in your mind. They’re both a promise and a confession, a raw truth he throws in your face. There’s no turning back, no escape. The reality between you becomes hotter, more present, each moment suspended in a tension that’s both heavy and exquisite.

In the silence that follows, everything collapses, everything transforms into a suspended moment, where your own emotions ignite. Your mind drowns in this intense heat, and you move forward again, this time without any more restraint, your nose brushing the warm skin of his neck, your breath burning his skin. The smell of him intoxicates you. It sucks you in, consumes you, and you lose yourself in this moment where everything, absolutely everything, seems possible. This desire that you feel, this irrepressible need for him, overwhelms you. It is no longer a simple attraction, it is a call. A call towards an abyss that you had never considered, but which, now, seems inevitable.

The touch of his hand in yours, barely perceptible at first, gradually becomes an anchor. A light grip, but so firm at the same time. His fingers slowly wrap around your palm, and a soft, almost bewitching warmth spreads through your veins. There is no rush in this gesture, but each second that his fingers remain suspended on the surface of your skin seems to prolong an instant already frozen in time. A breath escapes your lips, too light for him to notice, but enough to make you understand that a part of you is already beginning to tense, to tense in spite of yourself.

You’ve never felt this. A feeling of being suspended, of floating between two worlds. On one side, there’s you, the person you’ve always been: cautious, reserved, whole in your ability to protect yourself, to keep your heart safe from any intrusion. On the other, there’s Sunghoon. He’s looking at you, touching you, making a tangle of feelings arise in you that you can’t quite grasp. A shiver runs through you as you feel his fingers, but it’s not simply physical. No, it’s something that passes through you from the inside, a strange warmth, a sudden wave that makes you sway slightly.

It’s not a moment of gentle caress. It’s not a simple gesture of comfort. It’s much more than that. His fingers on your skin act like a key in a mechanism you hadn’t even suspected. An invisible lock opens inside you, and everything you had carefully hidden behind walls of ice begins to melt under the warmth of his hold. It’s as simple as that: he touches you, and you feel vulnerable. Every fiber of your body reacts to this contact as if a firework had just exploded inside you. You shudder, an electric shock runs through you, but it’s a delicious shiver, almost agonizing in its sweetness.

And yet, you don’t want to move. You don’t want to break this fragile balance. Your breathing quickens for no apparent reason, as if your body is starting to get ahead of your will. You feel his thumb slide lightly over the skin of your hand, in an almost hypnotic dance. There are no words, no promises. Just this gesture, this silent contact. Yet, it’s as if your whole being is screaming at you that there is much more than this simple touch. This is not a simple contact. This is a connection. A tension. An invitation.

Around you, there is no noise. No whispers, no distractions. The world seems to have frozen, as if it is waiting for you to react, to respond to what is happening between the two of you. You try to pull yourself together, to regain control of your thoughts, but it is as if you are drowning in the depth of his gaze. His eyes, black and deep, do not leave you. They scrutinize you, but not in the way you expect. No, it is as if he is trying to decipher every thought, every emotion that you try to hide. Sunghoon does not let you escape. He holds you in this silent embrace, that of his gaze and his gesture. And you cannot escape. Sunghoon is there, and he sees you. He sees you, really.

You try to look away, to look for an escape in the space around you, but you are drawn to Sunghoon like a magnet. You feel like prey, but in a strange way, it doesn't scare you. On the contrary, it is a call. A challenge. He stares at you, without blinking, without letting the slightest emotion show, except for the gleam that shines in his eyes. And you, you feel destabilized, lost in this gaze like in a calm and yet devouring ocean. It is almost unbearable. But you don't want him to let you go. No, deep down, you know that this vulnerability, this exposure, is what you want. What you seek, without really knowing why.

A heavy silence falls. The sound of your heartbeat echoes in your ears. Sunghoon is there, very close, and you can't escape his hold. And suddenly, without warning, he whispers. His voice is hoarse, as if each word is a burden he can no longer keep to himself. "I need you." Three words. Simple. Precise. But they fall on you like a shock. You try to push them away, but they slip into you, infiltrate your most secret thoughts. Need . This word vibrates in you, it resonates in your mind, then in your body. It invades you, takes you by surprise. The weight of his statement almost makes you falter. And yet, deep down, you know that he is telling the truth. It is not a question. It is not a plea. It is a certainty. A truth he doesn't even need to justify. And you know he expects something from you.

A spark of defiance lights your gaze. You have no intention of giving him this satisfaction, this ease. You want to resist, you want to keep some control, some semblance of power in this situation where everything seems to be collapsing around you. But the words that pass your lips, although spoken in an almost imperceptible breath, only succeed in betraying your own uncertainty. "Do you really think you need me?" The question hangs in the air, but it is tinged with doubt. A doubt that you do not want to acknowledge, but which is there, implacable.

His eyes harden, but he doesn't answer right away. He lets the silence stretch, like a tight rope ready to snap. You see him clench his jaw slightly, a muscle twitching with the effort of holding something back. He fights the urge to answer right away.

“I know what I’m saying,” he whispers, his voice low and gravelly, almost echoing in the air like a growl from the depths of his soul. His words seem to slither around you, slide over your skin, infiltrate every corner of your being. It’s not a simple affirmation. No. It’s a promise, a silent and threatening certainty, which seems to mark the beginning of a game whose full extent you have yet to grasp. “But you… are you ready to hear it?”

At that moment, you feel your chest tighten. The question hits your heart like an invisible punch, each syllable colliding with the walls of your resistance. A wave of heat floods your cheeks, but it’s not embarrassment, not at all. It’s much more complex than that. It’s as if something inside you is starting to move, as if an invisible thread is stretching and snapping at the same time. The heat rising inside you is like a fire, burning and uncontrollable. It’s not a simple physical reaction, a discomfort in the face of a strange or uncomfortable situation. No, it’s much deeper. It’s the feeling of losing your footing, of finding yourself on the edge between temptation and danger.

His eyes bore into yours, relentless, and you knew there was more than defiance in his gaze. There was a silent promise, a promise to shake everything. You felt it deeply, this conviction that he was ready to take you to the end of this path. All that was left between you was a question of power. And you knew, deep down, that that power belonged to Sunghoon. Not you. But maybe that power wasn’t what you expected.

You want to answer, to challenge him in turn, to prove to him that you are not weak. But just as you prepare to open your mouth, another realization dawns on you. It is obvious, a truth that flashes through you: you do not want to answer. You do not want to fight. What burns inside you is not a simple desire for control. No, what consumes you is the desire to dive, to lose yourself in this embrace of power, to no longer be the one who must always control everything, but the one who lets herself go with the wave, the one who lets herself be swallowed up.

A spark of defiance shines in your eyes, but it is veiled by a heavy realization: this is no longer about winning, about proving anything. No. This is about succumbing. And in that moment, you realize that you are ready to do it. Ready to lose everything, ready to accept what he offers you, even if you know the fall will be brutal. The thought hits you in the heart, like a bullet shot in the chest, but it is a bullet that you want to receive. Because you know, deep down, that this is all part of the challenge. And you want to play it.

The heat intensifies. It’s almost a pain, a burning in your veins. “What if I bring you more than you can bear?” The words come out of your mouth, as low and soft as the wind, but with a surprising clarity. They float in the air, heavy with meaning, full of that fragile and inevitable promise. Like a call into the void, a challenge you know he won’t be able to ignore. You see it in his eyes, the glimmer of curiosity and desire that’s born there. You see that glow transform, take on a darker, more intriguing hue. He’s only one step behind you now. He’s already following you, without knowing it, into this whirlwind you’ve just released.

The change in Sunghoon’s eyes is immediate. You see it. You feel it. It’s no longer a mere provocation, a threat. No, it’s a pact. He’s already in it, ready to lose himself just as much as you are. And you know, with a frightening certainty, that nothing will ever go back to the way it was before. You’ve seen that look change, darken. The sparkle that used to shine in his eyes is gone. Instead, there’s a kind of heartbreak, an inner struggle playing out inside him. He knows you’ve just crossed the line. And he wants to follow you down that path.

“I yearn for this,” he whispers, his voice raspy, a growl that shakes the air. The words vibrate against your chest, resonate through every fiber of your body, and you know, in that moment, that everything has changed. This is no longer a battle of wills. You’re already losing control together, falling into this madness that neither of you can stop. What you’ve feared all this time, what you’ve avoided, is now inevitable. You’ve crossed the line.

You don't hesitate anymore. Your body moves instinctively, moving closer to him, like a magnet attracting hot metal. Your breath brushes his face, a shared warmth, so close, so intimate, that you can almost taste his skin. Everything becomes blurred. The space between you no longer exists. You are there, so close to him, so vulnerable, but so eager. Your lips brush his skin. It's soft at first, almost shy, but the desire grows inside you. You want more. You want this feeling of contact to intensify, for this moment to widen, for you to come to madness. The kiss, almost imperceptible at first, becomes more pressing, more urgent, more insatiable.

His hands reach out to you, grabbing you with a wild fervor, as if he were afraid of losing you. You feel him twitch beneath your fingers, his muscles reacting to every gesture, every brush. The heat rises again, almost unbearable, a fever that you share with him. His lips find yours, and the sweetness turns into a devouring need, an urgency that you can no longer ignore. He responds to your kiss with such intensity that you are out of breath. His arms tighten around you, pressing you against him, and you feel the moment becoming more pressing, more raw, as if you were one entity.

He groans, a low, guttural sound, a silent cry of ecstasy and pain, as his hands slide into your hair, pulling you a little closer to him. Everything becomes a blur. Every sensation increases tenfold, every touch, every movement becomes a burn that consumes you. His body against yours, every breath that intertwines with yours, the kiss that becomes crazier, more desperate. The outside world disappears. There is only him, only this need that invades you, only this desire to lose you together in the unknown.

“You’re already breaking me,” Sunghoon finally says, his voice weak, cracked between pleasure and pain. It’s not a complaint. No, it’s an observation, a truth you share. And then you know that you have power. A power that no words could truly express. A power over him, over you, over this moment. You are the one who guides the dance, the one who leads this abyss with a new certainty. He is there, ready to do anything to follow you, trembling under your control. And you know it. There is no going back. You are both already engulfed in this moment. And you have no more doubts. You are ready to dive.

You pull back slightly, just enough to look at him, to observe what he feels, to see in his eyes that silent submission. “Then show me,” you breathe, your voice trembling, not with fear, but with impatience, an insatiable eagerness. It’s a challenge, but it’s also an invitation. A call. And you know he’s going to answer. He has no other choice. Because deep down, Sunghoon is as lost as you are.

Sunghoon leans towards you slowly, his gaze piercing and determined. Every inch he fills seems to stretch the air around you, an invisible but palpable pressure forming and encircling you, a vice of intensity. The space between you tightens with each breath, and you feel the tension growing, invading every part of your being, making you almost immobile under his grip. There is no more room for any thought, any distraction; there is only him, you, and this irresistible attraction that intensifies with each moment. His gaze, burning, insistent, does not leave your lips, and the air between you seems to charge with an almost tangible electricity, an energy that brushes the line between the possible and the forbidden. It is as if the whole world has suddenly evaporated, leaving only the two of you, alone, linked in this inescapable attraction, as if nothing else matters anymore. You are aware of the weight of his gaze, heavy, searching, each movement of your body becoming an enigma that he prepares to solve, a silent challenge that he wants to understand, to decipher.

The space between you seems to shrink with every breath, with every movement he makes, slowly, with that calculated slowness that makes your heart beat faster. When his lips finally brush yours, it’s an electric shock that sets you ablaze. It’s not a simple touch, no, it’s an invitation, an instinctive act, almost wild. The first few seconds are soft, almost shy, but in that softness lies an intensity that you feel immediately, like a repressed desire ready to burst. The heat of his skin burns you, and suddenly, you feel more alive than ever, every cell in your body responding to that kiss, as if your entire being were waking up.

Your heart races, each beat resonating in your chest, each quiver passing through your lips makes you shiver. His hands rest on the back of your neck, a light but firm pressure that pulls you a little closer to him, as if each centimeter of distance is torture. He guides you without a word, his hand sliding into your hair with an unexpected softness, but each gesture is also a subtle affirmation of his power. He wants to mark you, to anchor you in this moment, to make you understand without a word that he is there, that he already controls you, all the while always searching for something deeper, more intimate.

He gently tilts your head, a natural but meaningful movement. Your body follows, subjected to this invisible but powerful pressure. You feel exposed, vulnerable, but also excited by this strange sensation that rises in you, a nervous shiver running through your skin. Sunghoon takes his time, each gesture is measured, each caress unbearably slow. And it is precisely this slowness that makes the heat rise between you. You know what he is looking for, you know what he wants, but you also feel that you are losing control.

His lips find yours again, and this time there is no hesitation. His kiss becomes more urgent, more insistent. Sunghoon tastes you, explores you, your mouth mingling with his in an intoxicating dance. He pushes his tongue between your lips, discovering the softness of your mouth, but with a palpable determination, as if he intends to devour you, to make you his own. It is a shock, a shiver of desire that passes through your body in an instant, and you find yourself responding, letting your own tongue slide against his in a silent but explosive exchange. Each movement becomes more urgent, more desperate, as if the two of you are rushing to fill an unbearable void, as if this moment is your last chance to seize it all.

You feel like the space between you no longer exists, like the world around you has disappeared. There is only his lips, his tongue, his skin against yours. The sensation is devouring, you feel engulfed by it. Each touch gives rise to a shiver, each movement generates a wave of heat that spreads through your body. Sunghoon pushes you even more against him, his arms squeezing your waist, and you feel captured, a slave to this desire that invades you. You don't even want to resist, you don't want to. You let yourself go, letting yourself be overwhelmed by this kiss that consumes you. His hands slide over your skin, caressing your neck, your shoulders, a gentle but firm pressure that makes you feel both vulnerable and intensely desired.

Your breath quickens with each caress, each press of his lips against yours. You feel a growing heat inside you, an irresistible desire that makes your heart beat faster and faster. His hands move slowly, exploring every inch of your skin, drawing you into this whirlwind of sensations, passion and pleasure. His fingers brush your back, your waist, and you feel shivers run through your body. Each movement, each touch, each breath is amplified, each sensation increasing tenfold. You are aware of the proximity of his body, of the heat emanating from him, of the scent of his skin, and you feel that you are no longer in control, that you are slowly losing yourself in this flood of sensations that invades you.

Sunghoon becomes bolder, more pressing, his lips moving over your skin with an urgency that makes you shudder. He wants you, and you know it. But this isn’t mere possession, no. This is a shared desire, a fusion of bodies and souls that consumes you, makes you forget yourself. Sunghoon explores every corner of your mouth, every part of you, sucking you into this spiral of growing desire. And you respond to every touch, every pressure of his lips, every movement of his tongue. Your body responds instinctively, letting you be guided in this dance where he takes up more and more space, where he makes you his with every movement, every gesture, every caress.

The dynamic between you intensifies, intertwining in a captivating ballet of power and desire, a dance where you feel both the object of his appetite and the source of his torment. Each glance exchanged is a silent promise, an invisible thread that connects you in a dangerous game. His presence is irresistible, like a constant heat that grows more and more pressing. You know, deep down, that you have never been so close to sinking, to giving in to the inexorable attraction that unites you, but a part of you, a primal instinct, still resists. You feel that this moment could overwhelm you, leave you broken, lost in the shadow of his hold. And yet, you draw closer, drawn like prey, without really knowing who is hunting who.

The kiss he offers you is a hold, a demand that shakes you to your core. There is no more tenderness in his gesture, just an insatiable thirst to merge, to possess you. His tongue, insistent and searching your mouth with a savagery that is both brutal and exquisite, explores every corner as if he were trying to unearth something deeply buried inside you. Each shiver that runs through your body seems to awaken a part of you that you had forgotten, a devouring pleasure that mixes with the pain of your helplessness. Each gesture, each pressure of his lips becomes a declaration of domination and desire. It is not just a kiss, it is a fight, a war and a reconciliation at the same time, where each breath, each movement draws you further into this spiral.

Your heart, trapped in this senseless kiss, races in your chest, beating so hard that you feel like it's going to explode. It beats to the frantic rhythm of the dance, as if your bodies were one and the same being, guided by a tempo that escapes all logic, an intoxicating and merciless melody. You cling to him, instinctively, feeling your legs wobble beneath you, as if you were floating, suspended between ecstasy and falling. You feel both out of control and irresistibly drawn, trapped between the dizziness of desire and the fear of losing everything.

When his lips finally pull away from yours, you are left panting, an abysmal emptiness invading your being. An uncontrollable shiver runs through your body. The anticipation, burning and unbearable, devours you, every fiber of your being calling for his return, seeking that warmth, that intensity that consumes you. It is as if you are a flickering flame, ready to go out without him, but he does not give in right away. His hand finds your waist again, exerting a gentle but assured pressure, and his hot breath becomes more intimate, closer. Then Sunghoon returns to you, his tongue finding yours with an insatiable hunger. He leaves you no choice but to abandon yourself, to give in to him. You have become an extension of himself, your will erased by the power of his desire. Each shiver that runs through you marks you, an indelible signature that he inscribes in you with each contact.

The world around you dissolves in this heat, carried away by the intensity of this bond you share. A dizziness invades you, and you are no longer sure who you are in this fiery dance. Are you the mistress or the victim of this union? It is a new sensation, a perverse pleasure of being both desired and possessed, loved and broken. This mixture of intensity, ecstasy and vulnerability makes you lose all bearings. You feel powerful and fragile at the same time, bewitched by the web of his desire.

Sunghoon becomes a reassuring and devastating force at the same time. His kiss is not a simple exchange, but a bond that unites you in a new, frightening and fascinating way. His hands, greedy, rest on your skin as if he were exploring you, seeking to understand you, to conquer you. You lose yourself in this whirlwind of sensations, in the complex alchemy of pleasure and pain, desire and anguish. His breath panting against your skin, his lips pressing against you, each gesture is an exquisite torture, a complete abandonment, a total commitment to this journey of no return.

When he finally pulls away slightly, you barely realize how much time has passed. His face is marked by the passion that binds you, his lips still swollen, shiny with the echo of your kisses. His dark eyes stare at you with such intensity that you have the impression that he is tearing apart the last layers of your soul, seeking to pierce all your secrets, to discover each of your desires. The silence that settles between you is heavy, almost palpable, each breath, each shudder creating a spark in the air, charged with this invisible but obvious electricity.

Sunghoon places a possessive hand on your waist, holding you close to him in a way that is both protective and assertive, as if to remind you how much you belong to him. His heart beats hard, irregular, synchronizing with yours in a wild dance that vibrates the space around you. Each shudder, each breath that escapes your lips seems to excite him more. And in this whirlwind of emotions, you lose yourself, carried away by this burning desire. You know that you abandon yourself to him, body and soul, with no way back.

Your hand slides slowly along his shoulder, desperate to catch your breath. Each touch seems to amplify the tension between you, each movement becomes a delicate dance, a game of seduction where the line between control and loss of self becomes more and more blurred. He stares at you intensely, his eyes deep into yours, an almost animalistic glow illuminating his gaze, a glow that makes you shiver, overwhelms you with a sudden warmth. “You are so pretty, princess,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, almost a growl, “but I need more… so much more.” His words resonate in you like a haunting melody that you can no longer ignore. They awaken an intense desire in you, a desire to abandon yourself entirely, to offer everything to him, to lose yourself in this devouring passion that seems to want to encompass every part of your being.

His fingers brush your skin with an almost calculated slowness, as if he wanted to mark you, to imbue you with his presence. They slide along your waist, going lower, resting on your hips, and the warmth of his palm against your skin makes you shiver. He grabs you firmly, a gesture that is not gentle, but which makes you feel, deeply, that he wants to associate you with him, that he wants to possess every fiber of your being. He pushes you gently, but with a possessive determination, onto the couch, installing you in the position he desires, forcing you to look at him, to feel him, to understand that you can no longer escape him. He kneels in front of you, and in this suspended moment, everything seems to dissipate. There is only the two of you left, drowned in an intimate bubble, saturated with desire, where each movement, each breath creates an intensity that invades you. The pressure of his hands, the warmth of his gaze... All this reminds you that you are no longer mistress of anything, that everything, absolutely everything, depends on him.

You want to resist him, to regain some semblance of control, but something inside you urges you to stay there, to submit to the electric sensation that invades you. Your breathing becomes more irregular, each breath more gasping, as his words, almost a plea, echo in your mind: “Be my medicine… I need you so much.” His gaze doesn’t leave yours, and you know he’s talking about more than just your body. It’s not simply a physical attraction, but a desperate quest. He’s looking for an escape, a refuge in the sea of ​​his own torment, and you are that light in his darkness, the one he desires more than anything. A part of you feels irremediably linked to him, as if his desire has inscribed an indelible mark on you.

His fingers now play with the elastic of your pajamas, lifting them gently, as if to test your limits, his gestures full of tenderness but also of a palpable provocation. Each brush of his skin against yours makes you shiver, each movement seems to increase the desire in you, a wave of heat that overwhelms you. Your heart beats faster, a jerky breath, as the heat rises in you, uncontrollable. You sigh, a bittersweet sensation invading your being, as you find yourself at his mercy. You instinctively lift your hips to help him remove your garment, and the moment becomes unreal, almost suspended in time. The touch of his hands on your skin makes you lose all sense of yourself, and your body reacts without you being able to control it. The thrill of anticipation overwhelms you, as you lose yourself in the warmth of this shared moment.

When he removes your panties, his eyes shine with a devouring greed, a possessive glow that makes a wave of vulnerability rise in you. You see the raw passion that drives him, this sweet madness that drives him to want everything about you, to know everything, to see everything. “Don’t hide my view, Y/n, I want to see everything… of you.” His voice is a hungry whisper, almost a prayer, and as he gently spreads your thigh, he discovers your nudity with an almost obsessive intensity. His eyes rest on every curve of your body, searching for every detail like a painter admiring his work. He seems to swallow every inch of you, and this attention, this fixation, makes you feel vulnerable, but in a way you’ve never known, as if this moment, this look, will mark you forever.

“She’s the prettiest cat I’ve ever seen, princess,” Sunghoon whispers, his raspy voice slipping through the oppressive silence of the room like a gentle, yet relentless blade. He doesn’t speak, he slides each word, each syllable, as if he’s trying to mark you, to sink that sentence into your skin. His dark, abysmal black eyes don’t just stare at you, they devour you. You feel your soul shrink under that intense gaze, every part of you swallowed up in that obsession, that insatiable desire.

Your whole body reacts to his presence, but it’s not the simple discomfort of being observed. No, it’s something more primal, more visceral. You are nothing more than an offered silhouette, stripped not only of your clothes, but also of all your protections, all your barriers. He hasn’t simply made you take off your pants, he’s stripped you of your dignity, of your independence. In this room, you are nothing more than a body, a prey, a thing laid bare down to your soul, under the relentless force of his gaze. Every inch of your skin seems to burn under the bite of his attention, every fiber of your being screams at you to flee, but he is there, he is everywhere, and you have nowhere to go.

Sunghoon doesn’t just look at you, he devours you, scanning you from top to bottom, every detail of your being subject to his judgment. The heat emanating from you becomes more burning, a diffuse wave that seems to radiate from your belly, rising in you like a raging sea. And yet, you can’t help but shudder under his gaze, to tense in spite of yourself, like a taut thread ready to break. Your breathing becomes shorter, more panting, the air thickening under the intensity of his gaze and his presence. Each inhalation seems to burn your throat, and each exhalation is an effort, as if the simple act of breathing became a fight against this irrepressible desire that grows within you.

His warm breath brushes your skin, sliding over your thigh, then over your private parts, that area you would like to keep secret, but which offers itself to him without resistance. He doesn't need to touch you to create this burning sensation. The simple touch of his breath is enough to awaken a destabilizing reaction in you. An uncontrollable shiver runs through your body, a shiver of pleasure and terror, leaving you vulnerable, exposed in a position you had never imagined occupying. It is a gentle burn, almost unbearable in its insistence. Each second seems to stretch under this intangible caress, pulling you little by little towards an abyss from which you don't know whether you want to escape or throw yourself headlong into it.

His hand then slides over your knee, light, almost undetectable. But you feel it, you feel it, each movement of his fingers against your skin is like an electric shock. His fingers are slightly rough, but it is this roughness that makes the contact even more intense, more sensual. He traces a lazy line on the inside of your thigh, and each centimeter traveled makes you shiver more. He is in no hurry, he savors each moment, each gesture, as if you were just an object that he could manipulate as he pleases. The contact is so delicate, so subtle, that it becomes torture, a gentle, insidious torture, which slowly builds up inside you. A dull tension is born deep in your stomach, unbearable, like a rope stretched to the limit, ready to break under the pressure.

But Sunghoon doesn't hurry. He finally moves, but so slowly, as if he has all the time in the world. As if your impatience is just a game, a game that he takes cruel pleasure in. He feels that you are burning, that he is consuming you little by little, and he feeds on this impatience that devours you from the inside. His lips, finally, land on the inside of your thigh, and it is as if the whole world disappears in this burning caress. The kiss is heavy with meaning, almost too intense to be simply a kiss. It leaves behind a trail of heat, an indelible mark on your skin, but also on your mind. It is not an innocent kiss, it is a promise. A promise that you already know is dangerous, but that you wait for in spite of yourself. It is a disguised threat, a threat that you feel in every fiber of your being. You know what is coming, you feel the storm rising in your belly, but it is too late to back down.

You want to twist, to run away, to escape this unbearable tension, but his hands, firm and possessive, rest on your hips, pinning you to the spot. He holds you there, keeping you in this imposed immobility, as if you no longer had the right to move, as if your freedom no longer had any meaning. He dominates you with his gaze, his gestures, and you are powerless, trapped by the force of his desire and by the invisible web that he weaves around you.

And time seems to have frozen, but the heat continues to rise, invading every part of your being, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. And you're not even sure if you want to jump, or if you want it to slowly push you into the abyss.

When his tongue finally leaves his lips and rests on your skin, brushing the soft surface of your thigh, you feel as if time has stopped. Your breath catches in a stifled moan, as if this simple contact has just broken the invisible barrier between desire and reality. This is not a simple kiss; it is an explosion of pure pleasure, a shiver that runs down your body, insinuating itself into every fiber of your skin, leaving you both troubled and exhilarated. This contact is both gentle and brutal, a caress that gives birth to a delicious pain, an explosive mix of pleasure and malice. He does not rush, on the contrary, he takes his time. Each movement of his tongue is an invisible drawing traced on your skin, slowly exploring every inch of your flesh with an exquisite slowness, almost cruel.

Every lick he gives is perfectly controlled, calculated, but no less sensual. His pauses are deliberate, a heavy silence that makes you languish. And yet, these suspended moments themselves become a form of domination, a silent but undeniable power. He holds you there, between pleasure and expectation, forcing you to submit to his total mastery, at this moment when you are nothing more than a body, a sensation, a response to his gestures.

His gaze fixed on you, unwavering, is almost more powerful than his gestures. It’s not just a look, it’s a sharp weapon that infiltrates you, capturing every shudder of your body, every reaction, every uncontrolled breath that escapes your lips. He scrutinizes you with an almost possessive intensity, analyzing every tremor, every movement, as if your body were a riddle that he’s trying to solve. He sees everything: the way you arch your back, instinctively seeking to offer your skin more to his lips, the muffled sounds, the moans that escape in spite of yourself, like music that only he can direct. There’s nothing in you that he doesn’t control, nothing that he doesn’t silently claim.

Finally, his lips reach the place where you are most vulnerable. The softness that envelops them at first deceives you, because beneath this apparent tenderness hides an inflexible determination. Sunghoon explores the contours of your intimacy with an unreal slowness, an almost inhuman patience. Your head tilts back under the intensity of what he provokes. You feel yourself writhing under him, but it is not pain - it is the effect of an unbearable tension that rises in you, stronger and stronger. His tongue slides against you, at first with an almost timid lightness, before asserting itself, with such precision that it creates waves of pleasure in you that overwhelm you, opening you up a little more with each movement. He traces slow and measured circles, each gesture a challenge, each passage of his tongue a promise of deeper ecstasy. And you, your body reacts before you are even aware of it, each muscle tense, each breath becoming a silent cry that transforms into a broken, almost animal melody.

“Look at me, princess,” he whispers suddenly, his voice deep and commanding. A whisper that vibrates your soul and resonates in your insides, a demand that is both demanding and possessive. Your eyelids, heavy with the weight of pleasure, open slowly, your eyes seeking to meet his. And when they meet, you see this glint that takes your breath away. There is a dark satisfaction in his gaze, an almost unhealthy pride that brushes against you, penetrates you. This glint of triumph in his eyes gives birth to an even rawer vulnerability in you, a feeling of absolute submission that you had not expected to feel.

Sunghoon's movements become bolder, more assertive. His tongue delves deeper, seeking to explore you even further, while his thumb, firm, joins in the game, brushing your clitoris with a light but determined movement. A shiver runs through your body, your legs tense under the assault of raw pleasure that invades every cell of your skin. You feel yourself wavering, on the edge of the abyss, but unable to turn away from it. Each new wave that rises within you is more intense, more devastating, and yet, Sunghoon does not give you the respite of a break. He always pushes, with a gentle but irresistible insistence, digging a little deeper into this delicious pain that you cannot escape. 

Your breath becomes more and more erratic, your breathing broken, each moan echoing the intensity of what he makes you feel. You try to grab onto something, your hands reaching out to find an anchor, and it is in his hair that you end up clinging, your fingers digging into the hold like a last hope of regaining some illusion of control. But you know, deep down, that it is only an illusion. You are already at his mercy, your movements dictated by his gestures, your will erased by his power.

“You want more, princess?” Sunghoon’s voice, hot and mocking, caresses your skin like a promise of forbidden pleasure. He doesn’t even wait for your answer, he immediately resumes, his mouth closing over your pussy, his tongue delving deeper, more furiously, while his thumb presses more firmly, playing with your body like an instrument he knows better than anyone. A devastating wave of pleasure washes over you, completely overwhelming you, leaving you trembling, helpless, unable to control the uncontrollable moans that escape your lips.

You are nothing more than an object in his hands, a puppet, every thread of your being tense under his gestures. The heat takes hold of you, becomes unbearable, devouring, and yet, you have only one desire: for him to continue. Each pressure, each lick of his tongue brings you a little closer to ecstasy, but also to the breaking point, that moment when you are nothing more than a cry, a sigh, a total surrender.

“Sunghoon…” you whisper, your voice cracking, almost strangled by the tension of the moment. It’s a silent plea, a plea for him to stop playing with your nerves, to finally let you give in. But he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t just not answer, he intensifies the assault on your senses. He redoubles his attention, his warm tongue finally curling around your most sensitive spot, exploring that intimate fold with an almost inhuman precision. A scream escapes your throat, a pure, primal, raw sound that you don’t recognize as your own. You feel like you’re being suffocated by pleasure, completely consumed.

He devours you. Literally. His lips, soft but full of undeniable possessiveness, close around you. He sucks gently, with perfect pressure, then releases, in a hypnotic rhythm. Each movement, each aspiration makes you gradually lose all sense of time and space. It's as if the whole world only exists in the moment he touches you, when he makes you his. His licks are silent promises, mute declarations of his domination, of his power. His mouth explores, savors, consumes, as if it were trying to engrave each sensation in your skin, in your memory, in his.

You try to hold yourself back, to stem the rising tide of pleasure that threatens to overwhelm you. But it’s futile. Your legs start to shake, your breaths become erratic, jerky, as a burning heat builds in your belly, radiating, spreading through every fiber of your body. Your mind wanders in a haze of desire, but you’re still fully aware of every movement of his tongue, every pressure of his hands that hold you in place, firm but delicate. His thumbs trace lazy circles on the inside of your thighs, skimming your skin with exquisite slowness, as if he’s trying to quell the fire he’s lighting inside you, while also exacerbating the heat that’s already burning beneath your skin.

“You taste amazing,” he suddenly murmurs against your skin, his voice muffled by your pussy. The simple admission makes you lose your footing. It’s like every word, every breath he lets out against you, adds a layer of shivers to your spine. A wave of pure pleasure courses through you, wrenching a moan from you, a sound that speaks to the way he’s breaking you, the way he’s making you succumb to his will.

Sunghoon's movements become bolder, more urgent. His tongue sinks deeper, exploring every fold, every curve of your flesh with an almost animalistic greed, an urgent need to discover you, to apprehend you entirely. Sunghoon is both tender and insatiable, seeking to make you lose all rationality. His eyes then rise to you, seeking your gaze. When your eyes finally meet, you see in his eyes an intensity that makes you waver, a raw, deep, inextinguishable desire. He wants to see every tremor, every shudder, every sigh that betrays your pleasure. He wants to seize everything, savor everything, as if each reaction were a personal victory.

Your body reacts without you having to think, arching instinctively, pressing your pelvis against his face, desperate to finally find that climax he makes you wait for, that he makes you desire with every movement of his tongue. Your hand tightens in his hair, your fingers gripping his thick locks tighter, tugging them lightly, but not to pull him away, no, to anchor him even deeper against you. He groans in response, a low, raspy, almost animalistic sound that vibrates against your flesh, a sound that resonates within you, sending even stronger waves of pleasure through your body.

“Yes… there… don’t stop,” you gasp, your voice trembling, almost unrecognizable, full of pleading and need. But he has no intention of stopping. On the contrary, he redoubles his efforts, his tongue dancing with inhuman precision. He alternates between slow, pressed movements, deep, sustained caresses, and faster, almost frantic strokes that make you see stars, make you lose all bearings, all sense of reality.

The room disappears around you. There is nothing else. No more walls, no more noise, no more thoughts. There is only him: his hot lips, his expert tongue, his hands possessive and assertive. You are suspended in this state of altered consciousness, each caress propelling you higher, each vibration of his moan against you sending waves of pleasure through your entire being. He is all you feel, all you experience, and you let yourself be carried away, entirely, by the force of his desire, by the force of his control.

The pressure builds inside you, inexorable, a hot and overwhelming wave that you can no longer contain. It’s a feeling of urgency, of intensity, that squeezes your chest and gently suffocates you, forcing you to fight against the irrepressible urge to let go. You know that you are about to lose everything, to abandon everything to this overwhelming wave of pleasure that is preparing to surge over you. “Sunghoon… I… I’m going to…” You want to finish your sentence, to tell him everything that crosses your mind, but the words escape you. Your breath catches, your breath becomes short and panting, and before you can even finish your thought, an explosion of sensations hits you full force.

The orgasm overwhelms you in a raw explosion, every fiber of your body tensing in a wave of pure pleasure. You scream his name, a voice strangled by the intensity, echoing through the room like a desperate, almost uncontrollable echo. It's like the world has frozen around you, all you can feel, all you can understand, is him. It's his tongue, his hands, his body against you, that prolong this dizzying whirlwind until you can no longer distinguish where you end and where he begins. Your body arches violently, trying to escape the intensity, but at the same time, it tenses, tenses even more, demanding this infinite sensation that he grants you with such mastery. He holds you firmly, his hands pressed against your body, forcing you to remain present in this moment where everything else no longer exists.

Sunghoon continues, unwavering, prolonging your pleasure to the extreme. Each movement of his tongue, each friction of his mouth against you seems like a thunderclap in your mind, each new surge of pleasure a bittersweet torture. Your breath becomes erratic, jerky, and you feel your heart beating at a frantic pace, as if your whole body has decided to melt into this irresistible sensation, to make it an integral part of it.

Finally, after this whirlwind of emotions and sensations, when the wave of pleasure slowly begins to fade, you let yourself fall back, your body heavy, but in a deeply fulfilled way. A soft and exhausting heat runs through your veins, like a fire that is slowly dying out, but whose ashes continue to spread a comforting warmth. Each breath becomes slower, deeper, and the world around you seems to dissolve in a veil of softness, as if the air itself were becoming muffled to better give way to this fragile serenity. You are exhausted, but in a strange, almost euphoric state, where every fiber of your being seems to vibrate to the rhythm of what has just happened. Sunghoon, however, does not rush. He straightens up slowly, with that almost supernatural grace that is unique to him, a satisfied and quiet smile on his lips. His eyes, dark and piercing, shine with an almost animal satisfaction, as if a part of him has just been sated. You feel an indefinable connection, a palpable tension between you, a breath hanging in the air, marking the silence after the storm.

And you know that what you shared is unique. It is a silent communion, but also dark and obscure, a dance between light and shadow, where desire and domination intertwine with a force both brutal and gentle. It is not simply attraction; it is much more complex. It is a bond marked by devotion, a form of submission, an inextinguishable desire that seems to have anchored itself in your bodies, in your souls.

Sunghoon approaches then, slowly, each calculated movement resonating like a heartbeat in the heavy silence of the room. His body gives off an almost tangible, imposing presence. You can't help but shiver under the intensity of his attention, an attention that envelops you and squeezes you in its invisible grip. When he sits down next to you on the couch, this simple gesture becomes heavy with meaning. He moves closer still, slightly, but enough for you to feel his weight on you, like a burden you can't escape. His eyes, deep black, fix on you, piercing you with a gaze that seems to want to penetrate every corner of your soul. This fixation, this almost palpable obsession, freezes you in place. You feel trapped, totally vulnerable under his scrutiny, your body and soul exposed like prey under the gaze of a predator.

Without a word, he takes you in his arms. This gesture is not a simple caress. It is a complex embrace, a tangle of tenderness and strength. The warmth of his hands mixes with the possessive, almost brutal embrace. His arms tighten around your waist, pulling you even closer to him, as if to impregnate your body with his presence. Every inch of your skin must feel his touch, his domination. You feel an intense heat, but also a sweet pain, a sensation both exquisite and overwhelming. Each movement of his hands seems to be a silent claim, an affirmation of his desire. It is as if he wants to mark your body, to impregnate you with him, to possess you irrevocably.

He slowly slides his hand under your t-shirt, his fingers cold at first, but quickly warming up as they touch your skin. The contact is of a rare intimacy, of such intensity that it seems to graze not only your body, but also every corner of your mind, starting a fire with each brush. His gestures are measured, no haste. He savors every second, every reaction of your body, every shiver that crosses your skin. His fingers move with a controlled slowness, tracing invisible lines on your stomach, before slowly going back up, brushing your skin, his nails delicately caressing your epidermis. He gives you a glimpse of the promise of a sweet pain, a sensation that makes you sway, that overwhelms you with pleasure mixed with a hint of fear. The shiver that takes you, light at first, becomes more and more insistent, your breathing quickening, like a natural response to the intensity of his gestures. Every tremor of your body is a response to him alone, a dance between desire and fear, a sensation that grips you from the inside, a mixture of overwhelming desire and intoxicating terror. This thrill, this thrilling sense of danger, you know can only be caused by him, and him alone.

While holding you like this, captive in his arms, he leans down slowly. You feel his breath settle near your hair, warm and deep. He places a kiss there, but it is not a trivial kiss. It is a kiss loaded with meaning, as if he wanted to soak up you, your scent, your presence. He closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply the scent of your hair, as if he wanted every fiber of his being to gorge itself on your essence. It is no longer just your body that he seeks to possess, it is your soul, your spirit, everything that you are. He wants everything about you, and he takes it from you with a calculated gentleness, a form of almost religious devotion. A satisfied smile slowly forms on his lips. A smile that you do not see, but that you feel in each movement of his body against yours. He is proud, almost triumphant, as if he has just conquered a territory. In this sweet tension, you feel more submissive, more vulnerable than ever.

You slowly turn your head towards him, your body trembling under the intensity of his gaze. You feel the heat of his presence invade every inch of your space, a heat that seems to burn your skin, crossing the thin barrier of your short breath. You slowly lift your face, and when your eyes meet his, you are struck by a glow of almost frightening intensity. His eyes, black with desire and determination, shine with a wild glow, a glow that makes a hint of apprehension grow in you, but also an irresistible attraction. It is as if this gaze is an abyss, an unfathomable depth into which you feel ready to plunge, even if you know that you could lose all control there.

“You’re so handsome…” you whisper, your voice soft, fragile, almost strangled by the emotion bubbling inside you. Each word seems hesitant to come out, as if it were too heavy to bear. A wave of heartbreaking tenderness invades you, but it is quickly caught up in the storm of anguish rumbling inside you. 

How can a man so broken, so intense, be such a source of both light and darkness in your heart?

He doesn’t answer right away. He looks at you, and in his eyes, you see things you can’t name. It’s both consuming and destabilizing. You feel naked under his gaze, vulnerable in a way you’ve never known. And yet, part of you wants nothing more than to lose yourself in this vulnerability, to abandon your defenses, to let him dominate you. But another part of you screams to protect yourself, to run away, to keep a safe distance.

Slowly, as if each movement was calculated, you detach yourself from him, just enough to observe his face. His features are marked by violence, by pain, and yet, there is an undeniable beauty in this broken face. The scars that adorn his skin are the silent witnesses of internal and external battles. There is a brutality in his beauty, a raw tension that captivates you, fascinates you. You gently run your fingers over his cheek, brushing a purple bruise that makes you shiver. You know that he has suffered, that each mark on his face is a memory of a fight he did not choose. But all of this makes him even more human, even closer to you, and you want to repair this suffering.

You step closer to him, pressing a kiss to his skin, a kiss so delicate it seems almost unreal, as if you fear it will disappear under your touch. But more than that, you fear the way that simple yet charged gesture resonates within you. It’s a kiss of admiration, a kiss of devotion, a kiss that carries within it a promise of care that you know you may never be able to keep. But you try, again and again, as if each kiss can erase the pain, as if each brush of your lips is an attempt to ease what he carries deep inside. You kiss each mark, each scar, with an almost obsessive gentleness, as if you can erase it all, as if you can repair what he’s lost.

With each kiss, you feel the air between you fill with a palpable tension, more and more suffocating. His breaths come faster, deeper, almost desperate. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you a little closer to him, until you are almost against him. His body gives off a raw heat, a heat that makes you forget everything else, that erases everything except him and you, in this suspended moment. You lean down gently to kiss his black eye, a light kiss, almost invisible, but loaded with everything you can't say. It's a silent caress, a way of telling him that you know, that you see what he is wearing, that you accept all of this without judgment.

Sunghoon's fingers dig into your flesh, forcing you to lie further against him. His warmth overwhelms you, and you don't even dare to move, because each movement brings you a little closer to this irreversibility, to this point of no return. He pulls you even closer, and you feel his body press against yours, as if he wants to merge with you, as if he needs you to exist. His gaze, still so intense, plunges into yours, and you can see the depth of what lies behind it, the raw possessiveness, the need to never let you go.

His words, heavy with certainty, hit your heart like a punch. “Don’t think for a moment that I’m going to let you go. I’m not ready to lose you, Y/n. Not now, not ever.” The strength of his voice grabs you, and you feel a pressure on your chest, as if his desperation is suffocating you. His arms around you force you to feel him stronger and stronger, as if every gesture, every word, every breath only intensifies this pressure between you.

The room becomes an enclosed space, reduced to the two of you and the intensity of the moment. You almost feel like you can't breathe anymore, as if the air itself is thickening, saturated with the electricity of your emotions. Before you can even react, he leans over you, his lips brushing your ear, his hot breath caressing your skin. "I've fallen in love with you, and I can't go back. It's an obsession, a need... You're everything to me." These words resonate in your skull, and you feel them making their way into your insides. A mixture of euphoria and fear invades you, and you feel something breaking inside you. You're afraid, but there's this part of you, this dark part that pushes you to let go, to lose yourself completely in this devouring passion.

“Sunghoon, I…” you begin, but you’re interrupted before you can even finish your sentence. He cuts you off, this time with a desperate impatience that resonates in the air, permanently breaking any distance between you.

“Let me show you how serious I am. Tomorrow I’ll take you on a date, and you’ll see… I want you to feel what I feel. I’ll do anything for you.” His words, heavy with dark promises and unspoken passion, hit the air around you like a hypnotic melody, a melody you can no longer ignore. Every word, every glance you exchange, becomes a promise of pleasure and pain, a promise of dark delights that only you can understand.

He lays down on the couch, pulling you with him, your resistance crumbling under the force of his desire and your own need for comfort. Your head falls to his chest, his arms wrapping around you like a second skin, holding you against him with an almost desperate intensity. His warmth envelops you, his scent of musk and leather invading your senses, forcing you to cling to him like an anchor, as if his presence is all you need to breathe.

His fingers slide slowly along your shoulder blade, tracing invisible lines on your skin. Each gesture seems imbued with a desire to hold on to this moment, to engrave it within him, like an invisible but indelible imprint.

Yet a moment of lucidity strikes you. You try to straighten up, gently placing your hands against his chest, exerting a measured pressure so as not to awaken the pain of his injuries further. But he refuses to let you go. His arms, firm and unwavering, tighten around you with a force that surprises you, as if letting go means losing much more than a simple contact. No matter the pain that seems to run through him, nothing seems more important to him than keeping you there, right against him.

You feel the tension in his body, almost palpable. His muscles contract under your fingers, his jaw clenched, betraying the effort he's making to hide the pain that's cutting into his nerves. Despite everything, he doesn't release his grip. His arms, firm but desperate, hold you with an almost disconcerting intensity, as if letting go meant losing much more than this moment.

His breath, slightly irregular, brushes your forehead, warm and disturbing. You feel his head tilt gently. His eyelids close slowly, as if he were trying to capture every second of this fragile and precious moment. It's not just a simple physical contact: it's a deeper need, almost visceral, a dull and almost animal fear of seeing you escape.

The silence thickens in the room. It becomes heavy, oppressive, amplified by the rhythm of your breaths that begin to match each other, in a strange synchronicity. Each breath you take seems to take root in him, as if your presence alone manages to soothe something in him, much deeper than the pain in his body. Yet, you feel it, this internal struggle he is waging: between the suffering he endures and this irrepressible need to keep you close to him, as if you were the only thing that could still keep him standing.

“You’re like a drug, Y/n,” Sunghoon suddenly whispers, breaking the silence with an unsettling sweetness. His voice, husky and slightly raspy, insinuates itself into the air like a white-hot caress. The words hit you hard, carrying a raw, almost terrifying truth. “Every time I touch you, I lose control a little more.”

There’s something electric in his voice, an almost tangible vibration, filled with a mixture of vulnerability and desire so raw that your breath catches. You look up at him, captivated, unable to look away. His face, marked by pain, is lit up with an intensity that’s almost unbearable. Those words, so simple in appearance, seep into you, resonating deeply, as if they carry the weight of a secret he’s told no one.

You feel an intense heat rising inside you. It starts in your chest, spreading like a wave until it invades every part of your being. Your fingers tremble slightly, and your heart races, unable to ignore what he has just said. It is not a simple declaration of desire. It is a confession, an admission of dependence, almost an obsession. And you, at the heart of it all, find yourself torn between a visceral fear and an irrepressible attraction.

Because this intensity, this darkness that burns within him, attracts you as much as it terrifies you.

You want to answer, but no words come out. You are frozen, prisoner of his gaze. That dark, piercing eye pierces you, lays you bare. It seems to read you, decipher every corner of your soul, every thought you try to hide. That look, loaded with desire and possessiveness, exposes you in a way you can't control. You feel vulnerable, helpless, unable to hide.

He leans in slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, and the air between you becomes thick, almost suffocating. “Promise me you’ll never leave,” he whispers, his voice barely audible, but trembling with an emotion he can barely contain.

His words resonate like a plea. A crack opens in the armor he wears so proudly, revealing a fragility he shows to no one. He is no longer the strong, unwavering man you have before you. He is someone human, someone who is afraid. A visceral, almost painful fear of losing you, of finding himself alone. This fragility that he offers you, almost against his will, upsets you.

Your heart tightens, a wave of tenderness and pain overwhelms you. Everything he is, all this intensity, this flickering light in the depths of his gaze, calls to you irresistibly. You know that this bond that unites you is as powerful as it is dangerous. A magnetic force that could elevate you as much as destroy you. But backing down is not an option.

“I’m not leaving,” you finally whisper, your voice soft but firm, carried by a certainty you didn’t know you possessed. You stare into his eyes, determined for him to understand the sincerity of your words. “I want to see how far this can take us.”

A shadow crosses his face, quickly replaced by something else. His lips slowly stretch into a smile, but it’s not a light smile. It’s a smile charged with complex emotions: relief, gratitude, and maybe even a hint of triumph. He nods slowly, as if finally accepting that he won’t have to fight alone.

His grip loosens slightly, just enough to allow you to breathe, but he pulls you even closer. His forehead gently rests against yours, and you close your eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by the warmth of this moment. His fingers, light and hesitant, brush the skin of your back, drawing imperceptible circles. Each gesture seems imbued with a fierce desire to engrave this moment in his memory, like a souvenir to which he can cling.

His breathing, warm and soothing, mixes with yours. You feel his heart beating, slowly, echoing yours. This moment, this connection, goes beyond simple physical contact. It’s a silent pact, a shared promise: no matter the darkness that surrounds you, you will no longer face it alone.

The darkness thickens around you, soft and enveloping. But this time, it doesn't scare you. You are certain of one thing, inexplicable and yet unshakable: no matter what happens, you are linked.

The glass walls of the aquarium seemed suspended in a sea of ​​blue light, a soft, mystical glow that bathed the space like an invisible caress. With each heartbeat of this translucent ocean, the fish glided silently around you, their shiny, iridescent bodies drawing delicate arabesques in the water. The air itself seemed to grow heavy, as if time had chosen to slow down here, in this other world, where every movement, every breath seemed suspended in a fragile balance. Everything seemed like a waking dream, a perfect illusion, where reality melted into a hypnotic dance of light and shadow.

You and Sunghoon walked side by side, your hands intertwined, your fingers brushing and searching for each other. Each of your steps was imbued with gentleness, but also with an invisible tension, like a taut rope ready to give way. The silence between you was not heavy, but loaded with a thousand unsaid things. An electric tension floated between you, palpable, as if you were suspended between two worlds. Around you, the fish danced, indifferent to this human tension, but between you, there was something more, something that neither water nor glass could filter. Each gesture, each breath was like a silent challenge, a call for intimacy, but also for the space that each of you seemed to seek while never wanting to move away.

Sunghoon looked at you, not with curiosity, but with a kind of devouring intensity, as if he were trying to read you down to the smallest corner of your soul. His eyes, dark and deep, scrutinized you with an almost inquisitive interest, seeking to decipher the secrets that you tried to hide behind your smile. He loved this part of you that revealed itself to the world, when you lost yourself in the wonders of the aquarium. He loved seeing the spark of fascination on your face, this spark of purity that shone each time you discovered a rare shell or a brightly colored fish. But he also loved seeing you abandon yourself for a moment to this wonder, only to return to yourself, to him, in the blink of an eye. "You are so fascinated by these little things," he said, his voice soft, almost caressing, but sharp as a blade. A mischievous smile played on his lips, a smile that said more than words. It was both a compliment and a mockery, a way of reminding you that he knew you well, maybe even too well.

At these words, you answered him immediately, your expression hardening into a mock-indignant pout. You frowned, feigning anger, but your eyes betrayed the malice bubbling inside you. “I don’t see why that makes you laugh,” you said, a spark of humor in your voice, like a promise of complicity. And yet, with each glance he gave you, you felt the heat of his gaze cross your skin, the pressure of a barely restrained desire, of an infinite attention that made you shiver. There was something in the way he looked at you, a mixture of possessiveness and unsatisfied desire, as if he saw you through every expression, every gesture you made. It wasn’t just a look. It was an exploration.

“I’m really glad you brought me here,” you finally whispered, your breath light, your heart beating faster with each moment you spent together in this suspended world. You squeezed his hand in yours, feeling the warmth of his skin, this warmth that seemed to comfort you while reminding you of the presence of an invisible danger. There was a strange and almost hypnotic beauty in this moment, as if everything around you was frozen, and only your bond really existed. But at this precise moment, a movement in the water caught your attention. A shark, majestic and disturbing, was slowly approaching, its mouth wide open, ready to show its frightening teeth. A shiver of fear mixed with curiosity ran through you. You instinctively backed away, seeking refuge, without really thinking about it, behind Sunghoon. Fear, as light as a breath, mixed with fascination. It was just a water creature, and yet it seemed so close, so threatening.

But Sunghoon laughed, a rich, warm, deep laugh that vibrated through you, resonating in your bones. The laugh, both mocking and protective, made you feel vulnerable and safe at the same time. He turned to you, a bright smile on his lips, and cupped your face in his hands. The softness of his gestures contrasted strangely with the underlying strength of his movements. His fingers brushed your skin, his palms warm against your cheeks. “It’s just a shark,” he joked, but his tone was charged with something more, a mixture of amusement and defiance. There was an unspoken promise in his words, a sort of silent complicity that said: It’s okay, I’m here. But at the same time, his gaze didn’t leave you. He scrutinized every part of your face, perhaps trying to understand what you were feeling, what you didn’t necessarily want to tell him.

“Why are you hiding? You seem so happy to be here,” he whispered, his eyes burning with an almost dangerous intensity. It wasn’t just a question. It was a silent challenge, an unspoken plea to pierce the barrier you had erected around yourself. His gaze was piercing, searching you, trying to tear through your mask, to reveal what you had carefully concealed. He didn’t want your words, he wanted to understand, everything, down to the depths of your soul, as if this truth was his by right.

A sudden heat filled your cheeks, like a fire rekindling under the pressure of his burning gaze. But you wouldn’t give in. Not now. No, not yet. You pulled yourself together almost instantly, holding your breath, and sought to maintain a subtle distance between you and Sunghoon, a part of yourself well-kept in the shadows. “I’m not hiding, I’m just protecting myself with the attractive body of my… boxer boyfriend,” you said, a mischievous smile playing on your lips, as if to mask the deeper truth that lurked behind those words. Sure, it was a game. But it was also a way of pushing back against the pressure he was putting on you. A dangerous game, where you pretended to give in while keeping a secret control over yourself. You wanted to show him that you weren’t easy prey, that his understanding of you wasn’t something that was going to be handed to him on a platter.

You placed your hand on his arm that held your cheek firmly, your gesture both protective and bold. His gaze intensified, searching for an answer in your eyes, but he pulled back slightly, as if to observe you better. His eyes did not detach themselves from yours, diving into your pupils with an almost palpable intensity, searching, scrutinizing, tearing your mask to understand what was hidden behind. He hoped to find a truth there, a sign, a breach in your defense, but you were not yet ready to offer him that. Not so easily.

“W… What? Your boyfriend?” The surprise in his voice quickly mixed with an almost possessive satisfaction, as if your words revealed more than you thought. A strange, almost possessive smile played on his lips, a satisfaction that bordered on control. He wasn’t even trying to hide what he felt anymore. What he wanted. What he was waiting for. It had all become so obvious, and he was just waiting for an opportunity to make it happen.

Your heart raced at his words, and you slipped your hand into his. The touch of his warm skin against yours sent a shiver of anticipation through you, an electric thrill that seemed to run through every fiber of your being. His fingers closed gently around yours, firm but not painful, just enough to keep you from escaping. Their movements were slow, measured, but each one carried a palpable tension, a promise of what might come. You were caught in that invisible circle between desire and resistance, and you knew the line was getting thinner with each passing moment.

“You don’t want to be anymore?” you asked, feigning an innocence that lacked the credibility or purity you were trying to convey. With a nonchalant gesture, you pointed at a random man in the crowd, as if to test the situation. But you knew full well that this gesture was calculated. This was not a man like the others, it was a provocation, an attempt to provoke him, to challenge the hold he already seemed to have over you. “Maybe I should ask this man then.” No sooner had your words been spoken than he let out a growl, a low, rumbling sound that made every fiber of your body vibrate. This sound was a warning, a signal. He was not going to let you go so easily. He was not going to tolerate such a suggestion.

Without warning, Sunghoon reacted with unsettling speed. He pulled you by the hand and pinned you against him, his controlled strength making you a puppet in his arms. You gasped in surprise, your breath hitching as the pressure of his torso made itself felt against you. Your heart pounded in your chest, resonating against his body, and a wave of excitement immediately washed over you, shivering along your nerves. It was a suspended moment, as if time itself had stopped to observe what was to come next. The atmosphere seemed heavy, almost too tense to be real, as if the air was holding its breath, waiting for the next move, the next word.

You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, his power almost palpable, and it gave you a strange feeling: vulnerable, but at the same time protected, as if in this embrace you were not only a victim, but also a willing ally. His arms around you were both reassuring and threatening, so close, and yet capable of breaking you if you weren't careful. But what unsettled you the most was this spark of desire that shone between you. It was palpable, with every breath, with every look. It was an irresistible and captivating attraction, as frightening as it was exciting.

Sunghoon’s lips found yours in a devouring kiss, an unleashed passion that poured into you like an uncontrollable torrent. The contact was raw, imperious, a wild mix of desire and heat. Every movement of his lips against yours carried with it an almost animal urgency, an insatiable thirst. His hand, now on your back, slid slowly down your waist, settling on your body with a possessiveness that simultaneously troubled and attracted you. He pulled you closer to him, pressing you against him, as if he were trying to erase all distance between you. His gestures were almost too violent to be gentle, but there was something deeply intimate about this violence, a silent cry that escaped from his gestures.

The taste of his lips, both sweet and slightly salty, invaded your senses, crushing you under the heat of his touch. He gently nibbled your lower lip, a gesture both tender and devouring, as if he were asking for permission that you were already ready to grant him without restraint. The heat of his mouth spread inside you, his tongue brushing yours timidly at first, before gaining confidence, venturing further, deeper, in a dance that became more and more daring with each moment. His movements were hypnotic, a slow and deep wave that seemed to overwhelm you, each caress of his tongue provoking an immediate and instinctive response from your own body. Each brush of his lips against your skin lit a spark, a shiver of anticipation that spread through you, invading your entire being.

The world around you seemed to dissolve in that suspended moment, and all that mattered was him, you, and this shared warmth. You slid your hand to the back of his neck, fingers digging into his thick, soft hair, feeling the tension of his body against yours beneath your palms. The way Sunghoon touched you was an intoxicating mix of roughness and tenderness, each movement revealing the complexity of what drove him. It was as if, with each second, he was rediscovering you, each brush of his hands, each press of his fingers on your skin, was a new way of possessing you, of exploring you.

The air around you seemed to vibrate with a palpable, almost electric energy. Every sigh, every moan that escaped your lips mingled with his, creating a kind of music that resonated in your heart. The feeling of his hands sliding gently over your waist, brushing every curve, every contour of your body, was both pure pleasure and delicious torture. His lips became more pressing, his kisses more insatiable, as you let yourself be carried away by this storm that made your heart beat faster, harder. The taste of his desire mixed with the thrill of fear, creating an intoxicating cocktail, a feverish dance of pleasure and anguish that set you ablaze in a way you could neither understand nor control.

You felt lost, overwhelmed by Sunghoon, by the intensity of what was happening between you. Every movement, every shudder of his body against yours seemed to lead him to one goal: to make you his, to mark you in some way. A moan escaped your mouth, a silent cry of pure desire, as his breath grew heavier, more panting. Every beat of your heart seemed to resonate in your ears, drowning out any other sound. The heat of his skin against yours, the way he pressed you even closer to him, almost drove you crazy with desire. Sunghoon kissed you with such fervor, with such a need to possess you, that you felt like you were losing yourself in this moment, disappearing completely in the depth of this kiss.

His hands slid along your waist, following the contours of your body with exquisite slowness, caressing each curve, exploring every part of you. With each touch, a shiver ran down your spine, a wave of heat and pleasure that made you quiver from head to toe. His lips moved slightly away from your mouth to rest on your neck, then on your shoulder, and each kiss, each touch, was more intimate, more intense than the last. You shuddered under his caresses, unable to resist the temptation to ask for more, to be even closer, even more fusional.

The air seemed to grow heavy around you, each breath more panting than the last, each gesture more urgent. You let Sunghoon guide you, lose yourself in this dance of bodies and souls, while you felt your limits melt under his hands, under his lips. A tear silently rolled down his cheek, a drop of vulnerability that contrasted with the intensity of this moment. The salty taste of his emotions mingled with your kisses, intensifying each contact, each sigh. It was as if, in this closed world, you merged, forgetting everything that was not part of you two. Nothing else mattered. Only the intensity of this bond that united you mattered.

Sunghoon pulled back slightly, but not without resting his forehead against yours. The contact, almost imperceptible at first, suddenly became heavy with meaning, a shiver running through the perfect alignment of your faces, as if every pore of your skin was awakening at the same moment. The heat of his skin against yours, already burning, seemed to increase the intensity of the moment tenfold. The air, laden with this heat, grew heavy around you. His warm breath caressed your face, each breath mingling with yours in a silent exchange, a subtle fusion between two beings with hearts beating in unison, like a whisper of ecstasy suspended in the air.

You could feel your heartbeat against your chest, racing faster and faster, following a frantic rhythm that seemed no longer yours. It synchronized with his, a beat that became palpable, a vibration that resonated to the depths of your being. His eyes, plunged into yours, were dark and hypnotic, imprisoning your gaze with an incredible intensity. In his burning pupils, you could see the passion unfolding, a fragile but devouring flame, ready to engulf everything in its path. It was as if he were reading you, revealing you in this fragile bubble, as if he knew that this moment was more than a simple stolen moment, that it marked the beginning of a transformation, of an irreversible change.

“What are you doing to me, Y/n?” Sunghoon’s voice was husky and emotional, vibrating through the air, each word betraying a tension that was both sweet and exquisite. He seemed on the verge of losing himself, as if the control, the fragile barrier he had maintained until then, was cracking under the force of what he was feeling. His gaze darkened further, a glimmer of uncontrollable desire mixing with the anguish, as if the intensity of the moment was becoming too strong, too overwhelming. Sunghoon had this way of scrutinizing you, of searching for answers in your gaze, as if he hoped to find permission to give in completely. A sigh escaped his lips, vibrating with desire. Your skin, every cell of your body, seemed to merge with his, like an irresistible magnetic field.

You could feel his hand slowly slide over your waist, brushing your skin with a delicacy that contrasted so intensely with the firmness of his fingers. Each movement was precise, measured, like a delicate dance between desire and possession. He brushed the curve of your body with a sensuality that destabilized you, filling you with a heat that was difficult to control. Shiver after shiver, your body reacted in spite of yourself, drawn to this touch that was both soft and possessive. A tornado of contradictory emotions surged through you: the desire to get closer, to merge in this warmth, but also the fear, visceral, of what it could mean, of what you risked losing.

With a voice trembling with emotion, you almost whispered against his skin, your breath brushing his lips. “I want you to let go… with me.” Those words, weak but powerful, escaped your throat like a throbbing invitation, a promise that would be impossible to take back in return. You leaned down slightly, an impulse, an irrepressible need, and you placed a light but desire-laden kiss against his lips. Your lips brushed his warm and tender skin, a shiver of ecstasy running through Sunghoon. He shivered, as if your gesture had opened a lever of desire buried inside him, a desire that he could no longer ignore. A moan, almost inaudible, made its way from his lips, a sound that inflamed you even more. This simple kiss awakened an inner fury in him, a strength that he struggled to contain. And you let yourself be overwhelmed, the fire that was born in you had no intention of going out.

The warmth of his hand slid slowly, his touch becoming more daring, more determined. His hand wrapped around your waist before slowly, with deliberate slowness, descending towards your buttock. There, he gripped you tightly, an act both tender and dominant, a hold that left no room for escape. An electrifying shiver ran through you, and a moan escaped your mouth, vibrating against his lips. The sound, mixing desire and vulnerability, resonated deeply in Sunghoon, reverberating in every fiber of his being. You felt the tension rising between you, palpable, electrifying, like a storm ready to burst, to destroy the barriers you had imposed on yourselves. The world around you was gradually disappearing, giving way to this suspended moment, to this intensity that neither of you could ignore anymore.

Then, Sunghoon pulled back slightly, his eyes still fixed on yours. A playful smile played on his lips, but this smile did not mask the intensity of what was hidden in his gaze. There was this spark, this disturbing depth that had just lit up in his pupils. His smile was both amused and provocative, like a call to exceed the limits, to cross borders still invisible. The pressure of his hand on your buttock remained, marked, a reminder of this unfulfilled desire, like one more promise. "I don't want to go to jail for exhibitionism," he joked, his laughter resonating in the space, light and captivating. Yet, even in the lightness of this joke, you could feel the depth of the tension that emerged. Behind the words, there was a dark truth, a truth that he did not want to admit, that you could no longer ignore. Between duty and desire there was an invisible chasm, and you could almost feel the rope that was going to give way at any moment, a thread stretched to the limit, ready to snap under the pressure of your emotions.

Sunghoon's fingers intertwined with yours, a touch laden with silent promises. The gentleness with which he squeezed your hand warmed you, each caress sending waves of heat that reverberated all along your arm, creating a feeling of ecstasy that was both sweet and violent at the same time. Yet, beyond this tenderness, there was a shadow, an unspoken desire, a tension that grew with each second, ready to burst in an uncontrollable explosion. A fire burned within him, and you knew he was hiding it from you, but you could feel it in every movement, every look. This desire, so powerful, so unspoken, floated between you like a specter, ready to engulf you.

You continue to advance in the dark corridors of the aquarium, where the subdued light of the pools of water projected by the blue flashes draws moving shadows on your faces. The atmosphere is heavy, almost mystical, as if each ray of water captured a part of your thoughts, diluted them in the icy clarity of the deep waters, and enveloped you in a heavy silence. The sound of your footsteps resonates faintly, like a distant echo in this aquatic labyrinth. With each step, the lights flash and briefly illuminate your skin, projecting fleeting and strange shadows that transform you into ethereal silhouettes, lost in another world. The cold light caresses your faces, accentuating the feeling of isolation, of intimacy in this enclosed place. A feeling of oblivion, as if everything that existed outside of this moment was nothing more than mist.

The warmth of Sunghoon’s hand, wrapping around yours, contrasts sharply with the cool, humid air here. His grip is gentle but firm, a reassuring bond, an anchor in this floating universe. Each movement of your intertwined fingers seems suspended in space, each contact deeper, more intimate than the last. The outside world becomes blurred, a vague shadow on the periphery of your consciousness. It’s as if there were only the two of you, a fragile bubble, a closed space between two beings. A feeling of security invades you, but also of fragility, as if everything could shatter in an instant. You are there, together, in a soothing silence.

Then, a dull thud erupts from down the hallway, an impact sound that seems to tear the air. It sounds like a detonation, or the echo of an inner world breaking. The sound roars through the enclosed space, abruptly interrupting the balance you had found. Sunghoon’s hand tenses slightly, like a rope that tightens before giving way. The tension, subtle at first, spreads through his fingers, slowly invading his entire body. It’s almost imperceptible, a tiny shiver that rises in his grip, but everything inside you tenses at that moment. Something heavier settles in, a dark energy, a threat that he can’t shake off. He’s there, next to you, but he’s no longer the Sunghoon you know.

His eyes, so fixed on you until then, turn away, get lost in infinity. His gaze becomes like a chasm, a bottomless abyss in which you lose yourself without knowing if you can bring him back. A shadow crosses his pupils, a darkness that engulfs everything around him, and you see his face distort, like a painting that twists under the effect of an invisible pain. His features tense, harden, as if an invisible puppet were pulling the strings of his expressions. A mask of terror slowly spreads over him, and the tenderness that characterized him gives way to a raw, almost frightening vulnerability.

Slowly, Sunghoon releases your hand, but it's only for a moment. In a quick, desperate movement, he grabs it again, his fingers closing around yours with a dull violence, as if this contact were the only thing that could keep him balanced. The pain is immediate, sharp, like an electric shock. His fingers squeeze so hard that you feel every bone, every joint in your fingers rebel under this pressure. Yet, you don't dare move. You are frozen, caught in this visceral fear of seeing this bond break. And somewhere, deep down, you know that this brutal gesture is not a simple cry of pain, but a silent request, a call for help. Sunghoon is looking for you, he needs you to not collapse.

His lips part, but no sound comes out. The breath he takes is jerky, each inhalation seems to cut him off, as if the air around him is no longer enough to nourish his body. His lungs fight against him, each breath a struggle. You hear his heart beat faster and harder, hammering in his temples, in his throat, in the tension that fills the space between you. It is an almost unbearable pain.

Sunghoon places a trembling hand on his chest, as if trying to push away this invisible pain that hides there, under his skin, will be enough to make it disappear. He tenses up more, each movement of his fingers on his own flesh a gesture of fighting against a pain that he cannot fight. It is brutal, it is desperate. A solitary tear, a silent pearl of suffering, slowly forms at the corner of his eye, sliding down his cheek in a slow movement, like a river that flows without being able to stop. It traces a bright line on his skin, carrying with it the fragments of a pain that he hides from others, but which now bursts inside him.

It is a suffering that he keeps quiet about, an evil that he hides under his mask of indifference, but which invades him, eats away at him, crushes him. And seeing him like this, broken, vulnerable, your heart tightens in your chest, a heavy and painful weight that nails you to the spot. He is no longer the Sunghoon from the outside, the one who keeps control, the one who protects you. He is a man lost in his demons, a man who needs comfort but who does not know how to accept it.

You approach him, each step like a challenge, a crossing of an internal battlefield where you face your own fear. With a lump in your throat, you feel an icy fear creeping into you. It's the second time you've seen him in this state, in this fragility that seems to crush him from the inside. It's the second time you've become aware of the extent of the storm he hides inside him, a silent storm, a wave of distress that overwhelms him. And you have only one desire, only one: to be his refuge, to be the one who welcomes him in his pain, who helps him breathe through this turmoil.

Slowly, you tighten your grip on his hand, your palm pressing against his, with a firmness full of gentleness, a gesture as tender as it is necessary. You slide gently in front of him, your eyes plunged into his, seeking to capture this chaos, to understand this torment that agitates his dilated pupils. "Sunghoon..." you murmur, your voice breaking in this soft supplication, this infinite sweetness that escapes from your throat, like a caress.

Your free hand slides slowly over his cheek, brushing his skin with infinite softness. You feel the warmth of his skin, the moisture of the tear that shakes you more than you would have thought. This tear is not simply a sign of sadness, it is a cry, a silent call. Your forehead rests against his, in an incredibly intimate gesture, creating an invisible barrier around you, a cocoon in which he can let himself go, break without fear of being rejected. In this contact, you want him to feel the depth of your love, this love that accepts everything, even his darkness. You want him to understand that he is not alone, that he can let himself go to his suffering without having to carry the weight of the world.

Your breaths mingle in a shared breath, soft and fragile. It is a breath full of hope, despite the anguish, despite the fear. And in this breath, you murmur softly, your voice filled with this infinite tenderness: "Breathe with me, Sunghoon... just with me."

He hesitates, his eyes get lost in yours, collide with the invisible, as if he were trying to hold on to something, but couldn't distinguish the present from the past. Little by little, his fingers that tighten around yours loosen, slowly, like a shy flower that opens under the first ray of sunlight. You continue to slide your fingers on his cheek, tracing tender circles, letting your warmth penetrate his skin, penetrate his heart. With each movement, you try to soothe him, to free him, until he lets himself go completely, his head leaning further against yours, a last barrier falling between you.

When he finally lets out a deep, almost broken breath, you know he’s freeing himself of an invisible weight, a burden he’s carried in silence for so long. His shoulders relax imperceptibly, as if the invisible thread that held them taut has just snapped, and a palpable tension leaves his body. His lips part, trembling, and with an almost furtive gesture, he whispers, his voice cracking with pain: “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to show you this, not here, not now.” Each word seems to tear away a fragment of his soul, a piece of this impenetrable façade he’s built around himself. You can almost feel the gravity of his shame, like a crushing weight he’s struggling to cast off.

At these words, a wave of raw and intense tenderness invades you, submerging your heart. Sunghoon no longer hides, he shows you all his fragility, all the pain he hides under his apparent strength. For the first time, you glimpse this part of him that he usually keeps buried, this vulnerability that he tries to hide behind his mask of assurance. It is a silent call, a truth that he offers you without abandoning himself to it completely. Without answering, you gently slide your hand into his hair, your fingers brushing his locks with infinite tenderness. With each caress, you erase a little more of the world around you, weaving a bubble of intimacy where there is nothing else but this moment. Your breaths synchronize in a peaceful rhythm, as if, suddenly, the whole world stopped turning. The touch of your fingers in his hair is both soothing and electrifying, soft and powerful, like a silent promise, an offering of comfort in a sea of ​​torment.

You don't say anything, you just let your gestures do the talking. You don't want to force anything, just be there, present for him, for who he is in this new fragility. "You have nothing to hide, Sunghoon," you say, your voice low, like a secret whisper between the two of you. "I'm here, for all of that. For every part of you, even the ones you think you have to hide." You say these words like an oath, a promise engraved in every fiber of your being. He shivers under the warmth of this truth, as if your gaze directly touched what he hid deep inside him. His fingers intertwine more firmly with yours, seeking the warmth of your hand, and his thumb slowly brushes your skin, a fragile caress, almost unconscious, but so powerful in its simplicity. It's as if he's trying to anchor your presence in his flesh, as if to make sure that you're really there, that you won't leave.

Time seems to stand still, each second expanding in this silent embrace. It’s as if the outside world, the gazes of others, no longer exist. There is only Sunghoon, and you, and the vulnerability you share. You are bound in a silent truth, an exchange of emotions that words cannot capture. You share buried pains, flaws, a vulnerability that you had never dared to reveal, to either of you. It is a wordless confession, a silent dialogue where your hearts dance together in a deep intimacy. 

Every beat of his heart resonates with yours, and you feel torn between the anguish of seeing him sink into his darkness and the burning desire to keep him close to you, to be this light that illuminates him in the darkness. His gaze, now clouded with tears, captures your light like a castaway who finally sees a lighthouse in the darkness. He stares at you intensely, as if you were his last hope, his last anchor in this chaotic world. In this silence heavy with meaning, a fragility is woven between you, but also a silent promise: that of staying there, one for the other, of never failing, of always standing by the other's side.

Sunghoon, in the throes of inner turmoil, looks at you with an intensity that pierces you. His eyes, full of confusion and pain, seek a little peace, a little comfort in your gaze. His lips approach yours with an almost hypnotic slowness, and you feel the irresistible urge to kiss him, to seal this moment, to erase the space that separates you. When your lips finally brush, it is like a burst of truth, a mixture of sweetness, tenderness and despair. You can almost taste the salt of his tears on your lips, an imprint of his suffering, his fragility. It is a kiss loaded with everything he has not been able to say, a kiss that reveals a shared vulnerability, a common suffering.

“Let me be your strength,” you whisper, barely audible, your lips brushing his, your breath trembling with emotion.

Sunghoon leans slightly towards you, and in an instant, the space between you seems to dissolve, as if the whole world around you is fading away. Your lips meet again, at first a soft, almost timid contact, but enough to unite your breaths, your fears and your hopes, thus creating a silent and deep bond between the two of you. The kiss is hesitant at first, as if your souls were still looking for their place, timidly brushing against each other, like two strangers discovering each other. Then, little by little, the intensity increases. The gestures become more sure, more pressing, each movement of the lips a promise, a form of shared consolation. This kiss carries everything that remains unsaid, all this accumulated pain, this silent exchange where your souls speak to each other without a word. His breath mixes with yours, warm and light at the same time. Every sigh that escapes his lips is a silent confession, an inner cry that he offers to you without restraint.

His hands slide gently over your body, as if every inch of your skin were a discovery, a meticulous exploration of you. He traces invisible lines, each touch electrifying your skin, a shiver running down your spine with each gesture. He takes his time, savoring each moment, as if time were suspended around you. In his kisses, you feel his pain, his suffering mixed with a burning desire, both obscure and intoxicating. It is a whirlwind of contradictions, a strange fusion between suffering and desire. The pressure of his tongue on yours is hesitant at first, timid, then it becomes more and more assured, more demanding, like a silent request, an invitation to open your heart.

You answer him, letting yourself be carried away by the rhythm of the dance he initiates. Your tongue slides against his, in a slow and sensual movement. It is a hesitant dance, as if each gesture, each brush, had the power to erase everything, to repair everything. The warmth of his lips touches you, this burning tenderness that hides under the insistence of his kisses. You are linked in a heavy silence, this silence loaded with everything that you have never dared to say, but that you share in this communion of bodies. Each movement becomes a silent cry, a mute imploration to forget the outside world, to abandon yourselves to this moment, you lose yourselves in each other, in the warmth of your bodies that unite against the coldness of the world.

Sunghoon finally pulls away from you slowly, his lips pulling away with an unsettling slowness, creating a void that squeezes your heart. The heat of his body seems to still hang in the air around you, and the space between you suddenly becomes heavy with a palpable tension, a persistent heat but of a completely different nature. His eyes plunge into yours, dark and penetrating, as if he were trying to read every thought, every emotion that crosses your mind. He seems to see fragments of you that he had never noticed before, and in his gaze, you feel the intensity of this discovery. 

Then Sunghoon begins a sensual journey on your face, his lips brushing your skin with an almost unreal delicacy, making you shiver almost uncontrollably. He gently caresses your eyelids, kisses them tenderly, as if he wanted to seal a secret between you, a secret that nothing will ever be able to break. His kisses are light at first, almost shy, but beneath this softness hides a growing intensity, a tension that never stops rising, an insatiable desire more and more present, invasive. He then moves on to your nose, tracing a hot, humid path, a silent promise of something more, before lingering on your cheeks, his kisses become more insistent, deeper, as if he wanted to mark every inch of your skin, leave an indelible imprint of his desire, of his presence.

But it’s to your lips that he returns, again and again, as if everything resides there. When he settles on you again, a shiver of desire runs through you. The kiss is torrid, burning, filled with an electric tension that seems to make everything more real. His lips move with a new urgency, as if they’re searching for something, as if they’re begging for more. His tongue advances slowly, brushing yours with a possessive softness, a silent demand, and you feel a shiver of pleasure run through you, like an electric shock going through every fiber of your being. He pulls back slightly, just enough for you to feel his warm breath caress your skin, and you feel the world stop around you, time stretch out, the air become heavy with passion and tension.

“Don’t go away from me, Y/n,” he whispers, his voice low and husky, slipping through the air like a hot caress, gentle and threatening at the same time. His words, heavy with meaning and charged with a silent urgency, are not a simple request, but an imperious demand, an order hidden under the air of tender supplication. It is as if each syllable marks your mind with an invisible imprint, anchoring you to him in an irremediable way. He is not joking. You know it, deep down, in this palpable tension that settles between you. His voice leaves no room for doubt: he wants you close to him, here, right now, and nothing will be able to detach you from him without a storm breaking out.

A shiver runs down your spine. The proximity of his body, the warmth of his skin that seems to burn you without touching him, brings up a wave of contradictory emotions. The desire bubbling inside you collides with the fear of the unknown, the danger hidden in this attraction. He is there, right against you, and every fiber of your being screams at you to flee, but another part of you, deeper, more secret, pushes you to abandon yourself to this irresistible wave that rises within you, to this force that subjugates you.

In an almost instinctive gesture, your hand moves towards his waist, brushing the softness of his top, seeking contact, a connection. But, at the last second, a wave of lucidity invades you, reminding you of his injury. A burst of doubt stops you, and you hesitate, a suspended moment where the reality of the gesture becomes clearer. His fragility, his pain… An icy reality that makes you shiver. However, another sensation quickly rises, even stronger: the desire to touch him, to feel the warmth of his body against you, to reduce this distance that separates you. The tension that grips you is sweet and devastating at the same time. There is no more room for hesitation. The moment is too heavy, too intense. You press gently, just enough to brush his skin, and he reacts without the slightest hesitation.

His fingers close around yours with such force, such certainty, that you almost feel like you’ve trapped yourself in his arms. The softness of his grip hides a muted power, a quiet dominance that leaves no room for rebellion. It’s a reminder of his power, of how Sunghoon can encompass you in a single gesture. But it’s also a reminder of his vulnerability, a strange and destabilizing contrast. His gaze, deep into yours, is insistent, almost desperate, as if he’s trying to convince you to stay here, in this suspended moment, even if everything around you seems to be falling apart. Sunghoon wants you there, by his side, and the gravity of that desire squeezes your heart. He doesn’t tell you with words, but in the depth of his gaze, in every tense muscle of his body, you know that nothing else matters to you two, right here, right now.

Suddenly, without warning, he takes you by the hand and leads you to a small waffle shop in the aquarium. The ground beneath your feet feels harder, heavier, each step weighing you down like a stone. The atmosphere around you becomes thicker, denser, as if the air itself were charged with electricity. An almost palpable energy vibrates between you, weaving itself around you like an invisible thread, a bond you can neither understand nor break. It's like walking on a tightrope stretched between two worlds, that of passion and threat, and you don't know which one attracts you more. It's a fragile dance, a precarious balance between temptation and danger, and each step brings you closer to the abyss.

The dim lights through the store windows cast blurry, dancing shadows across your faces. These shadows seem to bloom in the space between you, feeding the intensity of the moment, making it even more overwhelming. Every movement becomes heavier, every look more charged with meaning. The connection between you grows stronger, almost unbearable, every gesture, every breath becoming an affirmation of this irresistible attraction, this insatiable need that binds you.

As you walk through the door of the store, the sweet air of waffles hits you, a sweet smell that surprises you in this atmosphere heavy with tension. It's almost cruel, this contrast, a brutal reminder that not everything is as intense as what you share. And yet, even this sweetness seems tinged by the heat of his body so close to yours. He has not stopped looking at you. His gaze does not look away for a second, and in his pupils shine flashes of wild, merciless desire. His impassive face barely hides the burn he feels, and every muscle in his body seems tense, ready to explode.

The salesman calls you, but his voice seems distant, almost inaudible in this bubble of intensity that you two form. Everything seems unreal, as if time itself had stopped to observe you. You are absorbed, swallowed up by Sunghoon's gaze, in which unconfessed desires, promises and hidden threats mix. This gaze is an abyss, a trap into which you could easily fall. And a part of you is terrified at the idea of ​​discovering what he really expects from you. A dull anguish mixes with the growing desire, creating an unbearable tension that makes your heart beat harder, faster.

Sunghoon finally orders a waffle for the two of you, without taking his eyes off yours. And then you feel a shiver of adrenaline run through you. The intimacy of this moment is overwhelming. It's as if everything around you is becoming a blur, as if the world no longer exists. Every second that passes is a mixture of pleasure and fear, a whirlwind of contradictory sensations that leaves you speechless, defenseless. When the waffle arrives, he takes it in his hand, but he keeps looking at you, as if he wants you to be aware of every gesture, every movement. You can see the tension in his muscles, his self-control, and yet there is this glint of desperation in his eyes, as if he is waiting for something from you, something you have not yet understood.

“Do you want to taste?” His low voice, almost a whisper, slides over your skin like an intimate caress, loaded with something much more than mere words. Each syllable seems suspended in the air, heavy with meaning, like a silent and dangerous promise. He slowly brings the waffle to you, but his eyes do not leave yours, piercing, analyzing each movement, each reaction. It is a power play, a silent challenge, where each gesture seems calculated, each breath, a declaration. It is no longer a simple question of dessert; there is a palpable tension between you, a magnetic attraction that binds you to him, preventing you from escaping. Everything seems suspended in this moment, and you realize that it is not only a question of gluttony, but something deeper, darker, an irresistible desire.

When you finally take a bite, the sweetness of the waffle explodes in your mouth, but you can't ignore Sunghoon's imposing presence, so close to you. It's like he's everywhere at once, in the air, in the heat emanating from him, in the intensity of his gaze, a predator's gaze scrutinizing his prey. He watches you, he analyzes you, waiting to see how you'll react, what each movement of your body will mean to him. His eyes, deep and insatiable, seem to want to decipher each of your thoughts, each breath. He must know that you belong to him, that you are his in this suspended moment. And, against all logic, you feel fragile, vulnerable under this gaze that consumes you, as if you were nothing more than a puzzle that he is determined to solve.

When you finally release the waffle, the sweet sweetness mixes with a much more complex taste. The creamy texture of the whipped cream melts into Sunghoon's scent, which surrounds you with every breath. He is so close, each movement of your tongue to wipe your lips makes you aware of his presence, of his insistent and scrutinizing gaze, of the pressure of his body close to yours. You are aware of every gesture, every movement becomes a silent invitation, a call. You know that he is watching you, that every micro-movement of your body is scrutinized, that you no longer have the right to look away. He seeks to read you, to decode your slightest reaction.

You finally bring your hand to your lips to wipe the corner of your mouth, a small gesture that is almost automatic, but you suddenly feel lost. The softness of your fingers on your skin is abruptly interrupted. A shiver runs through you when you feel a firm but gentle grip on your wrist. Sunghoon holds you back, pulling you towards him with a quiet but strong authority. He takes you in his arms, preventing you from running away. His burning gaze pierces you, and the silent pressure he exerts on you clearly tells you to stay there, not to resist. He owns you in this moment, even without a word.

“Let me do it,” he whispers, his voice soft as velvet, but filled with danger. He leans in then, his face moving closer to yours, close enough that you can feel his breath, the heat of his body brushing against you. His eyes, dark as night, stare at you with such intensity that you feel destabilized, as if he could read you, devour you, know everything about you. There is no more room for words. There is only this look, this tension floating around you, and the feeling that the outside world no longer exists. Everything has been reduced to this moment, to this suspended moment where there is only the two of you.

Without a word, he moves closer, his mouth moving to the corner of your lips. His tongue, warm and wet, gently brushes the delicate skin of your lips, removing the rest of the whipped cream that you haven't wiped away. The contact is electric, a brutal shock that vibrates every fiber of your being. It is both intimate and invasive, a gentle but irreversible intrusion. The shiver that runs through you is more intense than anything you have felt before, a mixture of desire, shame and pure pleasure. A moan escapes your throat, involuntary, a silent cry betraying your response to this burning contact. Everything around you disappears, the noises of the room, the whispers, fade into the background, leaving only this sensual dance, this indefinable bond that unites you in this suspended moment.

Sunghoon pulls out slowly, savoring every second, and every second seems to last an eternity. He is in control, every movement calculated, precise. You feel even more lost, wrapped in this whirlwind of contradictory sensations. With a sure gesture, Sunghoon brings your finger to his lips. A simple gesture, but in his hands, it takes on a whole new dimension. The innocence of the act becomes disturbing as he slowly sucks your finger, his warm and soft mouth enveloping your skin in a disconcerting, almost invasive way. Each movement, each aspiration seems to steal a little of your control, pushing you to abandon yourself to this intensity, to this silent domination. He slowly removes the slightest trace of whipped cream, his eyes deep in yours, satisfied, full of a quiet arrogance. And you, you feel your heart accelerate, beating faster, harder. The sparkle in his eyes tells you that this was only the beginning, that what he wants from you is much more than this simple gesture.

“Sunghoon… we’re in public,” you whisper, your voice trembling, torn between disapproval and excitement. Each word struggles to escape your lips, infused with obvious hesitation, but the intensity of his burning gaze unsettles you, making you doubt your own will to stop. The heat in your skin spikes, every movement of your body seeming to risk betraying a truth you’re not ready to face. Around you, the hustle and bustle of the room fades to a distant whisper as you become aware of the furtive glances of the customers. A few of them watch you, curious, embarrassed, or incredulous. You suddenly feel vulnerable, as if every breath, every beat of your heart echoes in the silence that has settled around you. A wave of excitement invades your mind, an intoxicating whirlwind that makes you oscillate between shame and a devouring desire. You are there, in this enclosed space, caught in a bubble of palpable tension, but aware of the foreign glances gliding over you.

Relentless, Sunghoon removes your finger from his mouth with an almost insolent ease, as if he were playing with you at every moment. He is neither in a hurry nor embarrassed, and in this gesture, he places a light kiss on the palm of your hand, a kiss so subtle, so intimate, that it freezes you on the spot. This simple contact, yet fleeting, triggers a discharge of contradictory emotions. The heat of his skin against yours causes a shiver that runs through you, shaking all your senses. The fear of excess, the excitement of risk, and a raw, insatiable desire, mix in your belly, turning you over. His smile is an enigma, a combination of apparent innocence and obscene promises, a veil that hides the increasingly heavy tension between you. His gaze, always fixed on you, gives off an implacable energy, as if he sees beyond your appearance, as if he knows exactly what you feel, without you needing to utter a single word.

“As long as we don’t fuck in front of them, princess, I don’t care,” he suddenly blurts out, his voice as smooth as satin but hiding an underlying iron blade. His words seep into the air, light but heavy with meaning, and the atmosphere is instantly charged with palpable electricity. Each syllable he utters seems to resonate in your bones, and you swallow, feeling a mixture of shame, arousal, and fascination grow within you. He looks at you with such intensity that you have no choice but to defy him with your gaze, all the while knowing that you are already lost. There is no longer any room for ambiguity in what you feel. He knows exactly what he is doing, and he is fully aware of the effect it has on you. But he enjoys it, because this game, this challenge between you, is a terrain of power that he controls to perfection.

With calculated slowness, Sunghoon brings the waffle to his lips, biting exactly where you left the imprint of your teeth. This gesture, which might seem innocuous in another context, suddenly takes on an unsuspected meaning. He does it with an almost perverse reverence, as if he were trying to appropriate a little of you through this simple gesture. His gaze does not leave you, penetrating and deep, a gaze that seems to read each of your reactions, each thought that crosses your mind. It is a silent promise, a promise that you are not sure whether you want to keep or break. Your heart races, your breath becomes shorter, the air around you becomes heavier. A dull tension settles, an anticipation that hangs in the air like a soft threat, ready to explode. He has captured something in you, a small spark of submission that you had not seen coming, but which grows each time he stares at you in this way.

His gaze locks with yours, unwavering, and a serious, almost predatory smile plays on his lips as he whispers softly, “It’s delicious.” His words float between you, a caress that makes you shiver, exposing you in a way no other man has ever managed. He holds the waffle out to you, but it’s no longer a simple offer. It’s a silent challenge, an unspoken invitation to respond to his gesture, to become a part of this game he plays with such skill. He forces you to accept this offering, and though your body hesitates, your mind betrays you and you bite exactly where he left his mark. Your eyes meet again, colliding in a silent dance of possession and vulnerability. Each gesture becomes a hold, an act of power and submission, and you feel trapped in this invisible web he weaves around you.

Your heart beats hard in your chest, heavy, panting, and an oppressive heat invades your body. You are aware of every movement, every breath, and each gesture seems to trigger a chain reaction, a wave of emotions that overwhelms you. A mischievous wink escapes your eyes, and, against all expectations, you see a slight blush tint his cheeks. This reaction, so rare in him, almost makes you smile. You bite your lip, trying to stifle a laugh, amused by this vulnerability that he hides so clumsily, this side of him that you begin to see, a little more with each moment.

“You’re so adorable, Sunghoon,” you tell him in a breath, your words sliding slowly, like an almost invisible caress that brushes the air. They slip between you, light, but heavy with meaning, loaded with that subtle irony that always floats in the air when emotions are too strong to be simply said. These words, yet tender, seem to split the space between you in a way that you had not anticipated. The moment you say them, you see a slight shiver run through his features, an imperceptible tension that crosses his body, like a shock wave that he tries to hide, but that you perceive nevertheless, clearly.

Sunghoon's face, usually as implacable as steel, then betrays a moment of vulnerability. A deeper blush invades his cheeks, tinting his skin with an unexpected warmth. His eyes avert almost by reflex, and a hand rises, running through his hair in a sudden, almost defensive gesture, as if he wanted to erase the impact of your words. But this gesture, far from masking what he feels, only reinforces the impression you have of seeing him shirk, even slightly, this truth that you are holding out to him. You had not anticipated that a simple compliment could destabilize him to this point, and yet, in this split second, you perceive a crack in his armor.

Despite this moment of fragility, something deeper, more chilling, awakens in him. A flash of darkness in his gaze, an unfathomable depth that you have never perceived before, an ocean of pain and desire mixed, where you feel that behind this facade of control, a storm is raging. Sunghoon stares at you again, his eyes burning with an almost bestial intensity, as if he is seeing you for the first time, as if he is devouring you with his gaze, each second a fight not to sink. As if you are all that keeps him here, in this reality, in this moment suspended between you.

Sunghoon leans forward slightly, almost imperceptibly, a subtle movement, but charged with the promise of a closeness that makes your heart beat faster. His hand, hesitant at first, slides towards your face, his finger brushing the outline of your lips, as if he were trying to understand this smile that has brushed your face. The contact is so soft, almost fragile, but at the same time, heartbreakingly tender, as if this gesture could be a last memory that he would take with him. This simple touch seems to suspend time, and you feel your heart racing, your body reacting to this softness, but also to the urgency that there is in this gesture, a desire to capture a moment before it disappears, to immobilize it forever.

Unable to resist the momentum that runs through you, the whirlwind of sensations that overwhelm you, you place a light kiss on the tip of his finger. This gesture, almost innocuous, resonates in the air like a shard of broken glass. Sunghoon slowly closes his eyes, as if he needed to be away from this contact for a moment, to absorb the heat of your kiss, to stifle the explosion of emotions that tears him apart. When he reopens his eyes, his gaze seems darker, veiled, as if he were trying to hide a torment that he cannot control. A fragile smile forms on his lips, but it is almost as fleeting as the pain he seeks to hide. It is a broken smile, like a shard of glass that cannot be repaired.

“I love your smile,” he says, and his voice trembles slightly, betraying an imperceptible shiver, a tremor that he tries to hide under the softness of his words. His fingers, now more assured, slide slowly from your lips to your cheek, brushing your skin like a caress. But in his gestures there is also hidden a form of silent possession, as if he wanted to soak up you, to keep you close to him in a last gesture of tenderness. But behind this touch, you also feel the pain, palpable, that he cannot hide. He looks at you as if each second spent with you costs him a little more of himself, as if each movement you make, each breath you let out, is a tearing for him.

His hand moves down further, sliding along the back of your neck with calculated slowness. You feel the gentle but firm pressure of his fingers on your skin, almost an anchor that keeps you close to him. This gesture is at once a gesture of control, a way of binding you to him, and yet, it is also tender, like a silent request to stay, not to leave, even if it must be done in pain. Your breath catches for a moment, strangled by the feeling of being both vulnerable and desired, as if everything you were was concentrated in this single moment, in this hand that keeps you close to him.

“I want you to be like this forever… happy,” he whispers, and the words, infinitely sweet but broken, insinuate themselves into you like an icy breath. His voice, low, brushes you gently, mixing tenderness and unspeakable pain. There is something fragile in his words, as if they are too weak to contain the pain they carry. He speaks as if he is confiding a part of himself to you, but you know that what he hides in his gaze is heavier than what he dares to say. Behind this tenderness, you perceive a fear that he tries to hide—a visceral fear that shines in his eyes, threatening and fragile.

You see that this fear is eating him up, that he hides it under a mask of love and devotion, but it is there, lurking in every corner of his gaze. It is a deep anguish that he cannot fight, that he does not dare to face. He desires with all his heart to see you happy, but with a desperate urgency, as if he knew, deep down, that this happiness does not belong to him. Sunghoon is not the one who will be able to offer you lasting tranquility, and it is eating away at him. Even if he tries to offer you what he believes to be the most beautiful gift of all—your joy—he knows that it is only an illusion. Because, deep down, he is not the one who will fill your heart.

The violence of this thought hits him like a stab. He then contemplates you, his eyes drowned in a suffering that he can no longer hide. This gaze that you meet is an abyss, an endless chasm where he seems to lose himself little by little, as if each moment spent with you was only an ephemeral illusion. Sunghoon looks at you with the certainty that what you share is only a passage, a parenthesis. He knows that he will end up losing you, that one day you will move away, and he already sees you as a shooting star that he believes he will never be able to hold on to. Sunghoon admires you, he loves you with a pure but desperate love, to the point of suffering. This suffering is part of him, a wound that he has learned to hide, but which, at this precise moment, is revealed. It is this irrational fear of seeing you disappear that slowly breaks him, piece by piece.

What he doesn't tell you, what he can't say, is that every moment spent with you is an inner struggle for him. A struggle against his own demons, against the certainty that he will never be able to fill your heart completely. He wants to be the one who makes you happy, with all his being, but Sunghoon knows that he is not up to it. This doubt eats away at him more and more every day. His thoughts sometimes escape towards an uncertain future, where you will no longer be there, where you will inexorably move away, and where he will be forced to see you go. In this vision, he already feels the pain of your disappearance, the immense void that it will leave in his life.

He knows this thought of loss well, he has learned to live with it, to accept it, but it is destroying him little by little. Every moment spent with you becomes a struggle against the evidence of what seems inevitable: your disappearance. He carries this fear within him like a curse, an open wound that never closes, and that deepens with each moment. He is afraid of loving you too much, afraid that this love — so pure, so unaltered — will destroy him too, that it will make him sink into an abyss from which he will never be able to escape.

“I’m going to smile so much for you that it’s going to annoy you,” you say, your voice soft, almost whispered, as you gently squeeze his hand. You feel a slight vibration under your touch, and you know that this sentence, so light in appearance, is only a mask, an attempt to dissipate the tension. But the storm raging inside Sunghoon cannot be appeased by mere words. Even your gaze, full of tenderness and kindness, does not mask this silent struggle that hides in his eyes. And in this suspended moment, the storm becomes more violent, each heartbeat he feels seeming to suck you a little more towards the abyss where he finds himself.

Your smile, almost naively innocent, briefly lights up his face, but it especially accentuates the depth of the pain he hides. Behind this smile, too fragile, hides an unfathomable emptiness, a sadness anchored in his being, a loneliness that he has carried within him for years, perhaps forever. Since his childhood, Sunghoon has learned to hide this suffering, to erect walls around himself, a fortress that he never dared to let fall, for fear of being swallowed up by the outside world. But you, your presence, your gaze, are slowly, inexorably breaking down this barrier. It is not a brutal burst, but a slow and deep crack. A silent internal struggle, because he knows, deep down, that these emotions that he has kept inside him for so long will eventually overflow.

Sunghoon knows, deep down, that this happiness, this warmth he feels by your side, is only a mirage. A fragile flame in an icy night, ready to go out at the slightest breeze. He looks at you with an almost painful intensity, a despair that he cannot hide. He watches you like a man watches a dream whose contours he knows he will never be able to grasp, a dream that dissipates as soon as he touches it. Every smile you offer him, every gentle gesture from you, pierces his heart like an invisible blade. He would like to lose himself in this happiness, to take refuge in this sweetness that you give him, but he knows that, sooner or later, you will move away. That distance, oblivion, will make you leave. The fear of abandonment, visceral and constant, is anchored in every fiber of his being. And yet, with every moment spent with you, he lets himself be carried away by a devouring love, a devouring passion that consumes him, slowly eats away at him, but which, he knows, will never fill the void he carries within him.

In an almost desperate burst, Sunghoon holds you close. He grabs you, not gently, but with an almost violent urgency, as if you were the last lifeline in a raging ocean. As if he could hold you back, prevent you from moving away, from escaping, simply by holding you closer to him. His hands dig into your skin with a pressure that hurts you, but which, strangely, also seems to seek to mark every part of you, to anchor you in his memory. He seeks to make you inseparable from him, to possess you not only with his body, but with his soul. His eyes capture you, scrutinize you with an almost sickly intensity, seeking to imprison your silhouette in a gaze where desire and suffering mingle. Each movement, each breath, seems calculated to hold you back, to anchor you in him, as if he knew that losing you would be his own end.

But at the same time, every moment he spends by your side is a sweet agony. A sublimated, intense pain, which mixes with the beauty of the moment. Every kiss, every smile, every shared breath is a treasure that he reluctantly accepts, all the while knowing that it leaves a gaping wound in his heart. This pain, Sunghoon accepts it, he even cherishes it, because for him, loving you is accepting to slowly destroy himself. It is embracing the burn of passion while being perfectly aware that he will end up burning himself, that this fire will devour him, that he will not come out of it unscathed.

Sunghoon holds you even tighter, as if the sheer force of his will could keep you there, close to him, by his side. He would like time to stop, for this suspended moment to last forever, but he knows that it is only a mirage. Because deep down, he feels this inevitable truth: everything he experiences with you is temporary. It is a daydream that will fade away at the slightest movement, at the slightest change. And yet, even while consumed by the fear of losing you, Sunghoon does not hesitate. He lets himself go in this whirlwind of feelings, ready to sacrifice everything, even if it destroys him. Because to him, to love is to agree to give everything, to burn everything, to lose everything, in the insane hope that you will stay, even if only a little longer.

In the boxing gym, the air was oppressive, saturated with the smell of sweat and metal. The dull sound of punches hitting the punching bag mingled with the faint flashing of neon lights above Sunghoon, like echoes of an ever-growing inner turmoil. The cold light of the neon lights cast strange shadows on his face, emphasizing every line of fatigue and pain that marked his features. His eyes, usually intense, were now a little dull, as if all his energy was directed into his fists that he threw with an almost frantic violence. With each impact, his gloves were lost in the bag with a sharp thud, one more blow to silence what was rumbling inside him, an uncontrollable rage that was bubbling beneath the surface.

Across from him, Jay remained stoic, his posture impeccable, like a silhouette frozen in time. He didn't move an inch, his arms stretched around the punching bag he held tightly, resisting the powerful blows that struck him at every moment. He absorbed each shock with calculated patience, as if nothing that happened around him could touch him. Yet, in the silence that reigned between each blow, it was impossible not to feel the intensity of the exchange. Jay, although motionless, was totally focused, his piercing gaze observing every detail of Sunghoon's movements. He knew that each blow his friend threw was not simply an attempt to defeat a punching bag, but a fight against inner demons far more powerful than anything he could face in this ring.

Sunghoon’s gloves danced violently, each strike followed by a new explosion of force. He struck, again and again, as if each blow freed him a little more, or at least, that’s what he hoped. His fists were cannonballs, relentlessly raging against the worn surface of the bag, which almost seemed to respond with equal hardness. The pain in his arms, the muscles tensed, each impact resonating down to his bones, was nothing compared to the pain he felt inside. Rage filled him. Sunghoon didn’t strike to win, he struck to exist, to make something tangible exist in this whirlwind of frustration and despair. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he paid it no mind. Sunghoon was lost in this struggle, far from reality, far from the invisible spectators who might judge.

His movements had become mechanical, like an automatic repetition of gestures that he no longer controlled. The violence of each blow seemed to come from a deep place, a place he did not dare to look at. His breathing, irregular, derailed with each exhalation. A hoarse breath, almost whistling, escaped his lips with each new attack. It was not the physical pain that he was trying to evacuate, but something much greater, something that he could not formulate, but which, with each inspiration, seemed to gnaw at his insides.

And then Jay broke the silence, his voice cold as a sharp blade cutting through the air. “So, are you ready to face Heeseung in a month?” His tone was dry, direct, straightforward, like an invitation to the truth, or perhaps a challenge. The question hung in the air, heavy with innuendo, expectations, and hopes they dared not name. Sunghoon froze for a moment. A particularly violent blow crashed against the bag, but he didn’t have the strength to strike again. A shudder, an invisible vibration, was felt in his body. He knew that the question was much more than a simple interrogation of his physical abilities; it opened a breach into something much more intimate.

Sunghoon took a deep breath, trying to put his mind back in place, but the thought of Heeseung, of this betrayal that was devouring him, immediately invaded his mind. He closed his eyes for a moment, but the image of his former friend forced itself into his mind, again and again. The betrayal, the lies, the anger, everything intertwined. Sunghoon had been there for Heeseung, always, and yet… Everything had shattered. Heeseung's face, that of a friend he believed to be sincere, haunted his thoughts. It was a shadow that stuck to his skin, that distorted his own reflection. He gritted his teeth and struck again, harder, faster. He struck with the force of pain, with the violence of bitterness.

“Heeseung is nothing but another man,” he spat through his teeth, his voice shaking with fury. His gaze fixed on the bag, but in his mind, it was Heeseung’s face he saw, the face of the lost friend, the man who had betrayed him. Sunghoon paused, his breath caught, his heart pounding. He didn’t know if it was the rage that kept him alive or the pain that wouldn’t let go. He stared at the bag for a moment, as if he saw the features of his former friend there, each blow he threw an attempt to bring justice to this broken friendship. Sunghoon needed to strike, again and again, until this pain, this betrayal, finally stopped consuming him.

Jay, watching every move with a keenness that did not escape him, did not utter a word. He knew. He knew that this was not just a fight against a man. This was not just a rivalry. This was an inner war, a battle between what had been lost and what still remained to be preserved. Sunghoon's hatred was not only directed at Heeseung; it was also directed at himself. It was not the strength of a rival that he was facing, but the shadow of a friend he had loved. And Jay understood, perhaps better than anyone, that this scar was much deeper than any blow he had struck.

In the echo of the last blows, a palpable tension, like a thread suspended between the past and the future, hung in the air. Jay knew he could only watch, observe without intervening. What was playing out in this room was not a simple physical training. It was a silent catharsis, a silent battle that Sunghoon had to fight alone.

“Is that really what you want to believe?” Jay’s voice cut through the silence with the softness of a sharp blade, calm but relentless. He slowly loosened his grip on the punching bag, forcing Sunghoon to stop. The air in the room, already saturated with heat and sweat, seemed to freeze around them, heavy with that palpable tension. Sunghoon froze, his arm hanging in the air, his palm still open as if he were ready to strike again, but his muscles tensed under the unexpected impact of those words. Jay hadn’t shouted, he hadn’t even raised his voice. Yet he had managed to break Sunghoon’s rhythm, to disturb the balance that the latter had so desperately tried to maintain.

Jay's gaze was a finely honed instrument, a gaze that penetrated appearances and saw beyond the surface. It was a gaze that discerned hidden truths, those that Sunghoon himself did not dare to face, those that hid in the dark corners of his soul, where he hoped no one would come to disturb them. Jay knew that Sunghoon was fighting against something much bigger than Heeseung, against an inner monster, a visceral pain that he did not have the courage to acknowledge.

“You can convince yourself all you want, but it’s not Heeseung you’re fighting. It’s yourself, that part of you that refuses to accept what he did to you.” Jay’s words sank into Sunghoon’s heart like a blade cutting through his ribs. They were precise, sharp, and far more painful than any punch he could have received. They struck directly where he had buried his pain: in that gaping wound that bled endlessly, the one that had opened in his heart the day Heeseung had betrayed him.

Sunghoon's breathing quickened. He froze for a moment, his eyes fixed on the punching bag, but he couldn't see anything anymore. His thoughts were lost in the tumult of memories, in that precise moment when everything had changed. Heeseung's face floated before him, that of the friend he had known, the one he had trusted, and now... now, he was an enemy. A traitor. A ghost. Jay's gaze forced him to relive that scene over and over again, to revisit the moment when betrayal had slipped like poison into his life. He had lost everything that day, and the pain was still raw, stinging.

Sunghoon's fists slowly unclenched, almost against his will. He felt the sweaty gloves slip slightly from his trembling hands, but he didn't put them back on. He couldn't hold on tight anymore, couldn't push back the flood of pain that was intensifying with each passing moment. Sweat was now streaming down his face, but it wasn't just fatigue anymore. It was emotional exhaustion, a weight he had been carrying for too long that was starting to crush him. It was this pain he was trying to escape, but it caught up with him with every blow he landed, every mechanical movement he made to let out his anger and frustration.

“It doesn’t matter anymore…” Sunghoon’s voice trailed off almost to a whisper, a choked gasp of pain. The words struggled to come out, stuck in his throat, unable to find their way out. He tried to smile, a bitter smile, devoid of joy, but it only served to deepen the sadness in his eyes. “He’s just another opponent to beat.” No matter how hard he tried to hide the truth, to impose a mask of bravado, he knew he didn’t believe it himself. The truth was there, buried deep in his chest, a truth he could no longer ignore.

Jay shook his head slowly, wordlessly, his gaze unwavering. He knew Sunghoon wasn’t ready to accept this truth, that what he was saying was just a desperate attempt to maintain some semblance of control. But Jay was used to reading people, sensing the cracks in their façade, and he knew Sunghoon was about to snap. He could see the fragility that lurked beneath that anger, that hurt buried deep inside him that he had tried to repress for so long. Jay could see that, despite his efforts to convince himself that everything was under control, Sunghoon was drowning in an ocean of pain he refused to acknowledge.

Sunghoon finally looked down, avoiding Jay's insistent gaze. He grabbed a bandage and wrapped it around his bloodied hands, but he didn't have the strength to do it properly. His fingers were shaking, each movement an automatic mechanism, an unconscious action. He tightened the bandage around his wrists with an almost feverish determination, as if by tightening the bonds he could hold back the pain that threatened to engulf everything.

Jay approached slowly, quietly, and placed a hand on Sunghoon’s shoulder. The gesture was simple, but it carried the full weight of friendship, of silent understanding, of deep compassion that needed no words. There was no rush in his touch, just a steady, reassuring presence. “You know, Sunghoon, facing Heeseung won’t change anything if you’re not willing to face what he’s awakened in you. It’s not hatred that will make you stronger, but what you choose to do with it.”

Sunghoon stood there for a long moment, his eyes blank, staring into the nothingness before him. The silence of the boxing gym was oppressive, heavy like a cloud of tension hanging in the air, but inside him, it was something else entirely. Jay's words echoed in his head, seeping into his mind like a slowly spreading poison, leaving a burning trace behind. 

Every sentence, every syllable, struck sensitive chords within him, wounds he thought were closed but that, with each touch, reopened. Jay was right. It was a truth he could no longer ignore, as painful as it was. But accepting it, facing it, was a chasm he did not dare cross yet. It was an abyss too deep, too frightening. If he acknowledged it, he would lose everything he had built, all this facade he tried to maintain.

His heart beat in a staccato rhythm, each beat marking a break from what he had always thought he knew. He let out a shaky sigh, almost inaudible, like a weight breaking in his soul, loud in his mind, though his body remained frozen. The heat of the room seemed to transform into a suffocating heat around him. Sunghoon tried to swallow this pain, to push it back, but it was there, it would not go away. 

Sunghoon straightened up slowly, his movements were mechanical, as if he were forcing his body to obey a will that was no longer his own. He searched for the mask he had worn for so long, this mask of coldness and disdain, the one that had protected him from the truth, from his own feelings. But he knew deep down that Jay had seen him, that he had broken through this shell with disconcerting ease. And that, more than anything, was unbearable.

“Why are you doing this, Jay?” The question came out of his lips with difficulty, each word carrying an almost unbearable weight. His voice was low, hoarse, trembling with anger and confusion. Sunghoon felt his fists clench again, but he didn’t have the strength to keep them closed. “Why do you insist on bringing me back to this, on reminding me… of what I want to forget?” He looked away, as if he could erase Jay’s words, as if running away could ease the torment that was eating away at him. But he knew he couldn’t run away, not this time. This emptiness, this pain, was inside him, ingrained in his flesh, and running away from Jay’s gaze would only make it stronger.

Jay stared at him in silence, his gaze heavy with understanding, calm, and deep gravity. His eyes seemed to probe every corner of Sunghoon's soul, every crack, every piece of his broken being, without any reluctance. He didn't turn away, he didn't run away from the intensity of this confrontation. He knew that Sunghoon needed this space, this confrontation, even if he wasn't ready to accept it. Jay gave Sunghoon all the space for his anger, for his need to flee, for his inner struggle. He waited, without rushing, as if he knew that at some point, the truth would finally come out.

Then, finally, he answered, in a low voice, but full of that simple wisdom that knew how to touch where it hurt.

“Because you deserve to be free from all of this, Sunghoon.” The words echoed in the air, their weight landing heavily on Sunghoon’s shoulders. “Because as long as you remain trapped in this hatred, this pain, Heeseung will continue to have power over you, even if he’s not there. And that’s worse than any defeat.”

Jay's words crashed down on Sunghoon like a wave of truth. It washed over him, not with the violence of a storm, but with the cold sweetness of a reality he could no longer escape. Sunghoon felt his heart tighten, a wave of pain that slowly spread throughout his body. It was as if something inside him was finally breaking, as if the lock he had taken care to seal for years had just given way, letting everything escape. He felt a strange combination of anger and relief. The rage was still there, burning, but it was now mixed with a feeling of emptiness, of weakness. This pain that he had locked away so tenaciously, this suffering that he thought he could control, was beginning to fail in his hands. Sunghoon was no longer in control. He could no longer run from this truth.

A silence settled then, heavy, palpable. The room seemed to tighten around him, the walls closing in, the air becoming more stifling. Sunghoon turned his head, avoiding Jay's gaze, as if to protect himself. He stared at an invisible point on the ground, but the truth remained there, inside him, deeply inked. He felt his breath catch, the anger still present, but more desperate, more disarming. The violence that inhabited him clashed with this reality, and he no longer knew how to contain it. He took a deep breath, his shoulders shrugging under the effort of holding back everything he felt boiling inside him.

Eventually, Sunghoon's voice grew quieter, almost a whisper, a confession that didn't ask for an answer, but simply sought to come out.

"He should never have betrayed me."

The words escaped like a breach in a dam, fragile, broken. It was an admission heavy with regret, disappointment, raw, naked pain. It wasn’t just the betrayal that consumed him, but everything that came with it: the broken friendship, the shattered trust, the certainty that he wasn’t worthy of being loved, of being respected. He felt vulnerable, almost naked under Jay’s gaze, as if every word he spoke revealed a little more of himself, a little more of what he’d always wanted to hide.

The silence that followed was almost unbearable, heavy with everything he didn't say, with what he couldn't yet face. Memories of Heeseung, of their friendship, of the betrayal that had destroyed everything, jostled in his mind, chaotic, unfinished. Anger, pain, abandonment... all of it mixed in a silent, endless storm that continued to torment him. And even if Sunghoon had said those words, even if he had said what he didn't allow himself to feel, he knew that he wasn't ready to fully face them yet. He wasn't ready to face what was deep inside him. But maybe, just maybe, one day he would be.

And maybe, on that day, Sunghoon could finally leave the pain behind.

Jay approached him slowly, without a sound, his hand placed on his shoulder with apparent gentleness, but this gentleness hid a firm determination. He knew that Sunghoon, in this state, would not easily allow someone to approach, much less lay a hand on him. But Jay was not the type to back down in the face of a challenge, and this proximity, far from disturbing him, seemed rather to give him a calm, almost soothing authority.

Jay’s voice cut through the silence of the room like a cleaver, measured but heavy with meaning. “We don’t always choose who hurts us, or how they hurt us,” he said quietly, the words falling like stones into a silent pond. “But we can choose how to rebuild ourselves afterward. This fight against Heeseung… It’s not just revenge. It’s a chance to show that you’re stronger than this betrayal, that you won’t let it define who you are.”

Sunghoon froze, his eyes glazed over, as if he had tried to swallow Jay's words while refusing to let them sink in too deeply. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his fists, feeling every word Jay said sink into his veins like a sweet, sneaky poison. Everything inside him screamed to resist, to not accept this truth, but deep down he knew Jay was right. He hadn't chosen Heeseung's betrayal, or the pain that had come with it. But now, in this moment, Sunghoon was still choosing to fight. Or at least, that's what he told himself.

Sunghoon closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He tried to calm himself, to control the tide of conflicting emotions that were surging through him. But each breath seemed to feed an inner fire that he hadn’t been able to extinguish. Their faces overlapped in his mind, Heeseung’s, Jay’s. The tension that held him, the pain that gnawed at him… it all kept looping. He gritted his teeth, feeling a dull frustration bubbling inside him. He wasn’t ready to face the truth. He wasn’t ready to look deep inside himself.

When he finally opened his eyes, he met Jay's gaze, and this time, he didn't look away. For the first time in a long time, he didn't try to hide his vulnerability. There was something deeply human about this encounter, something broken, something irreparable. His eyes shone with a light that betrayed more than pain; there was also this crack, this old fatigue, this endless struggle against what he felt. He felt like a stranger within himself, lost in an internal war that never seemed to end.

“I tried to rebuild myself,” he whispered, his words barely audible, almost drowned out by the weight of his own exhaustion. “I tried to tell myself that it didn’t matter anymore, that I could move on without him… but this rage, this hatred… it’s all I have left.”

Sunghoon's words were laden with such raw truth that they seemed to hang in the air, heavy and painful. Jay felt a pang in his heart as he heard them, not out of pity, but because he understood, perhaps better than anyone, the inner vortex that was consuming Sunghoon. He knew that this anger was not simply a reaction to an act of betrayal, but a response to a deep pain that he had never known how to treat except with rage. But Jay, with infinite gentleness, answered in his calm, implacable voice.

“Then let her go,” he whispered, almost like a caress. “Let that rage go and find who you really are, Sunghoon. Not the fighter consumed by hatred, but the man who deserves to live without being haunted by the past.”

There was no judgment in his words. No blame. Just a silent invitation to let go of the chains that held him back. Jay knew it wasn’t easy. He knew the road would be long, fraught with pitfalls, but he believed in himself. He believed in the possibility of healing, even if Sunghoon didn’t see it yet.

Jay's words fell on Sunghoon like a warm rain, soft but painful. It was a balm on a wound he had ignored for too long. Sunghoon felt his fists unclench imperceptibly, as if the weight of the hatred that had kept him alive for so many years was suddenly lighter. His arms trembled slightly, and he had to concentrate to control the tremors that threatened to overwhelm him. It was as if all his strength, his energy, were dissipating, carried away by a flood he no longer controlled.

He slowly turned his head to Jay, his eyes filled with silent gratitude, deep and sincere. Words were useless. He didn't need to speak. Jay knew. And somehow, Sunghoon also knew that he had found someone who, for the first time, wouldn't ask him to be stronger, more impassive. Someone who saw him, with all his flaws, all his wounds. And who, despite everything, remained there.

A slight, almost imperceptible smile touched Sunghoon's lips. It wasn't a triumphant smile, but a smile filled with gratitude, with fragility. He wasn't ready to forget yet. Nor to forgive. But he knew he wasn't alone in this quest anymore. He didn't have to fight his own demons alone anymore.

And in that dark, cold, and almost silent room, Sunghoon felt, for the first time in far too long, a little peace. Not the peace of forgiveness or forgetting, but that of a man who, little by little, was beginning to free himself from his chains.

The door had barely closed behind Sunghoon, and immediately the air in the room seemed to take on a pressure, heavy and palpable. The silence that followed became as dense as a storm cloud ready to burst. You looked at him, but he was no longer the distant man you knew, nor the one you had learned to love despite his flaws, his silences, his outbursts. Tonight, he was nothing more than a silhouette, a flickering shadow, almost unreal. His features were marked by something deeper, darker, a torment that he had taken care to hide until then but which now seemed to overflow, to explode to the surface. Sunghoon was like a broken man, and yet, he still struggled, with this silent violence that inhabited his body. The void that had formed between you was loaded with invisible tensions, with unspoken but intense presences.

Your heart clenched in your chest, beating too hard, too fast. Each beat seemed to echo the growing worry that was taking over you. You wanted to break this silence, but nothing seemed to be able to lighten the air between you. Sunghoon stared at you, without looking away, his dark, unfathomable eyes burning with an almost unbearable intensity. He pierced you, probed you as if he were trying to read the depths of your soul, to discover something you weren't even ready to reveal to him. Every movement of his body seemed tense, on the verge of tearing itself apart. It was as if you could feel his desire to act, an uncontrollable impulse that he was holding back, but for how much longer? The energy between you was electrifying, wild, and you could feel it coursing through you, running through your skin like a shiver that awakened every fiber of your being.

A mixture of fear and desire, reluctance and attraction, overwhelmed you. You knew this feeling, but tonight it was different, more violent. It was like an inner tug that tore you apart, an incessant struggle between fleeing and giving in. You had always known that there was something between you, a complicated bond, made of frustrations, unspoken things, repressed passions, but there, in this suspended moment, it was as if the outside world no longer existed. Everything was just him, this brute force and this growing tension that accumulated between your bodies, ready to spill out.

You wanted to speak, to say something to break the heaviness of waiting, but as soon as you whispered his name, "Sunghoon," everything changed. He moved so suddenly that you were barely aware of it. In a split second, he was in front of you, his massive presence enveloping you. There was no more distance between you. He was there, so close that you could feel the heat of his body, intense, burning, radiating through the air, penetrating you like a wild fire. His breath brushed your skin, short and jerky, as if he was struggling to find his rhythm, to tame what he was feeling. You could almost feel every beat of his heart, that tension that inhabited every fiber of his being, that inner tremor contained in every movement, every gesture.

You tensed under the pressure of his proximity. Your heart clenched again, but this time, it was fear that dominated, a visceral fear that you couldn't shake. He stared at you, his gaze as dark and unfathomable as the abyss. A part of you wanted to back away, to flee this intensity, but another part, more secret, more buried, burned with the same fire as him. It was a dangerous fire, a flame that risked engulfing everything it touched if you gave in to it. You were no longer in control of your body, or your thoughts. Every fiber of your being was caught in this spiral, swallowed up by him, by everything he gave off.

His hands rested on your arms, at first unreal softly. But you felt the strength behind this contact, each finger brushing you with a delicacy that barely concealed an urgency, a restrained violence. It was as if you were a rope stretched to the limit, ready to give way under this pressure. Sunghoon's fingers closed slightly on your skin, making you shiver, like a warning. Each touch electrified you, but also frightened you, because you knew that what he was holding back could explode at any moment.

You couldn't escape him. He paralyzed you, from head to toe, like an invisible embrace but more powerful than any physical force. Every word, every gesture, dug a chasm between you, pushing you further and further into this night of uncertainties and possibilities. And yet, a part of you felt surprisingly calm. But this inner calm was only a fragile facade, which would last only a few seconds before the storm broke. And in that suspended moment, as he held you there, so close, you understood that the storm had already begun.

Sunghoon was no longer the same man you knew. He was no longer the man you thought you understood. Tonight, he was a rougher, wilder, more desperate version of himself. And you weren't the same either. You found yourself caught in this whirlwind, a spectator and an actress in this moment, unable to detach yourself from it, unable to escape this tension that was devouring you. The air was heavy, saturated with desire, frustration and need, and at that precise moment, you knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

“I… I don’t know who I am anymore,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, broken by an emotion he never wanted to show you again. His words seemed to tear themselves away from him, painful, like a confession he had never dared to make. He was there, in front of you, completely immersed in a vulnerability that made him almost unreal. Yet, every gesture, every movement he made betrayed an urgency, a desire to find himself in your arms. He approached slowly, his forehead brushing yours, an almost timid contact, as if he needed this proximity to breathe, as if your lips were the only thing that could save him.

You felt his hands slide, gently at first, then with a slight firmness, from your arms to your waist. When he finally pulled you against him, it was with such intensity, such urgency, that you almost lost your breath. An electric shock spread through your body, soft and brutal at the same time, a shiver that was born in the pit of your stomach, mixing desire and an unspeakable fear. Sunghoon pulled you towards him, as if you were the only thing capable of filling this void in which he was drowning. The world around you seemed to disappear, like a mist dissipated by the heat of your bodies, and there was only the two of you, alone, suspended in a space saturated with tension. The air seemed too heavy, too charged with this shared emotion, and you could almost hear the electric hum of the tension that floated between your bodies.

His hands slid slowly along your waist, brushing your skin with an almost unbearable slowness. Each movement was an exploration, an intimate search, as if he wanted to imprint every curve, every detail of your body in his memory, to mark his possession. It was not just a physical contact. It was a path of fire that ran through your skin, a soft but penetrating burn, awakening in you an incandescent, irresistible desire. And yet, in this burning fever, a dull fear invaded you. What would happen if you gave in to this call? If you abandoned yourself to him in this fragility, in this confusion? Doubt crept into you, but it was drowned under the wave of heat that rose in your veins.

“I see you… I feel you,” he whispered, his voice trembling, each word infused with an intense heat, almost a plea. He leaned down then, his lips brushing your ear, a hot, almost possessive breath that made an uncontrollable shiver run through your skin. “Don’t leave me… Don’t push me away.”

Those words, loaded with desire and desperation, hit you right in the heart. You knew he needed you, but did you know what you could offer him in this state? Was it even possible to bear such intensity? Sunghoon came closer, so close that you could feel the weight of his body against yours, like an unbearable heat that invaded the space around you. His hands slid down your back, his fingers tracing burning lines on your skin, marking the air between you with each movement. It wasn't just a caress, it was a silent claim, an act of possession, a way of reminding you that you were his. All his. In that suspended moment, you felt torn between two opposing forces. A part of you, drowned in fear, tensed, ready to flee, while another, darker, deeper, let itself be swallowed up by this intensity. That all-consuming, almost destructive force that emanated from him seemed to arouse an insane desire in you, an urgency you would never have imagined.

The danger in his eyes, in his gestures, paralyzed you, but in a strange way, you let yourself be enveloped by this proximity. You knew that you should be afraid, that this excessive heat, this too powerful desire were warning signs, but instead of fleeing, you let yourself be overwhelmed by it. Each movement of his body against yours, each breath, each brush rekindled a fire in you, a fire that you did not want, but that you could no longer extinguish.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his voice almost pleading, vulnerability cutting through his words like a blade. His hands tightened on your skin then, his fingers digging into your flesh with an almost painful force, but you didn’t struggle. You didn’t move. You didn’t want to run. Not now. Not when he looked so broken, so lost. “Tell me you’re here. That you’re not leaving.”

His hands, which had become invisible chains, encircled you more and more, each movement making him more present, more indispensable. The warmth of his body, the strength of his desire, the pressure of his hands paralyzed you, but at the same time, a strange peace invaded you. A gentle resignation, as if you were agreeing to let yourself be engulfed by the inner storm that raged inside him, inside you. It was a fragile moment, suspended between two worlds, where you stopped fighting against the intensity of the moment.

“I’m here,” you whispered, your voice trembling, a breath almost inaudible, but infinitely sincere. “I’m not leaving, Sunghoon.”

At these words, you felt his body relax slightly against yours, as if, for a fleeting moment, he had found a semblance of peace in the warmth of your embrace. But this peace, you knew, was only a fragile illusion, ready to dissipate at the slightest tension. He held you against him with such force that it was almost suffocating, as if his body was trying to merge with yours, to erase all the distances between you. Sunghoon needed you, more than you could imagine, and this urgency in his gestures struck you right in the heart. He feared, you saw it in every movement, that you would disappear, that all this was only an ephemeral dream ready to shatter in an instant. His lips, until now barely brushing your skin, finally slid against your neck, slowly, like a burning caress, tracing a fiery line from your ear to your shoulder. It wasn't a simple kiss or a touch: it was a mark. A silent but definitive marking.

“You belong to me,” he whispered against your skin, his voice husky, haunting, filled with an icy certainty that sent shivers down your spine. Every word was heavy with meaning, every syllable filled with a consuming conviction. “And I won’t let you go. Ever.”

There was a force in his words that almost crushed you. The finality, the inflexibility of what he was saying, held you in an invisible grip. It was a statement, a promise. And you knew that he wasn't just talking about you as a person, but about this obsession that consumed him, this need to keep you close to him, against him. A part of you, probably the most lucid, rebelled against the idea of ​​this bond so implacable, so possessive. But another part of you, deeper, more vulnerable, was fascinated by the raw force of his desire, by the intensity with which he seemed to implore you without a word, without the slightest confession. It was terrifying, you knew it. But it captivated you just as much.

His hands moved up your back, caressing the skin of your body with an unbearable slowness. Each movement seemed both calm and desperate, as if he was trying not to lose everything every second. You felt the warmth of his palms, the urgency in his gestures that nevertheless lingered on each curve, on each small detail of your skin. When he buried his face in the hollow of your neck, you shuddered under the intensity of his hot breath that brushed your skin with an almost painful tenderness. The smell of his perfume, mixed with that of sweat, desire and adrenaline, invaded the air around you, intoxicating each of your senses, making you insensitive to the rest of the world. The air was thick, charged with this palpable energy that seemed to surround you, to impregnate you. You could feel the tension in his muscles, his inner struggle not to give in to the madness that devoured him.

You knew that his desire, his need for you, was not simple. It was not only fueled by attraction, by a shared passion. No, it was more complex, more terrifying. His desire was fueled by anger, by a pain that he could not tame. He carried within him a dull rage, an inner violence that he tried to control, but which, with each contact, seemed to intensify, to burst with a devastating force. It was this internal fight, this struggle between pain and passion, between light and darkness, that paralyzed you and fascinated you at the same time. It was this part of Sunghoon, this dark part that he could not control, that left you breathless.

Sunghoon pulled you even closer, if that was possible, his body pressed against yours with such force that you could feel every beat of his heart, every gasping breath he took, as if his lungs and yours were trying to intertwine, to merge into one rhythm. The intensity of this moment was almost unbearable, overwhelming, each second stretching out, weighing on you like a metal bell, forcing you to feel every movement, every breath. You could feel the adrenaline pulsing through your veins, urging you to answer his call, to surrender to this heat, to this irresistible desire that was rising inside you, relentless.

In this whirlwind of conflicting emotions, a part of you felt guilty, frightened by the way you gave yourself over to him, by the ease with which you let yourself be carried away in this whirlwind. The guilt rose in you like a swell ready to submerge you. But it quickly drowned under the immensity of desire, under the passion that united you. His hands slid along your body with a devastating certainty, as if he needed to possess you, to mark every inch of your skin so that there would be no more doubt: you were his. Not only physically, but also spiritually. Each shiver he caused in you was delicious and disturbing at the same time. It was a mixture of pleasure and fear, an unstable balance that you were content to live, blinded by the intensity of the moment.

Sunghoon, you knew, was a broken man, and that came at a price. You had seen it, you had felt it in every gesture, in every word. He was not whole, he was fractured, torn apart by something bigger than him. And you were there, caught in this tornado, unable to detach yourself from it. But in his eyes, in this glow that cut through the mist of his suffering, you also perceived something else. A glimmer of hope, a quest for redemption that he could not even recognize, even to himself. It was this glow, fragile, uncertain, that still held you back. Because despite everything that was chaotic and broken between you, you perceived this part of him that was looking for something more, something better. And in this inner struggle, you could not help but lose yourself a little more each day.

The beating of his heart echoed against your chest, and in this strange suspension of time, you felt a tremor of apprehension that mixed with a burning desire. This was no longer simply a moment between you, but a boundary crossed, a point of no return that changed everything. The future stretched out before you, uncertain and threatening, but the reality of what you shared there, in this unsettling proximity, was undeniable, brutal and strangely beautiful in its dark depth.

“Let me use you, Y/n… I need it.” His voice rose, soft but charged with an unfathomable urgency, each word vibrating with that irrepressible need. There was a gravity in his whisper, as if his voice itself carried the weight of his darkest desires. Sunghoon’s lips brushed your delicate skin, sliding with a burning slowness, each brush sending electric shocks through your body. The heat of his breath against your neck made you shiver, a visceral desire that rose, more and more insistent, more and more relentless. He nipped at your skin with a possessive gentleness, leaving hot and marked marks, each touch igniting a flame in your belly, a flame that seemed to engulf everything else.

Your heart raced, your breath shortened as you slid a hand around his back, pressing him against you with an irresistible force. Your body reacted uncontrollably to this call, to this shared desire that made everything around you waver. Nodding slowly, you felt the tension in his gaze, this gleam that lit up in his pupils, as wild as it was possessive, promising a night without restraint, an unbridled pleasure where you were both the object and the center of everything he desired. His eyes, inflamed by an older, deeper thirst, shone with a primal need that you could not ignore, an emotion that went far beyond physical attraction.

In a fluid but determined movement, he lifted you up, as if you were nothing but a breath, suspended for a moment, his powerful body tightening around yours with an authority that made you shiver. His arms closed around you with the firmness of a man who knew exactly what he wanted, what he needed. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pressing yourself against him, and you felt the warmth of his skin against yours, every muscle tense, every heartbeat like an echo of your own. The anticipation rose with every step he took towards your room, every movement of his body bringing you closer to irreversibility, as if everything that was about to happen was written in the air between you. The air was saturated with desire, with that palpable energy, every second pushing you to want even more of him.

When he laid you down on the bed, the mattress felt like both a refuge and an invitation to lose yourself. The feel of the blanket under your back was comforting and electrifying at the same time, a promise to release all resistance, to dive into this sea of ​​confused but irresistible emotions. Sunghoon, above you, positioned himself with a quiet dominance, and you couldn't help but be struck by the intensity of his presence, both intoxicating and terrifying. It was a force that stunned and attracted you, a magnetism that left you vulnerable, but at the same time, ready to give yourself entirely. You could feel your entire body tense under him, the warmth of his body close to yours as a constant reminder of what was happening here.

Your gaze locked with his, a storm of conflicting thoughts. There was a burning passion in his eyes that pierced you, as if he were trying to pierce the deepest layers of your being. Every beat of your heart resonated within you, every breath shorter than the last. When he kissed your cheek, his lips brushed your skin with a burning heat, a sensation that traced a shiver down your spine. It was a possessive sweetness, a gesture both tender and full of promise, but also of an implacable certainty. He was marking you, not just physically, but in everything you felt, everything you were.

You could feel the struggle inside him, that strange mix of desire, anger, and an overwhelming need to keep you close. His gestures were both urgent and disconcertingly gentle, as if he wanted to reassure himself that you were there, that you weren't going to disappear. But in that tension, you could also sense something even deeper, a fragility he was hiding, an old wound he didn't know how to heal. And despite the confusion, despite the fear that was growing deep inside you, you let yourself be carried away by this storm.

His hands moved forward slowly, almost with palpable impatience, searching for the fabric of your top as if he couldn’t wait to discover what was hidden underneath. When he touched the fabric, he seemed to hesitate for a moment, enjoying the contact before slowly sliding it over your skin. His fingers were cold, but the shiver they triggered wasn’t due to the coldness. Sunghoon brushed your skin delicately, and with each touch, a soft sigh of desire mingled with the growing tension between you. When he removed your top, he did so with calculated slowness, taking his time to reveal your bare skin to the dim light of the room, each movement imbued with power and control. His gaze intensified, scrutinizing every curve of your body with an almost palpable obsession. He kept devouring you with his eyes, as if the sight of your bare skin was the only thing that existed anymore. Every inch of your body seemed to attract him even more, like prey that he was slowly savoring.

Sunghoon pulled away from you for a moment, but it was only to get closer, sliding slowly down. His tongue, hot and wet, grazed your skin, tracing burning lines on your stomach, each gesture gentle but determined. The feeling of his tongue sliding over you made you shiver, a wave of heat took hold of your body, a quivering anticipation overwhelmed you. He seemed to taste every moment, every bit of your skin, as if he wanted to lose himself in this sensation for eternity. He went even lower, and the slowness of his movements drove you crazy with impatience, each movement stretching, accentuating the unbearable desire that was rising in you.

When he pulled off your sweatpants, his slowness was almost unbearable. You were completely exposed to him now, every inch of your body offered to his hungry gaze. The tension in the air was palpable, almost electric, as if every breath, every movement, was charged with a desire that was just waiting to explode. He didn't take his eyes off you, his dark pupils fixed on you, and you could feel an almost possessive devotion emanating from him. He looked at you as if he was marking you, as if you were becoming his definitively with each passing second.

Sunghoon pulled away briefly before positioning himself behind you. A shiver of anticipation ran through your body as he turned you around abruptly, forcing you onto all fours, your hands quivering against the bed. This position, more vulnerable than ever, brought out in you a total submission, but also a strange feeling of control, as if you were offering everything you were, and he was the one who decided the moment, the pace. He placed a firm hand on your hips, immobilizing you for a moment before hitting your buttocks with a sharp blow. The sound of the impact resonated in the room, powerful, like a signature of authority. The pain was sharp, but it immediately mixed with an intense pleasure, a heat that invaded every part of your body. A cry escaped your lips, almost involuntary, a sound of pain and pleasure mixed together, a symphony of sensations that you could no longer distinguish.

He struck again, and this time, you lost yourself in the sweet pain, each impact a shock that made your senses vibrate. His nails dug into your skin, marking your flesh with a deep imprint, as if he were claiming you in the most primal way. There was no more room for thought, just a whirlwind of raw sensations that invaded your mind. His blows were more intense, deeper, each gesture a proof of his total control, but also an invitation to abandon yourself to him. You felt your body tense under him, ready to respond to every impulse, every gesture from him.

An involuntary moan escaped your throat, and he followed it with a low, almost mocking laugh before whispering, his voice husky and full of desire, “You’re so wet for me, princess… you’ve wanted my cock for a long time, haven’t you?” His voice was soft, almost bittersweet, and every word he spoke seemed to penetrate your mind, slipping into your deepest thoughts. His eyes never left your body, he watched with almost clinical attention the way your arousal slowly slid down your thigh, the liquid becoming an obvious mark of your desire. 

“Sunghoon… take me, don’t keep me waiting,” you whispered, your voice broken, trembling, an almost desperate plea escaping your lips. Each syllable was a torture of impatience and uncontrollable desire. You heard his laughter echo through the room, a promise of imminent pleasure, a warning too, a signal that the moment had finally come. The sound of his clothes being torn made you shiver, each movement increasing the anticipation that consumed you. When he finally placed the tip of his desire against your intimacy, a shiver of excitement ran through you, making you aware of every sensation, every moment that preceded the explosion of desire.

“I’m not going to be gentle, princess,” he growled, and in one brutal motion, he thrust into you, letting his cock sink deep, like a devastating wave. The pain was intense, a brutal shock that left you speechless for a moment. But it quickly transformed into a searing ecstasy, a pleasure that unfolded with every movement, every thrust. The world seemed to shrink at the sensation, your body tensing, folding around him, struggling to match his relentless pace. You felt your stomach and your innermost core buckle under the impact, each thrust pushing him deeper into you, until you were one with him, a single entity. 

You moaned, lost in the fusion of sensations, a cry escaping from your throat with each movement, with each thrust. Sunghoon held on tightly to you, his hands digging into your skin, the rhythm of his movements becoming more powerful, more relentless, until you lost all sense of time, letting yourself be carried away by this wave of ecstasy and pain. 

His nails dug into your flesh as you desperately clung to the sheets of the bed, your breathing erratic, almost desperate. Every movement of his body against yours caused a whirlwind of emotions, and you felt yourself losing yourself in the warmth of his embrace. His pace was relentless, almost wild, each thrust making you cry out in pleasure, each impact bringing you closer to the edge of ecstasy. The room was filled with the sounds of skin against skin, moans and panting breaths, a chaotic melody of unquenchable desire that consumed you both.

Sunghoon leaned down, his tongue grazing your skin, tracing hot lines on your back, each movement both gentle and devastating. His breath was hot and heavy against your skin, each moan you let out giving him more power over you, intensifying his already voracious desire. He pushed even deeper, each thrust piercing you, making you lose all sense of reality, almost making you drunk. The room became a world of its own, a sanctuary of passion where every shudder of his body against yours became a declaration of his desire.

Each thrust seemed to resonate through every fiber of your being, sending you into a spiral of ecstasy. You felt like you were burning from the inside out, eager to explode, to reach that apotheosis that seemed so close and yet so far away. His pace became frantic, a wild dance between pain and pleasure as you clutched at the sheets, your voice echoing in the darkness, a mixture of pleas and cries of pleasure.

“I want more of you, princess.” Sunghoon moaned, his voice husky and eager, vibrating through the air thick with palpable tension. The way he said the words consumed you, each syllable resonating like a drum to the frantic rhythm of your heart. There was a promise of all-consuming pleasure in his tone, one you yearned for. His burning gaze lingered on you, a flame in his eyes that stirred buried instincts.

He grabbed your hair in a firm grip, his fingers digging into your locks with a force that was both sweet pain and delectable submission. The back of your skull flexed slightly under the pressure, plunging you into a state of exhilarating vulnerability. The pain on your scalp stirred a delicious resonance within you, an anticipation that made you shiver with desire. The sensations mingled, and you knew you were about to be swept away into his world.

A strangled cry escapes your lips, a sound you can’t control as he arches your back, lifting your body to offer you entirely to him. The tension in the air is electrifying, a static charge that makes you feel alive. You feel the overwhelming heat of his body close to yours, his firm, powerful muscles pressed against your skin, making you aware of every inch of his surface. He leans closer, his hot breath caressing your neck, sending shivers through your being. “Moan louder for me,” he whispers, each word stimulating your soul, a command you’re ready to follow.

His voice, soft and commanding, envelops you, awakening a primal need in you, a need to abandon all barriers. “I want to hear everything… I want to know how good I make you feel.” His demand, both possessive and greedy, resonates in your mind like an intoxicating melody. The way he looks at you, with a mixture of pain and love, makes you shiver, aware of your role and your place in this obscene exchange.

You are overwhelmed by this need to please him, to be his object of desire. He lets his tongue slide slowly over the sweat that beads on your skin, each caress causing a shiver of pleasure. His delicate gestures contrast with the brutality of his intentions, a dance between gentleness and violence that slowly consumes you. The sensation of his tongue on your skin is both soothing and exhilarating, like a burning fire that spreads through your body, burning every fiber of your being. Each movement is loaded with obscene promises, and you feel your heart beating wildly, excitement and fear merging into a unique melody of ecstasy.

He begins to suckle at your skin, nibbling gently but with an intensity that makes you shudder in anticipation. His lips, hot and eager, slide down your body, awakening torrid sensations that spread from your neck to your spine. With each movement, he sinks deeper into you, your heat enveloping him, making you moan louder. Those moans, an exquisite mix of pleasure and pain, turn into a primal scream, a scream that testifies to your total surrender to his unbridled desires. It’s an instinctive reaction, a response to the wild nature of what’s unfolding between you.

His fingers grip your hair, tugging harder to pull your face towards him, forcing your gaze to meet his. You’re at his mercy, completely submissive to his desire, and that vulnerability excites you in a way you’ve never experienced before. Every breath feels heavier, every beat of your heart echoing like a war drum in the tense air. Sunghoon’s lips slide down to your neck, nibbling with delicious precision, and you swallow slowly, shivering under his touch. A mixture of excitement and fear pulses through your veins, like a sweet, addictive drug.

He intensifies his movements, spreading your walls, reaching depths you didn't even know were possible. The feeling of his manhood swelling inside you is breathtaking, an explosion of sensations that plunges you into a world where only his body exists. The stars dance before your eyes, a dazzling glow, accompanying your moans of pleasure and anguish. Each blow resonates inside you like a shockwave, pushing you further into the abyss of ecstasy, each impact vibrating the strings of your desire.

“Sunghoon… oh my God! You fuck me so good!” You cry out, your voice a mixture of pleasure and desperation, each syllable a confession of your total surrender. Tears stream down your cheeks, testifying to the intensity of your sensations, a mixture of delicious pain and immeasurable pleasure. You feel both freed and trapped in this whirlwind of emotions, a contradiction within you that you cannot ignore. He pushes you roughly onto the bed, withdrawing from you for a moment, leaving a painful void that makes you moan at the loss of this essential connection. This withdrawal, far from being a punishment, reminds you of the depth of your desire for him, a depth that you had never dared to imagine.

“Don’t stop… please.” Your voice trembles, weak and cracked, the plea evident in every word. You lean into him, desperate to regain his touch, pressing your ass against his hardness. But he pushes you back slightly, a defiant smile on his lips, a smirk that expresses the complete control he exerts over you. This power play, this dynamic between you, excites you in ways you never thought possible, a dangerous dance on the edge of the abyss.

“You’re such a slut to me, Y/n.” His voice is full of delight, each word sliding over your skin like a caress, as the smack of your ass echoes through the room as he hits you. The blow, though painful, is tinged with a voluptuousness that you can’t ignore. The burning pleasure of this humiliation makes you moan, and when his manhood enters you again, a cry of bliss passes your lips. Your body arches, welcoming this intrusion with greed, every fiber of your being resonating in unison with his desire, a desire that consumes you.

He presses your head into the pillows with one hand, pinning your face, while the other slides under your stomach, pulling you up slightly. The movements start slowly, each stroke a mixture of gentle and brutal, a hypnotic rhythm that seems to resonate in every fiber of your being. Your moans are muffled by the mattress as he pushes your head deeper and deeper into the bed, making you lose all sense of time and reality. The outside world disappears, leaving only the intensity of this shared moment, the fusion of your bodies like a sacred dance, a communion in pain and pleasure.

“I’ll never stop,” he declares with a savage determination, a promise of submission and power. The blows grow more powerful, each impact resonating in your flesh like a violent melody, a symphony of pain and pleasure. His nails dig into the tender flesh of your stomach, marking your body with his imprint, each pressure making you moan louder, like a war chant. The pain becomes a caress, and you know you’re at his mercy, each sensation intensifying the obscene bond between you.

You tighten around him, your body pulsing with every movement, each thrust making him sink deeper into you. “Fuck, you’re clenching tighter around me, princess,” he says, increasing his pressure on your stomach, making you feel every inch of his manhood. The thrusts become more intense, each movement pushing you to the edge of ecstasy.

The pace becomes frantic, every movement of his body against yours a declaration of power and possession. You feel your body react, contorting around him, and a cry of pleasure escapes your lips as you reach the limits of your own pain and pleasure, lost in an ocean of sensations. Each wave overwhelms you until you can no longer distinguish where pleasure begins and pain ends. In this trance, you are both the witness and the protagonist of this torrid encounter, aware of the ecstasy that builds with each second.

Your mind drifts, each blow transporting you further into oblivion, a whirlwind of pleasure and pain that drags you to a point of no return. The walls of the room blur, the outside world fades away, leaving only him and you, bound by this obscene and passionate bond. Each second becomes an eternity, a dance where you are both the dancer and the puppet, entirely at his mercy.

Breathless, you feel the orgasm looming on the horizon, a storm of sensations that threatens to engulf you. Every movement, every thrust brings you a little closer to this explosive denouement, a release of all the accumulated tensions. Your body is on fire, consumed by desire, and as the orgasm approaches, you know you are ready to let yourself be carried away, to dive into this abyss of pleasure and pain that he has created for you.

In a final thrust, as the pressure reaches its peak, your body arches, and you scream his name, a cry that mixes pain and bliss. It's a primal scream, a total release, and in that moment, you know you are truly his, entirely, without reserve. The wave of pleasure carries you away, submerges you, and in this sea of ​​sensations, you finally find peace, a fragile balance between love, pain, and pleasure.

Sunghoon doesn’t slow his pace, even after the orgasm has rocked your body, leaving you panting, your breathing erratic and panting. His movements are brutal, filled with a savage intensity that vibrates every fiber of your being. He continues to bury your head into the pillows, plunging you into a damp darkness where only the sound of his hips slapping against your ass resonates. This sound is the echo of his power, a primal rhythm that resonates in your flesh, awakening an animal desire that engulfs you.

His fingers, large and powerful, explore your stomach, slowly descending towards your waist which he grips with force, as if he wanted to anchor you in this carnal reality that he imposes. The heat of his hand on your skin is both a caress and a threat. You feel the fire spreading under his fingers, an insatiable desire that consumes you. Your stomach contracts under his hand, each movement of his body reminding you that you are completely his, that you belong to him absolutely.

A guttural growl escapes his throat, an expression of bestial pleasure that intensifies with each thrust. He thrusts into you with such vigor that pain mixes with pleasure, each stroke making you gasp, your body arching involuntarily to accommodate him deeper. Each thrust is a mix of force and sensuality, a wild dance between submission and power. You are aware of every fiber of your body, the tingles that run through your skin, the adrenaline that pulses through your veins. The sheets of the bed are pulled back in a chaotic mess, testifying to the intensity of his assaults, and you feel yourself sucked into the mattress with each impact, as if you become an integral part of this space, an extension of his desire.

When his come washes over you, it’s like a surge of heat and dominance. His heavy body collapses onto yours, his muscles pressing against your back, holding you firmly against him. You feel the heat of his breath sliding down your neck, mingling with the sweat that beads on your skin. The contact makes you shiver, each breath punctuated by moans of satisfaction. You realize that you’re seeking this warmth, this connection, this feeling of fullness that only he can give you.

Sunghoon pulls out slowly, his manhood sliding out of you with a wet sound, before turning you around with disconcerting speed, placing you in front of him like a puppet at his mercy. The intimacy of this position makes you feel a mixture of vulnerability and arousal, a palpable tension vibrating in the air between you. You feel the mixture of your fluids escaping your body, a tangible reminder of the heat of your embrace. Sunghoon grips your jaw in his hands, his fingers squeezing your skin with undeniable possessiveness. He wants to make sure you belong to him, that you are fully aware of his hold on you.

His eyes bore into yours, brimming with a darkness that made you tremble. Their depth was both hypnotic and threatening, an abyss where you could lose yourself. He stepped closer, his mouth brushing yours, his warm, luscious lips promising you something intense, something delicious. When his warm, wet tongue slid over your lips, a wave of desire washed over you, a promise of what was to come.

You open your mouth, inviting him in, thirsty for what he has to offer. His tongue wraps around yours with delicious fervor, exploring every corner of your mouth. The movements of his tongue are both dominating and tender, creating a perfect blend of power and sensuality. He explores your mouth with expert mastery, his gestures becoming more and more demanding, as if he wants to take you into a hypnotic dance.

His tongue slides against yours, finding its way into every nook and cranny, creating a connection that transcends a simple kiss. He begins to suck tenderly at your flesh, his teeth delicately grazing your lips, adding a new dimension to what he’s doing to you. The sensations intensify; each pull, each squeeze makes you moan quietly, a melody of need and pleasure rising between you. The taste of him and the two of you mingled explodes on your tongue, a fusion that awakens deeply buried instincts.

His lips are warm and soft, but also possessive, marking their territory on your flesh. With each movement, you feel the desire intensify, making you capsize in an ocean of sensations. His kisses become a clash, a dance between softness and brutality. He deepens his hold on you, encouraging you to submit to this shared desire, to embrace this connection both tender and wild.

Your breaths sync up, clash and mingle, as the passion intensifies. You are trapped in this kiss, aware of how its power consumes you. You know you are his, body and soul, ready to explore the limits of this all-consuming desire. Every movement, every exchange of breath between you seems to create a stronger bond, as if every caress, every sigh, attaches you a little more to him.

Sunghoon pulls away from your lips, gently tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth, a gesture that is both possessive and hungry. The moment is charged with tension, a mixture of pain and pleasure that makes you moan under your breath, your breath hitching under the intensity of his gaze. “You’re making me lose control,” he murmurs, his voice husky and eager, like a predator intoxicated by its prey. As he lies on his back, he pulls you against him, and you let him, bending to his authority.

Your body presses against his, his warmth enveloping you. His hands slide down your back, tracing familiar patterns on your damp skin, and each touch sends shivers down your spine. You moan softly, breath coming out of your chest as you sink into the crook of his neck, feeling his musky scent mix with the sweat that beads on his skin. He shudders beneath your lips, his muscles contracting as your soft, wet kisses trail over his flesh.

“Then let yourself go,” you whisper, your voice almost a breath, kissing the pulse throbbing against his neck. The softness of your lips against his marble-hard skin contrasts with the rawness of his desire. He tightens his hold on you, his hand sliding authoritatively along your waist, moving to your hips, an insistent pressure that makes you feel his burning need. His fingers dig into your flesh, leaving a visible mark of his possessive hold, an affirmation of your submission to his desire.

“What if you can’t handle it?” he asks, his voice soft, but there’s an underlying intensity in his words. He’s worried, and that vulnerability touches you. You can see the internal struggle in his eyes, that irrational fear that you’ll one day pull away, that you’ll discover the depth of his inner demons and no longer be able to handle the truth of who he is. He’s broken, and despite his strong exterior, he’s walking a fine line between passion and despair.

You’re here, in his arms, and you know that you’re not just a simple object of desire for him. You’re his anchor, the one that ties him to reality. “I’m here,” you assure him, your hand slipping into his hair, tugging lightly to get his attention. Your gaze sinks into his, and in this silent exchange, you transmit the strength he needs. Sunghoon must know that you won’t leave him, even when his fears take shape in the darkness.

His hand, soft but firm, slides along your body, getting lost in the curve of your hips, then slowly rising to brush your waist. Each touch is electrifying, awakening sensations in your heart. Sunghoon approaches, his lips brushing the skin of your neck, his kisses becoming more insistent, more urgent. He consumes you, and you let yourself go to this euphoria, intoxicated by his tongue on your skin.

“You’re all I need,” he says with heartbreaking intensity, his breath hot against your skin. His voice echoes like a desperate plea, a heartfelt cry that carries through the dark room. He begins to explore your body, his hands running over your skin, discovering every inch with a thoroughness that leaves you panting. His caresses become more urgent, and you can feel the tension rising between you, a fragile thread ready to snap.

As you let yourself be lulled by the warmth of his caresses, a new wave of desire blossoms deep within you, spreading through every fiber of your body. Sunghoon's fingers travel down your spine, tracing a line of fire across your sensitive skin. Every pressure of his hands, every movement of his fingers, is a silent promise, a whisper through your body. You arch your back instinctively, offering yourself fully to him, as if your body already understands that it exists only to belong to him.

Sunghoon descends slowly, his lips brushing every inch of your skin, tracing a burning path that makes you shiver. Each kiss is a soft burn, an invisible mark he places on you to remind you that you belong to him. His teeth graze the skin of your stomach, creating a light bite that makes you gasp, and he watches each of your shudders, each of your sighs, with an almost animal intensity, as if he savors each reaction, each emotion that bursts within you.

When he reaches your pelvis, he pauses for a moment, his fingers firmly on your hips, preventing you from moving. You feel vulnerable, offered, but there is in this vulnerability a promise of safety, as if, in this moment, he is ready to devour you while protecting you in the same breath. His lips brush your stomach one last time before he looks up at you, and in that dark gaze, you perceive a passion that takes your breath away.

Sunghoon begins to kiss you with an almost unsettling gentleness, his lips exploring your skin with a thoroughness that makes you shudder. His kisses are deep and passionate, each movement of his mouth on you resonating like an intimate caress, a gesture of pure possession. You feel your body react, your muscles tensing under the effect of this intense desire that consumes you. He murmurs inaudible words against your skin, as if he wanted to anchor himself in you, to engrave himself in your soul.

His hands slide along your thighs, and you feel his warm breath descend slowly. Each caress is calculated, controlled, as if he took pleasure in prolonging each second, in savoring each shiver that runs through your body. And while he explores your flesh with this intoxicating thoroughness, you lose all control, abandoning yourself completely to this whirlwind of sensations that overwhelms you.

As he holds you tightly, his hand tightens on your thigh with intense possessiveness. “You know you belong to me, right?” His voice, low and raspy, resonates in the thick air of the room, seeping into every corner of your being. You nod, unable to respond otherwise, captivated by this declaration that seems to seal your bond.

“Say it,” he demands, his fingers digging into your flesh, marking his presence, asserting his hold.

“I belong to you,” you whisper in a wavering voice, each word carrying the brutal truth. “Body and soul, I am yours.”

Taglist : @heeknow @moonpri

©️devotedlypinkpeanut, do not copy, translate or repost any of my works.

[mythratica]

what is the wadju principle I'm losing my mind trying to figure this out. a moral stance on food reviewing??? help

in khemite hekatic practice the original principle is the ahtet, formless and undifferentiated, all-encompassing and unrealised. it has no shape, no colour, no centre and no boundary (or it might be better to say it possesses all forms simultaneously, which is much the same).

because of this, to make use of the ahtet it must first be given definition. this is accomplished through division, the primary act of creation (one may witness such an act by watching newly cut grain be threshed into stalk and seed). while the ahtet may be divided infinitely, the first division is always into the green and red principles, wadju and desha.

desha is hot, dry, energetic, disordered, and protean. it is associated primarily with the desert and the planting season. wadju is cool, wet, stable, and still; it is associated with the river and the flooding season. wadju tames desha and turns it towards productive ends through ordering and directing its energies; this is the growing season. the khemite people also consider these to be the masculine and feminine principles. khemut is matriarchal- the purpose of men, whose natures are energetic but disorderly is to be directed by women, whose natures are logical, patient and orderly. communion of the red and green principles is the purpose of marriage. the reunification of wadju and desha, true synthesis into the black principle, is called rekati and is the sole province of the empress.

wadju is understood to be primarily cultivated in the womb, while desha is primarily cultivated in the testes, though men and women are known to contain a measure of both red and green in different balances (children are considered to be of formless ahtet-principle until they reach puberty). one may alter the balance of their principles through dedicated spiritual practice, a correct diet, and certain medicines; this is an important component of medicine as imbalanced principles are a primary source of illness. indeed, if one were dedicated enough to this practice, they could entirely alter the balance of their internal principles so that the green principle is predominant in their body where red once was, or vice-versa. one might even use such techniques to alter the physical traits of the body- such is the basis of hekatic internal alchemy, after all.

therefore, to cultivate the wadju principle is to practice internal alchemy to grow one's feminine force. it has nothing to do with the food review app. theres only so many combinations of letters and sounds okay (there are certain practitioners, most notoriously the priestesses of dust, who will tell you that since the red and green principles are divided from an infinite principle they contain equal infinities and have no innate traits; that the masculine and feminine are contained in equal quantities in both desha and wadju and either could be used to accomplish any end or alter one's self in any way. this is obvious nonsense, contrary to mahat and should be disregarded.)

[xjulixred45x]

I know I have to work on the requests, but I have to get this out of my head because now I have a rediscovered love for Invincible, bear with it.

(SOMETHING LIKE A CONTINUATION OF THIS)

SOME SITUATIONS WITH YANDERE AU MARK GRAYSON/INVINCIBLE

okay, I can definitely see that you two were a couple or at least liked each other before everything went to hell.

and although you were fine with Mark at that time, when he was being convinced to join the Viltrum empire, he was somewhat seeking your approval. although using very vague assumptions, such as "would you accept an alien race if it meant world peace?" "or if that would help with the development of medicine?" You know, like what Nolan wanted to do at the beginning with Mark. and obviously since you didn't have the context you said yes without hesitation, further fueling Mark's crazy ideas.

I may not have made it very clear in the first part, but you and Nolan definitely don't get along. I mean, he's nice to you in a way, but he treats you like a little kid who needs discipline, so he tries to push Mark into that. Not only that, but you also indirectly blame him for the sudden change in Mark's personality, you know that if Nolan hadn't gotten him into that shit, he wouldn't have so much blood on his hands. The Mark you knew wasn't like that. HE WASNT.

The main reason this Mark doesn't feel angry because of your traditional escape attempts or why he's so soft is because of something our Invincible doesn't usually have, and that's his ARROGANCE. This Mark does not believe that you are capable of running away from him, you are not capable of defending yourself from him, you are not capable of harming him and above all you are not capable of HATE HIM, because he sees you as a soft creature, who should be treated as such because you are confused.

He is delusional, SpongeBob and Squidward level of Delusional. You could perfectly tell him that you hate him, that he's the worst thing that happened to you in your life... and he thinks it's reverse psychology.

"fuck you"

"Is that an invitation?😚"

"I hate you"

"I love you too babe🥰"

"If we were trapped on a desert island I wouldn't hesitate for a second to make a raft with your limbs"

"Silly you, I would take you out flying😘"

Do you see what I'm saying? For the same reason, if you end up hurting him, he would be proud that now you can definitely defend yourself from the Revolutionaries who "kidnap you every now and then" (it's you on the run). dang it, if you hurt him probably even NOLAN would compliment you for doing it despite being "so weak" and would completely approve of you.

(I can already imagine you with a wedding dress and a bouquet of knives...you want to throw it at Mark...in the face)

I think the most Mark does to scare you into escape scenarios is to threaten to throw you and not catch you next time, that's the best he goes. He can't stand the idea of leaving you paralyzed because it would be very boring and sad to see only a shell of you.

He wouldn't kill Eve, but he would never hurt you...physically. Did you see that in the end in their universe they manage to imprison him and get rid of Omniman? you totally didn't let go of Fem! Cecil(Cecilia?) all the way to her base and thanking her with all your heart and tears. Cecilia comforted you awkwardly, but she understood that you must have definitely had a hard time with Mark.

Meanwhile, with Mark already locked up, even if the world is a bit messed up, you can breathe easy for the first time in years, you can leave the base without fear of what happens to the people around you, you can eat without a problem, you can CHAT with people! it's magic! It's like you don't even remember anything before Mark! out of pure fear!

Meanwhile, Mark in prison always asks about you AT LEAST once a day, even if they give him proof that you are WELL and HEALTHY, he just doesn't believe it and DEMANDS to see you to prove it, which they obviously deny him and only makes him think that even more. The guy thinks you must be dying of hunger and cold or being eaten by collotes while you live your best life🤣

"MY POOR BABE! She must be so confused and scared without me! How do I know they're not torturing her for information!? She must be so worried because we're not getting home!" and it goes on and on... meanwhile Darling: "happy~ happy~happy~" "OHHHOOOhhOO, I'M SO FUCKING HAPPY!"

For now that's all. I hope the Viltrum empire doesn't come to shit on Darling's happiness☠️

[justbelievinginmagic]

ariadne's thread ⎯ pt. 12: forgotten.

pairing(s): hyunjin x fem!reader, ft some jeongin x reader. series summary: when tempted by an intoxicating offer by hyunjin the goblin king of the underground, you fight against him to find your own sense of self once more while in his labyrinth. glimpse: you awaken in your childhood-home bedroom. with strange desert sand in your shoes and wounds decorating your body, you wonder what exactly happened to you and why couldn't you remember anything? warnings/tags: inspired by the 1986' movie Labyrinth, follows majority of the movie's plot points with lore divergence, 3rd person POV, use of Y/N, mature, suggestive adult content, faerie lore, fear, world-building, explicit language, canon-typical violence, toxic relationship, uneven power dynamics, manipulation, magic usage, brainwashing?, body horror (not super descriptive), blood, one-sided affection, obsession, memory loss, lots of physical affection/touching, fire, injuries, let me know if there are any other tags needed. word count: 12.4k previous chapter <- -> next chapter series masterlist

Her eyes fluttered as she awoke, peering up at the ceiling. Her back ached for a moment, and Y/N couldn’t stop the groan that escaped her. Turning over, her face buried into a pillow. Her pillow that smelled of home, like warm linen from a tumble in the drying machine, like her favorite detergent from the local grocery store. Huffing, she moved to rub her back with one hand awkwardly. Digging into her muscles, she groaned. The work shift yesterday really must’ve tweaked her back; it radiated with an aching pain. She’d have to get some medicine. Which meant getting out of bed. Ugh.

Blinking, she finally pulled herself out of her lethargy enough to take in the sight of her room. Her bedroom’s bedside light was on, gleaming a soft-yellow orange glow from a too-old light-bulb. She had fallen asleep on top of her duvet apparently with her shoes still on. God, how tired was she yesterday? She usually does better. Eyes bleary and half-shut, unseeing, she moved and shifted to sit up. Y/N gritted her teeth as she hoisted herself onto the edge of her bed. Toeing her shoes off, she sat for a moment, head flung back as she tried to pry herself from sleep’s embrace.

Her feet hurt, too… and were those grains of sand in between her toes? Wiggling her toes, the sand fell aside, landing on the floor. Her head shifted to look at them. Real sand on her rug. Not just a trick of the eye or her sleep-addled brain.

Huh?

Blinking slow like a cat, she gazed over her legs. Dirt, mud, even blood coated her clothes!

What?

Her heart picked up. What was going on? She stood quickly, her bed creaking familiarly as she looked around. There was no sand on the ground; no dirtied footprints tracking on the rug in front of her bed. Her bed was barely rumpled, just the vague shape of her body on its fluffy duvet. What had she been doing before she fell asleep? Where had she been? There was no sand anywhere near her small town. Dirt, yeah, but not this sort of yellowed desert sand that sat in a mess on her carpet.

In a flash, she remembered a hazy image - when she had sat on a cobblestone floor, dumping sand from her shoe into a pile beside her. A shadow blocked out hazy light; a blonde-haired man with dimples grinned at her, hand outstretched, words on his lips – but, like déjà vu, the memory was chased away no matter how quickly she tried to grasp at it.

What was that? Who was that? Where had she been?

Why can’t she remember?

This was scary.

“Mom? Dad?” she called out instinctively, reaching for the door knob of her room.

Opening it, she was greeted with not the hallway of her childhood home, but what looked like a trash heap.

Piles of garbage, of old things, and of rotting things were in large stacks under a hazy orange sunset? Fire? Light? Its glow didn’t look natural.

A squeak escaped her as she slammed the door shut. Both hands pressed against the door to keep it pressed shut. Heaving out a panicked breath, her mind raced. 

What was that?

Did she just see that?

Was she still dreaming? This was a dream, right?

That wasn’t her home. That was—she didn’t know what. A landfill? But why? HOW?

Turning, she looked around at her room. Everything was so still like it was frozen in time or from a photograph. There was no flicker of her old posters from the air conditioning. No wind pressing through her window tickled the curtains into a rustle, no air conditioner rumbled, her bedside lamp didn’t flicker. But everything was in its place, perfect as a picture.

Her vanity mirror reflected her visage back at her. A rumpled, bandaged, and still-bloodied version of herself was there. Back pressing into the door, she raised a hand to her neck where a make-shift bandage wrapped around her skin like a choker. Her neck tugged with a sting as she touched it.

She’d remember that, surely?

Her breath trembled as her gaze settled back on her door, still being pressed shut by her own shoulder. Things didn’t feel right. She didn’t feel right. Her head ached she noticed, and her mouth felt heavy and heady with a taste of something rottenly sweet. Her fingers felt sticky like she had spilt juice or soda on them.

What had happened? Something had happened; she just couldn’t remember. Her head felt heavy, sleepy like it was full of cotton. Blinking, she raised a hand to bang at her own skull as if she was an old computer chugging too slow to process information.

“C’mon, this is a dream,” she murmured. “Whatever’s behind this door… it has to be. That wasn’t real – it couldn’t be real.”

Breathing out in a huff, she gathered herself once more and reached for the door knob.

Opening it, tentatively, she peered out of the small crack she made. A somehow familiar orange-red hazy hue engulfed her gaze. The glow made the entire trash heap look aged like it was a polaroid left to rot in the sun. Nighttime felt like it was only a blink away, as if the entire exterior was trapped in a sunset’s golden hour.

But that wasn’t the only thing she noticed. No, what she saw in front of her made her eyes widen.

A goblin.

Yellow-eyed with bright red pupils. Fangs. Small downy feathers covered her face like it was fur. A pile of junk resting high on her back like some sort of severely overpacked, over-piled backpack. It looked like a turtle shell with how the lady squeezed back into it at Y/N’s shocked face.

(Y/N could hear echoes of laughter and the feeling of eyes on her own back… as if she had seen a creature like this before.)

The goblin gasped at the sight of her, but it didn’t have fear. No, it was almost excited.

“Oh, better to stay in here, dear,” she chattered as she pushed her way in.

The door slammed back into Y/N; she was surprisingly strong for such a small creature. The goblin’s voice was aged and scratchy like a record player long defunct. The clutter on her back chimed and clattered as it hit the doorframe, and some fell to the floor. Scattered remnants of dolls from long ago, paper advertisements that read ‘enlist in the military,’ and old photographs, yellow-aged and brittle, trailed after the goblin.

“Nothing out there that you want, trust me!” she added with disdain before turning to her. “Oh, but look at you, all better, huh?”

Her attitude reminded her of a grandmother’s, a bit rough around the edges but, when geared towards her, it became kind. Sweet like those ancient coffee taffies you can only find at a grandparent’s house.

“Better?” Y/N queried carefully as she backed away from the goblin as it approached her.

Her hand wrapped around her bed’s banister as if its support could protect her. She couldn’t help her gaze from darting all over the other’s form. Dancing over her animalistic facial features – she had rows of fangs that were small and sharp, a scrunched leathered nose, and hair like a puff ball of grey yarn. The junk that tumbled over her shoulders and back towered high above her almost, crushing the goblin’s small figure. How could she walk with that? How was this possible!?

“I found you a few hours ago – you looked all bruised up and battered; don’t worry, I helped treat the wounds.”

The goblin’s words seemed kind even as she began to prowl around her bedroom, or… was it her bedroom?  How was it here? The goblin picked up her hairbrush and sniffed at it before hissing a bit and placing it back down.

Rubbing a hand across her face, Y/N tried to remember what she had been doing last. It was strange – it felt like there was a cloud over her head. Like when you wake and couldn’t shake off sleep as you got ready for the day. Groggy and slow-minded. All she could remember was running, running, and running. She was trying to get somewhere?

“Where am I?” she asked quietly.

There was a pause as the goblin sorted and hummed about this and that in her room. If she had been paying attention, she’d see that the goblin had almost inspected everything – even placing a thing or two in her pocket.

“Huh, what was that, dear?” The goblin replied as she stared at a pretty water-globe high on a shelf.

“Where am I?” Y/N repeated.

“The City of the Forgotten, of course,” she cackled out before reaching up with a spindly arm to grasp the water globe in her hand. “Pretty, pretty, pretty.”

“Hey, don’t touch that,” Y/n scolded, rushing over to grab it.

“Oh, oh, oh,” she cowered. “It’s so pretty, though. And it’s just collecting dust – we should use it, hmm?” She crooned. “Treasure should be admired, lovely!”

“It’s mine,” Y/N countered placing it back on the high shelf. “Now, you said the Forgotten City?” she clarified.

So, she wasn’t at home? Nothing made sense. And she had this aching headache pulsing behind her eyes. The goblin was already on her way somewhere else in the room, oooh-ing and aah-ing as she went.

“Please, can you listen to me?” Y/N pleaded.

“I am, I am – look at this, this is such a treasure,” she was looking at an old calendar that Y/N had placed in a drawer. It was years old by now.

“I’m trying to understand. Where is the Forgotten City?”

“It’s the City of the Forgotten and, well, it’s forgotten, dearie.” She chuckled as she flipped through the calendar before shoving it onto her back against some sticky used chewing gum.

“Please, I’m trying to find out where I am!” Y/N cried out. “I feel like I was doing something, looking for something!”

“Aren’t we all looking for something?” the junk-goblin cackled. “I found lots of things, just look closer, dearie.”

She was now going through her clothes’ drawers, pulling out this and that. “Oh, look at this,” it was a far-too old pajama shirt – something that used to be a day-shirt from an interest long past before it got stained or too stretched out. With holes and washer-softened cotton that felt soft like spider-silk. “Isn’t this darling? You haven’t worn this in ages. You know you could wear this; wait, wait, I’m sure there’s something even better.”

The goblin clawed through the drawers with vigor.

“No, no, I don’t have time…” Why didn’t she have time? It felt like something in her was tick-tick-ticking away in her heart, like she had to go, go, go. “I was going somewhere. . . I can’t remember.”

It was like it was juuuust on the tip of her tongue.

“Can’t remember what you were looking for?” the goblin crooned, pausing in her search as if she had just heard Y/N’s laments for the first time. A messy sprawled pile of clothing surrounded the little goblin in a semi-circle. “Oh, oh, oh, maybe it was to see Mister I.N. Yes, yes, Mister I.N can help you!” It was a sudden crow.

“Mister I.N?” What a strange name.

The one-eyed goblin beamed a fanged smile. “He is good with forgotten things. He will help. But first, you must look presentable – look at you, muddied and messy. He wouldn’t like that. No, no, yes, yes. This will do.”

She had tugged out something far too flashy. Her old Prom dress she realized. It was something of iridescent softness; something a sixteen-year-old who loved romance books and fantasy too much dreamt about. Her legs felt like they were tangled up as she stared at it. Y/N sat down on her bed with a plop.

“No, no,” she stared at the dress, furrowed browed. Flashes of ribbons, lace, and satin. Masked figures whirling in a blurring waltz. A kiss that engulfed her senses. She blinked, and the images were gone. Her mouth tasted of sweetness like a remnant of a candy and iron like she had bit her tongue.

“Okay, okay, what about this?” The goblin-lady presented a pair of trousers and a clean blouse.

“I-“

“Now, now, now!” The goblin chirped, pushing the items into her lap as she backed up. “Must look nice. Hurry up, dearie.”

The woman had crept back outside, shutting the door with a slam that had Y/N jumping. Her eyes blinked deliriously towards the door before she looked down at the clothes in her lap. Their soft white, clean linens could distract her for long as she spotted her injuries once more. Her hands were bandaged and, with careful fingers, she unwound the fabric to look upon half-healed injuries she didn’t remember attaining. It was frightening. How did she get so hurt in the first place? Re-wrapping it quick, she stood and looked in the mirror of her vanity. Mulch and blood stained her clothes. Pollen stuck to the ends of her hair as if she had laid in a flower field. She wiped it away only for sparkling glitter to tumble away in a flurry. On her hip, she had a collection of magical-looking gems and jewels. She lifted them up. They were heavy and precious looking. Her wrist jingled with a fake-metal charm bracelet, and her favorite ring was no longer on her hand.

What had happened?

Distress welled up in her throat as she examined the injuries she had obtained as she shimmed off the dirtied clothes and stepped into a new ensemble. Bruises decorated her skin in watercolor green-yellows-and-reds. Y/N tied the gems and jewels to her hip once more and the tinkling of the bracelet distracted her once more. Large boba eyes filled her mind as she eyed the jewels once more, but like everything here it faded into nothing but into the few large gems of amethyst on her hip. She rearranged them. YN then let her fingers brush over the plastic charms of her bracelet that jingled against the jewels. Strange…

Sitting on the floor, she slid on her shoes, after knocking the extra sand out of them. Tying them tightly, she remembered a voice chiming a bright “Annyeong!” She looked up to see a figure, shading her from the honeyed light of her room

“Ready, dearie?”

It was just the goblin lady with a wolfish grin on her feathered face.

“Aw, look at you. You look like a shiny new penny,” she complimented as she urged Y/N to her feet. “Let’s go. I’ve let him know we were coming. He’s so excited to meet you properly.”

The little creature took her by the hand and tugged her out of her bedroom into the strange world outside. A dumpsite of a world. Piles upon piles of things engulfed what looked like a desert landscape. Wicker chairs, drums, lamps, wrenches, candelabras, this and this, whoitz and whatitz galore. Every few mountainous piles, there was a creature much like the goblin lady digging through the trash, trying to find something that sparked its fancy. Like a racoon digging through a trash can. Other creatures, tall and short, all bearing their own weight in junk whether it was like the layered upon layered shell like the goblin lady or simply a draping of this-and-thats on their person, stood around burn barrels. Warming their hands, shivering. Why were they out here? Actually, now that she looked around, Y/N noticed something. There were no homes. No buildings. Where did they live? Her eyes glanced back at them.

Their eyes gleamed in the firelight as they looked up to see Y/N and the goblin lady scurrying in and around the make-shift town. Figures peered out of half-made tents of dirtied fabric; sparkling dust sprinkling down over them as they did so.

Whispers, chortles, gossips. She felt fingers, thick and grubby as well as thin and skeletal, prod at her as she passed.

“I.N will help, yes, he will, he will,” the goblin lady leading her hummed.

“She’s going to I.N,” a whisper sparked through the crowd, spreading like a wild-fire.

“What is she?” another voice graveled.

“Why does she get a room?” a small voice cricketed.

The large trash heap they approached seemed different from the others. It was huge like they all were, but more structured. In fact, as they approached it, she realized there was an organized chaos in it all. It wasn’t a pile; it was a dome! The junk stacked upon one another to form a tall structure. As they ducked under a canopy of yellowed lace, they entered the burrow of a building of sorts.

In the darken shambles of the structure, there were so. many. things. Layers upon layers of things piled up to form crowded corridors and impossible arches made of books, chairs, cups, and what not. Lost things like torn-up toys, rusted bikes, and fine jewelry alongside melting grand candles that glowed an unearthly shade of teal linked together to create the grand interior of what had looked like a small shack on the exterior. It was like nothing she had seen before, a brain-child of a hoarder’s fantasy house and an art installation.

“This way, this way,” the one-eyed goblin crooned, ducking her turtle-like back full of mismatched items to pass under an archway safely.

“Mister I.N will help you, yes, yes, he will.”

She’s muttering frantically, almost bubbling with enthusiasm. Y/N wasn’t sure how she could bounce and walk so quickly with the load on her small form. Her back must ache.

“Come on, come on, come on.”

There was no door way or grand entrance to where the man sat. It simply opened into an atrium where bright sunlight shined down into the dome, a large opening in the ceiling acting as a skylight. There was a pile of things unlike the layered arches, walls, and columns of junk. It wasn’t the mismatched lost thing, but instead fine furs that looked well loved, polished-clean silver and gold finery, silken pillows of differing colors that gleamed in the sunlight, jewels and gems and coins and pearls. Star-shines flickered about the room, casting rainbows here and there. There were clear ledges and inlets where one could sit amongst the things, little alcoves to curl up in between layered leathered goods or velveteen dresses of glamour. Despite the strangeness, there was order in the large nest with an obvious golden-coined path down to the main floor. It almost looked like a throne as she took in laid back form at the peak of the hoard. A man. He looked different compared to the creatures outside of this dome. There were no objects clinging to his skin like mussels; instead, his attire was clean-cut. Cared for. With bright white-ash hair and a heavy coat of fine fur, his shirt was a silky laced up white thing and his pants smooth leather that seemed to gleam as if scrubbed recently with a polish. Amongst the junk and trash, he looked to be a jewel in the rough.

The man’s face was shadowed by the sun as he looked down at her; his hair was an electric white like a flame. The whites of his eyes weren’t white but instead gleamed a golden-vibrancy as he observed her. Sniffing the air, he paused before smiling a close-lipped grin pleasantly.

“Hello,” he spoke; his voice was soft and gentle.

He didn’t seem threatening, and, while she was confused to where she was exactly, she wasn’t a fool. He had power here, certainly. She had enough sense in her bones to know to not fully trust this man…fae she reminded herself.

Fae. . .? Yes, he was a fae. Goblins and fae exist. Obviously. She blinked at the realization that it was just something she had forgotten, and not new information.

She didn’t greet him yet, simply stared at him from far below his stockpile of wealth as he leaned back upon the makeshift throne. There was a creaking sound, a tumbling of metal things with the action.

His lips curled in a fox-like smile, sharp and mischievous, as he took in her face.  

“You’re afraid, Y/N,” he commented. “It’s okay; I have no wish to hurt you.”

He extended a pinky finger in a pinky promise, almost childishly so. She stared at it before meeting his medallion-yellow eyes once more. Distrustful. Her glare hardened as she tried to remember what she had been looking for.

It wasn’t him, was it? Why would she need him? Surely, she’d remember that.

“Mister I.N, she wanted to meet you. She did, she did, she did!” the goblin chattered, drawing his gaze to her. His eyes flickered with recognition as if he had forgotten the other was in the room. “She’s lost; she can’t remember what she was looking for. She was asking for you.”

No, she hadn’t. But the sing-song tone to the goblin’s voice made Y/N’s cheeks redden regardless. I.N only seemed to brighten, his form glowing in the down-pour of light.

“Oh, did she?” he crowed as he stood.

“Mm-hm, mm-hm, mm-hm,” the one-eyed goblin bleated.

“Well done, Prelle,” he praised and the goblin crowed an excited sound like an animal, the sound a tie between a bird and a wild-cat.

“You can borrow what you want – but not from my center hoard.” he warned with a serious tone.

The one-eyed goblin – Prelle – preened with thankful huffy happy sounds coming from her small mouth as she shuffled about, completely forgetting about Y/N and I.N as she scurried deeper into the hut. Leaving her and him alone.

“Forget abo-- ignore her disruptions,” he encouraged, waving haphazardly towards the direction Prelle hobbled. “She’s sweet. Likes childhood memories; dolls, toys, games. She lost a little one in the past.”

He hopped down his hoard, gold coins and pearl necklaces tumbling down with the motion. Leathered boots landed in front of her with a stomp.

“You’ve forgotten something?” he chirped, peering into her face. “I can help with that. I’m the best Finder-Keeper of Lost Things.”

“Finder-Keeper of Lost Things?” Y/N couldn’t help but repeat.

His eyes were alit with excitement at hearing her voice for the first time. He sighed out, breathlessly.

“Pretty voice you have. Glad you didn’t lose that, hm?” He teased.

Now, that he was closer, she can see there are fine scales on his cheeks, sparkling with golden iridescence in the over-head light. His ash blonde hair tickled his neck, hiding some of those scales. He smiled; his teeth were pearly white with two fangs on his bottom canine teeth. His cheekbones were prominent, highlighting the planes of his face in a sharp shadow.

“What does Finder-Keeper of Lost Things mean?” she retorted.

He waved it off. “Just a title I have. I’m the best scavenger,” he gestured about. “Got a skill for finding things, figuring things out, keeping things in order.”

And keeping them, she assumed. He was boasting, but he still settled his attention on her fully.

“Let’s see if I can help you,” he offered his hand to her.

He smiled at her, the thing wide and almost cat-like with his sharpness. Taking his hand carefully, his sharp smile only grew, his eyes falling shut into slits. He guided her up his hoard of expensive things. Around crowns of old, jewels that gleamed in the dim light, and soft fabrics. The pile felt oddly secure and full as they climbed. How many things must’ve been piled up here to make it so sturdy?

He plopped back down on his throne, a comfortable pile of velvet, cotton, and silk. There was a small inlet beside him that he brushed gold coins and pearls and silver things away from to reveal an emerald velvet cushion – for her.

“We should start with what you do remember. Do you remember your name?” he queried as he helped her settle into the spot beside him on his junk-throne.

“I’m Y/N,” she said simply. His smile beamed at her introduction before settling into a fox-like close-lipped curl, his chin resting on his other hand scrunched into a fist. “I know where I grew up… where I live…”

He listed off the places easily, like it was where he grew up too. “And… my room… I woke up in it.”

“Oh, did you like it?” he grinned straightening up a bit, like a pup with his ears alert at the call of ‘treat’. He glanced aside, sighing out nostalgically. “It’s a fine room, full of fond memories.” 

“Yes, yes, it is,” she murmured. Her head felt fuzzy as if she was still half-asleep.

He hadn’t let go of her hand, thumb grazing the back of it slowly. His gentle gestures made her ever-more comfortable like a house cat in front of a fire.

“That answers that question though. Y/N. You know your home, your address, your room-” he recounted before he refocused. “That room is there for your comfort you know. Magic works in strange ways. Do you remember how you ended up here?” he asked.

Y/N squinted down at her lap, eyeing her bandaged hands. His thumb stroked the back of her hand again soothingly.

How did she end up here? Her head ached, a strong pain in-between her eyes, stinging her teeth with its force. She winced into herself, her hand escaping his to press against her furrowed brows. He hummed out a soft sound that sounded soothing, deep in his chest. Something warm - like it had just come from a laundry dryer - tumbled around her shoulders. His fur coat was draped around her comfortingly.

“I know; it’s hard,” I.N reassured. “It was hard for all of who were forgotten.”

His presence was comforting, she had to admit. The air felt pleasantly warm around him like he was a furnace. The animalistic sounds that escaped his chest weren’t frightening but more like a big cat’s purrs. Content and warm. She wanted to curl up in the softness beneath her and fall asleep again; she hadn’t realized how tired she was.

“Is there anything you remember?” he asked again.

She tilted her head up, trying to recall anything she could. She squinted as she tried to recall blurred sparkling memories. There was a blonde-haired man. His face blurred in between angered and soft. A man with curls and the biggest eyes she had ever seen. Jeweled eyes. She could see someone smiling bright at her, a scar across his nose. A muscular man with a pout on his lips.

“There were people?” she murmured. “Men…”

Every moment she tried to grasp onto their face, it was like the memory was running away. Water pouring from her fingertips; she couldn’t catch the droplets. Then, she couldn’t even recall what she was trying to remember. Was it a person? A place?

It was frightening. Frustrating.

I.N breathed in deeply, his hand going to smooth over the fur around her shoulders.

“Shhh,” he soothed.

Her chest heaved, and Y/N realized she was crying. Why was she crying? When did she start to cry?

He moved from his seat to her small spot at his feet, joining her in the small space. Long limbs reorganized her form until she was bundled in his furs, cradled in his legs and arms. Her tears dripped onto his hoard. I.N’s hands cupped her cheeks almost tenderly. He wiped them away with strong thumbs. He cooed out a sound of fondness, squeezing her cheeks gently.

“I don’t want you to overexert yourself,” he warned. “We have all the time in the world for your memories.” His smile was there again – even as she sniffled - before he tugged her close to him.

He smelled of fire – volcanic-fire rather than fire-smoke that tickled the back of your nose. Like the remains of something long burned away. He smelled of metal – like aged coins and used metal compasses pointing towards home. He smelled of ripened tropical fruit – like dragon-fruit on a hot day.

“You are so interesting,” he admitted in a breath, brushing a hand over her hair as he pulled away. “Let me just take a longer look.”

Her nose was stuffy, and her eyes ached as she looked up at him. Confusion flickered on her features. His smile remained. His hands grasped her jaw, tipping her head back as he stared into her eyes. She saw for the first time how his eyes blinked. Yes, his fox-like eyelids fell over his dandelion-bright eyes, but there was another milky-white transparent lid, closer to his eyeball that closed vertically like a crocodile’s eyelid first before his human-like eyelid shut. It reminded her how inhuman the man in front of her was.

With gentle precision, he pulled her face closer and closer til his forehead pressed against hers, gentle soft. His skin was scaley, almost frighteningly ocld as it kissed her forehead. Far too Intimate for strangers, yet, with him she felt so ooey gooey comfortable. Like they were long-lost friends.

There was a deep hum in the air, almost like a rumble in his chest. That warm comfortable feeling only grew, tickling the tips of her toes all the way to her nose. It was like falling asleep in a warm bed next to a lit-fire place. Safe. And then, her ear stung with a sharp zing. Like bee stung her forehead, like a claw dug into her brain. Painfully stabbing and sudden. She jerked away, and shut her eyes tighter. A wave of discomfort, a wave of fright, flooded her body, making her tremble and jolt in his grasp. Her eyes flashed open, and she stared at him.

His eyes were still shut, furrowed brow. He kept their foreheads pressed together, forcibly. Clawed nails pressed into her cheeks inadvertently. It took a moment too long for him to realize her discomfort. When he did, his eyes widened impossibly large. His grip eased and he immediately cooed.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothed, thumbs brushing over her cheeks gently. “You’re okay, Treasure.”

And suddenly, she felt okay. She felt like she was in her backyard on a holiday. Like when you finished a large meal and felt content, full bellied and safe. Relaxed, heart calm, skin warmed by the sun. Nostalgia seeping into her bones so much so she couldn’t help but sag against him. It felt like she had known him her entire life. Her fear was gone. And he was the reason.

“See,” he cooed. “It’s all okay. I’ve got you.”

He tentatively pressed his forehead to her temple. There was another zing of pain, like a cramping of her brain. He quickly pulled back with a twitch of snarl. I.N didn’t look at her then and instead brought her back into his embrace. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, tugging her into his chest. I.N’s heart did not pound and thud; it roared like a fire was in-between his ribs. It crackled and sparked and warmed her cheek.

“Magic is in your soul,” he muttered. “No wonder you are so out of it, human.”

Humans. He said human. Was he not human?

Wait… wait… she had already remembered that. He was fae-blood or goblin-blood or troll-blood or some other bloodline. Not human.

“Rude, I look way better than you humans. Besides, mind your business. Its rude to ask a stranger their bloodline.” Han’s voice was teasing and whiney in the way he always spoke.

Han. His name flooded her mind like a tsunami. No, that wasn’t his real name…It was…It was… As fast as the tide rushes in, it rushed away as if sucked up by a straw. Leaving nothing but her grasping at grains of empty sand. Empty thoughts. There was a strange feeling left, an emptiness like a phantom pain. What was she thinking a moment ago?

“Lord Han,” she swore she heard I.N growl out. His fingers stroked over the warm bare skin on her back in a circle – when had his hand slithered beneath her shirt?

“Who?” she breathed, looking up at the fae holding her close like she was a stuffed bear.

Her own mind reminded her of how it felt to hold her stuffed bears in her room. Oh, her room which was so close. Wasn’t it so safe? She was so safe here.

“Nothing, Treasure,” I.N purred out, his reptilian gaze settling on her with a glassiness. “Let’s think some more, yes?”

His other hand moved to rub up and down her fur-coated arm.

“Let’s think – what could someone so special like you be looking for?” he inquired, his hand shifted to trail up and down her arm, gentle and calming.

“I was... I’m just trying to—I’m trying to,” she trailed off, feeling like the word was on the tip of her tongue. Mouth sticky like it was full of peanut butter.

He smirked now. His fangs showed up, lining his bottom rather than top teeth. But she couldn’t see that buried in the softness of his chest.

“I know,” he soothed, a hand going to pet her arm comfortingly. His voice was almost hypnotic, like a lullaby. “Hmm, let me think. You are looking for something important. You’ve talked only about home, your address, your room. Maybe you’re looking for some place safe… I keep this place safe.” He reassured.

Yes, she was looking for something important. Important… maybe it was safety.

“You awoke here for a reason, you know. It felt safe I’m sure – when you woke in your bed.”

“Y-Yeah,” she replied, leaning back to look up at him. She wiped at her dampened cheek.

“Your room is so cute,” he grinned, his cheeks hid his eyes cutely. “I love lace and fluff, too. Soft things. It was a struggle to find everything so quickly, but you were worth it.”

Find everything. . .

“What?” she murmured, dazed and her temperature climbing into a hazy, too warm fever underneath the fur coat.

He found those things for her. It hadn’t just appeared by magic? Hadnt he said things were brought by magic? He was confusing her.

“Hm, did you remember something, Treasure?” I.N queried emptily, diverting the conversation again.

Blink. Blink. His nails trailed over her back in patterns. In little upward and downward strokes almost like he was writing something on her back.

Wait, what had he just said? It felt like there was a gap – like a DVD skipping dialogue in a scene, a song jumping a chorus. Missing portions of things he had just said. They were talking about safety… about…about…

“Oh, did you remember you were looking for somewhere safe, far from home? You were so special you ended up here.”

How did she end up here again? Wasn’t this a place for lost things? Not special things? Wait? Why was he telling her stuff now? She didn’t remember that. She hadn’t said any of that.

“I.N, I-I didn’t-“

There was a pause as she heard a clatter of junk far away. Both their heads spun to look in the direction of the noise. His hands moved to press her into the hoard, almost protectively. I.N’s head seemed to move unnaturally too far as like an owl.

Without his focus on her, she felt like she could think for a moment. It was like she was pulled up from a dark ocean and finally could breathe. Her brain wasn’t as hazy, but the headache was still there. Pulsing behind her eyes. Restlessness crawled at her skin. She felt too hot under his coat suddenly. Shifting in his embrace, she pushed at the furs on her shoulders.

“Treasure,” his attention was brought back to her immediately. “What’s wrong?” he asked insistently.

Treasure, he called her that again. He knew her name yet called her that. He didn’t know her… but it felt like he did.

“I just need some air.” She mumbled, trying to stand.

His arms fell away as he stood with her. “Oh, oh.”

There was another noise. Was that crying she heard? A soft sobbing, mournful, fearful. Her eyes widened as she turned towards the sound.

“What’s that?” she murmured.

“The Forgotten folk are loud sometimes; you’ll get used to it,” he reassured, hand going to grab hers as he helped her balance upon the hoard. “You have me too if things get difficult. I always help.”

Help… how was he helping now? She felt the dichotomy of calm and utter discomfort clash in her chest. Like gaining consciousness in a dream, she knew this wasn’t quite right. Nothing felt right. Not this place, not him, and not herself.

“What are the Forgotten?” she turned to look at him now. Questions on her tongue rather than him questioning her. “Who are they?” she corrected.

“Oh, it’s just those who were, as the name implies, forgotten or banished – like you and I,” I.N sympathized, his yellow eyes soft as he squeezed her hand. Which was he? Forgotten or banished? “Anything that is lost or forgot end up here – for some reason. We’ve made do regardless. It’s the way of the Underground.”

Underground. She latched onto that name like it was water in the desert. It fit like a key into a grand door; snapping in easy. Her hand left his.

“The Underground. That’s where we are.” She whispered in understanding, looking up at the skylight above them. There was a gaping maw of light pouring down from the cavern sky. She realized she’s seen it before. The tumbling sunshine in the darkness. Casting shadows over endless walls. Endless road, footfalls against cobblestone, infinite walking. Circles and circles. Row after row, it was a repeating maze.

“There was a Labyrinth.” She murmured.

A Labyrinth. Yes, she had been in a Labyrinth. Why was there a Labyrinth in the first place though? An itch at the back of her brain. Her throat closed up in frustration. She was trying to do something. Escape? Win? Complete it? Why?

She took a step forwards, down the large pile of things. Her jewels and gems jingled with the movement. Her gaze flickered to them. They were vibrant in the sunlight. Rubies, emeralds, diamonds, moonstones, and amethysts. Amethyst eyes. Jeweled eyes. Dark waves of hair.

“Hah,” I.N let out a soft laugh that sounded more like air than a laugh. “Look at you, you remembered that all by yourself.” 

Turning, she saw him reaching for his discarded coat, his hands trembling. She swore she saw smoke billow from his nostrils.

“Where is the Labyrinth? Is it far?” she asked.

I.N’s fists balled up in the coat.

“That’s not important,” he muttered out. He licked at his fangs. “You are in the City of the Forgotten now. You are a Forgotten.”

It was final sounding. Demanding. Like a child making up rules during make-believe. Her brows pursed, looking up at I.N. He turned his back to her for a moment, placing his furs aside with the perfectionism of a mother bird making a nest.

“The Forgotten are my kin… my responsibility.” he continued after a moment, tucking items just right into his hoard. His words were spoken fondly. “They’re, in a way, my family. I was abandoned and I take in any who faces the same fate. Like you. You are my responsibility, YN.”

Despite his fond tone, she remembered walking through the so-called city. It was decrepit. The folk looked cold and swallowed up by things, junk. They didn’t look happy.

Y/N!

Her head turned towards what she swore was her name.

“Did you hear that?” she exclaimed.

I.N rose, stepping to the level above her looking out in the direction she was. Over towering piles of junk and mess. Trash heaps of toys and broken furniture and forgotten records and rotten books.

“It was probably nothing,” he commented. “Pernella or something…”

Her name hadn’t been Pernella. It was Prelle. He didn’t even care she realized, staring over at him in surprise. She watched him for a moment before turning away, listening, and trying fruitlessly to remember more.

The fae’s face turned stoney as he listened closely. His eyes were distant, glowing their haunting yellow-tone as he listened, listened, listened. He could hear her heartbeat (oh, so interesting how it gurgled and pumped), but also her name called far into the distance. Not just one voice, many. Even his.

This Runner had help. This Runner was not forgotten yet. How did she end up here? His gaze slid over to take in her visage. Greedily. He blinked once, twice, three times before her gaze rose to meet his reptilian pupils. He smirked, fangs and all.

“He’s looking for you,” I.N murmured, hushed like telling a secret. “So many people are looking for you, little Treasure. Oh, you must be so very coveted.”

His eyes held a different look than before. His lips spread into a wide smile. It felt predatory rather than the helpful light hearted smiles he had thrown her way earlier. Sharp. Full of teeth. She took a step away, her foot creaking as it met the corner of an old oaken furniture piece that was buried amongst his hoard.

“And you’re all mine!”

He grasped her hand before she could tumble away. Her eyes blinked in surprise as she took in the man holding her like a ragdoll. His large shadow cast over her, shielding her from the bright sunlight. His form loomed over her, as well as his large scaley wings. They jutted out of his shoulder blades, out of his now-torn white silk shirt, almost grotesquely. Sinewy, twisted greenish flesh that was had the same scales as his sharp cheekbones. Amongst its divots and skeletal curves were things embedded into his scales. Jewels, coins, bits of metal. Flesh grew around it as if the very jewels and finery was becoming him. The large tips of his wings had a fine webbing of spider-silk and sparkling magic dust as if they hadn’t been used in decades.

“Don’t. Don’t be afraid,” he hushed, looking hypnotically caring. Almost pouting as she stared with large scared eyes. “Don’t be afraid. Please. I’ll take the best care of you, Treasure.”

“What?” she replied, horrified.

Why was he speaking like she was some object, a pretty thing to keep on a shelf? Like a child pleading for a new toy. All he did was smile, condescendingly. With a tug, he pulled her upright once more. Her hands pressed into the muscular planes of his chest. He was so hot… literally. He felt like a hotwire beneath her palms.

His eyes flickered to her fingertips before meeting her gaze once more, smiling a grin full of fangs. One hand went to brush over her hand with his claws, soothingly. This time she felt what he had been tracing over her skin. I. N. I.N. I.N over and over. As if branding her.

Her hand jolted away from his chest.

“Who is looking for me? Who is this he you keep saying?” she asked, the uncomfortable twinge in her throat reminding her that she should know. She should know. Who was it? There was another phantom call of her name like a tug to her very soul.

“I need to go,” she finally said, trying to pull from his embrace.

His hands felt harsh then. They shifted from holding her around her waist to digging into her hips. Holding onto her too tightly like a child pulling a toy doll from another in jealousy.

“No.” The Finder-Keeper of Lost Things glared down at her petulantly.

“They didn’t protect you.” He argued. “Cherish you. Why go back to them?”

“I—” she tried to find her words as he hugged her tight, hugged her like she was nothing but a stuffed bear. His stuffed bear. His thing. She tried to shove him away, but he simply grabbed her wrists in his to stop her struggling.

“I will,” he promised wholeheartedly. He tugged her this way and that as he began to trek up his hoard. Her feet slid against gold coins and silken things; he held onto her tighter still.

“I’ll take good care of you – you’ll see. I’ve seen what you’ve been through – what you wanted… I can be more than him than them” He was murmuring. “If he comes…. No, no, this is perfect.”

She felt like a ragdoll as he plopped her down beside his makeshift throne, in a pile of prettied velvet dresses and soft lace curtains. YN shifted to stand immediately but he placed a hand on her shoulder as he sat down, pushing her to kneel.

What was happening? This wasn’t what she had expected when she had come into his lair. Prelle, that little goblin, seemed so intent on helping. This didn’t feel like helping. Who was he? Who were they? They hadn’t cherished her? What did that even mean?

Who even was I.N?

No, she needed to get out of here.

“I.N, stop,” she yelped, pushing his hand away. “I’m confused and-“ 

“I know you are, but I’ll help you,” he replied like second-nature, grasping her wrist again.

“No. I think I need to leave. I need to go,” She insisted. “I need to think - alone.”

It was like someone shot a bullet through her brain. Like fingers dug into them with nails, no, claws.

“Leave?” he breathed as she heaved out a gasping silent scream. “No. No.”

It was then she felt it. Not the pain she had felt race through her temple but the strange emotions that crashed through her like deep dark ocean waves. There was the comfort of sleeping with one leg over the mattress, but it mixed with the dread of a monster grabbing your ankle. There was the familiarity of the night sky full of stars, but it mixed with that feeling of being watched as you walked to your car at night. There was soft ooey gooey warmth, but it felt almost like being suffocated by a pillow. Her head heaved with a dizziness.

I.N had her other wrist in his grasp once more, clawed hand wrapping around it fully. He looked petulant.

“You can’t leave.” He declared. “You haven’t remembered anything. I was helping you remember. I promised.”

Remember. All this talk of remembering yet as they stared at one another she could feel her memories drain from her. Who had walked her here? When had she come to sit here? Where was the fur jacket that had just been around her shoulders and why was it gone? How was she forgetting everything?

Desperately, she had clung to the things she had discovered, listing them over and over:

One: She wasn’t home. Not at all. He had made the mimicry of her bedroom – and she didn’t know why.

A twinge of uncertainty like the clash of cymbals suddenly in a song.

Two: She was in a place called the Underground; in a land called the City of the Forgotten. She had been in a Labyrinth before.

Like high pitched violins.

Three: People were looking for her. She didn’t know who but they were calling her name, searching for her.

Like a crawling synth.

Four: She didn’t like this feeling, feeling like a doll, feeling controlled. She wanted her own say.

Like a harpsicord being struck over and over.

Fear. Discord. Uncertainty.

Five…. Five… She had remembered things – but any time she tried to grasp at them it disappeared but if she just let it be – things came to her. The Labyrinth…. Walking through it with… Han, that was his name, yes. Han.

What did she want now? In this clash of feelings, she tried to sort and cling to anything. Home. Right? She wanted her home. I.N had said that before. It felt like a parasite biting into her skin. Her thoughts and feelings felt foreign in his grasp. I.N had a home for her. A perfect replica… that’s what it was, wasn’t it? He had said he had found the things. Finders-Keepers. No, it was strange. She didn’t want what he scavenged. Didn’t want to be his thing. Nothing made sense; even her thoughts became a jumble.

What did she want? Truly want? Without I.N telling her. A pain shot through her head in retaliation. Her eyes scrunched in pain but she kept trying.

“Stop. Thinking.” He growled out. “You’re fine, stupid human.”

“Stop. It,” she bit back, grimacing as the pain increased. Like nails in her brains. She writhed in his hold. “Let go of me.”

Her eyes flashed to meet his and, with his petulant brattiness, she retaliated by tugging her wrists away with a sharp tug. With too much force! Pettily, he let go with ease, and watched almost gleefully as she tumbled off the side of his hoard. Hitting chalices, wooden legs of chairs, sharpened corners of picture frames.

Y/N coughed as she landed onto the dirt floor, rolling until she came to a stop against one of the many piles of junk. It hurt. But it was less painful than the stabbing pain in her skull, one she realized only occurred when they touched now.

“You promised,” she wheezed. “I would be safe here.”

I.N sneered down at her from his hoard, shadow cast over and hiding her from the light. His wings flexed as he spoke, like a peacock’s feathers jittering and fluffing. “I didn’t hurt you; you hurt yourself by falling, why didn’t you catch yourself?”

Her eyes flashed up to glare at the Finder-Keeper of Lost Things. “You’ve been hurting me this entire time,” she pointed out. Glancing down, she could see the bruises on her wrists from his man-handling. “You treated me like a ragdoll. I’m not just some thing for you to control.”

“I never promised your safety; I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.” He scoffed, and this time she did see the smoke tumble from his nose. “I’ve treated you better than those who tossed you aside. Neither of them wanted you, what use are you?” He was cruel. Like a spoiled child, he spoke without thought. “I gave you comfort did I not? Look around.”

He gestured widely at the trash about like it was some palace.

“You’re nothing but a controller…a hoarder,” she spat out.

He shrugged as he began to creep down the high ground to meet her. Too tempted to play with his toy once more. “It’s my world, Treasure. I make the best out of the trash I receive and trust me,” he crouched down to glare down at her. His eyes gleamed like flames. “There’s a lot of trash out there. I hear gossip all day; pointless rattle about dumb mementos and ugly old things I don’t care about. But, I always listen and take the important pieces. Like your little memories.” His clawed finger prodded at her temple harshly.

“My memories,” she breathed in. “You took them.”

“I love shiny things and your glittering memories were floating lost; thanks to some of the King’s magic I’m sure,” he said with a scowl. “He threw them away – he threw you away.”

Keep him talking.

“And you lured me here then?”

“Lured you? No, no, I saved you. That’s what you don’t get,” I.N snarled, his wings opening full-scale. “I caught you from your fall into oblivion. I made an altar for my intrigue. It’s perfect in its replication! You didn’t even notice it was a copy of your room until you opened the door to the Underground.” His words were sharp as his fanged teeth. “You slept peacefully; you came to me peacefully. I kept you safe and soft and happy and comfortable. And you still can’t accept my words? You keep thinking and wanting and remembering! Remember what I want you to remember! Why would you want the struggle of the Labyrinth?” He growled out. “I take care of my things unlike him. I’m a far better King!”

He was just spoiled child she realized. Envious, jealous, greedy, clinging to anything that may be of worth. Anything to match the King.

“The King.” She repeated.

Flashes of a man with stormy eyes, twirling under a canopy of sparkling shimmering pearlescence, a memory of lying in bed with him, a sunrise haloing him. Memories of his prowl towards her and… and Han. The fae whose jewels rested on her hip.

I.N cursed. The room grew hot like coals were under the rickety floor boards, filling the room with tense hot air. His form shimmered and flickered like the concrete on a hot summer’s day.

“You’re remembering more and more, how? Your memories are mine; you are mine!” he growled out. “You’re a clever little Runner, aren’t you?”

Runner. Like a key unlocking a door, that word flushed her memories out. “Turn back while you still can, my dear Runner.” Hyunjin. The Labyrinth. His ethereal face. The ball. The clock chiming out another hour gone. Her task at hand.

She had to get going. She had to find the Labyrinth’s entrance. How much time had gone by?! How did she even end up here? There was the allusion – Hyunjin and her in a grand ballroom but she knew that it had been a trick. It had looked like a desert outside of I.N’s lair; was she back at the start? Her thoughts were running a mile a minute.

“Shit,” he cursed as he watched her stumble back.

“I remember everything.” She breathed.

“How?” I.N simmered. “How did you do that?”

The room grew hotter and hotter, blistering and smelling like rotten trash, like burnt ashes, like sulfur. There was no smile on his lips, instead there was annoyance gracing his face, as he began to circle her like a predator. One heavied bootstep at a time.

“You’re really getting on my nerves. You seemed so sweet at first. I’ve dealt with lost, forgotten Runners before – my mother was even one, well, not my real mom but you know, finders-keepers,” he laughed so coldly.

His smile fell as he glared at her with the ferociousness of a beast. Fae were always so animalistic at heart she had to remind herself. He stopped in front of her, leering down at her.

“So, I like you Runners; have a soft spot even. Once-human changelings are interesting folk, and I hadn’t seen a pure human in so long,” he ranted. “I was excited because I know one day he would throw you away, and I’d have a new treasure.”

“Imagine my surprise when I just… found you, floating lost!” he beamed, but the smile was vicious. “I can have you before him! Keep you hidden from him! Mold you. Lock away your memories. A perfect lost Treasure.”

“I don’t want to stay here,” she replied steadily. “I must face the quest. I want to go home. What would happen when times runs out and I was here still? Knowing him, he’d come for me. This is his and I’s game! Why interfere?”

I.N sighed, his sharp features not softening. The curl of his lips not gentling. His head swiveled like a snake as he began to circle her with long strides.

“Why would you try to fight him?” he ridiculed. “And now, you fight against me too? I am stronger than you, little human. I am more powerful than him; I know it. If he came, I’d burn him.” he snarled. Heat grew all around them like embers being fanned. “I will burn him.”

“I don’t care. I don’t trust you. Especially now. I don’t want your protection.” Her glare was fierce. “I don’t need it.”

She turned away from him, preparing to just leave. But his hand grasped her arm once ore. This time no pain radiated up her neck, and instead he flinched as a shock went through his brain. He stumbled back. I.N looked at her for a moment before baring his teeth, frustration building. His fingers curled into fists, trembling fists.

“You aren’t listening. That doesn’t matter to me. I know you humans struggle with the truth. But you are smart, Y/N. You will lose against him regardless – why go through strife? Why lose? I can make it all feel better.”

She scowled at him. His eyes were a warm orange as he took a step forward, scowl remaining on his sharp lips. He licked his lip and gave into his temptation, his curiosity, his need to control. He took another step closer and grasped her wrist again with a sharp tug. He was strong, biceps flexing beneath a soft linen shirt.

Burning pain flashed in her eyes as she locked gazes with the Finder-Keeper as he dug into her brain, like he had done this entire time.

“I can protect you. More than… Jisung,” he murmured, eyes shutting and Y/N could feel his fingers in her brain. Sorting through her head, poking and prodding. He took another step close still. “Or Changbin… Or Chris.” He added.

She felt the pain build. It felt like her head was going to explode. She heaved and huffed. Her eyes shut.

“Hyunjin…” he laughed at the reveal of the King’s true name. “…would be drawn here, and-and I could fight him. I have my own horde; his own Runner, no, his Changeling is mine; I could be king of the Underground.”

“You’re using me,” she bit out. “Let me go.”

“I won’t.” he replied; there was that stabbing pain, her mouth gasping. “You are mine, YN. Stop running.”

Her own anger bubbled up. “I don’t want to be your pawn in a power grab. I am not yours. I am not his. I am my own.”

In her declaration, all the pain that flooded her brain surged into I.N, making his eyes flash open and an agonized cry break from his mouth. Her hand snapped from his, breaking whatever power he had to look into her head. Before, she reeled back with all her pent-up frustration and shoved him back. He stumbled. The grand fae, somehow, stumbled and fell into his hoard, pathetically. Things crumbled in from his body weight, his wings flicking jewels and gold aside with. Stuff and trash tumbled down in a mini-avalanche over his form. Shaking them away, he let out a distressed cry, a yell. There was a trembling, a fragmentation around him like his form was nothing but a reflection cracking and shattering into a shimmering collection of floating shards.

“You wretched creature,” he growled, no, he heaved. There was something animalistic growing in his voice.  His anger had reached a breaking point. “I am here at the point of triumph and you dare go against me! How?” It was a screech.

“Not a creature just human.” she retorted. “I’ll do anything to get away from you, from him. You’ve seen my mind. You think I’m lying?”

He chuckled but it sounded more like a sort of clicking as he hoisted himself up.

“Stupid human resilience. You leave me no choice.” He breathed. “You don’t wish to be mine willingly?” He laughed. “I’ll make you my prisoner. Every princess needs her dragon, no?”

Her brows only pursed for a brief moment before there was a loud noise. A cracking sound reverted throughout the chamber, almost like an egg breaking into a million pieces. A burst of energy sent her tumbling back, landing on her back. I.N burst forth, no longer a man but a beast. Scaley and draconic. His form was almost as large as the atrium as he shivered and crackled into the monstrous form. Heavied clawed feet crashed into the ground; his hoard crushed by his monstrous weight. A roar broke through the lair. His attention had been dragged from her to his destroyed altar. The sound that escaped him was less angry and more mournful. A cry.

With a snap of his large, scaled head, his reptilian eyes locked on her. Her. She caused this. His claw rose up and slammed down to trap her – or it would have if she hadn’t shimmied away. Feet kicked dirt up as she clawed her way up into a standing position.

There was a growl, a plume of smoke escaped his nose in frustration.

Okay, okay, okay, this was dangerous. It felt more dangerous than the Direwoods. They had never been angry; I.N was furious. She needed to get out of here.

The Runner did what she did best. She turned and ran. A screech followed after her – it shook the room with its loudness. 

Go, go, go.

She weaved under junk-made arches; the heavied prowl of the beast crawled after her. Ramming through its own hoard, through the tall archways and piled stacks. Destruction reigned as she dodged falling debris. He let out a roar. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chanted as she sprinted faster and faster. The entire ‘palace’ was falling down; his form destroying his own things in his greed.

As she pushed aside the curtains that had shielded the grand abode, she could only see pandemonium. Creatures running back and forth, goblin figures chittering as they held onto their loved things. Trash piles trembled and slid into the make-shift roads as I.N’s draconic form shook the very earth.

“I.N, I.N, please,” there were cries of the Forgotten, pleading with the dragon to stop. Some offered the dragon their beloved objects as if it would calm him. But he didn’t care for his Forgotten. He only wanted what was new – he wanted Y/N. His eyes didn’t stray from her running form.

He simply slithered forward. His large body pushed past small goblins and fae folk easily. As she continued to sprint, she could see fae with tear streaks, with fear, with awe.

“Y/N!” she heard a voice cry out, far away. “Where are you?”

“Stop,” she swore she heard I.N’s monstrous voice growl out through embers of fire.

She couldn’t even reply as she continued to weave in between the makeshift town. All the while, I.N continued his destruction until, with a grand heaving of his wings, he took to the skies. His wings flushed open, the embedded junk in his skin coming loose and clattering to the ground. Covered in magic and gore. His form flew high with an electrifying roar.

YN couldn’t stop the shriek that escaped her mouth as a shadow covered her form, ominously. He flew high, higher, higher. He was about to overtake her, crush her, snap her up into his claws. Until, with a yank, he was tugged down to the earth violently. In his furious chase, things had tangled around his large ankles, cords of television wire, old spools of yarn, chains of old. He was grounded quickly with a thud. A dirt cloud roiled up from his form in a dusty wind that chased after with a fury. Looking back, she only ran faster, trying to avoid the destruction.

“Y/N!” she heard her name again. It was Changbin. She knew it. She knew his voice. Its squeaky confidence

“Changbin! Chris!” she yelled out. “Han!”

There was a screech of a roar from I.N. Angered, mournful, frustrated, petulant. Into the pathway, an inferno of fire erupted from his maw. The dust cloud exploded behind her into a firestorm. Y/N screamed as she turned a corner to avoid the flames. She kept running; she couldn’t stop. Especially with fire licking at her ankles. She ran and ran, dodging and jumping over junk. Until there was a large trash embankment in front of her that kept the City of the Forgotten far in the ditches below the Underground. So, with little thought, she began to climb.

A roar pierced the air and heat burned, but she kept climbing. Feet digging into who knew what. Sometimes it was spongey; sometimes it was hard; sometimes it was sticky. She heaved herself up and over junk. Climbing higher and higher, further and further. Until she was out of breath. Sweat tumbled down her temples. Hoisting herself over the lip of the embankment, she stumbled over a pile of trash, falling harshly. The little air she had left got knocked out of her as she laid face down, gasping.

She heard a roar, something unlike she hadn’t heard before. Panting, she turned over and saw the City of the Forgotten aflame. Golden in the sunlight pouring down from a skylight, the flames burned brilliantly. Precious memories and golden pieces of junk all lit in an angry red blaze. In the thick of it was a huge dragon, tearing at the junk that trapped him. There was a roar of despair, anger and want from his animalistic lungs. Flames licked out of his mouth, dripping like slime.

“Oh my god,” she muttered. Y/N hadn’t expected that. She expected I.N to be angry if she kept going against him, but she didn’t expect this.

Crawling backwards as she tried to pull herself to her feet with aching limbs and bruised knees (the tended-to-cuts on her body were torn back open as if the very City was taking back all it had done to help her.) She stumbled in exhaustion, knees hitting the dirt. Ash-covered and heaving, she tried again to stand. She couldn’t stop. She had to get out of here. Where was the Castle? Where was the path? Where were her friends?

The inferno of flames billowed up into a whirlwind until there was whoosh through the Underground. Like a burst of wind, a green flash burned bright across the lands, so bright that it made her turn her head into her arms and curl into the dirt mound she had climbed. Then, there was rain tumbling over the city in a raging storm. Lightning zapped; a smoke clung low over the City of the Forgotten in a dark cloud.

The rain wasn’t nicer than the fire. No, the rain raged as if spurred on by an angry god. Rainwater soaked her quickly, turning the dirt below her into mud. Small floods trickled over the lip of the embankment and tumbled into the Junkland below. There was another crash of lightning nearby, and she flinched away, scooting away on the soft mulch only for her hand to rest upon a leathered boot.

“I told you it would be foolish to take up this quest,” his voice growled out. “Now, you are destroying my kingdom in your attempt!”

Hyunjin was angry. Rageful. More so than I.N, even. But there was something different in their energies. One was a pretend king and the other was a King. He wasn’t just angered at her recklessness because he was. But he was angry at the harm she had put the kingdom in. When she tilted her head up with ash in her rain-soaked hair, Y/N saw a flicker of his true powers.

While he had always been dangerously ethereal – now, he looked unnatural. The gleam of the extinguishing dragon-fire on his skin made the glimmer of magic under his skin burn and sparkle. As if he was made of magic not flesh and bone. His blue eyes were wild as a hurricane. His hair, now an ink-black tone, fluttered around him like feathers. His form didn’t flicker or shudder like I.N’s did as he grew angrier. He didn’t even have the animalistic traits like the Direwood Trio. No, his body could hold his emotions, his magic, but the air around him raged on. The rain pelted her like heavy teardrops and the fire-smoke in the air smelt different than the fire of the dragon.

He seethed. “Explain yourself, Y/N.”

Thunder crashed as the rain poured on.

“I didn’t do anything,” she bit out as she willed herself to stand on shaky limbs.

Her body hurt. She didn’t know how much of her agony I.N had taken in his efforts to make her comply. Taking a breath, she leveled her gaze on him. Anger coursed through her as she realized he blamed her for this. For I.N’s anger when all she was trying to do was escape another one of his tricks.

“This is your doing. You poisoned me.” She gritted out, less of a splutter and more of a thrown accusation. Just as he had accused her. “You poisoned me and distracted me from the Labyrinth with that stupid ball – that was not fair.”

He did bare his fangs this time. They were sharp canines that were prettied and polish unlike the chipped fangs of Chris. Like he’s never used them in his life.

“I did no such thing – your friend,” the word was growled out with harshness,” Jisungie gave you my gift. He poisoned you.”

“Because of you!” She screeched. “I’m not stupid, Hyunjin.” She threw his true name at him just as he had thrown Jisung’s name. “Because of your unfair power.” she pointed at him. “Power you tried to wield over me in that place! You bastard.”

“You’re cursing me, my dear Runner?” he warned with a snarl of his lip as he approached deathly slow. “Distraction is a pathetic word for how much you enjoyed the hallucination – it was your own fantasy broug-“ His lips were curled almost condescendingly at her fantasies.

“And,” she interrupted him with ease as the rain grew ‘til all she could see was rain. His form blurred until she crept closer still in her anger. She noticed then that his form was untouched by the water as he glared down at her defiance. Meanwhile, she spluttered over the downpour as it soaked her to the bone. A hand wiped away drenched hair from her eyes as she continued.

“Then, you dropped me into this stupid city with that, I don’t know, keeper of memories! He was stealing memories from me – I bet from everyone down there! He knew what I was thinking, what my life was, everything – he was going to use me against you. What the fuck?” 

“Yet you somehow led himself to burning down his domain?” Hyunjin laughed out, disbelievingly.

After all, she was just a human. She couldn’t have… could she? What could she had done to anger I.N so?

I.N’s anger had confused her. She hadn’t meant to anger him so much into destruction just enough to give her information, enough to distract him as she left. But something about her spurred him into a draconic rage. She didn’t know exactly what – she just… was herself.

(Little did she know that few could fight against magic – if it was her status as Runner or something more, it was hard to tell.)

“You can’t win by death, Y/N. You can’t win by destruction.” He reminded. The King listed out the rules, as if it mattered, as if she was cheating. He’s cheated countless times this game.

In that moment, the human was almost to her nose to the King. If she could manipulate the Underground, there surely would be a hurricane raging.

“I didn’t start a fire; I wasn’t trying to hurt myself. I am not to blame for this,” she said solidly. “I escaped him; I outwitted him, and he was angry. Just like you will be – if this stupid Labyrinth will stop playing stupid tricks!”

“That’s the game, Y/N,” he replied, calmly. Too calm for the way his eyes crashed with ocean waves and the world drowned around them in rain. Too calm for the way he had previously seethed.

“It’s not right!” she said. “So much of this is fucked. I’m tired of the shifting walls and shifting fae folk.”

“Then give up!” Hyunjin bit out. A desperation in his tone. Almost like her agony hurt him. Ridiculous.

“After all this, I’d rather die!” she yelled. Tears burned in her eyes. “I’ve fought through your challenges, through dangers and hardships unnumbered!” Her voice broke.

Hyunjin’s skin prickled with gooseflesh at her words; words he knew like the shape of his own teeth in his mouth. He couldn’t let her finish them – ever.

“And it’s all for nothing, Runner,” Hyunjin reminded cruelly, cutting her off quick. “I will never grant your freedom, not now.”

Not when he’s finally met his match. He’s seen her devotion in their shared hallucination. He had seen her potential in brains. And now, she was the only one to stand up to him in ages. She has conquered the hearts of his Beast-Hunter, the Knight of Magic, the most fearsome of the Direwoods, and the Labyrinth’s last Dragon-Fae. Even his once-best friend.

His fascination with her now made sense with a deafening realization.

His storm began to subside; the city’s fires extinguished and the sounds of I.N’s despaired cries echoing through the air. Y/N couldn’t help but feel like it was the cries of a child, an abandoned lost child. Not the dragon that had destroyed his own hoard. Whatever I.N’s true name was – that was who was crying.

As the rain stopped, Hyunjin looked untouched by the rain – prettied curls in place, not a droplet of water on his velvet cloak or porcelain white blouse. His eyes remained locked on hers. Y/N was a different story. Rain-soaked, looking like a drowned rat, her hair dripped and clung to her anger-flushed cheeks and neck. Her eyes were red from the smoke and her tears. Red blood that smelt of sweet-iron dripped off her in rivulets. Red mud clung to once-pristine new clothes.

She looked like she had suffered through a hurricane or that she was a hurricane embodied.

“I will never let you go.”

“Try taking my freedom from me,” she bit back at him. Her mouth wasn’t full of fangs, but he swore her teeth were sharpened in this moment. “The deal is still on, Goblin King. I haven’t failed yet.”

His smile was equally sharp, fang-filled as his hand rose to pinch her chin. Nails dug into her skin, affectionately violent. He grinned wider as he heard her soft gasp as his clawed jewelry pierced her tender flesh.

“As you wish, beloved Runner,” he promised with a snarl.

His hand pulled away after a moment. Blood pearled at her chin into ruby teardrops, staining his false claws and dripping down her chin. His eyes didn’t leave hers as he sniffed deeply, taking in the magnetic lure of her blood. He waved his non-bloodied hand to their side, revealing the damned clock once more. It floated ominously in the air.

“You have two hours and 43 minutes left on the dial. Good luck.”

And he disappeared like dust in the wind, the only proof he had been there was the blood dripping at her chin – and her rain-soaked spirit.

[lucydarkrain]

Zombie Apocalypse/World War Z AU

Rapunzel Corona

Rapunzel is the most knowledgeable about medicine and pathology among the survivors. Before the virus outbreak, she was a clinical intern at the San Francisco School of Medicine. Initially, after the outbreak, she was determined not to play the hero. However, after witnessing countless innocent lives perish before her eyes, she decided to uphold the Hippocratic Oath. From that point on, she vowed to help anyone she could save. While she appears full of survival instinct and often encourages others to keep going, deep down, she has long been prepared to face death calmly. Rapunzel embarks on this journey to reach Chicago, where she hopes to find an old friend of her mentor, Dr. Gothel, and uncover the origin of the outbreak by identifying patient zero.

Rapunzel’s First Day

On the first day of the outbreak, Rapunzel witnessed chaos at the hospital. She saw medical staff hurriedly wheeling patients out of the elevator, their faces pale with fear. Passing through the crowd, she caught a glimpse of the grotesque appearance of a patient, the strong scent of blood making her stomach churn. While taking the elevator to leave, she saw the same patient violently attack the doctors. Thankfully, the elevator doors closed just in time, sparing her.

Back in the lobby, Rapunzel struggled to process what she had just seen. The hospital still appeared normal, but she recalled her mentor, Dr. Gothel, mentioning a contagious disease that had recently surfaced in Panama. While running to the attending physician’s office, Gothel appeared, urging her to leave immediately. She handed Rapunzel her notebook, explaining that the disease had already reached California and was spreading rapidly. Suddenly, an ambulance crashed through the hospital’s glass walls, causing widespread panic. Gothel told Rapunzel to leave California and go to the address recorded in the notebook to find her.

As zombies overran the hospital, Rapunzel was saved by her EMT colleague, Cassandra, who helped her fend off the undead. The two managed to escape the hospital in a car. Though they initially planned to stick together, Cassandra was attacked by zombies shortly after their escape. Realizing her imminent death, Cassandra sacrificed herself to protect Rapunzel. Devastated, Rapunzel drove into a deserted countryside where she finally allowed herself to grieve. Wiping her tears, she began planning her next steps for survival.

Encounter

On the fifth day after the outbreak in San Francisco, Rapunzel encountered Jack sitting on a highway fence, smoking a cigarette. Covered in blood, he looked infected at first glance. Initially planning to ignore him, she remembered Cassandra’s help and her own oath as a doctor, eventually deciding to stop and ask if he needed a ride.

Items/Weapons

• Medical Kit: Contains disinfectants, iodine, bandages, antibiotics, sedatives, etc., scavenged from a pharmacy.

• Frying Pan: Her signature weapon. Unskilled with firearms and warned about their recoil by Jack, she once saved herself with this pan and gradually became proficient with it.

• Notebook: Dr. Gothel’s pathology notes, containing information about the virus and theories about potential sources. It also includes the Chicago address of Gothel’s old friend.

• Axe: A relatively effective weapon after learning zombies’ weak points.

Jackson (Jack) Overland Frost

Jack is the melee combat expert among the survivors. After graduating high school, he served in the military for a year, giving him strong physical and reflexive abilities. Before the outbreak, he was just an ordinary boy working part-time at a Dairy Queen. As the virus spread, Jack quickly learned how to fight off zombies and, for a time, even found a grim sense of enjoyment in the violence. Initially, he planned to exploit Rapunzel’s kindness to take her supplies, deeming her idealism naive in this cruel world. However, her repeated acts of kindness and her story eventually led him to trust her and believe in her theories. Over time, his personality began to revert to its original state, and he started trusting her. Jack’s goal is to reach Washington, D.C., where he hopes to reunite with his former commanding officer, North. Believing North, who once worked at Homeland Security, might have a solution to the outbreak, Jack is determined to find him.

Jack’s First Day

On the first day of the outbreak, Jack was on his way to pick up his younger sister, Emma, from school. Noticing panicked parents rushing to take their children home, he felt an ominous sense of dread. Taking Emma, he hurried back home, witnessing people fleeing in terror and infected individuals attacking others. The chaos triggered Emma’s asthma, but Jack couldn’t find her inhaler. He drove to a pharmacy, where people were looting supplies in a frenzy. Grabbing essentials, he and Emma fled the scene.

Back home, Jack thought they could escape with their parents, only to discover his mother had already been infected by a neighbor. She attacked him and Emma, forcing Jack to grab a handgun from a drawer and shoot her. Only later did he realize she was no longer his mother. Emma, frozen in shock, revealed a bite on her wrist. Tearfully, she begged Jack to end her life before she turned into one of them. Overwhelmed with grief, Jack carried out her final wish and vowed to survive in her honor.

Encounter

A week after the outbreak, Jack ran out of bullets. His car, damaged during previous attacks, broke down on the highway. With no will to live, he sat on the roadside fence, smoking and waiting for the end. Hearing a car stop, he looked up to see a young blonde woman asking if he needed a ride.

Items/Weapons

• M1911: A handgun from his parents’ bedroom, used to kill his infected mother and sister. It played a key role in his early survival.

• .45 ACP: A handgun obtained from a gun shop during his journey with Rapunzel, which he now carries at all times.

• Shotgun: A weapon stored in his car, frequently used in battles.

• Gold Necklace: Originally Emma’s, containing family photos. After her death, Jack has worn it constantly.

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III

Hiccup is the brains of the survivor squad. Before the virus outbreak, he was a university student in Los Angeles. During his freshman year, he was hazed by a fraternity, which led him to successfully hack into all their members’ computers as revenge. Before the outbreak, he was quiet and reserved, but the absurdity of the situation turned him into a chatterbox. His destination during the escape is Minnesota, having heard it’s a peaceful place to retire.

Hiccup’s First Day

It all began when Hiccup was on his way back to his dorm. He noticed several helicopters flying overhead and an accident at a nearby intersection, with police and ambulance sirens blaring. Growing uneasy, he quickened his pace. In the park ahead, he saw someone being attacked, and though he didn’t want to believe it, he realized he was witnessing a scene of cannibalism. Glancing back, he saw people at the intersection abandoning their cars and fleeing in panic. Without knowing what they were running from, Hiccup instinctively joined them. Turning his head, he saw someone emerging from a nearby restaurant being chased and bitten by a grotesque figure. This horrifying sight prompted Hiccup to count how long it took for the bitten person to transform—it was just fifteen seconds.

As more and more infected appeared, Hiccup fled into a dark alley, where he desperately pried open a manhole cover and climbed into the sewers, narrowly escaping death.

During his escape, Hiccup encountered a stray black cat with only one ear. He initially wanted to name it “One Ear,” but the cat clearly disliked the name. The cat stared intently at Hiccup while he ate, and though he first mistook it for a zombie, he relaxed upon realizing it was just a hungry animal. He shared some food with it, but whenever he tried to touch the cat, it reacted with hostility. Once, it even bit his hand with its still-growing teeth. Hiccup didn’t resist and let the cat vent, which led to the cat eventually following him everywhere. Though he initially wanted nothing to do with the cat, Hiccup found himself saving it from a horde of zombies. Later, when he injured his leg and thought he was doomed, he told the cat he would never eat it and urged it to leave him behind. However, the cat refused to abandon him. Realizing his wound was just a scratch from metal debris, Hiccup named the cat “Toothless” and decided to find a home for both of them.

Encounter

Hiccup and Toothless were eking out a living in a supermarket on the outskirts of town. On the sixth day of the outbreak, Hiccup woke to the sound of movement. Gripping a baseball bat, he cautiously approached the pharmacy aisle, where he saw golden hair trailing on the floor. Following the hair, he found Rapunzel scavenging for medical supplies. Startled by the noise, Rapunzel grabbed a frying pan and faced him defensively. Jack, hearing the commotion, quickly located them. After confirming everyone was human, Jack relaxed but remained vigilant, questioning Hiccup about the wound on his leg. Hiccup assured him that if he had been bitten, he would have turned already.

Seeing signs of infection, Rapunzel gave Hiccup antibiotics. Since Minnesota and Chicago were on the same route, she decided to bring Hiccup along to prevent his injury from worsening.

Weapons and Equipment

• Baseball Bat: Originally his roommate’s, it was Hiccup’s first weapon but proved ineffective, forcing him to rely on hiding during the first week.

• Spiked Club: A homemade weapon made by driving nails into a wooden bat.

• Fire Crossbow: A self-made crossbow modified to light its bolts with alcohol, enabling effective ranged attacks.

• Glock 19: Hiccup’s backup weapon, meant for either defense or ending his own life if necessary.

• Prosthetic Leg: After losing his leg in the Chicago incident, Hiccup crafted a prosthetic limb using available tools. With Rapunzel’s help, he adapted to it and eventually regained his ability to walk and run.

Merida DunBroch

Merida is the survivor squad’s long-range support. Before the outbreak, she worked as a horse-riding instructor at a Southern California ranch owned by her father’s old friend, MacGuffin. As a Scot, she would often revert to a thick accent or use slang when agitated, which her clients couldn’t understand. Hoping to reunite with her family in Virginia, she began her journey. Another goal was to retrieve her father’s firearms, stored in a hidden armory near their family farm, to better protect her loved ones.

Merida’s First Day

Merida was leisurely riding her beloved horse, Angus, across a plain when they neared the forest. Angus suddenly stopped, uneasy. Sensing something was wrong, Merida returned to the stables, noticing the other animals behaving restlessly as well.

Shortly after, she received a call from her mother, urging her to lock the doors and windows, mentioning that rabies outbreaks from East Asia had reached the U.S. The call became choppy, and several helicopters flew overhead. Her mother’s final words before the line cut off were to get home immediately.

Merida stopped by MacGuffin’s mansion to find out more. His son pulled her aside, saying his father was acting strangely, and asked her to wait in the living room. Moments later, she heard glass shattering and a struggle upstairs. Investigating, she was attacked by a rabid MacGuffin and his son. Grabbing a decorative sword, Merida defended herself. Guards burst in to help but were quickly overwhelmed and infected. Realizing the infected could only be killed by destroying their brains, Merida used a crossbow from the estate’s armory to put down MacGuffin and his son.

Returning to her ranch, Merida found Angus had fled but eventually reunited with him. Her attempts to warn neighbors were met with fear or disbelief, with one person even stealing her gun and ammunition. Cornered by zombies, Merida watched Angus distract the horde, giving her a chance to escape in MacGuffin’s car.

Encounter

Ten days after the outbreak, WHO declared a global crisis. Jack, Rapunzel, and Hiccup took shelter in a Beverly Hills mansion. While exploring, Rapunzel admired a painting when an arrow narrowly missed her, embedding itself in the artwork. Turning, she saw a red-haired girl aiming a bow at her. Jack, alerted by Rapunzel’s scream, pointed his gun at Merida, who claimed she had staked her claim on the house.

The standoff ended when Merida was startled by Toothless. Jack wanted to tie her up as a precaution, but Rapunzel later brought her food and a blanket, suggesting she join the group. Merida escaped that night, warning Rapunzel that kindness could be deadly in times like these. However, when zombies attacked the mansion, Merida returned and used her crossbow to save Hiccup, ultimately helping the group escape.

Weapons and Equipment

• Metal Bow and Arrows: Merida’s personal weapon, highly accurate and effective in close combat when necessary.

• Crossbow: Taken from the MacGuffin estate, it became her primary weapon.

• Carbine Rifle: Lightweight and effective for medium-range combat, often used to cover Jack’s blind spots.

• Shotgun: A last resort, cumbersome but reliable.

Plot Outline: Virginia → Chicago

After a long journey, the four finally arrived in Virginia, only to find that the virus outbreak in the state was not as severe as in cities out west. Perhaps due to the vast rural landscape and lower population density, there were plenty of zombies, but the situation wasn’t as catastrophic as they had feared.

Merida quickly found her family home but discovered it in complete disarray. The windows and balcony glass were shattered, and the kitchen bore evidence of a violent struggle, with knives and bloodstains scattered around. After thoroughly searching the house and finding no sign of her family or their bodies, the group realized that the DunBroch family, apart from Merida, had likely perished. Merida silently stared at a shattered family photo lying on the ground for a long time. She then led the others to break into her father’s armory. Inside, they found most of the weapons intact, except for her father’s beloved Remington 700 rifle and MAC-10 submachine gun, which were missing. The group scavenged all useful items before continuing their journey to Chicago.

During the journey, Hiccup wrestled with whether to leave the group and take Toothless to Minnesota to build a home for themselves. While staying overnight in an abandoned hotel in the countryside, the group held a simple farewell ceremony for him. After drinking, a tipsy Merida and Jack even joked about tying Hiccup to the passenger seat of their car to prevent him from leaving. Once Merida and Jack had fallen asleep, Rapunzel, who was on night watch, handed Hiccup the address of her destination in Chicago and told him he was welcome to find them anytime if he changed his mind. That night, Toothless rested on Rapunzel’s lap, seemingly sensing the tension in the air.

The next morning, the group said their emotional goodbyes. Hiccup and Toothless set off for Minnesota, while the other three continued their journey to Chicago.

According to the notes they carried, Rapunzel’s late friend had mentioned someone with the codename “Pitch,” whose address pointed to Chicago City Hospital. The group fought their way into the hospital and found Pitch in a private room. Pitch explained that the hospital’s pathology lab contained blood samples from Patient Zero, the first documented case of the outbreak, and recounted the events of the outbreak’s first day in Chicago.

Believing that information about Patient Zero could help develop a cure, Rapunzel insisted on retrieving the blood samples. Jack and Merida initially dismissed her plan as reckless but ultimately decided to join her. Pitch, amused by their determination, agreed to help. He drew them a map of the hospital and marked the location of the pathology lab.

The three braved numerous obstacles to reach the lab, only to find its door secured by a fingerprint scanner. As panic set in, the door suddenly opened on its own. They quickly locked it behind them, keeping the zombies outside. Just as they were trying to figure out what had happened, the intercom inside the lab crackled to life—it was Hiccup’s voice. He and Toothless, after deciding to rejoin the group, had successfully infiltrated the hospital’s control room and hacked into its systems to assist them.

With the blood samples in hand, the group reunited with Hiccup in the control room and returned to Pitch’s room, only to find it overrun by zombies. Before they left, Pitch revealed that the safest place in the world was Jerusalem, which had prepared extensively for the outbreak even before it began. He mentioned a massive wall called “Limbo” that successfully kept the zombies out. Rapunzel urged Pitch to join them, but he refused, explaining that he had lost his daughter and no longer had the will to continue fighting. The group reluctantly left as the zombies poured in, and Rapunzel, glancing back for a brief moment, was shocked to see the zombies ignoring Pitch entirely.

As the group fled in their vehicle, zombies attacked before the door could close, and Hiccup was bitten on the lower leg. Once the car was secured, Jack immediately amputated Hiccup’s leg to prevent the infection from spreading. Rapunzel quickly wrapped his leg with a cloth to stop the bleeding while counting down the crucial 15 seconds. Merida placed the hilt of her sword in Hiccup’s mouth to prevent him from biting his tongue in pain. As the seconds passed, Jack, trembling, held a gun to Hiccup’s head, ready to end it if necessary. When the 15 seconds elapsed and Hiccup showed no signs of infection, the group breathed a sigh of relief. Rapunzel disinfected and bandaged his leg, while Jack, still shaken, muttered that perhaps Hiccup shouldn’t have come back. Hiccup, pale and weak, stroked Toothless and replied that he felt safer with them.

Shortly after, Jack managed to contact North, attempting to negotiate safe passage for the group. Sensing hesitation in North’s response, Jack revealed that they had blood samples from Patient Zero and that his experience in the field made him an asset. In exchange, he demanded transport to Jerusalem’s Limbo. After a brief pause, North agreed to contact them within an hour.

An hour later, North instructed them to meet his team at Cleveland’s Terminal Tower at sunrise.

Upon arriving in Cleveland, the group prepared for the final sprint, using thick magazines to reinforce their arms and legs and carrying all remaining weapons and supplies. At sunrise, they fought through a relentless horde of zombies toward the helicopter. Hiccup fired his flaming crossbow to signal their position to the pilots. During the battle, Merida accidentally ingested zombie blood, and once aboard the tower, she prepared to leap to her death if she showed signs of infection. Rapunzel, panicked, tried to stop her, but Merida refused, counting down 15 seconds with her eyes closed. When no infection occurred, she finally boarded the helicopter.

The group finally escaped and arrived within the walls of Limbo in Jerusalem. Rapunzel and the blood samples were handed over to surviving WHO virologists. Jack was assigned to the defense team protecting the walls, Hiccup and Toothless received further treatment for his amputation, and Merida, to her surprise, was reunited with her three younger brothers, who had survived.

—— TBC.

[pacing-er]

Krakoa Era Reading List Cherik Version (part 7)

Disclaimer! There are a lot of titles I'm skipping in this period, simply because they focus on characters and plotlines that I don't care about. This story is complicated enough without side plots.

22. Hellfire Gala: Fall of X

I really liked this one! Any comic that shows off Charles powers is a 10/10 for me and this one is no exception. Added bonus is that he is wearing this super cute angel-inspired costume:

Also he looks so freaking pretty here omfg.

As is standard for all Hellfire Galas something goes horribly wrong, but this time it is much harder to come back from. Moira and Orchis show up with a bunch of Nimrods and reveal that they had interfered with the Mutant's medicines for mankind and installed a kill-switch which they use to take humankind hostage. Threatening Charles with mass human death, they force him to mind control all of the mutants on Earth to send them into the portals and off of Earth. Little did he know that they also hacked the portals, effectively turning them into meat-grinders which he just forced all of his people into (as far as he knows at least). Orchis then activates the kill-switch and many humans die anyways, but Charles in an act of desperation extends his powers to make it so they feel no pain and die peacefully. Idk I just thought that was a nice detail. The comic ends with a majority of mutant kind presumed dead, Emma leading the few survivors and an emotionally broken Charles sending Rogue off to "Avenge Krakoa". Very bleak stuff. It's all downhill from here folks!

23. Immortal X-Men (Issues #14-18)

Very cool, very convoluted. Basically covers two storylines: Xavier uncovering vital truths with the help of the Sinister that had been implanted inside of him, Hope and Exodus leading the mutants in the Noplace they'd been sent to after Hellfire Gala. A whole lot of twists and turns and it ends with a big reveal that I thought was super cool so I won't spoil it. Mother Righteous continues to ruin things for the mutants, and it's revealed that she was the one who hacked the portals to send them all to the White Hot Room (the mutant afterlife) in order to use Jean's power to become a Dominion. I liked Charles part in this comic a lot despite him spending a lot of it sitting around depressed in the ruins of Krakoa. At first we are led to believe that he is using his telepathy and newfound telekinesis to massacre the Orchis agents that Shaw brought there, but it is revealed to be the remnants of Sinister inside of him doing the killing. I like that it allows us to see how efficient and deadly he could be without conflicting his morals. He also has a beard in this comic which is... Something. I don't hate it.

Charles dynamic with the Sinister inside of him was very enjoyable imo. Hope and the other mutants were also very interesting, and I dig the Jewish parallels with them all stuck wandering in the desert "diaspora" in search for the Promised Land. They actually use those exact words.

That's the end of the Immortal X-Men run! This title in particular had some of my favorite moments so I'm definitely gonna pick up a physical copy for it

24. Jean Grey

Technically a prelude to the previous entry, in which we see Jean explore several different potential outcomes for mutantkind as she waits to be resurrected. It explains her appearance in the White Hot Room. Charles and Erik are in the first issue of this title, with special emphasis put on their relationship. We see Jean put Magneto into a catatonic state, believing that it would be better for mutants if he was out of the picture. Charles of course freaks out and immediately kicks the X-Men out of the mansion, and when they later return they find that Charles has restored Erik's mind and the two of them are living together. Due to the lingering effects of Jeans powers Erik is now wheelchair bound, so they're matching! The rest of this title covers Jean's various relationships and sort of serves as a character analysis.

25. The Resurrection of Magneto

I think that enough is explained at this point to read this story. Arakko was not affected by Charles command to walk into the portals, but they were busy dealing with a civil war so they are late to the game. Ororo goes into the mutant afterlife to retrieve Magneto's soul, since after the events of the Hellfire Gala Charles is no longer stable enough to lead the mutants. Some really epic symbolism and references to various moments in Magnetos history are shown, including the iconic scene from the original Trial of Magneto comic. Overall a great analysis of Magneto as a character, but the cherry on top was the focus put on Charles and Erik's relationship. Man is obsessed with Charles and it shows. Definitely a must-read for Cherik fans. I'd include some screen caps but I'd basically be sharing the full comic so I recommend you just read it.

I'm taking another break to read some older X-Men comics I got for the holidays so I'm cutting this one shorter than anticipated. Next are Fall of the House of X, Rise of the Powers of X, and X-Men: Forever! Then I need to go through Duggan's X-Men comics and see what I missed since the reading order lists I'm using and the titles on the free comic site don't match up and it's a whole thing. But I'm almost to the end! The next Krakoa era reading list should be my last 🎉🎉🎉

[the-dixon-effect]

Daddy Issues

words: 1.1k

Nobody knew about your past.

Not even a bit. Your presence in Alexandria was regarded by the suburbanites as the disposition of a survivor, someone who had really been shaped by the cruel world outside the gates. Even the members of your own group, your family, didn't dare delve into the rocky landscape that was your life before the fall.

Despite the distinct mystery that followed you wherever you went, some could still sense the trauma you had ensued before. It was in the way you walked, the way you carried yourself, in your defensive impulses and your kind nature. And by 'some', this meant a certain archer who you had taken an interest in since the start.

Daryl Dixon was a man of few words, but since the beginning, you knew there had to be something else underneath his thick skin, a hidden treasure of sorts. And how right you were. You two remained by each other's side at all times, never once leaving the other in fear of losing them. If Daryl had lost you, oh God, he would have lost the one thing keeping him going, the light in his life, the oasis in the vast desert that was this harsh world. You had been so kind to him, and seeing you and your perfect smile was like medicine, and of course, he couldn't help but fall for you. He practically knew everything about you, or at least, he thought he did.

"Ya' alright?" he spoke. The two of you sat side-by-side in the front of a truck, heading out on a run. He had noticed your quietness and how it differed from your usual animated, cheerful manner. He rested both hands on the steering wheel and looked over at you. It had not been long since your father had died, out on a run, not unlike your current mission. Eaten alive by walkers, it was a terrible sight to witness for all involved, especially you, who remained silent for days after.

"I'm fine." Quite the opposite. Such a strange feeling, the man who had abused you your whole life, emotionally and physically, trapped you in the ghetto of Atlanta, and forced you to humiliate yourself to make a living, died at the hands of the new natural world? Did he get what he had coming? Did he deserve it all along? Were you supposed to be grateful, or satisfied? You always imagined that your father's death would feel like a gratifying weight lifted off your shoulders, but for some reason, you were never able to shake the trauma, the anxiety of it all. It was as if the world couldn't let you go, and you were being held hostage in your own dark memories.

Daryl might have been the most observant person you knew. You really thought you'd be able to keep the truth from him and he wouldn't know? Maybe, just maybe, it was time to let it all out. After all, if you were going to confess to anyone, it would have been him.

"I can tell you're not, ya know," he drawled.

"You remember my dad, right?" you spoke, softly and quietly. Even with his eyes fixed on the road, Daryl could sense that you were frowning.

"Ya, I remember tha' prick. Shoulda knocked him out while I had the chance." He also remembered your strong feelings against him, and how he had made a scene in the prison once by ordering you around with a less-than-polite tone. Daryl had obviously stepped in to defend you, which practically began your friendship. You thought of this often, and couldn't help but see Daryl as your protector from then on.

"Well, it's just that- I don't know, it's stupid," you began. "Can't stop thinking 'bout him. The way he died. It just- It seems wrong."

"Shit. I'm sorry, I shouldn't 've said-"

"No, it's okay. He was a horrible man." He was indeed, and though everybody shared your feelings about your father while he was with your old group, not one of them was aware of what he had done to you before the fall.

"There's- there's things I haven't told you. About him, and, about me." Daryl furrowed his brows. Of course he knew there must have been something deeper within your relationship with the man, but he never expected himself to be one whom you would share it with.

"It's alrigh'," he drawled. "Take your time."

"He hit me. All the time. Whenever he was mad or depressed or drunk, or even happy." The words came so easily, and you had underestimated how good it would feel to release some of this pressure build-up, especially to Daryl. Still, you couldn't help but let your eyes glass over as the memories came flooding back. You weren't sure, but despite the horrific things you had endured, it felt right to let it out for once.

He simply stared at you, and even with his brown hair falling over his eyes you could tell he was in shock. How could someone do something like that to you, the most beautiful person, in all ways, that he'd ever met?

"I'm- I'm so sorry Y/N. I never knew 'bout any of it," Daryl was at a loss for words.

"You wanted to know what I did before the world went to shit?" you paused for a moment, understanding that right now, you could not take any of this back.

"I was a- I was-" tears began to stain your cheeks. "I had to- I was a hooker." Silence.

Shit. How could he maintain a friendship with you after that? You were in total disbelief at your confession. Things will never go back to the way they were, you thought.

You sat there, shaking in your seat, forgetting where you were and paying no attention to your surroundings.

It was true, every part of it. You had been a hooker living in the hood of Atlanta before the fall, and you hated it. Every part of it. But there was no escape from the ghetto, and the route you had chosen to survive was safer and steadier than a life of crime. Still, every day you dreamt of a man who could take care of you, love you for your mind and soul, somebody to treat you right. Had you been shaped by the apocalypse, or had you always been like this?

"It's okay. I'm gon' take care of you. Ya don't have to worry 'bout anythin'." Daryl's soft words came like the arrival of the man you had always imagined late at night. You didn't need a man, of course you didn't. But Daryl, maybe you needed him.

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[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Vince Coyner

Do you ever wonder why, when we think of Jews, we think of banking and media and not construction or farming? Is it because Jews can’t build or farm? No. They built Jerusalem long before the Romans arrived and centuries later created a vibrant farming industry out of what was essentially a 19th-century desert in what would later become Israel.

The reason Jews are often associated with banking and media and other such pursuits has to do with the fact that historically they were prohibited from large swaths of the economy. In Europe, under the Romans and Christians, Jews were often excluded from guilds. In Islamic lands they faced Jizya, a tax on non-Muslims.

Those exclusions and taxes dovetailed with usury bans on Christians and Muslims to open a significant opportunity for Jews. A key element of their being able to take advantage of that opportunity comes directly from the Jewish faith itself, which requires Jews read the Torah. Literacy and its companion numeracy allowed Jews to become successful bankers. That expertise and success, in turn, provided them with the capital and connections to branch into other areas.

So why are there still so few Jews relative to the rest of the population? A few factors. As people become more prosperous, birthrates decline. Additionally, successful Jews often intermarry into Christian families and seem to drift away from the faith. And lastly, as Gad Saad points out in The Parasitic Mind, Judaism demands a great deal of its adherents and even more from those who want to become members. The result is that while Jewish civilization is one of the oldest in human history, its adherents remain a tiny fraction of mankind.

That tiny number hides much. With their focus on education handed down over thousands of years, Jews have the highest IQs in the world. While representing just .2% of the world’s population, Jews represent more than 20% of Nobel Prize recipients across disciplines including 41% in Economics, 26% in Medicine, and 25% in Physics. Jews outperform virtually every other group on the planet in terms of success across a wide swath of culture and civilization. Mark Twain observed:

[The Jews] are peculiarly and conspicuously the world’s intellectual aristocracy... [Jewish] contributions to the world’s list of great names in literature, science, art, music, finance, medicine, and abstruse learning are way out of proportion to the weakness of his numbers. He has made a marvelous fight in this world...and has done it with his hands tied behind him.

As with members of every other group, there are no doubt Jews who are avaricious, malicious, and mendacious, but I would suggest they, too, are a minority. In reality, the hatred directed at Jews has little to do with anything other than envy. People hate or dislike Jews because, in the aggregate, they’re so successful, and people focus this animus on the keys that empowered Jews: family, community, and education. (I am somewhat dumbfounded why so many of these manifestly smart people vote for Democrats, who are against virtually everything Jews have harnessed to succeed...)

[serickswrites]

Whumpcember 2024

Day 1: prompt: broken bones; TW: captivity, torture, restraints, blood, broken bones, rescue, hurt/aftermath

Day 2: prompt: "This is your fault;" TW: explosion, blood, unconsciousness, whipping, cruel whumper

Day 3: prompt: begging; TW: captivity, rescue, magical exhaustion, blood, unconsciousness

Day 4: prompt: "This isn't my blood;" TW: blood, gunshot, gunshot wounds, unclear character status, kidnapping

Day 5: prompt: concussion; TW: head injury, concussion, unconsciousness, confusion, disorientation, field medicine

Day 6: prompt: "Please stop;" TW: captivity, torture, restraints, forced to watch, blood, physical violence, unconsciousness

Day 7: prompt: kidnapped; TW: kidnapping, drugging, unconsciousness

Day 8: prompt: "No. Not like this;" TW: blood, impalement, stabbing, character death, self sacrifice, mcd

Day 9: prompt: shaking; TW: manhandling, threats, kidnapping

Day 10: prompt: "Let me help you;" TW: hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, injury, broken bones

Day 11: prompt: mainpulation; TW: kidnapping, restraints, drugging, manipulation, implied torture, cruel whumper

Day 12: prompt: "I have nowhere else to go;" TW: blood, injury, desperation, choking, unconsciousness

Day 13: prompt: trauma; TW: emotional abuse, threat of violence, captivity of sorts

Day 14: prompt: "I never wanted this;" TW: blood, injury, wounds, stabbing, betrayal

Day 15: prompt: broken glass; TW: physical violence, cuts, blood, wounds, hurt/aftermath

Day 16: prompt: amnesia; TW: captivity, torture, rescue, amnesia

Day 17: prompt: greatest fear; TW: captivity, implied torture, unclear character status, yandere

Day 18: prompt: poisoned; TW: nausea, vomiting, poison

Days 19 & 20: prompt: panic attack, "Please leave" ; TW: referenced captivity, referenced torture, PTSD, panic attack, hurt/aftermath

Days 21, 22, 23, & 24: prompt: bruises, hallucinations, overwhelmed, walking on injuries; TW: deserted, left for dead, head injury, bruises, sprain, hallucinations, dehydration

Day 25: prompt: healed wrong; TW: referenced captivity, referenced torture, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, broken bones

Day 26: prompt: falling; TW: falling from a great height, fade to black, unclear character status

Days 27 & 28: prompt: hypothermia whipped; TW: restraints, blood, whipping, exposure, hypothermia, unconsciousness

Days 29, 30, & 31: prompt: choked, saying goodbye, Alt prompt 5: "You're allowed to fall apart;" TW: referenced captivity, referenced restraints, referenced torture, referenced failed rescue, gun, gunshot, wounds, blood, bleeding out, choking, mcd, grief, hurt/no comfort

@whumpcember

[stopdyingnow]

𝙃𝙖𝙮𝙖𝙠𝙖𝙬𝙖 𝘼𝙠𝙞 𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙔𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙎𝙞𝙘𝙠

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘕𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘚𝘧𝘸, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘶𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴. 𝘐 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳- ^^

Aki notices when you’re unwell, physically or mentally. He noticed you be more tired than usual this morning, struggling just to get up. Feeling weak. He walked over to you, concerned. As he then pressed a hand to your head, feeling your temperature. The moment he felt it, he knew you had a fever. Also judging by the way you sniffled and had stuffy nose, it was clear you had a cold.

He ushers you to stay home, and to not go out. Ushering you back into bed to let you rest. “You should stay home since you’re sick, don’t push yourself.” He says, as he rubs your forehead affectionately. Feeling the warmth of your head when he looks at you with an empathetic expression.

He puts a blanket over you, constantly telling you to stay warm and to take care of yourself. “You should really take care of yourself better…Put on a jacket next time it rains. I don’t want you getting sick or feeling unwell.” Sweetest man’s ever. He doesn’t get grossed out by any of the “nasty” parts of being sick. He understands it’s human nature, and that it’s natural. So he knows not to be rude by saying derogatory stuff when you sweat or blow your nose. He’s willing to hold your hair back if you throw up. Sweaty sheets? He’ll change it. Need a warm bath but too weak to walk? Hell carry you. Very understanding and is never rude when you’re unwell. Extremely empathetic and overall very understanding.

He would sit by your bed and cut you some apples as you lay there recovering. He knows the variety of stuff you can eat is extremely limited when you're ill, you can't have any good snacks such as popcorn, or any desserts either. So he'll make you some apple bunnies to cheer you up. He'll also get you the good junk foods you like once you're better.

He’d chat with you, telling you some stuff about life, or asking about yours. And maybe even read you a book if you ask. He would also make you soup or whatever can help you during your time of feeling unwell, making stuff that even tastes good while sick- man’s is an amazing cook. Bro can probably quit devil hunting and just become a chef-

Always makes sure you take your medicine at the right time. Never once misses a time. Either that or extremely little times he has missed on giving you your medicine. Supposed to take another spoon at 3:30? He sets an alarm and doesn’t forget. Next spoon at 6:30? Same thing. Sets an alarm and doesn’t miss. Very responsible, and if you say it tastes gross he’ll make you something nice but healthy afterwards as a reward- ^^ He probably wouldn’t sleep directly touching you due to him not wanting to catch your sickness, because he’s still a devil hunter that has to stay well afterall. If you and him know each other for a bit but a long enough time he’ll most likely set a mattress next to the bed you sleep in so he can still sit next to you. Sometimes caressing your hand if it hangs down. However if you and him know each other for a very long time, or are in a very healthy official relationship I think he might sleep next to you. Not directly touching you due to the reasons stated but he’ll watch over you. Making sure your breathing is good, and making sure to have cough drops or tissues by the bedside in case you need it. And despite you being sick, he’ll still press a kiss to your forehead in affection at times.

Overall, he’s very loving and affectionate. Very sweet. And wouldn’t be rude or make you feel gross if you’re sick, which reflects off of his kind personality that goes along with it. He loves you, sick or not. And he would never say “ew” or be grossed out. He’ll make you your favorite desert, or take you out once you’re better as a reward. ^^

𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦: 𝘐'𝘮 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬- 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘐'𝘮 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 𝘈𝘬𝘪 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘴. =)

[ardra-astrology]

Rx Remedy for Saturn in Aries

This is the first official meeting of the Birthchart Saturn in Aries Club. Why do these cohorts need a support group?

Saturn is debilitated in Aries. Saturn is your career. He is one who can give you prosperity on this planet. He does not get on with young rebellious Aries/Mars. Saturn is the old man with a left foot limp who demands hard work, rules and discipline. And who yells at the kids playing ball to - Get Off His Grass!

This placement can make a person not get on well with their boss - - Aries: “what boss?” And it can even be an indication of homelessness.

So I think these natives should unite in commissary. A psychological social circle. Group therapy. If you have Saturn in Aries in your birthchart please subscribe to this blog. Welcome!

Rx: Go to the gym on Saturdays

Let’s talk about a Rx remedy for this placement. Aries is the muscles of the body. Saturn is the weak old man. This placement can cause muscle weakness and difficulty in building muscle. In Chinese Medicine Spleen Qi Deficiency. Especially something these individuals will need to be aware of as they age. You will want to learn about muscle maintenance. It is important to take exercise. Moving the large muscle group of the legs. Walking. Walk to the gym. Go to the gym on Shani Dev’s Saturday. Coincidentally I recently discovered Saturday night at the gym turns out to be geriatric hour! Apparently a favorite time for the older clientele to show up. (If you have a hard time wanting to go to the gym, call it something else, like ‘Physical Therapy’ Day!)

Also coincidentally I read someone’s online post today that I thought was fitting for this blog that I was thinking about writing. This man was telling a story about this one time when he was hitchhiking off a desert road near an Indian Reservation. A Native American man stopped & got out of his truck and placed two large water bottles on the painted white line, saying, “you’re going to need these.”

The hitchhiker surmisingly looked at the bottles and said, “that’s 16 pounds!” The man getting back into his truck, said over his shoulder, “Get stronger.”

Rx: Ashwini Mudra.

Rx: Hanuman Puja.

[fatuismooches]

omg i’m super sick rn to the point i had to be sent home but like it just reminded me of fragile reader sm 😭 like fragile reader was def sick before it was really bad. like isolated flus and colds that dottore was always able to fix up medicine for. it must have been so jarring the first time he’s never been able to find a solution for it.

also i js realized that akademiya segment would not realize that reader is sick until he gets shown that they are. like he probably only carries memories of healthy reader so when prime shows him reader so they can be taken care of he looks like this:

🧍

- 💌 anon

AHH 💌 ANON I HOPE YOU'RE FEELING BETTER BY NOW :(( *hugs* make sure to rest a lot and take it easy okay? But yes Dottore definitely (begrudgingly) took care of you during the Akademiya whenever you fell sick (under the premise he wanted you to hurry up so you could help him with his work again, but in reality he genuinely wanted you to get better, he's grumpy and always contradicting himself like that.)

No one likes being sick, especially not you as you hated the feeling, but at least you had your Zandik to concoct his own little medicine and remedies that somehow worked far better than the other stuff. Perks of having a genius boyfriend you guess. The cuteness is also a mega bonus. He's still his grouchy irritable self when you're sick but like... in a good way? For example, if you try to get up to do chores or whatnot, he'll force you to go back to bed (verbally and physically are both possibilities.) On those days when you're too sick to get out of bed and do basic tasks, he'll help clean you, feed you, change your clothes, etc... you feel bad because he's doing all this work while mumbling how he told you to be more careful, but deep down he doesn't like to see you so defeated so he doesn't mind. Although this is his first time taking care of someone (he doesn't even take care of himself sometimes) it may seem a bit lackluster in the beginning but he grows into it. (He's still not cooking though.)

But YEAH when the numerous medicines he whipped up did not work he was thrown in for a LOOP. Like all of a sudden, the routine he's held for so long is broken? He's lost, he's confused, he's annoyed and he's frustrated (at himself, not at you) for being unable to make you better again.

ALSO OUCH... well it really depends on when actually he cloned the Akademiya segment. I always hc he cloned him after you fell ill, like i guess the age when Pierro recruited him in the desert, but mhm... cloning him before gives me angsty ideas. Akademiya Zandik segment thinking everything is normal, and that the one person he cares about is alright but... then he sees your sleeping body and well it takes a few moments for it to click and for him to realize those memories are nothing more than in the distant past...

[lunachy]

New 5★ Welfare Medic: Rose Salt

Multi-Target Medic

Artist: 二开

Trait: Restores the HP of up to 3 allies simultaneously.

RIN-X Module: Attack range expands.

Talent

+ATK%. Allies in Rose Salt's range gain increased healing.

Skill 1 - Excellent Emergency Medicine

The next heal is increased to ATK%. Can store X charge(s).

Skill 2 - Light Lingering Medicine

Increased attack inverval; Whenever an ally in range takes damage, Rose Salt converts X% of that damage into HP loss over X seconds.

Translated Weibo Introduction:

“Hello brothers and sisters! I'm the new operator today. Elysium and Weedy recommended I come here! I hope to get along with you all ah - Little Redhead? What are you spitting out over the side there? You think I'm pretending?”

—

“Hello brothers and sisters~ I'm the new operator, my name is ROSE SALT! I'm young, I don't know many things, I hope I can get along with my brothers and sisters!”

Elysium waved his hands behind her exaggeratedly and mouthed, “Fake!”

“I've passed the entry test and am now a full-fledged operator of the medical department! I am also originally a herbalist, so in the future my brothers and sisters can come to me if they have any physical discomforts!”

Elysium strangled his neck with both hands behind her back, making a choking appearance, while his mouth conveyed, “Thorns was drugged by her!”

“It was Brother Elysium and Sister Weedy who recommended me to come to Rhodes Island. We helped each other in the Salt Desert, and escaped from a group of bad guys together! Our relationship is especially good... Hmm?”

Elysium was still gesturing to deny what Rose Salt said. Weedy's eyes were sharp, noticing that Rose Salt had noticed what was going on behind her, and pulled away the flailing Elysium with one hand, “After all, she really did save your lives, that part is really true...”

Rose Salt turned back around without noticing anything wrong and continued to smile sweetly, “Well! That's how things are, brothers and sisters. You can call me Little Fluffy from now on too!”

Bonus: The Spanish at the top and bottom of her E2 art reads 'Treasures in sight!' 'And they're all mine!'