#Reverse harem

[purerae]

— DUPLEXITY;;

fem!reader x coworker!yanderes

— who knew attempting to bond with your co workers would lead to a fucked up love triangle?

prologue; quit your job! If dying was an option right now, Y/N would take it with a gleeful smile.

Sprinting through the woods, her ears ringing, she slams her grimy, broken hand against her head over and over. Her knees, bruised to a swollen pulp of purple, threaten to buckle beneath her. A deep, unprotected gash dressed painfully across her back, its edges rotting, every movement tearing at the poorly dressed wound.

Ignoring the piercing whine in her ears, her heart froze at the sound of shuffling drawing closer. Her legs wobbled, threatening to give out, but the surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins kept her moving forward. An ear striking screech bursts from the girl’s throat, desperate to catch the attention of any passing drivers or hikers.

How could she be so foolish? It’s four in the morning, and she’s in the middle of nowhere, with two freaks relentlessly chasing her.

Her scream was a terrible mistake. It brought her no closer to freedom instead only closer to her pursuers. Their shouts echo behind her, filled with words she can’t—and doesn’t want to comprehend.

Pleas, threats, and bursts of anger escape from their mouths but the only thing that Y/N had her mind on was getting her brother and leaving this shithole. Y/N ran and ran, but to her dismay and an almost comical cruel sense of bad luck , Her vision was slammed with a wall ruined with graffiti that was now taunting her from her inescapable future. Her breathing slows as she stumbled back, desperately praying for anything that could save her. Surely they weren't close, she put in all this effort, they cannot be close! With trembling caution, she moved backward, her steps deliberate and silent. She avoided every brittle branch and insect littering the forest floor, straining to make as little noise as possible. Her back pressed into something soft yet unyielding, carrying the earthy scent of firewood mixed with the sharp tang of blood that she’ll always loathe.  Y/N’s breath hitched, frozen in her chest as the sound of heavy breathing enveloped her ears from just behind.

‘Fuck.'

“You can’t run from us. It’s two against one, cutie.”

Even with her back turned, she could picture his smug, shit-eating smirk. A chill ran down her spine as his arms snaked around her waist, pulling her closer, trapping her. God, she wished she had a bat so she could beat him till he was a lifeless piece of flesh that she could point and laugh at. Too bad that would never be possible, even if she had a weapon to begin with. Deep down, Y/N knew there was no escaping this. But with every ounce of strength her battered body could summon, she let out the loudest scream she could muster; a semblance of hope in her body that somebody could save her. It tore through the cold night air before everything turned black. The last thing she heard was another man's footsteps approaching them, and two voices she made an oath to never hear, conversing. All she wanted was a fucking pay raise.

-

-

- Y/N buttoned her blouse with a giddy smile, rushing around her room in search of the shoes she’d bought just for this day. "I can't believe I got the job! I'm so excited, this still feels so surreal."  she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm as she grabbed her phone, waiting for her friend’s response. "Girl, I'm happy for you!” her friend shouted over the line, her voice barely cutting through the loud music and chatter in the background. “Just work hard, and you’ll be promoted to detective in no time! My little Sherlock Holmes~” Y/N scoffs out a laugh before she shakes her head at the chaos on the other end. Normally, she’d lecture her friend about hosting a party at seven in the morning, but today, she was too nervous and way too excited about her first day to care. "Ahaha, Yeah  I don't know about that... I'm still in shock that I got the job to be the assistant, let alone be the main thing. I just hope the person in charge of me is nice." The E/C-eyed girl replied looking at the ceiling , nervously biting her nails whilst walking back and forth in her room.

"Don't stress about it! I'm sure they'll be nice, babes. And you should ju-" Y/N’s friend was abruptly cut off by a guy shouting in the background, his voice carrying over the music: “Ayra! Get back to the party already!” "Hold on a sec Noel! Im talking to Y/N" she yells back with an obvious scowl on her face… Well, Y/N was almost positive that she displayed one based on the tone of her voice. "It's fine! You go do your shit, I gotta’ finish getting ready." "Okay Okay, message me after your shift ends. I wanna know everything~!" The bubbly girl says as she mimics a kiss sound. Despite Ayra not being able to see Y/N, she smiles with a soft gaze at the phone before hanging up. Staring into the mirror, she carefully assessed her outfit. A sleek black blouse layered over a white undershirt paired perfectly with a matching black pencil skirt. Light makeup enhanced her features, and her neatly styled hair framed her face just right. She smoothed her clothes with her hands, beaming widely as she twirled in front of the mirror. Y/N gathered all her essentials, carefully packing them into her bag before stepping out of her apartment. She locked the door with a quick twist of the key, then paused to double-check it twice…just to be sure; it was a habit she had done ever since she lived in her parents home. 

Stepping into the elevator, she pressed the button for the ground floor. Knowing the ride would take a while, she lived on the second-highest floor, after all, she pulled out her phone to check the time. It was 7:15 a.m. Perfect. With the bus journey to the department taking only 30 minutes, she was right on schedule (which was always a struggle for her.) A grin spread across her face as she opened her email app and tapped on the message from the 'Warrens Department.' Her heart fluttered nervously as she re-read the letter, scanning each line to ensure she hadn’t missed anything important. As she scrolled to the bottom, her brows furrowed. There, tucked away, was a link she hadn’t noticed before.

'Shit I must've missed this' She thought with worry before quickly clicking the link, silently thanking her instincts for prompting her to double-check the message. The link was a profile of the detective that she would be working with. Looking at the picture, she notices that he was a very conventionally attractive male. The formally dressed girl squints her eyes before assessing the man that her eyes laid upon.

Xavier Allette, it read. Twenty-five years old, with five years of experience as a detective.

‘Holy shit, he became a detective at 20? I was still in university then.’ Y/N’s thoughts wandered briefly as she reminisced about her own journey, a flicker of envy stirring as she compared herself to her boss.

Letting out a breath of relief that she didn't know she had; The assistant was expecting an old cruel man as her boss, but to her luck, it was someone of a similar age to her. And, as a bonus, he wasn’t bad to look at either.

Y/N knew better than to judge someone based on their appearance, but as her cheeks warmed, she couldn’t help but blush at the handsome face staring back at her from the screen. A straight pale face, with a clean-shaven look. His hair was a wavy deep black, tussled formally. Eyes sharp and matched with his extremely dark hair. Y/N couldn’t help but notice the absence of a glint or any sign of life in his pupils. ‘I’m overthinking it,’ she told herself. ‘He’s just posing for the picture’. It had to be her psychology degree kicking in, making her analyze every feature of his face like a subject in a case study. Xavier’s nose was strikingly defined, and his lips were full, holding a slightly warm tint that gave his serious expression a subtle softness. Though he was wearing a suit, anyone could tell the detective worked out as his jaw was sharp and his shoulders were broad. It was clear that he took good care of himself.

The only other information displayed on his profile was a list of the cases he had worked on and details about his educational background. 'Maketa Academy?!' That was the most prestigious high school that Y/N had ever heard of. You could either get in with a scholarship or a lot of money. Unfortunately for her, she had been neither crazy smart nor crazy rich, so attending a place like that had never been an option. Y/N couldn’t tell whether Xavier had gotten in through wealth or intellect, but either way, it was impressive. Her train of thought abruptly halted as the elevator chimed, signaling her arrival on the first floor.

Turning off her phone, She exits the building before walking a short distance to the bus so she could arrive at the destination where she was going to be working.

'Please be nice to me, Warrens Department.'

-

-

-

Y/N rushed out of the bus, the clock read 8:00 am. The bus kept on delaying because of the traffic that the driver faced. The 15 minutes that she was hoping she had left to spare, disappeared all because of not getting a driver's licence! Cursing at herself, she ran to the building that was two minutes away. She could get there in ten seconds, her stubbornness is saving her life today.

The girl stared in awe at the building for a second. It was massive and incredibly modern. A large sign labelled Warrens Department was placed right in the middle of the building. Shaking her head, she scans the key card that came into the mail a week ago and fixes any loose hairs before walking into the building.

8:01 am, Already a minute late, though not much of a difference, she didn't want to disappoint her boss on the first day. Power walking to the reception she sighs shyly before speaking up. "Hi!" Her voice cracks.

'Oh my god, first I'm late, now my voice cracks, I should just quit my job and leave this e-' "Hello! Who’re  you? I've never seen you before?" The ginger girl behind the desk questioned loudly. Her light southern accent peeked through. The red-haired was incredibly short, her face caked with pink-themed makeup matching her formal pink outfit. Y/N thought the receptionist was cute and seemed nice too! If she wasn't too busy stressing about being late, she'd love to be her friend. "I'm the detective's new assistant— Xaviers Allette's assistant." Y/N rambles, hands shaking with nerves.

"Y/N L/N?" The receptionist questioned with eyebrows raised, Y/N nods quickly and shows her key card to the lady. "I'm Abigail!" her smile drops, "Also, you should probably head over to his office quickly, Mr Allette hates tardiness.. a lot." It was now Y/N's turn for her face to drop, she mumbles a quick thank you before running off.She stops in her tracks as she realised her stupid mistake. "Hey Abigail, what's his room number?" Y/N spoke rushing back to the desk. Reaching halfway, the red-haired girl puts her hand out, ordering her to stop running back. "It's on the second floor, room 11, hurry!" She yells, shaking her hand. The late assistant puts a thumbs up as a way of saying thank you before completely ignoring the elevator and rushing up the stairs. Turning left she finds the room that is the lead detective. On the door, a silver plate is shown with  'Room 11' and 'Xavier Allette' engraved onto them in a fancy font.. It was clear that his room was the biggest on the floor.

Wiping the sweat off her hands and re-checking herself on the reflection of the plate, she checks the time. 

8:05 am.

Y/N knocks on her boss's door. The door opens automatically, she notices the man that was just on her screen almost an hour ago, sitting down with his eyes furrowed and lips pulled into a frown.  His eyes were fixated on his computer screen, fist propped against his chin. The assistant looks around while patiently waiting for him to say something.

20 seconds passed and all that she could hear were the sounds of him typing. the h/c hair-coloured girl clears her throat.

"Good morning, sir. My name is Y/N L/N, and Im p-"

"You're late." A deep, harsh voice cuts her off. 

A/N : New story :p !! i really like the plot for this one and will have a masterlist out for it soon!

[kikyoupdates]

Otherworldly Attraction ⭑˚🔮⭑ 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒

yandere!jjk x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

You don't know how or why, but you've been isekai'd into the world of Jujutsu Kaisen. Although your first instinct is to stay away from the plot, you've been blessed with an abnormal amount of cursed energy, and for better or worse, you find yourself sucked into the storyline. You decide that you may as well use your newfound powers for the greater good, and if you're lucky, you might succeed in rewriting some of the characters' fates. But it turns out that your presence in this world is an even bigger deal than you first thought, and soon, everyone wants to make you theirs.

story masterlist | next

What the actual fuck.

You blink, absolutely dumbfounded. There’s some kind of grotesque, insect-like creature in front of you, buzzing obnoxiously as it flaps its wings. It bears the appearance of a fly, at least somewhat, but it’s much bigger than a normal fly, and its face looks like it came straight out of a low-budget horror movie. 

The point is, it’s not normal. It's not the kind of thing you’ve ever seen before. At the very least, not in real life. 

And yet, you’re the only one who seems to notice it.

“...I keep telling you, it’s weird,” a girl mumbles, scratching her neck impatiently. “I can’t get rid of it. There’s this chill that follows me around no matter where I go, and my shoulders feel weirdly heavy lately. I even went to a chiropractor to see if it would help. I feel so gross these days.” 

The fly-like creature is hovering closely above the girl, a disturbing smile plastered across its already unattractive face. It’s literally right next to her, and not only her, but the other girls that are gathered around. They’re all just talking like nothing’s even going on. Completely blind to the abnormal presence that lurks nearby. 

You’re the only one who can see that yucky-looking thing. How does that make any sense? How is it even possible for something like that to exist in real life? 

Actually… where are you right now? 

Once again, you blink. Something utterly strange is happening. The last thing you remember is going to bed, in your perfectly ordinary bedroom, so how in the world did you wake up in the middle of what appears to be a field? 

You’re at a school, by the looks of things. But certainly not the school you’re used to attending. It seems like you’re even wearing some unfamiliar uniform, and it would make sense for this to be a dream, but by all accounts, it’s way too realistic. 

Pinching your cheek doesn’t help. The scenery refuses to change, and sure enough, the creature is still hanging above that girl. It even lets out a shrill, high-pitched laugh (which she of course doesn’t hear), almost as if it’s taunting her.

You’re not sure what you should be doing right now. This is all one hell of a mindfuck, if you’re being honest. But that creature can’t be good news, and even though you’re admittedly pretty scared, it seems like you’re the only one who can see it. You’re the only one who even realizes it’s here. 

Swallowing your apprehension, you take a deep breath and approach. 

“Excuse me…?”

You call out to the group of girls. There’s no easy way to break this to them. How do you bring up the fact that there’s some weird creature in the vicinity? If they can’t see it, there’s no reason they’ll even believe you. They’ll probably just think you’re crazy or something. 

As it so happens, though, you aren’t required to recount some absurd, seemingly nonsensical tale. 

You’ve barely taken two steps forward when all of a sudden, the creature sharply turns its head in your direction. 

And then it screams. 

Just like its laugh, the sound is high-pitched and wholly unpleasant. You’re not even sure what prompted that kind of reaction, since it seemed pretty chill up until this point, but now, it’s trembling like a leaf in the wind. 

You’re worried that you might have triggered it somehow, and that it’s going to attack you, but that doesn’t happen either. It turns out that the scream it just let out wasn’t one of aggression, but rather, fear. 

So, it flies off before you can get any closer, and the girl who was complaining until just a few moments ago suddenly blinks, expression brightening.

“Whoa, wait,” she mumbles in disbelief. “It’s… it’s gone. I think I feel better now. No way. It’s actually gone! I thought it would never end!”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just all in your head?” one of the other girls frowns, visibly unconvinced. She then turns towards you. “Oh. Sorry, were you talking to us just now? I didn’t really hear what you said.” 

“Uh.” 

You’re not sure what to say. The whole reason you came over was so you could warn them about that weird creature, but it disappeared in the blink of an eye. It screamed right as it saw your face—which is kind of offensive, honestly—and then it flew off like no one’s business. 

A bit hesitant, you try asking, “Sorry if this sounds weird, but where are we right now?” 

Now it’s their turn to look dumbfounded. You can only imagine how visceral their reaction would have been if you’d actually brought up the weird fly creature. 

“What do you mean where are we? We’re… at school, where else?” 

The girl gestures all around her, as if it should be obvious. Granted, you deduced as much, but that wasn’t really what you were asking. All of this is just so ridiculous. How in the world does a person manage to go to sleep in their own room and wake up someplace they’ve never been before?

The group decides to walk away, probably because you weirded them out with your stupid question, and you can even hear them whispering amongst themselves. 

“Why’d she even ask that all of a sudden…?” 

“I don’t know. She transferred here just recently, right? Maybe she’s still getting used to things. It was kind of weird, though.” 

They keep talking about it as they leave, probably not realizing you can still hear them. Whatever. You’ve got bigger fish to fry right now. As things stand, you woke up god-knows-where, and you just saw some freakish creature a second ago, so you’re starting to worry that you might be going insane. 

The only explanation is that this has to be some kind of dream. A lucid dream, perhaps? That’s what they call these kinds of things, right?

This is way too freaky, though. Can I make myself wake up? I really don’t like this. It gives me the creeps. 

You desperately try to force yourself awake, but regretfully, it doesn’t work. And you’re not even given much time to speculate on the issue any further. 

A soccer ball comes flying at you and hits you right in the face.

It hurts. It hurts like fucking hell. In fact, it hurts so much that you’re knocked flat onto your back, groaning as you cradle your poor nose, which feels like it’s just been split open. 

“...holy shit, are you okay?!” 

You can hear a student running towards you, but since you’re lying on your back convinced you’re about to die, you don’t pay it much mind. The immense amount of pain you’re feeling is absurd. Even for a lucid dream, isn’t this too much?

However, things are only about to get weirder. 

Like way, way weirder. 

“I’m so sorry!” the same student apologizes. It’s a boy, by the sounds of it, and you hear him drop to his knees beside you. “I swear I wasn’t even trying to kick the ball that hard! I barely even used any force!”

From afar, another student chimes in. “Even when you hold back, you’re way too strong, Itadori! Is she dead? You killed her, didn’t you?”

Did he just say… Itadori? 

For just a moment, the pain subsides, and clarity overtakes your features. You manage to squint your eyes open and find a boy staring down at you. A boy with bright brown eyes, and spiky pink hair styled in an undercut. 

A boy that you’ve most definitely seen before. 

Your jaw drops open. There’s just no way. This is… Itadori Yuji? The protagonist of Jujutsu Kaisen? A fictional series, which, by definition, means he doesn’t actually exist? 

Yet here he is, fussing over you and looking immeasurably guilty for having just kicked a soccer ball in your face. And even though you keep trying to tell yourself that this is a dream, it’s getting harder and harder to deny. The sensations you feel—the pain, the confusion, and the excited fluttering in your chest—are impossible to ignore.

It all makes sense now. That weird creature you saw earlier was a cursed spirit. That explains why those girls didn’t even notice it. Ordinary humans normally can’t perceive curses. Most of the time, they’re completely unaware of their existence.

You realize how utterly absurd this is. People don’t just wake up and find themselves sucked into their favorite anime. No matter how badly some fans might wish for it, this kind of thing just doesn’t happen.

Or at least, it’s not supposed to.

“Wait, your—your nose is bleeding!” Itadori exclaims. “I need to get you to the infirmary! Can you walk? Or should I carry you?” 

He appears frantic, which of course he is, since he’s a good guy. He’s the kind of guy who always cares about others. A guy with a big heart, a friendly demeanor, and a penchant for justice. Truly, the perfect protagonist. 

…so, is this seriously happening right now?

“I-I’m fine,” you try to insist. “I just… need a moment. And then I’ll be okay.” 

Itadori seems entirely unconvinced, so you suspect your nose is probably bleeding even more than you fear. Right now, you honestly couldn’t care less, though. Your heart is pounding relentlessly. The excitement and awe you feel can’t even be put into words.

“I’ll take you to the infirmary,” Itadori says again. He resists the urge to outright pick you up into his arms, and after a moment’s pause, he offers you his hand instead. “Here. Try standing up. If not, I’ll carry you there, okay?” 

It’s difficult just to form a response. You’re overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of his presence. The fact that you’re face to face with someone you never thought you’d be able to see in person, let alone speak to. 

But even if it seems hard to believe, even if it makes you want to question your sanity, this is real. This is actually happening. 

And so, you take his hand—changing the course of your life as you know it. 

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[floatyflowers]

Dark! Percy Jackson Reverse Harem x Reader|| Chapter three

<<< Chapter Two

A lot has happened, Clarisse and her cabin mates. bullied you and Percy-

-Ok, they bullied Percy and didn't do anything to you because Ares has forbidden them.

And when she tried to speak to you, Percy flipped and 'bended' the toilet water, and attacked them.

And there you met Annabeth, who you think is very cool.

Maybe because you like Athena.

Right now, you are sitting beside Percy eating a muffin as Luke explains how he met Annabeth.

"Before camp, I was on the road. Me and a forbidden kid I met along the way. Her name was Thalia."

"And what does that mean, forbidden?" the blond boy inquires.

"A long time ago, Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades agreed their children were becoming too powerful, so they made a pact not to father any more."

You listen carefully to the explanation, feeling like your mother told you something like that before.

In a fairytale narration.

"And it held for a long time, until Zeus broke that pact. Until Thalia"

"Of course, it's always Zeus' fault, no surprise here" You mock and roll your eyes.

Luke chuckles before continuing.

"A forbidden kid attracts trouble. Monsters everywhere, it’s just a constant battle to stay alive."

You look at Percy, ignoring the rest of the speech

Just so you can focus on connecting the dots.

Percy can control water.

His father is the godly parent.

Percy is Poseidon's son even if he haven't claimed him yet.

"Oh my god, Percy"

The two boys turn to you.

"You still haven't found out who is your father...have you never paid attention to what Chiron told us in class about Greek gods"

You exclaim while Percy's eyes widens, Luke seems to understand what you are implying.

"You are bright, (Y/n)" the older demigod compliments you.

"Then do you know who is it?"

Before you could reply, a conch shell blows as Chiron begins speaking.

"Heroes… it’s time!"

You sigh, remembering that it is time for the flag capturing.

°°°

"This is your first time in capturing the flag and you said you are going to protect me?"

"Don't worry, everything will be fine"

Percy assures you, as he flosses.

"You are hopeless" you assert.

On the other hand, you gently pick up a lizard and start patting it.

Until Percy decides to cut in, and also pat the beautiful creature.

"It's so cute"

"I agree"

He looks at you the same moment your eyes meet his own.

Percy leans in slowly, ready to kiss you on the lips, closing his eyes.

Unfortunately for him, you playfully put the Lizard against his lips.

He opens his eyes quickly, backing away and wiping his lips.

"Why you do that?" Percy whines.

"I thought you said it was cute" you tease him.

Suddenly Clarisse comes in with her flag mates.

"Flag’s that way. It’s not here." Percy says.

"We know. Yeah, glory’s fine. Revenge is more fun."

Clarisse turns on her spear before staring directly at you.

"You should stay away from frauds like him, dear niece"

Chapter Four >>>

[ren-054]

OHSHC self insert au fic art in 2024??? damn

I wrote the AU nearly 3 years ago and it’s just been sitting in my notes, so I thought it’d be fun to visualize some of the scenes aksnsk

[devotedlypinkpeanut]

An Eternal Cycle: Fire, Blood and Venom — The Good King

SUMMARY : In this first life, you attract the attention of King Lee Heeseung, known throughout the kingdom as the good king. Seemingly tender, patient and fair, he is admired for his passion and determination to achieve his goals. But behind this mask hides a man obsessed with you, ready to do anything to have you. His obsession becomes a dangerous game where tricks and manipulations intertwine with a captivating sweetness, plunging you into a whirlwind of emotions. Whether it's seducing you or breaking down any barriers between you, Heeseung is determined to make you his, no matter the cost.

PAIRING : Lee Heeseung x fem!reader 

GENRE : Dark romance, obsession, drama, slow burn, psychological tension, historical romance, reincarnation, fantasy, reverse harem.

WARNING: Reincarnation, obsession, intense psychological manipulation, prolonged emotional abuse, destructive and humiliating power games, betrayal, psychological and physical degradation, toxic relationships, emotional and mental manipulation, cruel and deliberate lies, degrading verbal abuse, suffocating atmosphere of control and isolation, total crushing of individuality, total loss of self-control, possessive and totally controlling behavior, exploitation of vulnerabilities, psychological humiliation, constant pressure, silent terror, degrading mental manipulation, forced submission, brutal and relentless domination, enjoyment of absolute power, physical and psychological suffering, complete abandonment of all personal dignity, sensory deprivation and suffering inflicted to obtain total submission.

Number of words : ~ 32k

A/N: Good evening! I had to split the chapter into two parts, and the second one is barely started (1% written). I was inspired by The Tudors series for this story. Feel free to like, repost or comment if you liked the first part! Happy reading 📖!

I haven't proofread at all, so there are probably spelling mistakes or inconsistencies, I apologize! Enjoy reading!

⤑ Main Masterlist — Series Masterlist  | ⇠ Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ⇢

AMBOISE, FRANCE — December 1, 1555

It had been almost three years now, three whole years where your life had taken a turn you hadn't seen coming. You and Giselle, your half-sister, had been sent to France by your father, a mission that you had seen as a simple service to render to the court of King Francis I. The king's sister, an influential and powerful woman, had done you the honor of choosing you both as her company ladies. 

The position was honorary, certainly, it offered you a place at the table of the powerful, in the circle of the privileged. It was a chance for the Belmont family, once revered and respected, to regain its lost prestige. But, as is often the case in family intrigues, the truth was hidden under a layer of carefully woven lies. The true purpose of this mission, which your father had barely let you glimpse, was much more sinister: to restore the Belmont name by erasing the indelible stains that had sullied your reputation.

Your name, once synonymous with nobility and honor, had been tarnished. A vile rumor, started against you by those who had nothing to lose and everything to gain, had spread through the halls of the nobility. You had been accused of being a prostitute, a mere object of desire unable to resist the call of the flesh. The whispers grew louder and louder, and soon, anonymous letters and false testimonies were leaked, carefully fabricated to make people believe in the infamy of your name. 

The evidence was so well-arranged that no one dared to doubt it. It mattered little that you had never given in to temptation, that you had never succumbed to those who sought to humiliate you; truth had no place in this game. The rumor grew, and even the most loyal allies of the Belmont family turned away from you. Your dignity, your reputation, and even your engagement to a young aristocratic duke were shattered in one fell swoop. The latter, too sensitive to social pressure and public opinion, abandoned you, leaving you alone, facing your destiny, humiliated and devastated.

Since that day, you had gotten into the habit of distancing yourself from prying eyes, of delving into studies that, while allowing you to escape reality, also offered you a certain power. Princess Karina, sister of Francis I, was a rare woman at court. She was neither a courtesan obsessed with power games, nor a noblewoman lost in her vanities. Karina, brilliant and eager for knowledge, was passionate about philosophy, history and politics. 

At her side, you had found refuge in books that few women of your rank would dare to read: works on gender equality, questioning the established order, freedom and rebellion against the Church, this intransigent power that dictated everything. You knew that these writings were dangerous, that they could cost you your life, but it was your only way to remain yourself, to preserve a part of freedom in this world where the chains were invisible but very present. 

The covers of these books were discreet, almost bland, for fear of attracting the attention of those who would judge and condemn without appeal. But each word, each idea, gave you a little more strength. These books were your silent rebellion, your last refuge from the storm that blew around you.

However, while you were delving into forbidden writings, Giselle, your half-sister, was following a very different path. She had neither the same intellectual concerns nor the same aspirations. Giselle had been born under a more favorable star, or at least, she had always imagined it that way. Despite the disgrace that struck your family, she had always known how to manipulate men with disconcerting ease. The court, with its superficiality and fragile appearance, seemed to be a playground for her. 

And Giselle had no intention of searching for the truth in dusty books. She knew what she wanted: the crown. She knew that the king, Francis I, was a powerful, seductive, and above all impressionable man. That was her ultimate goal: to seduce him, to bewitch him, and to secure a place at his side. Every evening, she went to the king's apartments, slipped into his arms, and offered everything he desired, without qualms, without restraint.

Giselle firmly believed that this game of seduction would take her to the top, that it was only a matter of time before she became queen. She already saw herself crowned, her hair adorned with the royal crown, her name written in history. Every evening, every meeting with the king reinforced this conviction. But you couldn't help but smile bitterly at her naivety. You knew, better than anyone, what the Church and society really thought of women like her. A royal mistress, no matter how beautiful and charismatic, could never become queen. The Church would never allow such a woman, a woman without virtue, to take her place at the king's side. One had to have purity of soul, unquestionable virtue and, to your great regret, Giselle had neither.

The kind smiles the king gave her were only appearances. The crown, like a mirage, eluded her every time she reached out her hand. The king, under the control of the Church, would never go against the wishes of the priests and cardinals. They controlled the kingdom, they controlled her soul, and they would never allow a courtesan to sit in the place of queen. But Giselle did not see this reality. She was blind to this cruel truth. You could barely contain your disgust at her naivety. She deluded herself, believing that a simple smile and a few nights spent with the king would be enough to change her fate. 

And it was one of those nights when the air seemed frozen, when the coldness of winter spread through the castle like a silent beast, penetrating the cold stones and the thick sheets. The candlelight flickered, struggling against the biting wind, each flame flickering, ready to go out at any moment. There was that lingering smell of melted wax, and a faint scent of damp wood rose from the hearth where the embers crackled faintly. The light in the room was dim, almost dying, like the brightness of a glimmer of hope that is fading.

There you were, sitting alone at your desk, immersed in an old book, a text that seemed to you from another era, a moment suspended in a world you did not know, a world you would have liked to escape to. The pages were worn, almost fragile, the words unfolded before you, woven with mysteries and promises, but you could not help but let yourself be distracted by the silence of the room and the solitude that weighed on you, like a blanket too warm that stifles the air.

The noises in the hallway were heard, faint at first, then more and more distinct. It was her. You knew it before you even looked up. The lightness of her gait, that hushed but confident step, that way of invading the room without a sound. Giselle.

You saw her appear in the doorway, her slender and graceful silhouette outlined in the subdued light, like an ethereal apparition. She approached slowly, her golden hair, of a silky texture, falling in perfect waves around her face, capturing the light of the candles like a luminous veil. There was something fascinating in her presence, almost unreal. Her face, delicately sculpted, had that rosy tint that the bite of the winter cold gave it, but she did not seem to suffer from it, not at all. 

She adjusted with a nonchalant gesture her linen nightgown, of a bright white, which hugged her curves with an almost provocative grace, highlighting a skin of incredible softness. Her neckline, subtly suggested, exposed a skin so smooth that it seemed unreal. She came forward again, with an equally assured step, that slow dance she performed so naturally, like a sort of spectacle that you, an involuntary spectator, watched without being able to look away.

You felt a shiver run through you as she leaned over to open a dresser in the corner of the room, a soft creaking sound escaping from the drawer. The sound was strange, almost like a promise of chaos hidden in the tranquility. She grabbed a bottle of perfume, opened it with that elegance so particular to her, and began to spray her neck and wrists with a sweet fragrance, almost too intoxicating. This perfume, you recognized it well, it was sweet, fruity, almost syrupy, a mixture of ripe fruits, citrus, vanilla, an exoticism that she knew how to exploit perfectly.

A cloud of perfume spread across the room, invading your nostrils. It was too strong. Too sweet. A wave of nausea washed over you, but you refrained from reacting, although your nose wrinkled in an involuntary expression of disgust. The pain was there, tangible, in your stomach, in that dull nausea that rose, as if each drop of perfume said more about what she was, what she did. She was ready to sell her soul for a little power, a little recognition in this world of beasts. And you, there, you watched her do it, unable to turn away.

She approached you, a subtle smile playing on her lips. Her eyes shone with apparent mischief, but, looking closer, you could perceive an emptiness in them, as if behind her smile hid an absence or a deep melancholy. She leaned slightly towards you, so close, that you could almost feel the warmth of her body, this warmth that contrasted with the cold air of the room. The smell of perfume assailed you again, stronger, denser, like a leaden weight.

You tried to control the expression on your face, but the grimace that formed on your lips was unavoidable.

“Wish me luck, little sister,” her voice, soft and fluid, rose in the room, tinged with a subtle, almost childish mischief. But there was also this coldness in her eyes, a coldness that was not childish. “And don’t make that face. Remember, you don’t have to envy me.”

Her crystalline laughter rang out then, melodious, but terribly cold. It was a laugh that made entire kingdoms bend, a laugh that had the power to bring an entire empire to its feet without her having to lift a finger. It was innocent and perverse at the same time, a deadly charm that she mastered to perfection. And you, you were no longer fooled. Not this time.

“You’re more than a body, Giselle.” The words came out more firmly than you expected. Your voice was soft, but it carried a depth you hadn’t anticipated. “Don’t you feel disgusted by all of this, even a little? Don’t you see that you’re more than just a body, more than just a desire, more than a commodity to be traded?”

She froze. For a moment. A heavy silence fell. Her smile faded abruptly, her eyes, which still shone with that innocent mischief, hardened, frozen in an icy coldness. She straightened up, as if your words had hit her where it hurt. She protected herself, instinctively, but the breach was there. The light in her eyes went out almost instantly, and everything that made her beauty shine faded, giving way to a vulnerability that she could not hide. The perfection of her mask was crumbling.

A heavy silence followed, then she answered in a harder, sharper voice, but there was a break, a fracture behind those words. “We are both women, Y/n, born into a world ruled by men. This world gives us no choice but to play the role imposed on us. Our father, our brother, our uncles, even our cousins… They are the ones who dictate to us, since the day we opened our eyes.” Her hands clenched into tight fists, nails digging into the skin of her palms. “And the only thing we have left, the only thing we can offer them, is what they want. Our bodies. Our submission.” She took a deep breath, as if trying to contain an emotion that was too intense. “No, Y/n. I don’t feel disgusted. I just feel alive. Because at least I am fighting to stay here, in this world that wants to erase us.”

She turned on her heel, but before walking away, she gave you one last look, mixing a hint of mockery with the sadness she so skillfully hid. "I know what you think of me, sister. And I hope with all my heart that you never have to face that reality. Because if you did, you would understand what it means to sell yourself to survive."

She turned to the door and opened it. Her body straightened, her mask perfectly in place again. Then, into the darkness, she was gone, leaving behind the weight of her words. The door slammed shut with a heavy breath, and the silence that followed was as oppressive as the air you breathed. Giselle's words echoed through you, painful, permeating every fiber of your being. 

She was right. She was always right. But why did she have to take this path?

You looked down at your book, but the words blurred, elusive. Shadows danced around you again, and once again, you found yourself alone.

AMBOISE, FRANCE — December 23, 1555

A masked ball is being prepared tonight, a grandiose event intended to welcome King Lee Heeseung, undisputed sovereign of the most powerful kingdom: Korea. The news has spread like wildfire in the court, and the excitement that takes over the place is almost palpable. Everywhere, the ladies whisper, their faces lit up with feverish curiosity, while their fans barely hide their overflowing enthusiasm. Their admiration for this man seems almost suffocating to you, but that hasn't stopped you from listening.

As you listened, you learned that Lee Heeseung ascended the throne at the age of only four, a child king crushed by the overwhelming weight of power. Now twenty-two, he has become a figure who inspires as much respect as admiration. His reign is marked by brilliant victories and subtle diplomacy, capable of seducing both his people and foreign nations. He is described as a conquering king, but his nickname, the Good King, is a testament to the universal affection he inspires. His legend transcends borders, and his name is whispered with an almost sacred reverence.

But more than her talents as a strategist or diplomat, it is her appearance that seems to captivate hearts and inflame minds. It is said that her beauty is so dazzling that it defies understanding, almost unreal: a face sculpted with divine precision, perfect features that blend elegance and severity. Her eyes, it is said, are of a disturbing depth, capable of seducing or breaking at will. Every woman at court dreams of being the one who will catch his eye, the one who will pierce his armor and win his favor.

However, a shadow tarnishes this almost idyllic picture. Contrary to what many hope, Lee Heeseung does not seem to be looking for love or desire the company of a soul mate. His preferences are much more down-to-earth, much colder. He rejects all emotional attachment, contenting himself with the ephemeral pleasures of the flesh. For him, women are only a means to satisfy his desires, nothing more. And, as you have so quickly understood, once they cease to interest him, he abandons them without remorse, replacing them with others, like one exchanges a broken toy for a new one.

You can’t help but feel a deep loathing for such a man. Just thinking about his behavior makes you feel a dull anger, a disgust so intense that it tightens your chest. Your fingers involuntarily clench around the book you were holding, until your knuckles turn white. You try to calm the storm brewing inside you, but the images that invade your mind make it impossible. You see him, this man you’ve never met before, an arrogant smile on his lips, feasting on the admiration he receives. You imagine his gestures, the way he could brush against a woman with cruel detachment, reducing her to a mere object of pleasure, without ever granting her an ounce of humanity.

And yet, it’s not just his behavior that sickens you. It’s the blind adoration he inspires, the way everyone, men and women alike, seems willing to turn a blind eye to his failings, just because he’s handsome, because he’s powerful. Such injustice revolts you.

How can someone so selfish, so unscrupulous, be celebrated, praised as a blessing?

Your heart twists with pain and rage. The very idea of ​​such a person walking this earth, of him being not only tolerated but adored, leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. And yet, tonight, you will be there. You will be at the ball, masked, watching from afar this man who embodies everything you despise. Part of you burns with curiosity, eager to confront the image you have created of him. The other part dreads what you might discover, fearing that the reality is even more abject than anything your mind has imagined.

You let out a small, shaky sigh, your breath heavy and hesitant, as you move away from the bustling lounges and into the garden. The cool air of the late afternoon brushes your skin, but it fails to soothe the restlessness that eats away at you from within. You search for Princess Karina, that familiar face, that calming presence that could, perhaps, offer you some comfort in the midst of this foreign and oppressive crowd. The garden is unreal in its beauty, a tangle of colors and scents that seem to want to swallow you up. Blue roses, an almost supernatural hue, mauve lilacs so delicate they seem made of silk, and poppies, a pure and striking red, like bursts of light in the lush greenery.

You stop for a moment, your gaze lost in the magnificence of the place, your breath suspended. You let yourself be carried away by the harmony of the place, as if to forget for a moment the heaviness of your heart. In the distance, you hear the soothing murmur of the fountain. This light, almost singing sound, reaches you like a distant melody, announcing an upcoming transformation. 

In a few hours, this same fountain, initially a source of calm and serenity, would be transformed into a wine fountain, whose streams of a golden and sweet liquid would flow in abundance to celebrate the ball party. The idea squeezes your heart, disgusts you a little. This wine, which could flow in abundance in this same fountain, mixes with your dark thoughts, this image diluting in the anger that boils deep inside you.

Yet you continue to move forward, with a faster step, your feet brushing the damp grass of the garden, your eyes searching for Princess Karina among the flowers. You would like to lose yourself there, to blend into this idyllic world, far from the hustle and bustle and the heavy gazes, but your thoughts are too agitated for you to abandon yourself to the tranquility of this place.

Suddenly, without warning, a figure that is all too familiar appears in the distance. At first it seems distant, blurry, then gradually becomes clearer. It is him. Your father. The Duke of Belmont. Every cell in your body tenses the moment you recognize him. Your heart leaps in your chest, a sharp, painful movement. He moves forward with a light step, as if he does not even realize the shock wave he causes in you. His face radiates a bright smile, a smile that seems completely out of step with what you feel at that moment. 

Every step he takes towards you seems to tighten the grip on your chest a little more. The sunlight falling on him makes him shine, but to you, he is more than ever the embodiment of icy indifference and betrayal. The distance between you is closing inexorably, and with it, your unease is becoming more and more oppressive. It's as if every movement of his body, every flash of his smile, is hitting you full force, shaking everything you thought you had buried deep inside you.

Since your arrival in France, since the day he sent you here with Giselle, you have had no news, no letters, no visits from him. He simply sent you to this distant country, as if you were just a piece moved on a chessboard, without any real importance. No words, no sign of affection, not even a gesture of curiosity. He forgot you. And, worse still, he erased you from his mind, as if you had never existed. 

In his eyes, everything you represent is just a mistake that he got rid of by entrusting you to other hands. The void he left in your life is heavier than all the chains in the world. Even more unbearable than his pure and simple absence. He has become a specter that haunts your days, wandering around you, reminding you at every moment that you are only a ghost in his memory. A weight that you cannot bear.

But there, in front of you, he is very real. He comes closer, his smile almost frozen on his face, like a rehearsed scene that he plays over and over again. He knows nothing of what you feel, he does not perceive the waves of anger and pain that overwhelm you, nor the bitterness that twists your insides with each passing second. 

He walks towards you, with that ease that he has always had, with that certainty of being above everything, as if his actions had no consequences. You hate him for that, for that innate arrogance, for that ability to move forward without a backward glance, without worrying about the impact he has had on your life. As if he had erased you with a simple gesture, as if you were just a simple step taken, without emotion or consequence. 

Your heart races, but it's not excitement or anticipation that's coursing through you. No, it's anger, pain, and humiliation that are boiling inside you, too strong for you to ignore. There he is, in front of you, his smile wide and bright, so sincere in its appearance that you almost come to doubt. 

How can he be so insensitive? How can he smile like that, when he's left you in oblivion, in this imposed solitude, in total indifference? 

You want to turn on your heel, run away from him, but something pins you to the spot. An invisible force, perhaps fear, or perhaps this bitter resignation, paralyzes you. You stand there, frozen, your body tense, your hands clenched around the book you're still holding, the bile of disgust rising slowly in your throat, threatening to invade your entire being.

He finally stops in front of you, and in his eyes, you see a glint of pride, as if he were offering you something, a favor that he feels deserved by staring at you like that. But to you, this look is that of a man who still believes himself to be in control of everything, a man who ignores the gaping cracks he has left in his wake, flaws he refuses to see.

“Father.” The word escapes your lips like poison, sweet and sugary, an illusion of respect you try hard to maintain. But your eyes betray you. They betray the disgust you feel every time he addresses you in this way, as if you were nothing more than a thing to be manipulated, to be controlled.

He looks at you, a slightly smug smile, as if your mere presence brings him a gratification he has been waiting for, with that icy condescension he reserves only for his daughters. His gaze envelops you, cold and distant, making you feel as if your existence is but an extension of his empire, a possession he can move around at will. His lips curl into a smile, almost a smirk, but it is not the warmth of a loving father that greets you. No, it is the satisfaction of a man who knows that everything, even you, will eventually bend under his control. 

“My sweet Y/n, you have not changed…” He seems to savor each word, articulating them slowly, as if this compliment, if it can be called that, is a delight he has already tasted a thousand times. And you, in his mind, are nothing more than a simple object in this great game of manipulation, a piece he can move around at will.

His gaze becomes more piercing, more insistent, and you feel this heaviness settle on your chest, like an invisible hand that prevents you from breathing. You respond with a small smile, but it is icy, almost mechanical, a blade hidden under an apparent gentleness. "Thank you, Father." The words slide through the air, hollow and devoid of any real warmth. Each syllable you pronounce is fragile, ready to break under the pressure. And your face, although rigid, controlled beyond measure, is only a mask, a bulwark that you wear every day to not let the storm that rages inside you burst.

He takes a step forward, approaching slowly, but his gait is calculated, methodical, like that of a predator taking its time, savoring every moment of this dance. He doesn't need to hurry, because he knows, better than anyone, that you're already caught in the cruel trap he's woven around you. His eyes, icy as the abyss, don't leave yours. "Do you know why I'm here, Y/n?" His voice is low, almost a whisper, but it's so loaded with implications that you feel like each word resonates heavily in the air, like an invisible weight tightening your chest, making it suddenly heavy and suffocating.

You hesitate for a moment, your breath hanging, as if every movement, every breath, could betray the slightest of your flaws. You look for an escape, a way to flee this situation without showing the slightest weakness, but your words remain measured, almost icy. "No. No one warned me of your presence, father." You feel your heart beating wildly, too hard, too loud. Yet, you refuse to give him the slightest victory, to offer him an ounce of this anxiety rising within you. You try to mask the storm raging beneath the surface.

He tilts his head slightly, like a wild animal watching its prey, scrutinizing your every move, trying to pierce the mask you're trying to maintain. "It's better this way," he says with a light sigh, almost distracted, as if he were doing you a favor. But you know, deep down, that this silence, heavy with unsaid things, is his way of enclosing you, of locking you in this game that he controls with disconcerting ease.

Your stomach tightens painfully. His words crash down on you, slowly, inevitably, an oppressive pressure that almost makes you falter. “What’s going on, Father?” Your voice remains calm, but behind this seemingly simple question, there is a visceral anxiety, a whirlwind of emotions that you struggle to contain. You want to look away, to flee from this piercing gaze, but you know that at this precise moment, the slightest hesitation, the slightest movement, would be seen as weakness. And you don’t have that luxury. Not here. Not now.

He finally stops, standing in front of you. The air seems to be charged with a palpable, electrified energy, as if the world around you is about to explode under the tension. His eyes remain riveted to yours, and you feel the heaviness of his gaze weighing on you, more oppressive than ever. 

"Giselle... She is no longer in the king's favor." The sentence falls like a clap of thunder, an unfathomable brutality that tears through the silence already heavy with unsaid things. The shock is such that the air around you seems to freeze for a moment, as if time had suspended its flight.

For a moment, the world seems to stop around you. Everything becomes blurry, indistinct, as if you were floating outside of time. You feel yourself swaying, a feeling of dizziness taking you by surprise, but you force yourself to keep your feet firmly planted in this terrifying reality. 

“Poor Giselle,” you whisper, and even you can hear that hint of bitterness piercing your voice. But deep down, a part of you rejoices. You knew this moment would come eventually. Your sister’s weaknesses have never been a secret, and you’ve always seen this inevitable end looming on the horizon. Yet with every word you speak, something inside you twists. A strangeness settles in, something darker. A cruel reality that eludes you, that leaves you with only a bitter feeling of emptiness.

Your father stares at you, his face frozen in an icy expression. His gaze darkens, a flash of emotion you hadn’t anticipated, a crack in his impassive façade. As if this situation, this defeat, was much more serious than he had let on. 

“Poor us,” he whispers hoarsely, as if every word burns him. These are not just the words of a father disappointed in his daughter. They are the words of a man cornered, desperate at the loss of his power, of everything he thought he had acquired. “As long as she was the king’s lover, our name, our reputation, our fortune… everything was secure. But now, it can all fall apart.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with threat, calculation, despair. And yet, you know deep down that Giselle doesn’t really interest him. It’s not her he’s mourning. It’s you. It’s you, Y/n, and what you can do to save the legacy he believes he deserves, to repair what he considers an irreparable loss.

You stare at him, frozen, your gaze fixed on him, unable to utter a single word. The silence settles in, heavy, oppressive, almost suffocating. An invisible pressure seems to surround you, to compress you. Each breath becomes a burden, each thought an unbearable weight. The simple idea of ​​what he expects of you gives birth to a wave of disgust, a disgust that is not limited to what he asks of you, but to everything he represents. You see him there, in front of you, your own father, the one who should be your protector, reducing you to a simple instrument of transaction.

But he also knows. He knows there is no escape. He waits, like a patient predator, for you to submit, for you to agree to play this role he imposes on you, the one he believes you will eventually take on.

The shiver that runs through you isn’t just the biting cold of the garden. No, it’s the heaviness of his expectations that makes you shudder. And then he speaks again, his voice lower, slower, like a spider’s whisper slowly weaving its web around you. “Unless…” His words slip through the air, insidious, worming their way into every fiber of your being, imbuing your soul with a dull echo that resonates deep within you. “Unless you can attract the attention of the King of Korea.”

That sentence, those few words, are invisible chains closing in on you. You feel them wrapping around your body, tightening, slowly but surely. The noose tightens around your heart, each beat a cruel reminder that your life, your entire being, are nothing more than means to his ambition. The world seems to shrink to this simple reality: what you are, what you are becoming, none of that matters to him anymore. He sees you as nothing more than a piece on his chessboard.

The garden, the trees, the sky above you… everything disappears in a vaporous blur. Your father’s words echo in your mind with icy sharpness. The King of Korea. This man, this living legend, whose divine beauty seems unalterable, but whose implacable harshness terrifies you. His name alone makes you shiver, a cold, painful fear runs through your body. He is both a myth and a monster, a creature whose aura of power and seduction leaves no room for innocence. And you, you are supposed to attract him, to hold him. The idea breaks you from the inside, a burst of despair that tears at your soul.

Your heart clenches, painfully, crushed under the weight of reality. You don't have the strength to answer right away. The silence, this silence that floats around you, becomes both your refuge and your prison. The truth of what he expects of you hits you like a sledgehammer, makes you falter. But you know that there is no question of giving in. In this world, in this life, weakness is a luxury that you cannot afford. Not now. Not with what you know about your father, and even less with what he expects of you.

You look away, but he sees everything. He knows everything. Your mask is perfect, but your eyes can't lie. You know he reads them like an open book. "What if... if I had him, Father, and he got tired of me, what would you do?" The question escapes you slowly, almost involuntarily, like a last breath of hope. You try to break this vicious circle, to find a crack in his facade, an escape. But the very moment you ask the question, you know he already has an answer, a terribly simple answer: you will succumb, sooner or later, to what he expects of you.

His smile grows wider, more predatory. You know that this smile is that of the man who no longer needs convincing, the one who has already won. He doesn't need to say more. His eyes shine with a light that makes you shiver. "Maybe he would get tired, Y/n, but maybe you would also know how to hold him back." He lets his words stretch out, slow, calculated, like invisible threads that weave themselves around you. "Maybe... you would know how to awaken something in him that no one else could."

His words, like an icy mist, invade your mind. At that moment, he approaches even closer, and each step he takes towards you gives birth to a silent fear, like a sudden wave of cold that passes through your entire body. He is very close now, within reach, and you feel the aura of domination that he gives off. With a gesture, he brushes your cheek with the tips of his fingers. 

The contact is icy, cold as the life he imposes on you. An electric shock runs through you, but it is not a pleasant shiver. It is a shiver of fear, a shiver of revolt. His fingers slide slowly over your skin, as if he wanted to mark your face with his possession. "There is something inside you, Y/n." Your father's voice becomes softer, more intimate, but the threat is palpable in each syllable. "Something that could upset kingdoms."

His eyes bore into yours, a glimmer of certainty, arrogance even, shining in their depths. And you see that certainty, you feel it, you know he believes in you in a strange, dangerous way. He believes you're capable of anything. But you hate that belief he has in you. He believes you're capable of manipulating, seducing, conquering… He believes you're capable of imprisoning the soul of the king himself. But you, deep down, know what that means. He's shaping you, changing you, like one shapes a weapon. And you hate him for it.

A heavy silence falls between you, a silence that weighs, that crushes, before you break the calm with a broken voice. "I will do my best, father." Your voice wavers, weak, and even you hear the weariness that runs through it. The weight of abandonment, of submission, hits you full force. But in your voice, there is also something else. A smirk, a flash of defiance that struggles to pierce your resignation.

Your father smiles even more, a bright, victorious smile. He leans towards you, brushing your cheek one last time with a gesture that is too gentle, too reassuring. But beneath this gentleness, you know that there is the promise of a return, of an even heavier weight to bear. "I knew I could count on you, Y/n." His words are a burden, an icy hug, an embrace that leaves you powerless. Then he slowly withdraws, without another word, but his eyes fix you one last time, full of promises and silent threats.

And you stand there, frozen, petrified, your heart pounding. Your breath is short, as if the pressure of his words has stolen all the air around you. He has left his mark on you. His expectations are eating away at you. And even as you stand there, still standing, you know the game has begun. You have no choice. Not now. Not in this world where every gesture, every word is a weapon. Not when you know that your life, and perhaps your sister's, depend on your ability to play this role.

AMBOISE, FRANCE — Night of December 23, 1555

For the ball, you have chosen a dress of incredible sophistication, a masterpiece of couture that seems to perfectly embrace the nobility of your rank while instilling a wind of subtle rebellion. Your dress, of an intense midnight blue, captures the light of each candle, creating fascinating shadows and flashes that dance with each of your movements. The fabric, a heavy and slightly shiny velvet, unfolds around your legs with each step, like a calm but deep sea, each fold undulating delicately, adding an elegant fluidity to your gestures. The intensity of the color echoes the depth of your gaze, a mysterious and unfathomable hue that hides as much as it reveals.

The dress is beautifully cinched at your waist by a silk corset embroidered with gold and silver threads, which tightens your silhouette in a vice that is both soft and imperious. Each gold thread seems to breathe with you, sculpting your body in a way that recalls the most precious statues of the court. The corset, worked with incomparable finesse, ends in delicate patterns that intertwine in subtle arabesques, as if the very history of royalty and ancestral magic were woven into the fabric.

The sleeves, long and fitted, follow the shape of your arms with a precision that borders on obsession. They are covered in intricate embroidery, each pattern telling a secret story, sinuous arabesques that slowly climb up to your wrists. The embroidery, of a bright gold, mixes with the silver threads like a fusion of shadow and light, creating almost living patterns. At the end of your wrists, black satin ribbons, of a discreet opulence, are tied with a precision that catches the eye, adding a touch of refinement, a vulnerability hidden behind this perfect calculation.

The skirt, vast and imposing, is formed of multiple layers of superimposed fabric, each carefully selected for its majestic drape and incomparable fluidity. With each movement, it comes to life, spreading around you, like a calm and deep sea ready to swallow everything in its path. The edges are delicately decorated with fine lace and discreet pearls, which quiver in contact with the light. 

At the back, a light train unfolds, brushing the ground with infinite softness, like a promise of silent, hidden power, just waiting to be revealed. The slight shiver of the material under your feet, almost invisible, gives you an aura of grandeur, a silent majesty that surrounds you. You are no longer simply a young woman, but a presence, a spectral vision. The dress seems to transport you out of time, each step echoing the legacy of queens and ladies of the court, but also a mystery hidden beneath your apparent grace.

And then there's your mask.

It is just as sublime as the rest of your outfit, a masterpiece forged in finely crafted metal, a silver hue that blends perfectly with the golden tones of the dress. The mask covers the upper part of your face, hugging the contours of your nose, cheeks, and eyes, but leaves your lips free. These, full and tender, are exposed to the light of the assembly, ready to capture the gaze of all who dare to cross your path. 

The metal is smooth and cold to the touch, but incredibly light, almost airy, as if each gold filigree embedded in the structure of the mask was there only to accentuate the calculated coldness of your gaze. The sapphires, embedded at strategic points, shine like stars under the dim candlelight, their brilliance eclipsing everything around you. Each stone seems like a memory, a fragment of an ancient world, captured in a suspended moment.

Black and silver feathers, carefully sewn, border the mask, adding texture and movement to your appearance. Each feather, though soft, has the firmness of a weapon, a symbol of your freedom, of your refusal to be dominated. They float, almost unreal, in the air around your face, like a mist of mystery that barely dissipates.

Beneath that mask, your eyes shine with an unfathomable, calculated, almost piercing light. Although your face is partly hidden, your gaze is that of a queen, of a creature prey to her own torments and desires. There is a certain distance in that gaze, a calculated coldness, but also a deep passion that hides behind every flutter of your eyelashes, every furtive movement. When you meet the gaze of the guests, your gaze pierces their souls, their deepest thoughts, terrifying them in an almost imperceptible way.

And the veil hanging beneath your mask adds an extra layer of mystery, almost brushing your skin, swaying delicately with every movement of your head. It spreads in a perfect arc, like an invisible wave, brushing your neck and décolleté in a way that is both sensual and distant. The edges of the veil, adorned with black roses embroidered with silver thread, are a subtle but powerful touch, a discreet tribute to your rebellion, to your indomitable character. These black roses, in their macabre perfection, are a reminder of your spirit, your inner strength and your will to never be possessed. They seem to bloom under the glow of the candles, drawing the eye to your neck, your skin, your soul hidden behind this appearance of impenetrable elegance.

The grand ballroom, lit by hundreds of candles, seemed to transform into an ocean of flickering light. The reflections danced on the stone walls, mingling with the laughter and hushed murmurs of the guests, creating an unreal, almost magical atmosphere. But in the middle of this sea of ​​elegance and splendor, Heeseung was elsewhere, out of time, out of everything that surrounded him. His gaze, carried away by a force greater than him, did not leave your silhouette.

There you were, in the center of the room, a mystery embodied in your midnight blue velvet dress. It hugged your curves with an almost unreal fluidity, every movement you made seemed suspended in time. The dress, delicately adorned with gold and silver threads, sparkled under the candlelight, like a sea of ​​sapphires, and every step you took caused a wave of admiration among the guests. But it wasn't just the beauty of your outfit that captivated Heeseung. It was you, the shine hidden behind your mask, the discreet glow of your eyes that barely reflected under the veil. It was that look, that look that seemed to carry everything in its path, like a calm sea hiding raging waves beneath.

He no longer heard the voices around him, not even King Francis I speaking in his ear, his words becoming indistinct whispers in the back of his mind. Francis, in the middle of a speech about politics and possible alliances, had no idea that Heeseung was completely elsewhere. He was absorbed, captive to a moment, a single moment: you. The conversations were reduced to background noise. There was only this palpable tension, this electrification of the air between you, and everything around him seemed to distort and dissolve into a light mist.

Heeseung was hanging on your every move. Shadows danced around you, shards of light playing here and there, intensifying the depth of your face barely revealed under the veil. His gaze, captivated by the curve of your neck, slid slowly over your face, following the perfect line of your features to finally stop on your eyes. Those eyes… they were everything. That was where the mystery and the truth he ardently desired to uncover lay. Behind that mask, behind that veil that concealed almost everything, he guessed that you carried something precious, rare, inaccessible. And that, more than anything, troubled him deeply.

He was there, in that sea of ​​light and laughter, but there was nothing left but you and him. Nothing else. Nothing else mattered.

Francis, completely unaware of the seductive power of the scene, continued his speech. He spoke of strategy, alliances, lands to annex and potential marriages. He spoke, spoke endlessly. But all this was lost in the void for Heeseung, who, while keeping Francis in his field of vision, could not take his eyes off you. He heard the king's words, but did not listen to them. They had become empty, futile. Heeseung felt alien to this world of politics and plots, like a spectator trapped in a dream from which he was desperately trying to awaken.

When Francis finally caught sight of Heeseung's intense fixation, he understood. A slight mocking smile played on his lips. He approached him, like a predator ready to savor its prey, and murmured in a low, amused voice, almost invisible amidst the bursts of laughter and surrounding conversations: "So, Heeseung, you seem particularly absorbed by one of the Belmont sisters, don't you?" His tone betrayed an amusement that was in no way sincere. A slippery amusement, more cruel than benevolent, all the while knowing the effect it could have on him.

Heeseung, in spite of himself, felt his heart racing, an intense heat invaded his chest. He briefly looked away, staring at Francis for a moment, but immediately, his attention turned back to you. It was no longer a question of will. He could no longer take his eyes off you. The simple thought of leaving this moment, of moving away from you, filled him with a sort of palpable anguish. He wanted to know everything. Understand everything. He felt his soul contract under the intensity of the desire he felt, an irrepressible need to approach this mystery.

He cleared his throat, trying to regain control of himself, but the question escaped him before he could even stop it.

“Who… Who is she?” His voice, trembling despite himself, betrayed the depth of the desire he felt. It wasn’t just a superficial curiosity. No, it was a visceral need. An urgency to know everything, to understand everything. To discover who you really were.

Francis, of course, noticed the vulnerability in her voice. It only made his smile grow wider. He stepped closer, leaning in with measured slowness, as if savoring every word, every moment he would have the power to delve a little deeper into Heeseung's silent suffering.

“Ah, Y/n Belmont…” The king sighed, and the sigh sounded almost nostalgic, as if the young woman’s name evoked an old story, a distant and elusive romance. “She is… different, you know. A solitary soul, lost in her books, far from worldly distractions. She finds more pleasure in the solitude of her library than in the arms of men. But…” Francis let a silence settle, a smile that was far from innocent spreading across his lips. “Her sister, Giselle, she… She loves the court, the attention, the glory. I have…” The king paused, weighing his words. “I rode her, many times, once upon a time. An effervescent passion, but without mystery. I called her my ‘French mare’.”

Heeseung absorbed every word Francis said about you. He tried to understand why you obsessed him, why every sentence Francis said seemed to chain him further to this inexorable desire to know you, to possess you. An inner storm he couldn't control consumed him. He tried to look away from Francis, who seemed to be savoring the situation with obvious pleasure. But when his gaze caught sight of you again in the crowd, a shiver ran down his spine.

Without even a glance at Francis, without paying attention to the other guests who turned to watch his departure, he put down his glass with a sudden movement, leaving a trace of wine flowing onto the tablecloth. He stood up, his body guided by a force he did not understand, a force greater than himself. He crossed the room with a quiet determination, an obvious and irrevocable goal. His heart was beating at a frantic pace, but there was no more room for fear or hesitation. He was heading straight for you.

And all around him, the air seemed to thicken. The murmurs of the guests, the bursts of laughter and the looks of lust, all of it was nothing more than a rough sea that seemed far away, almost nonexistent. In his mind, there was only you. Just you.

Heeseung moved through the ballroom with a slow, calculated pace, like a shadow slipping through the bright light of the chandeliers. Every movement of his body seemed weighed, measured, but the energy around him was anything but controlled. He was a magnetic presence, a whirlwind of raw attraction that, without a word, made the crowd around him part. The light seemed to slip away beneath his feet, absorbed by the darkness of his gaze, and the air itself vibrated under the weight of his influence. The music, once joyous and light, seemed muffled, as if the entire universe were slowing down to match its rhythm.

The whispers, the laughter, the clinking of glasses—everything around him was fading, swallowed up by an invisible pressure that silenced the entire world. Faces around him were blurring, distorting, as if a veil of warmth and mystery were covering everything. And at the center of that swirl was you. Him and you. A perfect juxtaposition of presence and silence, attraction and reserve. A suspended moment, where all he could see was you.

He only had eyes for you.

He takes another step toward you, instinctively, as if an invisible and irresistible force were pulling him in your direction. A shiver runs down his spine, his senses on alert, every fiber of his being tense in inexplicable expectation. An energy he doesn't recognize takes hold of him. It's as if the room itself is closing in around him, isolating him, focusing him only on you, on the silhouette that you are. 

Every movement you make, no matter how subtle, seems to amplify this attraction. He's seen women, thousands of women, but none of them have ever been able to destabilize him in this way. None have ever had such power over him. Why you? What do you have that others don't? This question haunts him constantly, but he can't answer it. And the closer he gets, the more he loses himself in a whirlwind of confusion, desire, and frustration.

But before he can close the distance between you, he feels a firm grip on his arm. He freezes instantly, a dull anger rising within him at the sight of the intruder who dares to interrupt his quest. He turns his head, his jaw clenched, and finds himself face to face with Yang Jungwon, his trusted advisor, always able to read his every thought. A mixture of annoyance and curiosity reads on Jungwon's face, as if he knows exactly what's going on in his king's mind. His eyes shine with a subtly mocking glint, but he doesn't let it show.

“Your Majesty,” Jungwon said in a calm, almost tranquil tone, “I’ve never seen you in such a state. You seem… captivated.”

The words ring like a bell in Heeseung’s head. He clenches his jaw, aware that he’s been caught up in the moment, that he’s let his emotions rule him in a way he’s never allowed before. His eyes, however, keep returning to you, despite his efforts to focus on something else. He can’t seem to escape you. You’re there, obsessing him, haunting him. The temptation to come closer again, to unravel this mystery, is stronger than ever.

Jungwon, impassive, follows his gaze and, when he sees your silhouette in the crowd, a spark of intelligence crosses his eyes. He smiles slightly, as if he understands completely what is happening here, without needing to say it explicitly. He then murmurs, in a tone that borders on amusement: “She has an undeniable presence, I grant you that. Even from afar, she is difficult to ignore.”

Jungwon’s words hit Heeseung like a whiplash, shaking his control further. He stares at him intently, and in his eyes, you can read all the possessiveness, all the agitation he feels. What Jungwon doesn’t know is that every word, every syllable, fuels the already burning flame inside him. He feels anger bubbling under his skin, a mix of envy and frustration that he struggles to contain. He slowly turns his head to his advisor, his gaze turning icy, almost menacing. The air between them grows heavier, more tense.

“Put away your eyes, Jungwon,” he growls, his voice low and rumbling, a thinly veiled threat in his words.

Jungwon, still implacable, tilts his head slightly, but he doesn't seem afraid. On the contrary, a glint of amusement lingers in his eyes, an almost imperceptible light that he doesn't completely hide. "You know very well that I would never do something so reckless, Majesty," he says calmly. "But if I may say so... Be careful. Women like her, as fascinating as they are, can be more dangerous than an armed enemy."

Jungwon’s words, spoken in a neutral tone, seep into Heeseung’s mind like poison. They echo in his head, but he shakes them away with an imperceptible movement of his head. That’s not what he needs. He can’t help but want to understand you, to solve this mystery. Yet the tension Jungwon reminds him of is there. He knows it. He feels it. But nothing will stop him.

“I don’t need your warnings,” Heeseung retorts, his voice firm, without trembling. “What I want are answers.”

Jungwon watches his king in silence, infinite patience in his gaze. Then, slowly, he nods, his features regaining a new seriousness. “Very well, Your Majesty. I will take care of it immediately.”

As his advisor disappears into the crowd, Heeseung stands there, motionless. A palpable tension emanates from him. He stands like a wild animal ready to pounce, every muscle tense, his mind in torment he has never known. His eyes scan the room, searching for your silhouette in every corner, but the crowd has become a labyrinth, and you have vanished, like a ghost erased by the light. Doubt seizes him. Was it real? A mirage? An illusion born of his desires? He can't help but chase the thought away. No, it can't be. What you left him, this feeling, this attraction, is too real to be fleeting.

He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm the turmoil inside him. But even in the darkness of his closed eyelids, your image persists. Your eyes, your silhouette, the mystery that emanates from you… All of it pursues him, obsesses him. He has never been one to let himself be guided by his emotions, but you have made him waver. He hates this vulnerability he feels, but at the same time, it attracts him. He is a prisoner of this fascination.

There is no room for doubt anymore. You are his obsession, and he will find you, no matter what it takes. He must understand you, possess you, solve this puzzle that is you. Because at this moment, he knows one thing: this is not a game. This is a war. A war where he is willing to sacrifice everything he has for… you.

The noise of the party had died down, leaving the garden plunged into an eerie, almost eerie quiet. Shadows danced beneath the trees as the moon shyly lit the stone paths, creating an atmosphere that was both unsettling and inviting. Heeseung, his gaze fixed on you, felt a confusing mix of excitement and frustration. From the first moment he had seen you, you had become the object of all his thoughts, a silent obsession that consumed him from the inside. Every glance he had been able to cast upon you, every mention of your name only fanned the fire that was growing within him.

He stopped at a distance, watching you move with a carefree grace, almost cruel in the way you ignored his presence. You stood by the fountain, your fingers absently brushing the petals of a nocturnal flower. Your allure was a captivating mix of modesty and provocation. The midnight blue velvet of your dress hugged every curve of your body, accentuating the sensuality of your movements without ever falling into excess. The neckline, although sober, revealed just enough skin to arouse the imagination of anyone who dared to gaze at you.

Heeseung bit the inside of his cheek, struggling to maintain a facade of calm. In reality, he was consumed by desire. He had isolated himself from the party for one reason only: to be with you, alone, away from prying eyes and silent judgments. His usually sharp mind was now clouded by thoughts he could no longer control.

He took a deep breath before walking towards you, each step echoing lightly on the gravel of the path. The sound of his footsteps, soft but distinct, broke the heavy silence. You turned around slowly at the sound, your eyes meeting his in a second that seemed to stretch out forever. A sudden warmth invaded Heeseung, his stomach twisting under the intensity of the look you gave him. There, in the shadows, the air between you was saturated with electricity, heavy with silent promises. There was something indescribable in the atmosphere, a palpable, almost suffocating tension that tightened his chest, as if each movement, each breath risked breaking the fragile balance that had settled between you.

He stopped a few steps away from you, his breath short, and scrutinized you for a moment, unable to look away. The darkness around you seemed to isolate you from the world, imprisoning you in a bubble where time dilated, as if suspended. He was a king, certainly, but in this moment, he was nothing more than a man, trapped by his intense desire for a woman he could no longer banish from his thoughts, a woman who haunted and obsessed his mind.

“Lady Y/n Belmont?” His voice, low and hoarse, betrayed the inner storm that was devouring him. The question, although useless, was only a pretext to break this oppressive silence, this unbearable tension that enveloped you.

Your gaze didn't waver, but a flicker of questioning pierced your eyes. "That's right," you answered in a soft but perfectly controlled voice, which slid between you like an invisible caress. You didn't take your eyes off him, trying to decipher his intentions behind his piercing eyes. "Who do I have the honor of speaking to?" you continued, with impeccable politeness, although one could guess a hint of subtle curiosity, which Heeseung caught without difficulty.

He gave a slight smile, a glimmer of satisfaction crossing his features. “Lee Heeseung,” he answered in a deep voice, but his name wasn’t enough to contain everything he felt at that moment. He stepped closer, each movement filled with silent determination, and slowly reached out his hand toward you. Without thinking, as if guided by an unconscious reflex, you offered it to him, the gesture almost automatic, dictated by years of social conventions, but carried by a palpable tension, a quiver of an unspoken promise.

But what followed was anything but conventional. His fingers slowly closed around your hand, his warm palms hugging the coolness of your skin. He tilted his head, his gaze still fixed on you, and, with an almost unbearable slowness, placed his lips on the back of your hand. The kiss lasted a second too long, a second that seemed to suspend time, transforming this seemingly innocent gesture into something much more intimate, much more threatening. The air between you grew heavy, charged with this unbearable tension, as if this simple contact opened the door to much darker and unacknowledged desires.

You shuddered slightly, and the tiny movement didn't escape him. He removed his lips from your skin, but didn't immediately let go of your hand. He held it for a few more moments, his fingers gently brushing yours, as if to prolong the contact, before slowly releasing them. This gesture, this prolonged contact, this hesitation to let you go, expressed his desire far more intensely than any words.

You tried to hide your confusion, but he saw a glint of embarrassment in your eyes, and it awakened a feeling of power in him, a feeling he hadn't felt in a long time. Still, you quickly pulled yourself together, trying to bow to him, but he abruptly placed his hand on your shoulder, stopping you from continuing your gesture.

“No need for formalities…” he murmured, his voice deeper, hoarse, as if he were struggling to contain the storm brewing inside him. “Let’s just be a man and a woman, here and now.”

You looked up at him slowly, surprised by the intimacy of his words. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, and the warmth of his hand could be felt through the fabric of your dress. It was a burning touch, heavy with unspoken promises, and you couldn't help but shudder under the subtle but persistent pressure. He dominated you without saying a word, and this domination, although silent, imposed itself on you, seeping into your breath, into every fiber of your being.

“A man and a woman…” you repeated weakly, your words trembling with uncertainty. “I don’t think a woman of my rank has the right to consider you a man like any other.”

Your breath was short, and you felt your desire awaken against your will, a dull heat invading your belly. The proximity of his body, the depth of his gaze, everything about him awakened a part of you that you had long repressed, a part that rebelled against your reason.

He smiled, a smile heavy with meaning, almost carnivorous. "Remember that I am first and foremost a man, before being king." His fingers slid slowly from your shoulder to your chin, in a meticulously calculated, almost possessive gesture. He gently forced you to raise your head, and in that movement, something broke between you. The distance disappeared instantly. His fingers brushed the fragile fabric of your veil, and he felt it slide, almost sensually, against his skin.

“I could have been born a commoner,” he murmured, his lips almost brushing yours, a palpable heat between you. “But God had other plans. Yet what I want right now is not the king who desires you. It is the man.” His voice, so low and intimate that you had to strain to hear it, vibrated through the air, penetrating your senses. Each word seemed to force its way into your soul, awakening buried desires within you, desires you had long ignored, or left in the shadows.

Heeseung leaned in slowly, each movement deliberate, precise, like a predator savoring the prey it was about to capture. The air around you seemed to thicken as it closed the distance, until there was only a thin invisible border between the two of you, a space as fragile as mist, but with a palpable tension. His eyes, deep black, anchored themselves in yours, as if he were trying to penetrate your soul, to probe every part of your being, every thought hidden behind the facade you were trying to maintain. He was there, scrutinizing you, probing you without a word, but each fraction of a second seemed to weigh an eternity, making the air unbreathable, heavy, almost suffocating.

With every inch he gained, the atmosphere grew heavier, denser, charged with an unbearable tension. You could feel the heat of his body spreading slowly, like an invisible wave breaking against your body. The breath he let out brushed your skin, barely a contact, but with an intimacy that froze you in place. This simple proximity took your breath away, each breath becoming more difficult, as if the air itself had become rarefied. The feeling of suffocation grew, and yet, you were not ready to move, as if an invisible force was holding you there.

Your muscles were tense to the limit, like steel wires ready to give way under the pressure, but no part of your body seemed ready to take a step back. Your feet were anchored in the gravel of the garden, the hard, cold ground like an anchor, but it was the moment that held you there, as if you were becoming a part of this suspended moment. The thought of fleeing brushed your mind, but it clashed with another sensation, more poignant, more burning—the irresistible pull he exerted on you. You felt torn, caught between the will to escape and the call of a desire you could neither understand nor control.

He finally stopped, just at the edge of what seemed like intimacy, a breath away from you. So close, so terribly close, that you could almost feel every variation of his breath against your skin, every exhalation like a secret whisper. The scent of his skin, warm, spicy, overwhelming, mingled with the cool night air, but you couldn’t focus on anything else anymore. All that existed in that moment was him—his presence, his warmth, the way he seemed to engulf you without even touching you, like a magnetic force you couldn’t ignore. He was there, closer than ever, but you didn’t dare move, petrified under his gaze.

Your gaze locked with his, your mind suddenly drawn into the depths of his eyes. It wasn’t just a look, it was a silent invitation, a challenge, a promise. There was something inherently wild in that dark, burning glow, incredibly sensual, and yet terrifyingly authoritarian. It was a look that didn’t demand, but imposed, a look that soaked into you like a sweet poison. It unsettled you, forced you to observe him, to lose yourself in the abysses of his thoughts, in the darkness of his desire—or perhaps in a hidden fragility that you could only touch.

His jaw was clenched, the muscles in his face tense, and yet he stood there, terrifyingly in control, as if fighting deeper, more brutal desires. The tension between you was palpable, an invisible line you longed to cross, each testing the other’s limits, almost perversely. He seemed harder than stone, more imposing than any figure you’d ever met, and yet in that gaze, in that heavy silence, there was a hint of uncertainty, a fragility ready to reveal itself—but only to you.

Your entire body was boiling. You could feel every movement of your breath, every beat of your heart echoing in your ears. He was pulling you in, inexorably, like a calm sea before a storm. You wanted to pull back, to break the tension, but it was as if you were no longer able to control your own body. A shiver ran through your skin, not from the cold, but from an unbearable heat that devoured you from the inside. The heat of his body was everywhere, pouring into every fiber of your being, wrapping around it, submitting you to his will without him even moving.

He leaned in a little closer, just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath slipping over your ear, brushing your skin, like a caress that was both burning and icy. His lips were so close to your skin that you could almost feel them, brushing your neck without ever really touching, but there was a raw, wild desire in that promise. And yet, you didn't dare move. You stayed there, frozen, your eyes fixed on his lips, so full, so perfect, and you knew, deep down, that you couldn't back down.

He slowly raised his hand, hesitant at first, as if waiting for a sign from you, each gesture seeming like a test. His fingers brushed your cheek, so softly that you could barely feel them, but that caress, that simple touch, was more intimate than anything you had ever experienced. A shiver shook you, and your breathing quickened, too loud in the oppressive silence. He kept staring at you, and in his eyes shone a glimmer of triumph, a certainty that he already possessed you, even if you had not yet made a move.

“You shouldn’t…” you whispered, your voice cracking, trembling. But even you knew your words held no weight. They were weak, almost useless against the force of the moment.

A thin, predatory smile touched his lips, a smile that was anything but tender. “And yet I do it,” he replied, his voice deep and sharply sweet, like a sharp knife sliding through silk.

Your heart clenched in your chest. He knew. He knew everything, he knew how you felt, and yet he moved forward, imperceptibly, slowly, each movement a promise, a warning, an invitation. The space between you narrowed, and narrowed, until there was nothing left but this shared breath, this palpable heat, this inevitable collision of desire and reason.

The distance between your lips was now tiny, almost nonexistent, but just before everything shattered, a thought hit you like lightning: you couldn't. Not here, not now. Not like this.

You turned your head away slightly, an instinctive gesture, breaking the trajectory of his kiss. His lips brushed your cheek, so lightly that it was almost unreal, but the effect was devastating, electrocuting you to your very core. The heat of his breath, the softness of this barely perceptible contact, invaded you with a desire so brutal that you almost lost your footing.

“We can’t do this…” you whispered, your voice almost inaudible, drowned out by the tumult of your thoughts and emotions.

Time seemed to stand still as he stood there, frozen, his fingers millimeters from your face, never touching you, like a silent promise that in an instant, everything could change. His gaze never left your face, scrutinizing every nuance of your expressions, every breath you let out. The pressure of his presence was overwhelming, as dense and opaque as a mist, enveloping you entirely. Every movement he made seemed calculated, measured, but with a purpose you could not yet grasp, destabilizing your entire being.

The air between you was thick with palpable tension, a space where desire, confusion, and frustration danced in silence, locked in an unbearable embrace. His unfathomably black eyes stared at you with an intensity that threatened to make you lose control. It was as if every fiber of your being was exposed, vulnerable, ready to give in. His silence was heavy, more deafening than any words. And yet, everything about his posture, about the closeness he maintained between you, told you that he was waiting for something, that he was pushing you to react, to give in.

“Why?” His voice finally broke the silence, but it wasn’t an innocent question. It was a challenge, an invitation, an almost imperceptible reproach, but palpable. He seemed to be waiting for an answer, a justification, a word that would explain everything he felt, what he hoped for. In his eyes, you could see impatience, the shadow of a frustration that he didn’t even try to hide anymore.

Your body jerked back, reacting as if in shock, your heart pounding. Every movement felt too sudden, too desperate. Uncontrollable tremors shook your body, but there was nothing you could do about it. “Because I promised my virginity to my future husband, Your Majesty,” you whispered, your voice breaking under the weight of the confession. The words weighed heavily on you, a burden you could no longer bear, but had to say, to defend yourself, to get away from him, to not give in to the growing temptation.

Heeseung didn’t react immediately, but his eyes darkened, as if your words were a blow he hadn’t anticipated. He was still staring at you with that burning intensity, but something inside him snapped slightly. A furtive gesture, an almost imperceptible contraction of his jaw. You could almost feel the struggle playing out inside him, an inner war he had no intention of losing. He didn’t want to lose you. Not like this.

Yet he remained still, frozen in his posture, his fingers millimeters from your face, hesitant to cross that invisible boundary. He didn't move, but his eyes remained fixed on you, as if every expression on your face, every movement of your body, was a message he had to decipher.

“And I don’t know who he’ll be, but he’ll be the only one who’ll have it,” you continued, your voice growing firmer, but still trembling with the electricity of tension. It was a statement, but it was also your way of setting a limit, of imposing a boundary he wouldn’t dare cross. At least, you hoped so. But as he remained silent, he turned his head slightly away, as if to avoid responding to what you had just said, as if he wanted to dodge the idea that your words had any power over him.

This gesture, almost imperceptible, hit you like a blow. It was neither anger nor rejection, but something more painful, more destabilizing. It was as if he was protecting himself from a truth he was not ready to face. And this distance he put between you, this subtle avoidance of his eyes, was more than indifference. It was a silent rejection, a distancing that made you waver.

A mixture of anger and pain erupted within you then. “Because I know what happens otherwise!” you blurted out, your voice cracking on the words, each syllable vibrating with frustration and pent-up rage. “My reputation has already been sullied once. I will not let it happen again.” The weight of those words washed over you, evoking that part of you that you had always protected, that past that haunted you relentlessly. A dull anguish took hold of you, an inner pain that devoured you at every moment, leaving you vulnerable and almost broken.

But it was the mention of Giselle, your sister, that made you falter. "And my sister Giselle... She's called the great whore by everyone." Each word tore you further apart, and even though you wanted to hold back these revelations, they escaped you. Shame washed over you, icy, a wave of coldness that made you falter, but there was no turning back.

He looked at you then, his dark eyes deeply anchored in yours, and for the first time since his arrival, you perceived the intensity of his emotions. It was neither indifferent nor cold, but something much more complex: a mixture of incomprehension, rejection, and yet, also defiance. His gaze was sharp as a blade, but he did not look away. He stared at you as if you were nothing more than an obstacle to overcome, as if your words only fueled his desire to break the mask you wore.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he finally whispered, but his voice held no compassion. It was distant, icy, a desperate attempt to regain control, to cover up the crack that had just opened. And yet, despite his words, he still hadn’t moved an inch, and his fingers hung in the air, as close to you as they had ever been.

Then, slowly, he turned away, and the sound of his footsteps faded into the night. Before he completely disappeared into the darkness, a heaviness settled in the air, as if a part of you wanted to call out to him, to scream his name, but you remained frozen, plunged into a crushing silence. “Your Majesty!” you called, your voice broken by a despair you couldn’t explain, but he didn’t turn around.

He disappeared, and you were left there, alone, your heart pounding, your throat tight with conflicting emotions. A breath of relief briefly crossed your mind, but before you could even appreciate it, a familiar figure emerged from the darkness. Your father. His gaze was as cold as iron, as implacable as a final judgment. He stared at you for a long time, and shame, more crushing than anything, washed over you. You felt torn, caught between the burning heat of this forbidden desire and the icy coldness of family expectations.

AMBOISE, FRANCE — Night of December 24, 1555

The golden light of the setting sun bathed the room in a deceptive softness. The rays, filtered through the tall windows decorated with stained glass, spread like a stream of honey, casting bright shards that danced on the walls, tapestries and luxurious furniture. Yet this luminous warmth contrasted cruelly with the icy atmosphere that permeated every corner of the room. The walls, richly decorated with carved moldings and heavy velvet drapes, seemed to close in, as if the space itself were bending under the weight of an oppressive silence.

The wooden floor, its shine and warmth enhanced by the twilight light, seemed almost unreal. The soft warmth of the air, at first comforting, gradually faded as one approached the center of the room, where an icy coldness seemed to emanate from Heeseung's imposing silhouette. Motionless, frozen in a pose of extreme calm, he looked like a marble statue, his arms crossed over his chest. For long minutes, he had not uttered a word. It was as if time itself had frozen, subjugated by his imposing and almost supernatural presence.

His silhouette was silhouetted between shadow and light, contrasting with the golden flashes that seemed to engulf him. Tall and athletic, he stood straight, every line of his posture betraying absolute control. The subtle tension in his shoulders and the stillness of his back gave him an almost superhuman aura. Absorbed in silent contemplation, his gaze remained fixed on the horizon through the window, searching for something beyond the visible landscape, something intangible. The setting sun bathed his eyes in a golden light, accentuating their darkness and their unearthly brilliance, like a heavy sky before a storm. Deep and unfathomable, they seemed to probe the confines of his soul, radiating a silent menace that struck anyone who dared to cross them.

Yet despite an outward appearance of perfect control, one detail betrayed his inner turmoil, a discreet crack in the façade of calm he was trying to maintain. His fingers, tense but feverish, rested on the windowsill, tapping the wood with an irregular rhythm, almost imperceptible, but loaded with meaning. Each hesitant beat seemed to mark the passage of the seconds, one by one, in a growing tension that he struggled to contain. This tiny, almost insignificant gesture nevertheless resonated like a dull echo in the minds of those who observed it, like the oppressive ticking of an invisible clock, announcing the moment when everything would change. This drumming, both discreet and insistent, betrayed a latent impatience, a ferocity contained under an apparent mastery, ready to burst forth at any moment.

Jungwon, standing a few paces behind, watched the scene with painful acuity. Every detail of Heeseung’s attitude, every tiny change in his posture or gaze, seemed to carry a coded message, a clue in a game whose rules escaped him. He had seen men of power before—generals, princes—but none wielded such an aura. Heeseung did not need to raise his voice or make a threatening gesture to impose his will. His silence, this implacable calm, was enough to trigger an irrational anxiety, a tangible oppression that seemed to compress Jungwon’s chest. The air itself seemed to grow heavier, each second that passed tightening the space around him further, like an invisible hand closing on his throat.

Jungwon stood there, facing a king whose power he had yet to fully appreciate. Accustomed to maneuvering among men of power, balancing flattery and truth, he knew how to decode the subtleties of court games. But with Heeseung, there was no courtesy or easy exchanges. Only the crushing weight of silence and the dull threat of his gaze, like a sword hanging over his head. It was not the man who inspired such terror in him, but the implacable certainty that no word or gesture could escape a silent, deep, and inescapable anger, surpassing anything he had ever faced.

The silence was heavy, oppressive, almost palpable. A weapon. Every second Heeseung remained still, every moment no words crossed his lips, amplified the pressure. Jungwon tensed further, aware that the initiative was his. The slightest sign of hesitation would be a condemnation. This oppressive silence left no escape. The inevitable was approaching. He had to speak before this silence crushed him.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Jungwon took a deep breath, his breath short, as if he had just emerged from a long dive underwater. This simple act, yet vital, seemed an ordeal in itself. The air around him seemed to have thickened, laden with an oppressive heaviness that weighed on his lungs. Each breath became an effort, a silent fight to maintain his calm, to resist the panic that threatened to invade him. His heart beat violently in his chest, a frantic rhythm, like the beating of a drum announcing an imminent end, the inevitable conclusion that was approaching.

“Your Majesty…” he finally whispered, his voice so weak it seemed to dissolve into the air heavy with tension. It trembled slightly, almost imperceptibly, but enough to betray the torment boiling inside him.

Heeseung didn't answer. He stood perfectly still, like a marble statue frozen in time. Yet a tiny, almost imperceptible change occurred. His fingers, which had been drumming softly against the windowsill, suddenly stilled, and his shoulders, already tense, stiffened even more. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, but the atmosphere around him changed. It was as if time itself had stood still, frozen by the tension of this oppressive silence.

The silence continued to weigh, relentless. There was no turning back. Jungwon knew he had to speak, that he had to pierce the veil of invisibility that shrouded the truth he carried. Each word would be another step into an abyss from which he could not return. But he had no choice.

“The rumors about that family… seem to be confirmed,” he finally breathed. His words were not simply a confession, but stones thrown in a deceptive calm, revelations heavy with consequences.

Immediately, a new tension invaded the space. Heeseung turned his head slowly, almost disdainfully, as if accepting this information was an effort he did not want to make. The slowness of his movement made each second even more oppressive. The look he gave Jungwon expressed no benevolence. It was piercing, icy, like a sting ready to pierce the air.

“Speak clearly,” Heeseung ordered, his voice low, but so strong that it seemed effortless. Each word carried the threat of a dull pressure, an unspoken invitation to say more. “What do you mean by ‘confirmed’?”

Jungwon swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. Every breath felt like an ordeal, as if the air itself had thickened, making the atmosphere unbearably heavy. His hands were shaking slightly, but he couldn't let himself look at them, as his eyes were already glued to the ground, avoiding Heeseung's piercing gaze. Heeseung, still motionless, was scrutinizing him with an almost supernatural intensity, as if he could tear Jungwon's soul apart and probe every thought buried deep within. There was no respite, no escape from the pressure emanating from him.

“It seems like… prostitution is a tradition in this lineage,” Jungwon muttered, his voice hesitant, each word weighing on his tongue like poison, difficult to spit out, but unavoidable.

His words, weak and shaky, were lost in the heavy air of the room, but they couldn’t dispel the growing shadow that enveloped Heeseung. He didn’t move, but a palpable tension began to crystallize around him. He stood like a statue, frozen in icy calm, but every muscle in his body seemed tense, as hard as a wire ready to snap. 

Jungwon’s gaze sank deeper and deeper into the ground, as if he hoped the earth would swallow him up. But he couldn’t stop. He knew, deep down, that the words that followed would seal his fate. He inhaled deeply, the cool evening air hitting his skin, but the stifling heat of the situation wrapped around him, making him almost nauseous. He cleared his throat, a futile gesture to ease the growing anxiety.

“The late Duchess, mother of Lady Y/n… was said to have been a brothel girl before marrying Duke Belmont.” Those words, heavy with innuendo, resonated in the air like a whiplash, marking the moment with absolute gravity. They seemed to float, suspended, in space, ready to cause the atmosphere to implode. Heeseung, though motionless, seemed to absorb each syllable, his face impassive like a calm sea just before sinking. But Jungwon knew, deep in his soul, that beneath that calm surface, a storm was brewing.

Heeseung turned away slowly, but it wasn't an escape or a gesture of relaxation. It was a calculated, measured movement that carried much more than the simple action of moving. Every inch he gained seemed suspended in time, like a predator about to strike. Heeseung's fists, hanging at his sides, suddenly clenched. The golden light that filtered through the windows hit his hands in a particular way, revealing white knuckles under the extreme pressure he was exerting. Jungwon felt a shiver of terror run down his spine, his breathing becoming more difficult with each passing moment.

Heeseung didn’t speak immediately, but his silence was an invisible threat, a pressure that squeezed every fiber of the air. This silence, heavy and suffocating, demanded more than words; it demanded revelations. “Continue,” he finally ordered, his voice so low and sharp it seemed to cut the space in two. It resonated like a knife, an invitation to reveal himself, but also a warning: say too much and it would all be over. Each of Jungwon’s words hung like a tight thread, too fragile not to give way under the intensity of Heeseung’s gaze.

Jungwon tried to keep his composure, but his hands were shaking like leaves in the wind. Every word he spoke seemed to bring him closer to the abyss. He knew that the slightest misstep could trigger a reaction he couldn’t control. He took a deep breath, every fiber of his being aware that everything, absolutely everything, was riding on this moment. “As for his older sister, Giselle… she was said to have had relationships with several influential men in France, including King Francis I.” He paused, hoping that this revelation would be enough to ease the growing tension. But deep down, he knew that this was only the beginning.

The king’s name seemed to echo through the room like a clap of thunder. The air around him thickened, each vibration of the sound hitting the ground like an earthquake beneath the surface. Heeseung, still frozen, didn’t move an inch, but something in the atmosphere shifted, becoming even heavier, more threatening. Jungwon felt his hands grow clammy, a cold sweat beading on his forehead. He wanted to run away, to make himself small, but he couldn’t. Not now. He continued, his voice almost inaudible, a whisper that seemed to blend into the shadows of the room, “And Lady Y/n…”

The words he was about to say were the harshest, the most impactful, the ones that would put an end to all illusion, all restraint. “Lady Y/n… would have had her engagement broken… because of her reputation. It is said that she would be incapable of preserving… her honor.” At that moment, the silence became abysmal, so deep that it seemed to swallow the entire world. Jungwon’s breath became short, almost inhuman. He could no longer breathe freely; the air around him had become an unbearable weight. His heart was beating so hard that he felt the pressure in his temples, in his arms, in his entire being.

Heeseung still didn't move, but his gaze, cold and piercing, seemed to fix on an invisible point, right in front of him. Rage burned in his eyes, an icy anger, implacable, ready to burst into devastating bursts. The muscles of his cheeks tensed, his jaw clenched, and his fists clenched until they became blocks of stone, threatening to shatter under the force he imposed on them. The silence, now a leaden weight, created an unbearable tension, both insidious and crushing. 

Finally, Heeseung broke the silence, but his words fell like a hammer blow. “Enough.”

His voice snapped, sharp as metal. It wasn’t just an order, but the release of a chaos he’d held back for too long. He turned abruptly, icy slow, like a predator ready to strike. Every movement, every muscle in his body seemed to vibrate with a restrained power, an anger he controlled with terrifying efficiency.

Jungwon stood there, trembling, like a helpless spectator in the theater of his own devastation. He knew that what he had just revealed, every word, every confession, would bring about consequences he could never change again. Heeseung was calm, too calm, but that calm was more terrifying than the most violent of angers. The king stood there, frozen in a deathly silence that boded nothing good.

The silence in the room was almost unbearable, an invisible pressure that crushed every thought, every movement. Jungwon raised himself slightly, like a man preparing to face the inevitable, his body tensed almost exaggeratedly, a rigid posture marked by fear. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to flee, to escape by running, but he had no right to. 

He knew that this moment would mark a turning point, that the words that would come out of his mouth would not come back. Yet, with each breath, the feeling of suffocation strengthened. His heart pounded in his chest at a frantic pace, each beat resonating like a hammer blow striking his temples. Heeseung's gaze, cold and implacable, weighed on him like a sledgehammer. Here he was, facing a man who could crush him with a simple gesture, and yet, he could no longer afford to back down.

He gathered his strength, forcing himself to speak, to not let the terror that paralyzed him overwhelm him. His voice trembled slightly, betraying the uncertainty he could not hide. "This is verified information, Your Majesty, from reliable sources." The words were pressed to his lips, but he would have preferred to hold them back. The feeling of betrayal mixed with a consuming anxiety. Who was he to deliver this information to Heeseung, to break a silence as fragile and uncertain as the one that reigned between them? He felt like a puppet, manipulated by invisible threads woven by politics and lies.

He dared to look up, searching for a reaction from Heeseung. But the latter, implacable, did not move. His dark eyes shone with an icy coldness, as if the inner storm he felt was imprisoned behind that gaze. And yet, even without a word, Jungwon knew that a volcano was rumbling inside him. The palpable tension in the air, charged with this contained anger, seemed to make the room smaller, the atmosphere denser. Jungwon felt crushed, his chest compressed by the intensity of the atmosphere, as if the slightest movement risked causing an explosion.

“Reliable sources?” Heeseung repeated, his voice sharp, like a cleaver. Each word fell with surgical precision, a latent menace that weighed down the air. The steel in his tone pierced Jungwon, who felt like an insect under a microscope. His gaze grew sharper, more menacing. He took a step forward, and the space between them seemed to narrow almost supernaturally. 

Each movement of Heeseung’s exuded raw energy, an overwhelming authority, annihilating any attempt at resistance. He was no longer simply a king, but a man embodied in anger, an almost supernatural being in his ability to dominate the space around him. “Since when have we been peddling gossip and slander like market women?” His words slammed into the air, each syllable amplified by the violence of his voice. It was a verbal slap, a deep disdain that disfigured everything it touched.

Jungwon immediately felt overwhelmed, an icy heat invading his body as Heeseung's gaze bored into his. That gaze didn't just scan, it pierced his soul. He felt like a trapped animal, unable to escape. His breath hitched, his hands shaking slightly as he tried to answer, but the words got lost in his throat. Heeseung's pressure on him, invisible but very real, prevented him from finding a way out. Every thought was blurred. He wanted to explain, to justify himself, but the force of that gaze, of that anger emanating from the man before him, cut him off from any possibility of expressing himself.

He opened his mouth again, trying to regain control, to salvage what he could from this conversation. "Your Majesty, I'm just..." But he didn't even have time to finish his sentence. He didn't have the opportunity to defend himself, to try to explain. Heeseung suddenly raised his hand, and this clear and authoritative gesture was enough to silence him. There was no room for discussion, no room for interpretation. 

“Enough!” Heeseung shouted, the sound resonating like thunder, vibrating with anger and pain. The room shook with the intensity of the shout, and Jungwon froze, a dizzy feeling washing over him, as if the ground had just disappeared beneath his feet. He felt his body stripped away, his mind reeling under the weight of this pure, burning anger.

Heeseung stepped closer, his gaze a sharp blade, and her next words hit him like a punch. “Lady Y/n is not that kind of woman!” The statement rang out heavily, laden with all the passion and emotion that was boiling inside him. It was as if each syllable was tearing a piece of himself out, as if the man he was was breaking, torn apart by the mere mention of your name. 

His fists clenched with such force that his knuckles instantly turned white, and his nails dug into the skin of his palms, but he didn’t even seem to notice. His muscles tensed, an animalistic, desperate rage contorting his face. He no longer seemed to be the calm, measured king he had been until then. He was the very embodiment of anger, a raw, uncontrollable force. 

How dare they tarnish your name with such accusations? Heeseung wondered inwardly, the growing hatred against those who had tarnished your honor consuming him completely. His thoughts were now besieged by waves of anger, frustration, and confusion.

And yet, deep inside him, an even more troubling truth was beginning to emerge. It was a truth that tore at his heart, that paralyzed him with the weight of uncertainty. He felt connected to you in a way he didn’t understand. The more he fought against it, the more it seemed to intensify, and the more impossible it became to ignore. His desire, his fascination with you, was now intertwined with this new revelation that was warping his perception of you. He was no longer simply the king in this situation; he was a man trapped by his own feelings, his desires, and the lies that surrounded him.

He turned abruptly on his heel, unable to bear this tension, this anger, this inner tearing any longer. Before Jungwon could formulate a response or a retort, Heeseung was already at the door. With a sharp gesture, he turned the handle and escaped, slamming the door with such violence that the noise resonated like a cleaver in Jungwon's mind. This dry and definitive sound filled the enclosed space of the room, marking the end of the exchange and the beginning of an irreversible change.

Jungwon stood there alone, frozen, his head spinning with the built-up tension. The silence, heavier than ever, fell upon him. He slumped against a wall, his knees wobbling with the effort. His hands were shaking more and more, and his heart was beating in his chest like an insistent drum. He knew that what he had just said would change the course of things, but he couldn't know if it would be for better or for worse. He was caught in a whirlwind he hadn't chosen, and the consequences of his words, at that moment, seemed as uncertain as his own future.

AMBOISE, FRANCE — Night of December December 25, 1555

Heeseung had sent you a letter through a chamberlain, inviting you to join him in his room. The very idea of ​​this invitation, as sudden as it was relentless, invaded your mind, lighting a flame of anticipation mixed with apprehension. Your heart was pounding, resonating in your chest with an intensity that seemed to grow with each beat. Each step you took towards his room sounded like a distant echo, a dull, heavy sound that drowned in the oppressive silence that surrounded you. 

The closer you got to that door, the more the tension mounted, gripping you, almost paralyzing you. The pressure was unbearable, as if the air itself was tightening around you. The silence, heavy and relentless, had no other effect than to amplify the feeling of menace that hung in the air, making each movement more difficult than the last. It wasn't just the fear of coming face to face with him, but the fear of what you would feel, of the unknown, of what might happen once you crossed that threshold.

You finally stopped in front of the door. No sentry in sight, no guard. This absence of observers was unsettling, as if you were already under surveillance, but in an invisible, omnipresent way. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment, letting the fresh air caress your skin, trying to calm the inner turmoil that shook your body. Then, suddenly, a decision imposed itself on your mind. There was no turning back. You had to move forward. You would not back down. Not this time. Not after everything you had been through to get to this point.

With carefully measured slowness, you slid the solid wood door open. A slight creak broke the silence of the room, an almost imperceptible sound but one that resonated like a warning. You crossed the threshold, and the wood of the door closed behind you with a subtle click, like an invisible prison that locked you in this suspended moment. 

The darkness that reigned in the room made you shiver, an almost palpable coolness that contrasted with the stifling heat of your body. Only the dim glow of the candle on the table cast flickering shadows on the walls, creating a strange, unreal atmosphere, as if time itself had suspended its course. And then, you saw it.

There he was, motionless, an imposing figure in the gloom. Sitting on a black velvet chair, his back perfectly straight, he exuded a paradoxical grace, a subtle elegance that contrasted with the heaviness of his presence. A glass of red wine, almost whole, rested between his slender fingers, glistening faintly in the flickering light of the candles. He stared at the window, his eyes lost in the darkness outside, an icy coldness in his gaze, as if everything around him no longer existed. His features were frozen, hard, like an invisible wall erected around him, enclosing him in his own torments.

In front of him, you suddenly felt tiny, almost insignificant. The atmosphere between you two was electric, palpable, and yet, an irresistible force seemed to draw you towards him, like a cruel magnetism. A raw energy, an almost tangible presence, invaded you little by little, seizing you without you being able to escape it.

You watched him for a moment, stopping yourself from making any noise, but you knew he already knew you were there. He was waiting for something. He was waiting for you. And you had no control over what was going to happen. You stepped closer, and when your voice came out, it was quieter than you wanted it to be, but there was no trace of doubt or fear in your words. No room for that.

“Majesty,” you murmured, each syllable seeming to weigh heavily, as if you were crossing a threshold, an irreversible commitment. You let yourself go into a fluid, graceful bow, your head bowed in respect, but your heart was beating too fast. Your hands were shaking imperceptibly. Not enough for him to notice, but enough for you to feel them, that slight tremor betraying the tension that ran through your entire being.

A slight shudder passed through the air. He didn't move immediately, but you felt his gaze sharpen, an invisible heat burning your skin. Then, finally, he released his grip on the glass, a sigh escaping his lips, heavy with weariness. He delicately placed the glass on the windowsill before standing up, slowly and calculatedly, like a shadow sliding through the room, implacable, threatening.

He approached you, his heavy footsteps echoing like a burden, an almost palpable weight that you could feel in the air. With each passing second, the distance between you two was closing in, leaving you as if caught in an invisible vice, a trap from which you could not escape. His eyes did not detach themselves from yours. 

But in their depth, there was not only a fixation, there was an analysis, a meticulous examination of each of your gestures, of each thought that could cross your mind. It was as if he was breaking you down, measuring you, calculating every aspect of you with icy precision. His gaze was sharp, sharp, capable of cutting the air around you. A part of you, more instinctive, wanted to flee, to escape this hold he had on you. But another part, darker, remained there, motionless, ready to face this moment, ready to face him. He left you no choice.

“Lady Y/n Belmont,” he said, his deep, icy voice echoing through the room like a cleaver. His words, harsh and precise, cut through the air with an implacable coldness, but there was something eerily captivating in that coldness, like a snake ready to strike, savoring every second before the attack. He spoke your name with such authority that your heart stopped for a moment, but you forced yourself to stand straight, not to betray the slightest weakness. His eyes, dark and unfathomable, shone with an indecipherable light, as if he were trying to tear the veil of your soul. “You lied to me about your supposed virginity. But it was all just a pretext, a lie to push me away, to distance me from you.”

The words struck like whiplashes, sinking straight into your heart. How dare he attack you like this, reduce you to a mere lie, an illusion? How could he judge your soul, your truth, based on rumors and assumptions? Every syllable he uttered hit you with an unsuspected violence. Everything inside you shook, a sudden wave of anger surging through your being, but that rage was quickly swallowed up by a deeper pain, an unbearable humiliation that tightened your throat.

You staggered slightly, but you quickly caught yourself. Yet the dizziness did not go away. It was too intense, too oppressive. You felt its power, its domination in the air, like an invisible force invading you. It grabbed you, reduced you to helplessness. You no longer had any control over the situation, or even over yourself. Yet you knew that you had to fight. You had to respond, resist, even if every fiber of your being pushed you to give in.

“H… How dare you!” Your voice, though broken by emotion, remained sharp, laden with a mixture of anger and pain. You straightened up, straighter, a silent defiance in your eyes. “You barely know me, but you dare judge me on what? On rumors? Speculations that have reached you?” The pain in your voice made no attempt to hide itself. It pierced the air like a silent scream, bursting with truth. It was as if your soul was being torn in two, exposed and vulnerable before him, but you would not back down. You stared straight into his eyes, your gaze filled with a burning rage, a deep pain that mixed with that anger. “You know nothing about me, nothing about what I feel, what I experience.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, a laugh that was both painful and heartbreaking. It was a laugh without joy, a laugh heavy with everything that had been broken inside you. Then, the tears, hot and unstoppable, began to flow. You felt them slide down your cheeks, like traces of shame that you couldn't hold back. With a sudden movement, you wiped them away angrily, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you broken, while turning away from him, your heart beating faster in your chest.

But, without warning, he approached you, moving even closer, his chest pressing against your back. Before you could even react, his hand grabbed your arm with such force that you didn't have time to flee. A warm breath brushed your skin, and although his words seemed tinged with gentleness, an icy insistence pierced his voice. "I apologize... Don't cry anymore." This gentleness, at this moment, was not a comfort. It was a subtle manipulation, a calculated gesture to erase the distance between you, to disarm you. 

He tightened his hold on you, his chest against your back, and you could smell the intoxicating scent of wine mixed with that of the leather of his clothes. The air became heavy, suffocating, almost intoxicating. He wrapped your hands in his with unsettling gentleness, then, without warning, abruptly turned you towards him, forcing you to face him.

Your breath hitched. He was so close, his face so close to yours that you could almost feel the heat of his skin, hear the beating of his heart. Yet there was no real heat in his eyes. Not yet. “I…” He hesitated for a moment, as if the words were escaping him. “My words overtook my thoughts. I believe in your purity. You are different from the other ladies of the court.” His hands rested gently on your cheeks, unexpectedly tender, wiping away your tears with a gentleness you hadn’t anticipated. The feeling of his skin against yours made you jump, a shiver running down your body.

You gasped, surprised by the gentle gesture, yet charged with unresolved tension. Your eyes closed briefly, unable to grasp this sudden turn on his part. The warmth of his hands on your face made you shiver, and a wave of confusion washed over you. What did all this mean? Why this change in behavior, after his accusations and his coldness?

Under his touch, it became impossible to distinguish what was reality and what was just a clever game of manipulation. And that was Heeseung's power: he had this disturbing gift of erasing your bearings, of blurring your emotions until you lost yourself in an inner turmoil where he embodied both the merciless executioner and the unattainable savior.

The silence that has settled between you is dense, oppressive. It spreads, grows heavier, like a thick fog that gradually engulfs the room, until the slightest sound seems muffled. Heeseung finally breaks this silence, but his words carry a weight that you had not anticipated. "I have to be able to trust you, Y/n." His voice, deep and calm, slides over your skin with an almost tactile slowness, like a warm breath that brushes your soul. He pronounces your name with such authority, such certainty, that it makes you shiver, reducing you to a sensitivity that you did not dare to reveal. 

His lips brush yours in a contact as brief as it is intense, like a suspended whisper, and you feel the breath of his words mingle with yours, a shared breath that seems to capture every thought, every heartbeat. The moment lasts a fraction of a second, but it imprints itself on you with brutal force, every cell in your body vibrating with the presence of this man who stands so close to you, almost within reach of your breath. The outside world disappears then, as if swallowed up in darkness, giving way to this moment suspended between you, where time seems to expand, ready to give way under the mounting pressure.

You've never felt such pressure, and yet, deep down, a part of you knows that nothing here is simple. He's not just talking about trust in its most banal sense, he's talking about a silent submission, a total opening of the soul, a fragility that he expects you to reveal to him without beating around the bush. And that terrifies you. 

“You’re saying that to me?” Your voice is weaker than you’d like, but you can’t make it any firmer. The words hang in the air, uncertain, as you struggle to maintain that defiant, resistant posture. Your eyes first land on his lips, still marked by the touch he gave you, then slowly rise to his eyes. They stare at you intensely, deep and unfathomable, as if every movement of your thought, every beat of your heart, is readable in his gaze.

There is no distrust or doubt in his eyes. There is only waiting. A relentless waiting.

Your arms tighten at his sides as he slides his hands around your waist. His skin against yours is hot, but there’s no gentleness in the touch, only the relentless pressure of his fingers digging into your back. Slowly, inexorably, he presses you closer to him, closing the last of the spaces between you, as if to coax you into giving in to the heat rising between you. His body is a solid mass, an imposing presence against yours, and you feel completely at his mercy, even if you do everything you can not to show it.

He leans in a little closer, and you feel his breath on your face, each exhale brushing your skin like an almost violent caress. “With your hatred of marriage, your sanguine temperament, and your aversion to heretics, why should I trust you?” You articulate your words with a harshness that barely masks the fragility beneath, but everything in you knows that each syllable is but a last stand. A stand you erect against what he represents.

There, in the darkness of the room, you know those words are the most sincere you can say. Heeseung is everything you hate in this world: the powerful man, the one you can't control, the one who has no place in your world of propriety and calculation. And yet, something, deep inside you, wants him more than anything. You look away, trying to escape the unfathomable depth of his gaze, but it's already too late.

He smiled slightly, a fleeting glint lighting up in his eyes, before his face returned to its mask of calculated coldness.

“You can’t.” His voice, a barely audible whisper, pierces you like a sharp arrow, a raw, unforgiving truth that freezes in the air between you, as sharp as it is inescapable.

His lips moisten slowly, then his hand rises, brushing your hair with maddening slowness, each movement calculated, almost ritualized, like a danse macabre. The touch of his hand in your hair is soft, an infinitely controlled tenderness, as if each gesture is meant to remind you that he has complete control of the situation. His fingers then slide to your chin, brushing your skin in a way that triggers an icy shiver, slowly rising through your body, impregnating every inch of your skin with a burning coldness.

Then, without a sound, he whispers against your lips, “May I?”

The words are simple, almost innocent, but you know he's not really expecting a response. It's an invitation. An invitation to give in, to give him what he wants, to abandon all your principles and let yourself be swallowed up by the desire he's awakened in you.

Your heart races, but you don't dare move. You try to control your breathing, but it betrays your will, becoming more erratic, faster, carried away by the rising tension that squeezes your stomach. Every fiber of your being screams to answer him, to give in to this irresistible call, but you force yourself to shake your head, to break this fragile connection that he seeks to weave.

“No.” The word escapes your mouth, sharper and more abrupt than you had imagined, and you perceive a furtive, almost amused glint in his eyes. Yet, behind this apparent coldness, a palpable frustration emanates from him. He did not want to hear this word. He did not want to suffer this rejection, and you watch the muscle of his jaw tense imperceptibly, a barely concealed tension. But he does not back down. On the contrary, his presence becomes even more oppressive, more imposing, like a silent force seeking to crush all resistance, to subjugate every part of you that still fights against it.

“Don’t resist.” He says the words like a promise, a threat, a challenge, all at once. His voice, deeper, almost a whisper, a total control hidden behind each syllable. His eyes don’t leave you, they anchor to yours, insistent, piercing, as if their intensity were meant to annihilate you, to swallow you up. Each word he utters seems to weigh down the air between you, creating a pressure that intensifies, grips you, engulfs you, leaving you feeling an invisible but terribly palpable force.

You force yourself not to bend, not to give in to the overwhelming authority he exudes. 

“No, for so many reasons.” Your voice, weaker than you wanted, trembles with a fear you never wanted to admit, but that rumbles inside you, uncontrollable. Yet your decision remains anchored in your mind, firm, stubborn. You take a step back, your heart pounding, desperately seeking a little space, a little air, but every movement seems futile. He is everywhere. He catches you with every breath, with every shiver his gaze triggers.

Then he takes a step toward you, his gaze intensifying, more penetrating, more haunting. "I can't think of any valid reason not to kiss you." The words fall heavily, like an implacable verdict. Your chest tightens under the weight of his declaration, each syllable compressing you, squeezing you. Everything about him urges you to give in, to bend. Every movement of his body, every nuance in his voice, seeks to convince you, to force you to accept, to submit to what he is offering you without embellishment, without any possible return.

You want to back away, to escape, but deep down, you know that it no longer makes sense. He is there, present, each breath seems to pull you deeper into the grip of his power. Yet you try one last time to escape him, to push back his hold. 

"But that's not what we're talking about, is it?" Your voice, lower, more uncertain, betrays a fragility that you dared not admit. It is a last gasp, a desperate act of resistance. You feel the weight of his gaze, intense, penetrating, destabilize you, but you force yourself to hold on. You still struggle to keep your head up, to not let yourself be swallowed up by what he represents.

He leans in then, and his voice grows softer, an unexpected depth and palpable sincerity vibrating in each syllable. “I want you.” He says the words with a disconcerting simplicity, but with such utter certainty that they resonate in your mind, in every fiber of your body, like a wave that passes through you. His fingers reach for your hand, seek to seize it, but you are already moving away, even though you know it is futile.

“Yes… I know.” The word barely escapes, a whisper, almost a confession. Your eyes close for a moment, abandoning yourself to the intensity of the moment. You force yourself to exhale slowly, desperately trying to cling to a reality that escapes you, to remind yourself that you are not yet lost, not yet swallowed up by this whirlwind. 

But deep inside you, a truth imposes itself with a dull heaviness: each step you take to get away from him encloses you a little more in his web, each movement only brings you closer to his grip, and you know that there is no more room to flee. What awaits you, you already feel it, implacable and inevitable.

BELMONT RESIDENCE — SEOUL, KOREA — December 31, 1555

For eight days, you had returned to the Belmont residence, desperately fleeing Heeseung and the suffocating hold he had over you. This choice had not been made lightly, but it had a cost. Your father had expressed his anger in a scathing manner, calling your departure an ill-considered whim. To him, Heeseung represented much more than just a man: he was a pillar of power, a precious alliance that your family could not afford to lose. His words still echoed in your memory: “Do you think you can escape someone like him? You are deluding yourself, Y/n.”

But it was not an illusion. It was a necessity.

Staying close to Heeseung would have been far more perilous than any consequences your father could conjure up. You had seen that fire in his eyes, felt that overwhelming intensity in his words, and you knew he wouldn’t stop. Every look he gave you seemed capable of stripping you of all your certainties, every word spoken in that deep, controlled voice made something vibrate inside you that you didn’t dare name. Getting away, leaving before it was too late, was the only way to protect yourself—to protect what was left of you.

The Belmont residence, with its vast, shadowy corridors and almost solemn silence, should have been a sanctuary. But it had become a prison, where every corner seemed to whisper his name. Heeseung wasn't there, but his absence was more oppressive than his presence. You woke up every morning with the unpleasant feeling that he was watching you, that he was everywhere and nowhere at once.

He hadn't forgotten you. And he reminded you of it every day with calculated insistence.

The gifts arrived like a well-oiled clock. Jewels encrusted with precious stones, fabrics so delicate they seemed unreal, exotic perfumes with intoxicating notes. Each gift was a testament to his exquisite taste, but also to his stubbornness. They arrived in luxurious boxes, carefully wrapped, as if they carried within them a promise or a challenge. You had them systematically sent back, your strict orders leaving no room for interpretation. But this gesture, although necessary, always left you with a bitter taste. You knew he would not be discouraged—on the contrary, it would only strengthen his desire to reach you.

And then there were the letters.

These carefully written missives, sealed with his seal, carried with them something intimate, almost dangerous. The paper, of exceptional quality, sometimes bore a slight trace of his perfume, a subtle note of smoked wood and spices. Each morning, a new letter was deposited, and each morning, you observed it with apprehension mixed with a shiver that you dared not recognize.

You had tried to ignore them. You really had. But your will had given way after the first one, and now you couldn’t stop reading them. His words were a trap. They seduced you, taunted you, playing with your emotions like a master on a violin. Sometimes tender, sometimes burning with barely contained passion, they always left you breathless, your hands shaking. These sentences, skillfully constructed, seemed to reveal a part of him, a part you weren’t sure you wanted to know—or could handle.

That morning, nothing was different, and yet everything seemed even more unbearable.

The chamberlain entered without knocking, as was his custom. His stern silhouette stood out in the shadows of the room. He looked at you with a calm, almost indifferent eye, but you immediately felt that the message he brought would be heavier than anything he had transmitted to you until then. Without a word, he stepped forward. With almost ceremonious precision, he placed a small lacquered wooden chest on the coffee table in front of you.

He bowed slightly, and before he had even closed the door behind him, your gaze had already settled on the object. This chest, strange and intimate, seemed charged with a meaning that you could not ignore. You did not need to open it to guess that it bore the trace of Heeseung. It was another way, subtle but inevitable, of binding you to him. A rope stretched between you, that you had nevertheless sworn to cut.

You hesitated for a split second. What else could he bring you, you who had rejected all his attempts at communication? But this hesitation, although brief, gradually transformed into an irrepressible curiosity. Curiosity for this object of which you knew nothing, but which seemed to call you in an insidious way. Your trembling fingers slowly reached out towards the chest, hesitating between rejection and the desire to discover what it contained. The moment seemed suspended, frozen in time, when, with an almost solemn slowness, you lifted the lid. The light creaking of the wood mingled with the air in the room, breaking the silence with a dry sound, like a tear in the heart of your apparent calm.

Inside, a necklace. Disconcertingly simple. A thin silver chain, smooth and shiny, rested delicately on black velvet. Nothing superfluous, nothing extravagant, but the beauty of this jewel lay in its purity, in this almost painful simplicity, which seemed to contain a thousand unspoken meanings. At the end of the chain hung a pendant in the shape of a small medal, finely engraved. The “H” on it was no accident. It was the “H” of his name. The first letter of his first name. And that simple “H” hit you like an invisible punch. You knew what it meant. The shockwave that went through you was immediate, dazzling. It wasn’t just a jewel. It was a mark, an imprint left on you, an indelible sign that he was asking for you again and again.

You took the necklace, slowly, as if by touching it you accepted everything it represented. The hold it had on you, the silent force of its desire, the certainty that it would not let go. A shiver ran through you, sweet and painful at the same time. The cold metal against your skin seemed warmer than ever. Each link of the chain was like a silent caress, a gentle but inescapable pressure. You held it between your fingers and suddenly, the room seemed to close in on you. The air became thicker, heavier, like an invisible weight.

The weight of that jewel, of that gesture, brutally reminded you of the words he had sent you. You had done everything to ignore them, to push away his letters, his gifts, his almost palpable obsession. But today, with that necklace, it all came back to you. You felt the pressure of his invisible gaze on you, his silent hold catching up with you, inevitably. It wasn’t just a gift. It was a promise, an implicit declaration that you had no choice. Whether you liked it or not, it was there, in every fiber of your being, in every breath you took. And you, you were unable to get rid of it.

You let the necklace slowly slip from your fingers and set it back on the bed. A sigh escaped your lips. A sigh you couldn't quite identify. Was it frustration, anger, or simple relief? What you knew was that this moment marked the end of your refusal. Not because you wanted to give in, but because at some point, he had gotten to you again. And there was no going back.

Your gaze then turned to the letter. It lay there, carefully sealed. The royal seal, which you knew so well, seemed heavier than ever today. The image of the red wax, of the seal melting under the pressure of your fingers, gripped you like a warning. You knew that breaking this seal was breaking something inside you. But you could no longer back down. The fate of this letter, of this message, was now in your hands. And you knew that reading it would change everything. Once again.

The wax gave way under the pressure of your fingers. The snap of the seal breaking echoed through the room, resonating like the end of your isolation. The scent of ink, spicy and woody, invaded your nostrils. It was a scent you knew too well, a scent that took you back to moments, to memories you had tried to erase. But it was all coming back now. Everything.

You unfolded the letter, each movement feeling heavier than the last, each breath shorter. And your eyes fell on the first few lines. He was there, in every word, every sentence. His words. His emotions. His desires.

“ My star,

I never told you what you deserved to hear. Maybe I was afraid, or maybe I lied to myself. But today, it's too late to hide behind silences or unspoken words. The pain of your absence devours me. Eight days. Eight days without you, and already I'm broken.

I wake up every morning, haunted by a single question: what have I done? Why did you push me away like that? Why did you leave me in the shadows, to lose myself in the uncertainty of your silence? I see my faults well. I know that my mistakes hurt you, that I destroyed what we had without even realizing it. And I regret it more than you can imagine.

But I can no longer bear this emptiness. This silence. This lack that tears me apart every moment, like a blade that cuts me in two. Every word you write to me breaks me, but it's all I have left of you. A word, a breath, a memory. And yet, every letter, every word, I welcome them as a final bond, as painful as it may be. It's all I have to keep you close to me, to keep me from collapsing into this solitude that I can no longer bear.

I know I have no right to ask you this. I know I've lost you and that you no longer trust me. But I beg you, don't abandon me. Don't close the door forever. Give me a chance, however small, to repair what I've broken. I know, deep down, that you still feel something. That all is not lost, despite the pain. And even if you refuse to admit it, I am willing to wait. To suffer in silence, to follow you in the shadows, until you accept the light of my presence again.

I will come back, no matter the time, no matter the obstacles, no matter how many times you push me away. I will come back, again and again, because I will always love you. Always, no matter what. Because no distance, no coldness, will be able to extinguish this fire that burns inside me.

With all that I am, Heeseung. ”

Those words… Those words hit your soul like a devastating wave. A desperate plea, a plea, a promise. He had left you a part of himself in each letter, and now he was offering you a part of his soul. Pain and hope were mixed in those words, and you felt each letter touch you deeply. But it was especially those three words, those three words that he had finally confessed to you, “I love you,” that pierced you. He had said them for the first time, and yet they resonated like a declaration that he had always carried within him, but that he had wanted to hide, offering them to you now in a fragility that almost made you falter.

You had never believed he could say them, those words that seemed too heavy for him, too imbued with his pride and his will to control. But there, in this letter, they were there, simple and striking. And yet, reading them, you didn't know if it was a relief or an additional weight that invaded you. Maybe both. A short breath, a poignant pain took hold of you, and a part of you wanted to erase them, ignore them, convince yourself that he hadn't really said what he had written. But another part of you, the one that terrified you, couldn't help but welcome them, to feel them in every fiber of your being.

You wanted to run away, to ignore, to push it all away. But every beat of your heart, every breath you took, betrayed you. You knew that today, you couldn't remain indifferent. Those words, like a sweet poison, were spreading through you, and you knew that they would haunt you, haunt you until you had to face them, no matter where it led you.

You closed your eyes, your body shaking with the intensity of the moment as you clutched the letter to your chest. In the oppressive silence, you understood that no matter what you did, he had already won. You were no longer free.

BELMONT RESIDENCE — SEOUL, KOREA — January 2, 1556

Heeseung's footsteps echo heavily on the large wooden staircase, each echo striking the heavy air of silence that reigns in the manor. Each noise seems to amplify the palpable tension that grips you like a vice. He approaches slowly, but he doesn't need to hurry. Time, suspended, expands under the weight of waiting. You know he's there, that each step he takes brings him a little closer to you, to this inevitable confrontation that frightens you as much as it fascinates you. Your heart beats faster, each pulse pulling you a little closer to an outcome that you dread and desire at the same time. A shiver runs down your neck, and you almost run out of breath at the thought of what he wants, what he expects from you. He's only a few steps away, and already, you feel his presence invading you.

A heavy silence precedes his voice, which suddenly comes, sharp but imbued with a kind of forced calm. “I need to talk to you.” The words, simple, hit the air with such intensity that they almost seem physical to you. There’s an urgency in his voice, something you can’t ignore, a pressure that pushes you to listen to him, to let him take up all the space. It’s not anger. Not yet. But the intensity in his gaze, the quiet strength of his posture, the determination that emanates from each syllable, everything about him screams that this moment is crucial. And it makes you shiver, a shiver that mixes terror and desire.

You force yourself to stay still, to show no weakness, no crack in this mask you have forged for yourself. But inside, a whirlwind of sensations overwhelms you. Your heart pounds in your chest, hitting your ribs like a trapped bird, beating with a violence that threatens to destroy everything. You feel his words in the air, floating around you, permeating every corner of the house. And yet, you have no right to falter. You close your eyes for a moment, forcing yourself to breathe deeply, seeking that inner calm that will allow you to face the approaching storm. When you open them again, he is there, right in the middle of the steps. His gaze is a black, unfathomable sea, an abyss into which you feel you could sink if you linger too long.

You take a deep breath, trying to regain control. Your voice comes out softer than you would have liked, broken, hesitant, but you force it to remain firm. “There is nothing to say.” The words seem foreign to you, as if you hadn’t spoken them. The softness of your voice betrays the inner tension that is eating away at you. You want to look away, to escape, but your feet seem nailed to the ground, frozen in the stillness of this scene. You fear breaking down, letting him see the slightest flaw, losing everything if you let go of this fragile facade. If you let yourself be overwhelmed, you know that Heeseung won’t give you a chance to get out of this. And yet, somewhere, a small voice in your mind whispers to you that you have never been so close to losing everything.

He finally stops at the top of the stairs, and you feel his eyes fall on you with such intensity that it almost takes your breath away. Those black, unfathomable eyes, filled with an icy determination, scrutinize every part of your being. They leave you no escape. You want to look down, but it's as if his gaze is chaining you, preventing you from looking away. You swallow hard, trying to regain control of your emotions, but it's no use. You know he's devouring you with his gaze, analyzing every movement of your body, every breath, every tiny reaction that could betray what you're feeling. He doesn't take his eyes off you, and in this intensity, you feel very small, vulnerable. You look down, unable to hold his gaze any longer, but it's too late. You know he's seen it.

“I wrote you letters. Lots of letters.” Heeseung’s words are heavy, almost loaded with reproach. He slowly approaches, each step he takes feeling like another burden on your shoulders. His voice, initially icy, trembles slightly, and the fragility hidden behind his words affects you more than you want to admit. He stops a few steps away from you, and you see his fists clench, knuckles turning white under the pressure. He’s in control, and yet you can tell he’s fighting something, a feeling he can’t quite control. There’s pain in his eyes, a deep frustration he tries to hide behind his apparent calm. Each word seems to cost him, and you see him withdraw into himself with each syllable he utters.

You feel a strange warmth rising in your stomach, but you immediately push it away, refusing to give in to it. You try to strengthen yourself, to remember why you can't give him what he wants from you. "And I answered you," you say, your voice quieter this time, but you know you can no longer hide the fragility that has crept in. Your fingers are shaking slightly, but you squeeze them in your palms so as not to let your fear take over. And you feel yourself slowly losing yourself. But you can't give in. Not now. Not in front of him. You have to stay strong. This is your only chance.

Heeseung comes closer again, and the sound of his footsteps seems to reverberate in your head, like a drum beating to the rhythm of your own heart. His presence, imposing, overwhelms you, invades every space around you. He is so close that you feel his warmth, his breath almost brushing your skin, and yet, you cannot move. You want to back away, to escape, but you feel paralyzed, prisoner of this moment. He stares at you, his eyes piercing your soul, searching for a truth hidden in your pupils. 

“In my last letter, I told you that I loved you. I thought you loved me too.” His words, so simple, resonate in you like a clap of thunder, and you stagger under the weight of this confession. His eyes shine with a deep, almost painful emotion, and you see him close his eyes for a moment, as if he was having trouble dealing with what he feels, as if he were fighting against himself to not lose control.

Your heart tightens. Love? That word resonates within you with an unsuspected force. It's so simple, so direct, and yet, everything inside you screams that it's not that, that it's not that way. But, in a corner of your mind, a little voice whispers that maybe, just maybe, he's right. Maybe you love him too. But no. Not like this. Not in this cage he's trying to impose on you. Not in this relationship where every gesture, every word, every breath seems to want to possess you, to destroy you a little more.

No. This is not love. Not under these conditions. Not with him.

The atmosphere in the room grows heavier and heavier, almost palpable. Every breath you take feels like a burden, as if the air is thickening around you, slowly tightening. Your chest rises with difficulty, each beat of your heart echoing in your ears, a dull pulse that makes you lose track of time. Everything around you compresses, space shrinks, and every breath becomes an ordeal, every movement a struggle against the invisible vice that grips you. 

You feel as if your body, your very soul, is going to burst under the pressure of this oppressive silence. But you refuse, steadfastly, to give in, to let the panic bubbling inside you show. You want to stay in control, to persist in believing that once again, you can master the situation, that you can break the stranglehold without letting yourself be swallowed up. But deep down, something is twisting, tearing inside you, a cacophony of contradictory emotions, of irrepressible desires, of dull terror.

“It’s not enough.” The words leave your lips like a sentence. They seem almost foreign, as if your own body is rejecting what he’s just said. And yet, immediately, you feel the impact: a stab to the heart, a dull but very real pain that invades you. It’s a shock, an explosion, as if those words had been the detonation of a bomb you had armed yourself. They are not just protests, but a desperate attempt to set boundaries, an attempt to stem the tide of pressure that is sweeping you away. But you know, deep down, that this gesture is futile, that you have no power here, that everything you do is only a temporary reprieve.

A cold laugh escapes his lips, almost amused, but there is nothing light in this sound. It is a hard laugh, acerbic, almost cruel, a cold anger that hides there. It is not mockery that strikes you, but the control, the precision of the violence contained in this laugh. It is not an unleashed rage, but an icy anger, measured, like a poison that diffuses slowly in the air. 

“Isn’t that enough for Y/n Belmont?” The sentence hits you like a slap. It pins you to the spot, knocks you down under its weight. Each syllable resonates within you like a condemnation, a warning that there is no turning back. He wants to break you, again and again, until you give in. And the thought freezes you, makes you waver. 

How do you escape a trap when you yourself are the one who set it?

He takes a step toward you, then another, and with each movement, you feel yourself shrinking further into yourself. Instinctively, you try to escape, but there is nowhere to run. The distance between you narrows dangerously, and your body tenses, a feeling of horror mixed with desire passing through you like an icy shiver. You want to back away, but each step back pushes you deeper into his web, each inch gained seems to lose you a little more. The wall behind you hits you brutally, a physical shock that takes your breath away and prevents you from fleeing. He is there, very close, and you are trapped, caught in his presence, in this electric tension that unites you. There is no escape.

You want to ask him if, for him, this is enough, but the words remain stuck in your throat. Your voice trembles, breaks, but you can't even get them out. Everything inside you screams, screams for him to move away, to let you breathe, but you remain frozen, unable to move. He devours you with his gaze, scrutinizing every corner of your being. Each second under his burning gaze seems like an eternity, an endless torment. A part of you feels vulnerable, naked, exposed like never before. His gaze seems to penetrate beyond your skin, to seek out what you hide, what you don't even dare to admit.

Heeseung finally stops, too close, so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath caressing your face, each shiver of his body against yours unsettles you further. He is there, right against you, and you know he is waiting for something. An answer. But even if you know he is dangerous, that he could break you with a single word, you cannot push away this attraction, this magnetic force that he gives off. It is an overwhelming, implacable presence, a power that invades you effortlessly. A part of you wants to push him away, to defend yourself, but another part wants to succumb, to let itself be engulfed by the wave of desire that he deploys around you. These two forces fight inside you, pulling in opposite directions, each trying to take over.

His voice, almost a whisper, breaks the silence. "What should I do then? Tell me, and I will do it... I don't want to be ignored by you anymore. My heart hurts." There is a plea in his words, a palpable pain that makes a tremor grow deep in your stomach. You see his weakness, you see that he is suffering in a way that you could not even imagine. But at the same time, you feel that this suffering, he wants to make you bear it. He gets closer, too close, and the proximity becomes unbearable, but you can no longer move, prisoner of this suspended moment.

“Then… marry me.” Your words, though spoken with palpable determination, echo in the air like a desperate cry from the heart, a challenge thrown to the wind, a plea whispered in the icy intimacy of the room. The sentence is heavy with meaning: with renunciation, desire, and rebellion. “I don’t want to be your mistress, nor one of those women without a future. I refuse that.” Your voice, usually firm and controlled, trembles slightly, betraying an emotion much deeper than you would have wanted to let show. It reveals a fragility hidden beneath the facade of coldness that you have patiently built up over the years. It is a breakup, a laying bare, an ultimatum from which there is no escape.

You feel the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of your dress, as your hand rests on his chest, trying to push him away. But you know that this gesture is futile, that it has no impact on Heeseung. He, much more powerful, much more anchored in this moment, controls the situation much more than you. He captures your hand with disarming ease, wraps it in his with a merciless firmness, as if to tell you that you will not escape what he desires. 

The touch is gentle, but the pressure of his grip on your hand is at once an anchor, almost painful, a marking, an admission of possession. Each beat of his heart against your palm is a brutal reminder that what you feel for him, however hard you try to ignore it, can no longer be denied. You can no longer run away, not in your thoughts, not in your actions.

He squeezes your hand gently against him, his fingers brushing the skin of your wrist with calculated tenderness, before slowly bringing it to his lips, with an infuriating, almost cruel slowness. He places a light, almost furtive kiss on the back of your hand, a touch as delicate as a breeze brushing the surface of water. But this softness is laden with unspoken promises, with desires hanging in the air between you. 

The warmth of his lips against your skin makes you shiver, a shiver that starts in your belly and spreads in waves, permeating every fiber of your being. His eyes, of an unfathomable intensity, do not leave yours, capturing you in an implacable, almost hypnotic gaze. You feel this strange heat, this raw energy, this mixture of desire and domination that emanates from him, passing through you, destabilizing you, sucking you into a spiral of contradictory sensations.

Every movement he makes seems perfectly measured, calculated, but you know that beneath this apparent mastery, the vice of his desire is slowly tightening around you, implacable. An animal, almost bestial energy emanates from him, palpable, vibrant, and you feel reduced to prey, quivering under the pressure of this look, this kiss, this contact. You waver, torn between the desire to back away and the irresistible urge to abandon yourself to the intensity of this moment, to the call of this force that overwhelms you.

“And I will always love you.” Heeseung whispers these words in a deeper, hoarse voice, like a promise whispered in the breath between two silences, a confession made in the intimacy of a suspended moment. The whisper brushes your skin, light as a caress, but charged with such intensity that it takes your breath away, as if each word were striking directly into your soul. It is a word heavy with meaning, a silent commitment that is imprinted on you. And the last kiss, more insistent this time, lands on your ring finger, a gesture that envelops you and makes you shiver from head to toe. Your heart races, your breath stops, and the room seems to shrink into one single thing: this moment between you two, suspended in the air, suspended in time, like a promise that nothing can break.

BELMONT RESIDENCE — SEOUL, KOREA — Night of January 2, 1556

“Well… The king is very much in love with you, my daughter.” Your father’s voice breaks the oppressive silence of the room, soft in appearance, but beneath this softness hides an insidious coldness, an icy, almost threatening undertone. His words float in the air, heavy with meaning, and you feel a shiver slide down your spine, like a wave of dread. The timbre of his voice, calm but authoritative, invades the space with implacable precision. Each word seems to weigh a ton, marking the beginning of a decisive moment.

He walks with a measured, almost ceremonious step, his boots echoing on the cold marble slabs with a dry sound, part of a perfect symphony of silence. His steps seem to slow down time, as if the room itself were holding its breath. You don't dare look up to see him, but you know he's getting closer, slowly, inexorably. The light of the twilight, filtered and gilded by the imposing stained glass windows, reflects on his face, accentuating the rigid lines of his forehead and the hardness of his features, as if carved in stone. A flash of light highlights his icy eyes, those eyes that have never shown you the slightest tenderness, only expectation, disappointment at every misstep, dismay at your silent rebellion.

Your heart tightens in your chest. The slightest movement seems to betray you. You feel trapped, frozen, like prey caught in the light of his reproaches. Your feet suddenly feel heavy, as if each marble slab beneath you is an impossible mountain to climb. You try to focus on something, anything, other than the intensity of this scene. Your eyes instinctively fall on the richly decorated carpet beneath your feet, the delicate patterns that cross and intertwine like invisible threads, imprisoning you, enclosing you even more.

Your hands, clasped in front of you, tremble slightly. You clench them unconsciously, fingers clenching so tightly that you feel a dull ache. A flash of white crosses your knuckles as you struggle to control the fear that knots your insides. You knew this conversation would come one day, but the truth of the moment hits you like an icy slap. No words could express the depth of this wait, the chasm between what you are and what he wants from you. It’s not just about what he wants for you. No, it’s about what he wants from you, what you’re willing to sacrifice under his merciless eyes.

“And what do you think of your task, my child?” His voice rises again, deeper, this time tinged with an authority that sends shivers down your bones. Each syllable is a blow directly to your being, an obvious question in the tone, but a silent demand in the space between the words. He doesn’t wait for a sincere answer. He waits for the one he wants to hear. The answer that will somehow justify his choices, his willingness to shape you, to bend you to an image he drew for you long before you were born.

Your gaze slowly rises, in spite of yourself, as if an invisible force were forcing you to face him. It's not that you want to meet his gaze. No, that gaze is a weapon. But you know that it's the only way to try to control the chaos that rumbles inside you, to keep a fraction of control over this situation.

His eyes bore into yours, icy, piercing, as if he were trying to probe your soul, to decipher what you hide behind your silences, your reluctance. He doesn't need words to make you understand that he expects more than words. He expects you to bow, to show him the deference he demands. The pressure of his gaze is unbearable. You feel like your mind is being swallowed up by his will, that your thoughts are dissipating under the weight of his waiting.

An unpleasant shiver runs down your spine, your heart racing. A ball of apprehension forms in your stomach, then grows, invading every corner of your being. You feel so vulnerable under his gaze. Every word that crosses your lips will be an affront, a betrayal against your own truth. But you have no choice. You know what he expects.

You take a deep breath, trying to control the trembling that shakes your entire body. Your voice comes out faintly, but there is this imperceptible tremor in your words, this fracture in the air around you. “Well… to tell you the truth… I admit… I wasn’t very enthusiastic before.” The words seem to tear themselves away from you. They are bitter, sharp, and yet so vulnerable. It is as if, in speaking these words, you are betraying yourself, as if you are selling a part of your soul to preserve the appearance of obedience.

Silence falls. It is heavy, so heavy that each second seems to stretch out to infinity. Your father does not move, but you feel the weight of his gaze become even more oppressive, more incisive. His gaze does not weaken, and you feel yourself fainting under this pressure. The air becomes thicker, as if everything around you is compressing, leaving you barely room to breathe. He waits. He expects more from you, a confession perhaps, a promise of surrender. A validation of his will, which he has so hoped to obtain.

You swallow, the taste of defeat bitter in your throat, as if you had just swallowed broken glass. You will never dare to tell him the truth. Not this way. Not in front of him. You lower your head, unable to hold his gaze any longer. A sudden warmth fills your eyes, and you feel tears threatening to flood, like a dam breaking. But you refuse to cry. Not in front of him. Not in this moment where your fragility would be a victory for him.

“But today…” You force yourself to continue, but the words no longer come. They remain stuck in your throat, like a knot too tight, a weight too heavy. You want to scream, to shout, but nothing comes out. Silence becomes your enemy. You lower your head even lower, staring at the ground as if you could find an escape there. Your eyes are misty, but you close them. No, you will not cry. Not here. Not now.

Your father inhales deeply, but it’s not just a breath. It’s a sigh heavy with meaning, a hushed sound that slips through the air like an icy mist, brushing your skin before settling in your lungs. It escapes his lips without a sound, but the pressure that accompanies it is palpable, so intense that you can feel it spreading through the room, invading every corner. It’s not the kind of sigh you let out out of weariness or frustration. No, it’s a calculated breath, laden with a much heavier weight. No lightness, no sign of impatience, just a silent threat hidden beneath an icy façade.

To anyone outside, watching without knowing, that breath might seem innocuous, a simple breath of a man caught up in the moment. But you know him. It’s not an involuntary gesture. It’s not a reflex. Each inflection of his breath is measured, carefully measured to let you know that he’s getting ready, that something is brewing behind his closed lips. That sigh hangs in the air, like a warning of an impending storm.

In the stifling stillness of the room, you feel the seconds ticking away like drops of water falling into a bottomless pit. The air becomes heavier and heavier, more oppressive, as the silence settles. The slightest vibration, the slightest breath seems to expand, plunging you into a deeper feeling of claustrophobia. You don't even dare to breathe normally. The air is too dense, too suffocating, compressing you with each breath. You feel trapped. Space seems to close in around you, each breath becoming a provocation, each movement, however small, betraying you. You know he sees everything. And he waits.

Your shoulders tense involuntarily. An imperceptible contraction, as if your body, instinctively, knew that it had to prepare to take it. But there is nothing to take yet. No blows, no screams. Just this silence, heavy and threatening. But this silence is a minefield. Every word he could say, every gesture, could be a detonation. And you know that he will not give you an easy way out. He controls time. And you are only a grain of sand caught in the storm he has already unleashed.

His lips finally part, slowly, like a predator ready to bite. “My child,” he says, his voice low and vibrant. He lets his words hang in the air, rolling them slowly, like invisible chains. Each syllable seems to slip under your skin, sink into your insides. He doesn’t scream. He doesn’t need to scream. That voice, soft but relentless, is a sound wave that seeps into every corner of your being. An icy, relentless vibration that seizes you right in the heart. The apparent softness of his voice is an illusion. Behind those words, you immediately perceive the steel of his authority, the ruthless determination that guides each syllable, each breath he lets cross his lips.

Your mind disconnects. You try to find an answer, something to say to break this heavy silence, but no words find their place. Your throat tightens, your breath catches under the invisible pressure he imposes, and you know he expects nothing from you. Only submission. The silence stretches, interminable. Then, before you can even react, a hand appears from nowhere. A cold hand, firm, fast. A hand that grabs your chin with an almost imperceptible brutality.

The touch is icy, like marble. His fingers dig into your skin with terrifying precision, not forcing, but enough to nail you to the spot. A feeling of numbness spreads across your face, down your neck, as if you no longer have control over anything. His fingers are too cold, and the sensation of his touch invades your mind, numbing every thought, every desire to resist. A wave of cold runs down your spine, but you don't dare do anything, say anything. The air around you becomes heavy, like a stifling blanket that you can't remove.

He tilts your head back slightly, a subtle but relentless movement, a gesture without permission, without regard. The pressure on your chin is gentle, but it leaves an indelible imprint on your soul. He subdues you without noise, without physical pain, but with a force far greater, far more crushing. He does not seek to make you suffer. No, what he wants is to make you understand that you have no power here. He wants you to realize, in this moment, that everything around you, everything you are, belongs to him. Everything.

He stares into your eyes. No compassion. No empathy. Just an icy, merciless coldness. His gaze searches your soul, seeks out the slightest trace of resistance, of rebellion, and clings to it like a sharp claw. He leaves you no escape. His eyes are steel balls, implacable, inhuman, probing your deepest thoughts, tracking down the slightest flaw. It's as if he had decided to tear from you any form of freedom, of independence. And you, you don't dare look away. You know that every movement, even the smallest, would be perceived as an attempt to escape, a defiance.

He whispers, his voice sliding through the air like an icy caress, “Believe me, it would be wiser not to let yourself be fooled by your own charade.”

The words, carried by a deceptive sweetness, hit you like stones. Each syllable is a slap, a furtive but relentless blow. They slip under your skin, sneak into your mind, swirl through your thoughts like an insidious poison. You try to fight, but it is futile. His words have planted a seed of doubt, a seed of terror, and they germinate in you, spread in your heart like a slow, irreversible poison.

Your face tense, your gaze avoids his, unable to bear the truth he pours on you. Each word he speaks tears a little more the fragile veil of your stubbornness, the illusion of a freedom that he has already reduced to ashes. He knows. He knows you, and he hates you for this part of you that he has never been able to dominate. Humiliation invades you, deep and dark, like an oil tide that swallows up your last hopes. You feel broken, vulnerable, so much so that even the air seems to weigh heavier, each breath an effort to keep control of your body which, however, trembles in spite of you.

You have no voice or body, only this hold, this cold and cruel grip that tightens with each second, each moment seeming to last an eternity. You feel asphyxiated, and yet, nothing in his attitude suggests the slightest emotion. Your father dominates you, he breaks you, but he remains there, implacable and serene in his power. Time blurs. There is only him, his hand, and your heart beating faster and faster with each second. This gesture, of an almost indifferent simplicity, this palm on your chin, makes you feel like an insect caught in a web, fragile and insignificant. The veins in your neck beat frantically, reminding you that you are still alive, still aware of the war that is being played out at this precise moment. You are nothing more than a shadow of what you were before he entered your life.

Then, suddenly, without warning, he releases you. Not gently. Not mercifully. His gesture is sharp, cutting, like a gust of icy wind. The loss of his grip hits you hard. The absence of his hold is almost more violent than his presence itself. The air, a fraction of a second lighter, suddenly becomes heavy, oppressive, as if you were lacking oxygen. It is a shock, a void, a chasm that opens up inside you when you lose this contact. You feel like you are collapsing, not because the gesture was too violent, but because you know that this is not the end. It is just a pause in a dance that he leads alone, a pause before returning to the charge. You lower your head, unable to support this piercing gaze any longer, this constant pressure that threatens to melt you under his weight.

Your father takes a step back, reestablishing a physical distance that does nothing to diminish the emotional gap between you. His gaze remains fixed on you. He studies you, assesses every inch of your face, every shred of doubt, every fragment of resistance. You want to resist him, scream at him that you are not the docile creature he thinks you are, but your words dissipate in your throat, trapped in an ocean of terror and revolt. There is no more room for rebellion. Submission has become a cruel self-evident fact. His hands cross behind his back, the image of a judge ready to render his verdict, without compassion, without regard for what you might feel. He embodies law, order, what he considers the only path to the family's survival. And you are only a pawn, a tool among others to accomplish this mission.

“Love, my daughter…” His cold, implacable voice cuts through the air. It’s a sentence, a final judgment. Each word, sharp as a blade, cuts through everything you thought you knew. “…is nothing but a weakness. A ridiculous illusion. A flickering flame, bright for a moment before going out, often when you need it most.”

The shock of his words hits you hard. Each word resonates in your head, heavy as the sound of a bell that emits a dull echo, a painful noise that will haunt you. There is no room for ambiguity, for nuance. Love, for your father, is a weakness, something to be swept away in order to focus on what really matters. These words, which should slide off you like water on marble, are imprinted on you like a burn. An invisible mark that you will never be able to erase. You feel helpless, as if an essential pillar of your vision of the world has just collapsed. Love, this feeling that you thought was at the heart of your humanity, becomes a poison for him. He has never known it, and it is as if he reproaches you for this naivety, this failure.

Your father looks away briefly, but it's not a comforting gesture. He settles on the hearth, where the flames crackle quietly. Their orange dance casts eerie shadows on his face, making him even colder, more distant. He seems to withdraw into his thoughts, but you know that this moment of withdrawal is only an illusion. Each second that passes is measured, each word he speaks is a weapon, carefully sharpened in the shadows. Then, slowly, he comes back to you. His icy eyes fix on yours, and you shudder under his gaze. A gaze that forgives nothing, that scrutinizes you as if you were nothing but a worthless thing, an inferior being. You feel dispossessed of your own body, like an object in his hands, a lost soul.

“It’s a fleeting feeling,” your father continues, his voice softer now, but just as relentless. “A luxury we can’t afford. Not you. Not now.”

The world around you tightens, each word compressing you further, bringing you to your knees. You can't breathe. There's no room for feelings. No room for your heart. No room for you. You're just a function in this grand plan he's plotted, a puppet whose strings he's pulling. He moves closer to you, and your legs, suddenly weak, betray you. You take a half-step back, but all you feel is the increasing pressure of his dominance. The physical distance shrinks further, and you feel more and more vulnerable, trapped in this space where he leaves you no escape.

“You must understand,” his tone grows harsher, each word hitting like a hammer. “Your duty transcends your feelings. You are not here to lose yourself in romantic illusions. Your existence, your position, your choices… All of it must serve a greater purpose.”

His words resonate like a clap of thunder. They strike your heart like a fist. You want to fight back, scream that you are not this instrument, that you are not a mere pawn in his game, but all you can do is stand there, frozen, completely unable to free yourself. The air around you is so heavy that it prevents you from breathing. A wave of frustration, of revolt, but also of terror, invades you. You are his captive, at the mercy of this man who sees in you only a simple means to an end.

He walks away, but it’s not a release. No. It’s as if the room is closing in on you, each step he takes deepening the emptiness that’s engulfing you. The sound of his shoes on the marble floor reverberates through the space, resonating like a succession of hammer blows striking your soul, a dull echo that sinks you into an icy solitude, a stifling feeling of isolation. You watch him fade into the shadows, but as he disappears, all that’s left is this coldness that settles in your mind, a chasm of silence and nothingness where nothing else has a place. The weight of his departure brings you no relief. It only deepens the emptiness that overwhelms you.

He didn't leave you alone, no. His departure is like a last icy breath, a treacherous breeze that still embraces you. Every word he spoke, every order he imposed on you, resonates in you, unalterable, a silent bell that crushes you. And you know that there is no escape. No way out. He has planted his ideas, his imperatives, in you, and they have become indelible. Like a poison that slowly seeps under your skin, his words slip into every corner of your mind, stifling the illusion of independence that you still believed was yours. What he did to you, what he stole from you, all of this is now an insurmountable barrier, a painful, frozen truth, condemning you to immobility.

You feel frozen, every movement seems too heavy, every breath becomes almost unbearable. Your heart beats at a frantic pace, trying to escape the cage of your chest, as if it wanted to escape the oppression, this invisible suffocation. Each beat seems to knock against your ribs, like a brutal reminder of what you have become: a shadow of yourself. A shadow of what you were before. Before it locked you in its whirlwind of power and submission. Before everything dissolved into this void.

You feel tiny, insignificant, almost invisible. What you thought you were, your desires, your hopes, all of that is swept away in one go, swallowed up by the immensity of what overwhelms you. The room, once full of life, seems to close in around you, shrinking the space, transforming it into a stifling abyss of emptiness. What was once your refuge suddenly becomes a silent mausoleum where you lose yourself, forgotten. There, in the shadow of everything you could not be, you find yourself alone, alone with what remains of your reality, broken.

And then, the tear falls. It slides slowly down your cheek, tracing a cold line on your taut skin. It is heavy, like a weight, carrying all the pain you have not been able to express, all that you have held back, prisoner of this imposed silence. The warmth of the tear contrasts with the cold that invades you, but it brings you no comfort. It is silent, discreet, but it is there, present. It is an echo of your suffering, a persistent trace of the dignity that you believe you have lost. A tear among many others, but this one is yours. The only thing that remains to you. The only thing that still bears witness to the person you were before everything collapsed. It is fragile, almost imperceptible, but it means everything. Everything you have not been able to say, everything you have not been able to show, everything you have not been able to be.

HWASEONG FORTRESS — SEOUL, KOREA — January 4, 1556

Heeseung stood motionless in front of the fireplace, frozen like a marble statue, an imposing and almost unreal figure in the faint flickering light of the flames. The heat of the fire, which should have warmed the atmosphere, seemed to evaporate around him, pushed back by the cold and distant aura that emanated from his presence. The black velvet cape, heavily draped over his shoulders, fell in perfect folds, hugging the shape of his body with a royal and inaccessible rigidity. The fabric, capturing the golden flashes of the flames, sent them back in a thousand shards, sparkling like stars, contrasting with the depth of the darkness that surrounded him.

His fingers, clasped behind his back, were clenched until they hurt, the tension in the muscles of his hands evident in the glow of the flames. At times, a slight tremor ran through his knuckles, a fleeting shudder that betrayed the nervousness hidden beneath the mask of control he was trying to maintain. For a moment, he looked away from the flames to stare at his reflection in the smooth glass of the fireplace. The intensity of his own gaze, a reflection of an inner storm he was trying to control, made him look away almost immediately. His thoughts swirled, fast, like a torrent he was trying to contain.

The door creaked open, echoing through the empty room. Jungwon stepped inside, his measured steps echoing against the wooden floor, as if he were weighing every move. He knew that anything he did would risk irritating or accelerating the tension saturating the air. He slipped into the room with an almost palpable caution, each gesture carefully calculated. The door closed behind him in an almost sacred silence, the echo of the turn of the handle fading into the depths of the room. The contrast between the simplicity of such an ordinary gesture and the oppressive atmosphere seemed unreal, as if the world outside had vanished. Only the crackling of the fire broke the silence, adding a touch of life to an otherwise frozen scene.

As he approached Heeseung, Jungwon felt his heart beat faster, each pulse resonating like a heavy blow in his chest. A cold sweat beaded at the base of his neck. He knew what was coming next, he knew the gravity of the words he was about to say, and yet, anxiety mixed with concentration. He finally stopped, straightening to face Heeseung, respect palpable in his posture, though his nervousness showed in the slight tension of his gestures. He bowed deeply, placing his left hand on the hip of his sword, an instinctive gesture to keep his balance.

“Your Majesty,” he said in a low but measured voice, an underlying firmness trembling in the precision of each word. He felt that each syllable spoken would shift the balance of the room, and he tried to keep his composure, not to let himself be carried away by the intensity of the moment.

Heeseung, still motionless, didn't react. He didn't even turn his head, as if Jungwon's presence was of no importance, an insignificant detail in the immensity of his existence. His posture remained rigid, like that of a sovereign who was simply waiting for information he already knew, but was not yet ready to face. The silence settled heavily between them, thickening with each second. Then, Heeseung's voice, low but clear, broke the stillness: "Speak, Jungwon." The icy invitation, which was in reality only a disguised order, exerted an invisible pressure, capable of stifling any hesitation.

Jungwon slowly straightened up, fully aware of the heavy responsibility that weighed on him. He felt his legs tremble slightly beneath him, an unpleasant sensation that he chased away with an effort of will. Each word he was about to speak risked transforming the room, releasing a force capable of changing everything. He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts, but everything seemed blurry around him. The heat of the fire, the flickering glow of the flames, everything seemed distorted, like a reality altered by an unbearable tension.

“A letter arrived this morning from Rome,” he began, his voice choked by the magnitude of the announcement. An involuntary shudder shook his hands, but he let nothing show. His eyes remained fixed on the spot where he could make out Heeseung’s silhouette, as if he feared that everything would collapse if his eyes looked away. “It bears the signature of the Pope himself.”

The words fell into the room like a clap of thunder, and although Heeseung remained frozen, an imperceptible shudder shook his figure. The gaze he fixed on Jungwon, without turning, seemed to analyze every part of her being. The silence thickened, threatening, like a spider's web ready to close around them.

Heeseung slowly turned his head, his movement seeming almost supernatural, suspended in time. His face, barely lit by the flames, was frozen in an expression of icy concentration. His dark, piercing eyes bore into Jungwon's, so intensely that Jungwon felt the grip of the gaze make it hard to breathe. But, forcing himself to hold the gaze, Jungwon knew that he had to face this moment, as terrifying as it was.

Every movement Heeseung made seemed to cause a palpable shift in the atmosphere, as if the room itself was reacting to his presence. Then, in a sharp voice, he asked, “And the contents of that letter… what does it say?” His gaze still didn’t leave Jungwon, like a predator studying its prey before acting. Jungwon, although already used to those icy stares, felt a shiver run down his spine. He wanted to back away, but he knew that running away was no longer an option.

“The contents of this letter… concern your engagement to Lady Y/n, Your Majesty.” The words, heavy with meaning, struck the air like a hammer on an anvil, echoing in the silence. Your name seemed to suspend time itself. Heeseung’s shoulders stiffened imperceptibly, a change so slight it could have gone unnoticed. A fleeting smile crossed his face, as subtle as a shadow, but his eyes, cold and sharp, betrayed nothing of what he was thinking. Slowly, he turned, almost with striking theatricality, as if every movement had been carefully orchestrated.

His gaze met Jungwon's, a magnetic force that pierced the air. That gaze, overwhelmingly cold, seemed to seize the soul of its recipient, and for a moment, Jungwon felt completely dispossessed of his own existence. A heavy silence followed, more oppressive than any words. A silence in which emotions swirled, bubbling beneath the surface. But this silence, this suspended moment, was far more threatening than anything Heeseung could have said.

“And what did she say?” he asked in an eerie calm tone, each word measured with icy precision. He didn’t seem eager for the answer, but the tension radiating from him was so strong that it could have been cut with a knife. His eyes, dark and unfathomable, remained fixed on Jungwon, as if he was waiting for more than just an answer: he was waiting for relief. Or a pretext for the explosion.

Jungwon, however, didn't let the weight of the question carry him away. He took a deep breath, a heavy gulp of air, almost as if he was trying to swallow the entire room into his lungs, in order to grant himself a split second of calm. He knew that what he was about to say would set the room ablaze. He knew that his words would carry the violence of a thunderbolt. But he had no other choice.

“The Pope expressed his displeasure…” He paused, the weight of the announcement weighing on his lips like lead. “And he made remarks that I must report faithfully, even though they are… insulting.”

The words grew heavy, almost too heavy to let go of the air. He felt each syllable crash into the room, soaking in like a silent poison. The tension rose immediately, the atmosphere tightening around him, and Heeseung, like a sharp predator, took a step forward. Every movement of his body exuded a quiet menace, a promise that everything in his field of vision could be reduced to ashes in an instant. The smile that inhabited his lips disappeared, his gaze hardening, becoming as sharp as the tip of a sword.

“Insults? To me?” The question was dry, cutting, and Heeseung didn’t need to ask it for Jungwon to know that the answer to that question could determine his fate. The tension was at its peak, and the slightest wrong word could set the room ablaze.

Jungwon shook his head almost imperceptibly, a gesture that seemed tiny, but said it all. “No, Your Majesty. Against Lady Y/n.” The truth, as harsh as it was, escaped his lips like a gasping breath. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, the fear of what was to come next enough to take his breath away.

The silence that followed seemed to engulf the entire room. It was of a rare density, almost suffocating. The air grew thin around Jungwon, the walls seemed to come closer, and the pressure on his shoulders became crushing. Heeseung did not move, his eyes staring at Jungwon with a devouring intensity. His pupils, dark as an abyss, remained motionless, piercing the soul of his advisor. Not a blink, not a gesture. The slightest movement would be a concession. He waited. He waited for the other to speak, to say the words that would break the fragile balance of the situation.

Jungwon, trembling, looked down at the ground, a moment of hesitation crossing his mind. The gesture was almost instinctive, a survival reflex, but he couldn't run away from this confrontation. Slowly, he looked up, and in the gaze he met with Heeseung, he felt an icy shiver run down his spine.

"The Pope said, and I quote: ' A fallen, impure woman has no place on the throne. A whore cannot claim to rule, because neither her body nor her soul are worthy in the eyes of God .'"

The words fell like stones, heavy and crushing, taking away everything that was once light and bright. They echoed through the room, making their way through the walls, penetrating the air until everything became dense and heavy. The silence that followed was as suffocating as a vice around Jungwon's heart. He didn't dare breathe, as if the slightest breath would shatter the morbid tranquility that had settled between them.

Heeseung, for his part, didn't move. He remained frozen in his position, his eyes fixed on Jungwon, but his breath grew shorter, faster. The silence, heavy with anger, became more and more unbearable. It seemed as if his whole body was tensing, every muscle clenched under the shockwave he had just received. The fire in the hearth, until then calm, flickered under the intensity of the anger rising within him, like a wave ready to destroy everything in its path.

Suddenly, a laugh escaped his lips. But it was not a laugh that could have calmed the atmosphere. It was a cold laugh, a sharp, cutting burst, like the sound of a wrought-iron door creaking under rust. Heeseung took a step back, looking up at the ceiling as if the gods themselves could hear him and answer the madness of this outrage. His gaze wandered upwards for a moment, like a man seeking answers the world has no offer.

“A whore,” he whispered, the word spat out with such force that Jungwon thought he could feel the hatred vibrating in the air. The word was laced with disgust, each letter seeming to burn Heeseung’s lips. He looked down at Jungwon, and this time, the smile that had been brushing his lips was completely gone, replaced by an icy expression, a coldness that slid through the air around him like frost.

“This decadent old man dares to utter such blasphemy against her. Against the one who…” His voice cracked for a moment, a tremor briefly breaking through his usual control. He immediately pulled himself together, his fists clenched until his knuckles turned white. “…against the one who will be my queen.”

The room froze again. The ground beneath Jungwon's feet seemed to give way, his breath hitching as he watched Heeseung turn toward the hearth, his entire body filled with an overwhelming rage. He slammed his fist into the stone ledge. The sound of the impact resonated with such violence that the very walls seemed to shake. The heat of the fire in the hearth seemed to waver from the burst of anger, and Jungwon had no choice but to step back slightly, his ears ringing from the noise, as if the entire castle would shatter under the tension of the moment.

Heeseung, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with pure rage, turned back to him. “He doesn’t know her,” he growled, his voice shaking with fury. Each word seemed to spring from his insides, a cry from the heart, a dull ache that emanated from every inch of his skin. “He knows nothing of her soul, of her purity, of her strength. She is everything a queen should be, and so much more. She is…” He trailed off, searching for words with a desperate urgency, as if his entire being was torn between the desire to defend you and the need to achieve perfection. His breathing was ragged, uneven, each breath taking on an unbearable weight. The tension of the moment seemed to have frozen time.

Jungwon, his hands shaking, didn't know if he should intervene, if he should try to calm the fire burning in front of him or if he should just wait for the storm to pass. But he knew one thing: what had just happened in that room was going to change their world forever.

The silence reigned in the room, thick, heavy, almost palpable. Jungwon advanced cautiously, each step resonating in the tense air, like a drum announcing the imminence of a storm. He knew that this confrontation with Heeseung would not be a simple discussion, but a merciless battle, a duel where each word, each silence, could seal their fate for both of them. Jungwon, who had always believed in reason, knew that here, facing this king ready to consume everything with his own vengeful hand, there was no more room for logic.

His eyes scanned Heeseung, the man who embodied both admiration and terror. The room was dimly lit, the shadow of the fire in the fireplace dancing on the walls, creating shifting shadows, like ghostly specters. Heeseung stood there, motionless, a presence that saturated the space, a force that seemed to invade everything. His shoulders were tense, his gaze fixed straight ahead, oscillating between resolve and anguish, as if each moment pushed him to madness or to greatness.

Jungwon took a deep breath, trying to control the trembling in his throat, before breaking the silence. “Your Majesty…” His voice, usually calm and composed, nevertheless betrayed a hint of worry that he couldn’t hide. “Without the Pope’s approval, this marriage will be considered illegitimate. Your union with Lady Y/n will not be recognized by the Church, nor by your allies. This could lead to an irreversible rupture with Rome, and perhaps even a religious war. You cannot underestimate the impact of this decision.”

Heeseung had barely spoken the words when he spun around with blinding speed, a movement so sudden that the air around him seemed to twist under the intensity of his force. His eyes locked on Jungwon, blazing like two embers ready to explode. The anger within him didn’t even require a shout; his mere presence was enough to suffocate the space. “Rome, you say?” The question burst into the room with such force that it made the walls vibrate, as if the air itself was being shaken by the violence of his words. It wasn’t a question, it was a challenge. Heeseung stepped forward, each step heavy with certainty, a warning, a promise of an impending storm. “Rome is nothing to me, Jungwon. Nothing.” These men in golden cloaks, these hypocrites disguised as servants of God… Do they really believe that their blessings can dictate my future?”

Heeseung moved closer with such speed that Jungwon felt trapped, like an insect in an invisible web. The king’s gaze was a blazing fire, but his words were as sharp as an iron blade. “Do they believe their prayers, their curses, their promises of salvation or damnation have any power over me?” The king stopped right in front of him, so close that Jungwon could feel the heat of his rage, a heat that almost burned his skin. Heeseung’s gaze was a blaze, a flame that consumed everything in its path, and the proximity suffocated the air around them.

The silence stretched, oppressive, suffocating, as Heeseung, towering over him, stared down at Jungwon. “If they think they can stop me from taking her, from claiming her as mine, they are sorely mistaken.” There was no room for hesitation in his tone. Cold, implacable determination mixed with boiling anger, a consuming passion that transformed his gaze into an endless abyss. “I will crush them, Jungwon. I will smash their churches, I will reduce their palaces to ashes.” The king raised each word with a chilling certainty, like a promise he seemed ready to keep. “Rome, its priests and its peacemakers will kneel before me, if that is the price to pay.”

A cold shiver ran down Jungwon’s spine, but he didn’t have time to collect himself before Heeseung’s voice pierced him again. It wasn’t simply a matter of power, but of desire, of an insatiable thirst. “What I want is her, Jungwon. She’s mine. Not theirs. Not their God’s. Only I deserve her.” The words were as cold as a blade of ice, but within them was a violence that left no room for argument. “And if the whole world has to burn for that to become a reality, then so be it.”

The advisor felt as if he were being swallowed up by the intensity of the statement. There was no room for doubt, no room for logic. What he had before him was not a king in search of political power, but a man consumed by an irrepressible fever, a devouring passion that erased all morality. This was no longer a question of alliance, it was a quest for obsession, for total domination.

Jungwon whispers softly, hesitantly, “The war against the Church might cost you more than you think, more than lives, more than lands… It might destroy your kingdom.”

Heeseung interrupted him with a sharp, relentless gesture, like a rekindled flame. “More than what, Jungwon? Than my will? Than my desire?” His fists clenched, so hard that his nails dug into his palms, and drops of blood beaded on his skin. “Nothing is more valuable than what I want.” The words fell like cleavers, and Jungwon felt himself struck by each syllable, like an electric shock.

Heeseung stepped back for a moment, his eyes lost in the firelight, as if he were seeking some peace in the flames, but there was none. There was only hunger, the all-consuming thirst to get what he wanted. He turned back to Jungwon, his eyes shining with an almost supernatural light, and he whispered in a softer but still powerful voice, “She’s mine. And I will do anything, absolutely anything, to make sure she knows it.”

The silence that followed settled heavily, like an invisible weight on Jungwon's shoulders. He didn't dare move, or even breathe. A cold shiver ran down his spine. What he saw before him wasn't just an angry king, or blind fury. It was a man, a king willing to sacrifice everything sacred, everything that represented the stability of the world, for a woman, for a desire that seemed to surpass all reason.

Jungwon felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead as he took in the gravity of those words. The walls of the room seemed to tighten around him, suffocating him under the weight of this cruel truth. He couldn't lie to himself anymore. This wasn't madness. No. What he saw before him was pure, all-consuming passion, ready to swallow up everything in its path. Heeseung wasn't a man who was content with what he had. He was a king who wanted it all, a king ready to destroy everything in his path to possess what he considered the center of the universe: you.

In that suffocating silence, Jungwon finally understood the truth before his eyes. This man, this king, had no limits. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that could stop him. He wanted to burn everything: alliances, principles, lives, everything that stood between him and what he coveted. And in that moment, only one truth became clear: nothing could stop him.

Taglist : @strxwbloody @wilonevys

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

[eetherealgoddess]

Hihi

Could you do a fic where reader is like a driver 4 bonten and something comes up so she has to like pick (u cld do all or chose one it doesn't matter) them up then some smut, noncon and fem reader.

Thx in advance if you'll write this, I've been searching for a writer that does noncon🥲

Hope you enjoy this! Also hope you don’t mind about a little mxm between the men in it! Also dark ending!!

Also I’m thinking of making an au where the guys are poly with each other and the reader is added to it or walks in on it or something idk yet but lmk in the comments or requests what you think about that.

ꨄBonten’s Propertyꨄ

Part Two

Oneshot - Yandere Bonten Au

❦You pick up your boss and fellow executives from the club❦

Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

Not fully proofread

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Bonten’s Property

“Why do I have to pick them up from the club?” You whine, giving Kokonoi a disturbed look as you stare at his sitting figure, focusing on the laptop in front of him.

“You were specifically requested tonight.” He continues to type as you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, but not by our boss. All the guys are gonna do is terrorize me while I’m trying to drive.” You cross your arms as you rest on one leg, hip poking out as you shake your head.

“Boss is with them currently so I assume he relayed the message.” You groan. “You better get going so you don’t anger him.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know Koko.” You finally walk away, snatching the keys as you make your way out of the shared penthouse, heading to the car and unlocking the door before hopping in.

You’re not usually one to pick up the men from the club considering how wild they get, usually only Kakucho or Takeomi could handle the ride, though when you do, you’re usually efficient. Even when Sanzu messes with the wheel or Kazutora tickles your neck to distract you. Even when Ran blows smoke in your face or when Rin pours alcohol on you. Mikey’s not with them usually, so you have no idea how that’s going to be, hopefully he stays a little professional considering you’ve never seen him drunk or high.

Worse comes to worse you can use the partition to divide the front seats from the back which is what you’ve done before. Still, who wants to drive a bunch of drunk or high idiots around? Hopefully they’re not too rowdy, they’ve never been bad enough to prevent you from driving all of you home at a good time. You sigh as you pull up in front of the large club, nodding at the security guard to signal your arrival for Bonten. He nods back before walking into the doors.

You scroll on your phone, waiting for what felt like an hour before you heard the car’s doors opening. Laughter and slurred speech could be heard as the men entered the car, your body tensing into professionalism when you see your boss through the rearview mirror enter, tightening your grip on the wheel. Sanzu sits in the passenger seat with a pink face, eyeing you before smirking. You ignore him as you double check that everyone is situated before driving off.

You ignore their conversations, Kazutora, Sanzu, and the Haitani brothers conversing about the women, drugs, and alcohol all the while Mikey eyes the window a dazed look on his expression as well as a warm face. One of your eyebrows raise as you find humor in your boss's look, unknown to whether he was high or drunk though definitely not sober. You continue the drive peacefully in your own zone as you eye the dark road.

“Y/n, why didn’t you come to party?” Kazutora questions with a smile.

“I don’t ‘party’ like you guys.”

“I think we should’ve hired you as a stripper rather than an executive.” Ran says, his eyes slightly narrowing as he smirks in your direction.

“Yeah, I would’ve paid to see you on stage any day.” Rin adds as he eyes your expression from the side.

Of course, you made a mistake in thinking that they might not fuck with you during this ride considering their boss is here. You ignore their remarks as you continue to drive. Your grip clenches around the wheel once more when you feel a poke against your side.

“Heyy! You’re being spoken to.” Sanzu says as he glares at you.

“Yeah don’t ignore us!” Kazutora whines playfully, poking you until you flinch, using one of your hands to swatt him away. You grit your teeth as you feel a cold liquid running down your thigh, glancing over to see Rin pouring his bottle once more as he chuckles and Ran smiles wider, finding humor in torturing you.

“Goddamnit!” You hiss as you snatch the open bottle and throw it out of the window.

“Awe you’re no fun.” Rin frowns, leaning back into his seat with crossed arms. Ran passes the recently lit blunt you hadn’t even noticed to Sanzu who breathed in a huge wad of smoke just to blow it in your face, slightly blocking your vision as you wave it away.

You continue to ignore them considering what they want is a response, so you drive down the road. You don’t notice the way your boss eyes the situation with amusement as well as staring at you through the mirror, warmth from the drug Sanzu gave him invading all of his senses as his face turns darker, heavy eyes shifting around the car.

“Want some, boss?” Kazutora questions Mikey, handing him the blunt as he takes it from him, breathing in a huge hit before blowing it out slowly. They all praise their boss as he relaxes in his seat. You slightly chuckle before focusing your attention back on the road. You just couldn’t help but find humor in your boss’s laid back behavior for once.

“Here.” He leans over to hand it to you, though you only glance at the flower.

“Oh boss, you can keep it, I don’t smoke.” Honestly, you’re lying because you like smoking. You just don’t want to be high around them or behind the wheel.

“Take it.”

“I can’t smoke behind the wheel.” You say sheepishly.

“Pull over.” Your eyes widen. What the hell?

“B-boss, that’s not necessary.”

“Are you defying the King?” Sanzu growls, narrowing his eyes.

“What? N-no, I just…”

“Then why aren’t you listening?” Kazutora questions.

“Boss clearly gave you an order.” Rin says as his brother eyes you.

All of this over a fucking blunt? What's gotten into them?

“Boss, I’m not disrespecting you, I just thought you wanted to get home! I can smoke in the penthouse if anything.”

“Pull over, now.” You didn’t hesitate to find an empty spot to pull over in, parking the car once you reached it with a shaky hand.

This is so weird.

You take the blunt from Mikey’s hand and put it to your lips, inhaling a little before blowing out.

“More.” You look at your boss from the rearview mirror with confusion.

“I still have to drive, I don’t think I should smoke…”

The barrel of a gun to your head causes you to quiet down, eyeing Sanzu who’s holding the weapon.

“What was that?” Ran teases. “Could you repeat what you just said?”

You glare at them before setting it back to your lips, inhaling deeply before you blow out a huge cloud of smoke, tears forming in your eyes as the burning sensation overtakes your throat.

I don’t understand why they’re making such a big deal out of this.

“Since you can’t drive you should sit in the back seat.” Kazutora says with a fake concerned expression.

“I was ordered to be the driver so I’ll be okay. None of you can drive, anyway.”

“No, it’s alright. Come here.” Following your boss’s order, you reluctantly open the door, hopping out of the driver's seat before opening the back door, blunt still in hand.

You couldn’t help but feel embarrassment as you climb in, feeling the intense gazes as you settle into your seat squished in between Mikey and Kazutora who don’t bother to move over, the Haitani brothers having already shifted to the empty seats across from you as well as Sanzu who sits beside the siblings, gun hidden. You squirm awkwardly into your seat as you inhale the leaf once more. Holding the smoke in as a hand on your chin forces you to turn to your right.

“Blow into my mouth.” You try to move your head from Kazutora’s hand, the burning sensation catching up to you, forcing you to blow in his direction, his mouth slightly open as he sucks in the air, his lips barely grazing yours.

This is definitely too intimate. What drugs did they take because marijuana doesn’t do this.

The air feels suffocating as warmth builds, gazes becoming heated as your eyebrows furrow. Suddenly, the hand on your chin moves to the back of your head as your lips are forced to meet with Kazutora’s. Your eyes widen as your hands immediately push against his chest, his hold stronger as he keeps you in place, golden eyes staring into your orbs. Biting his lip only caused a moan from him as he leaned into you, the metallic taste mixing in with mary jane and alcohol.

When he finally releases you, because you were still shoving away from him, you accidentally land on your boss’s chest. Immediate fear causes you to sit up, though you were stopped by arms wrapping around your waist, your head resting against his shoulder, positioned in between the leg that's propped on the seat and the other one on the ground as he leans against the door. Kazutora grabs the blunt from you as he takes a hit from it.

“B-boss?” You question as his hands slowly roam up your blouse, your face heated as the warmth of his hands rests on your breasts that are covered by your bra. “W-wait! Mi- boss! Stop!”

“Are you telling me what to do?” His breath causes tingles down your neck as his lips meet your ear.

“Two times in a row, not a good look for you, Y/n.” Ran says, ignoring his erection under his pants.

“Wait, I just need some air or something! I need to be okay to drive!” Your chest rises and falls as Mikey squeezes your breasts, your hands grabbing his wrists to pull them off though his strength is firm, even when intoxicated.

“You’re not being a very good executive, Y/n. So disobedient.” Rin taunts before he grabs one of your ankles, removing your shoe as well as Kazutora doing the same with your other after handing Ran the wood. You attempt to pull your legs back, forgetting how you are the weakest amongst these men. Sanzu moves to the floor board next to the upper half of your body as Ran moves to the lower, unbuckling your pants as you struggle against Mikey’s hold, blunt in his lips.

“Y-yeah I’m telling all of you to stop! This isn’t profession-!” You’re cut off by Sanzu’s lips, his hand cupping your face as Mikey’s tongue slithers against your ear. Saliva falls down your chin as your hand reaches to push against Sanzu’s chest while the Haitani brothers and Kazutora pull down your pants, revealing your panties. Your eyes become wider as you start kicking your legs, whimpering against Sanzu’s mouth as you try to break free only for Kazutora and Rin to hold your legs apart as Ran uses a finger to trail down your slit through the fabric before he hands the leaf to his brother.

One of Sanzu’s hands pulls your blouse over your chest before he moves back to pull it off, Mikey helping in the process as he holds your arms still.

“Guys! You’re too intoxicated! St-stop, now!”

Rin’s lips trail down your leg, rubbing your thigh in the process while the blunt lies in between his index and middle finger. Kazutora mimics, though removing your sock before he licks your foot, a tingling sensation going up your spine.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” Mikey whispers against your ear, unclipping your bra before he forces it off of you, of course you make it harder by preventing the handles from being removed from your arms. He tears them, throwing your bra to the side as one of his arms circle around your waist while the other hand reaches your nipple. Sanzu grabs the other mound in his hand before he lowers his head, eyeing you through heavy lids, his lips circling around your nub as you frantically try to move.

Ran lowers his head as he uses a finger to move your panties to the side.

“As pretty as I’d thought it’d be.” He says before he uses both hands to pull them down, Rin grabs them as he throws them to the side before handing Sanzu the blunt. Ran analyzes your pussy with a sly smile, using a finger to gather the slight slick that’s formed before sucking his finger and releasing a quiet moan.

“Stop touching me!” You exclaim, everything becoming overwhelming as your boss and coworkers roam your body, Sanzu pulling your nipple as he takes another hit.

“Relax.” He says before placing it against your lips. You move your head away before he roughly grabs your chin and forces you to face him.

“Smoke it.” He demands. You blatantly shake your head.

“No! No more of that or any of this!” You hiss as you move up once more, only for you to let out a high pitched scream of pain once Sanzu places the burning wood against your arm. Tears fall from the pain as your face becomes hot. Your other hand grips the arm that was just burnt. You shakily wipe away the residue ash left on your skin.

“Say that again.” He says before placing the blunt against your mouth. You inhale before holding it in and blowing out once more. He wipes the sweat off your forehead as he keeps it against your mouth, you having to inhale more before breathing the smoke out again, mellowing out although your heart continues to race.

Your body jolts as you feel a wet muscle slithering against your clit. Ran’s tongue flicks your nub before his lips close around, sucking as he slightly bobs his head. Kazutora sucks his fingers before sliding his hand down, bending over as he uses two fingers to ease into your wet pussy. Your hole clenches around his fingers as your hips twitch, biting your lip as you hold back from releasing any sound as your eyes shut tightly.

Suddenly, hands grab your hips as you're pushed up, legs hovering over your head as your body is bent. The wetness moves to your ass as his tongue glides against your anus.

“Hah! Not there! Stop it, please!” Tears fall in humiliation as he eats you out, Rin positioning himself to eat your pussy as Kazutora angles his fingers, gliding in and out slowly as he holds pressure to your g-spot before pulling out again, watching your pussy contract intensely. A tongue runs along your clit repeatedly flicking the nub before he sucks it. Sanzu and Mikey hold up your legs as they kiss and lick your neck before leaving hickeys and pinching the skin between their teeth, Mikey handing Sanzu the roach before he throws it out of the cracked window, returning his hand to your nipple.

As Kazutora accelerates his fingers, your hips slightly meet his hand as the brothers eat you out, your eyes rolling into the back of your head with your mouth slightly ajar, head falling back on Mikey’s shoulder.

“Ran.”

“Yes boss?”

“Pull out my cock.” He complies, pulling Mikey’s sweats down as well as his underwear, revealing his hard girth. You tense once you feel his head against your ass.

“W-wait, Mikey there’s no lube. Please don’t!”

“My King, I can help.” He says with a dazed look.

Mikey eyes him for a second before he nods his head, Sanzu and Ran switching placements as Ran settles next to her upper body and Sanzu moves to Mikey’s throbbing cock. A groan leaves Mikey’s lips, brushing against your ear as Sanzu lowers his head, lips circling around Mikey’s tip before shoving his cock deep within his throat.

You feel your boss’s hips jerk as his head falls back against the car’s window. Another moan leaves his mouth as you hear the mixture of saliva and precum combining as Sanzu pulls his head back and forth steadily, making sure to wet his king’s cock to the fullest.

“Knew he’d be eager to suck Mikey’s cock.” Rin whispers against your pussy as Kazutora and Ran chuckle at his statement. Sanzu pulls his head back and uses his hand to angle Mikey’s cock against your anus. Your body is forced to drop on his thick cock, tears escaping as the pain shoots up your back.

“Fuck!” You cry out, “Take it out! Take it out, you fucking assholes!” Kazutora removes his fingers as Rin pulls back, sitting in their seats as they pull out their own hard cocks, using spit to rub themselves off. Once Mikey’s cock was stuffed all the way into your ass, he held it there as he basked in your warmth. Sanzu hovers over you as he uses his own spit to wet himself. You jolt when his head meets your pussy lips.

Your hands grip Sanzu’s shoulders as he eases into your pussy, fortunately the juice that was already there makes it less painful, though your hole clenched around his girth as you're full from both sides.

“Relax your muscles.” Ran whispers in your ear as his own hand wraps around his cock, while the other caresses your head.

“I can’t! It hurts!” You exclaim as your eyes shut tightly. Your head falls back once more, Ran leaving a kiss along your jaw.

“Yes you can. Just breathe.” You had no choice but to comply as you tried to get through the pain, breathing heavily as Sanzu and Mikey began to move slowly. A drawn out moan escapes Sanzu as the pressure from Mikey’s cock could be felt through your walls, causing extra friction.

Time passed and their hips began to accelerate, the car filling with five men’s moans as all of them thrust their hips, pulsating cocks engulfed in warmth. Sanzu’s cock, angled to hit your g-spot, causes an intense pleasure that contrasts with the lingering pain from Mikey’s cock stretching your ass. The agony numbing out as you begin to fill a pleasurable fullness as your body rocks up and down, nails piercing through Sanzu’s fabric. You grunt as your ass clenches around Mikey’s cock, barely holding back a moan as the friction causes you to near your orgasm.

“Tell me how good it feels.” Mikey hissed against your ear, hand reaching around your throat as he slams his hips against your ass, speeding up.

“It doesn’t!” You cry out. “I-it feels terrible! Get out of me!” A loud moan accidentally leaves your mouth when Sanzu’s pace becomes faster, ambushing your g-spot repeatedly. A sharp pinch against your nipple causes you to yelp.

“Lie again.” Mikey growls, “Tell me the truth or I’ll blow your brains out as soon as I cum.”

“Fuck, this is so hot.” Kazutora hissed as his head falls back, rubbing his cock violently as his erection pulsates in his grip. Rin bites his own lip as he thrusts his hand, rubbing a thumb over his slit as he watches the display.

“Come on, angel. Be good for us, yeah?” Ran breathlessly says as he brings himself closer, hand gripping your head as he ruts against his other hand.

Your body convulses, warmth overcoming your abdomen as your hips grind hard against the two cocks, head back as your mouth hangs open with a silent scream.

“F-fuck! I’m… ah! Cumming!”

“Shit!” Rin hissed as his hand moves faster, your voice turning all of them on as they continue to work for their own orgasm.

You cry out from Mikey and Sanzu continuing their assault, thrusts becoming sloppier as they cause you to overstimulate, your hips frantically grinding back as the feeling becomes all too overwhelming, nose scrunching as your nails scratch Sanzu.

“Say it now! Tell us how good it feels to be full of our cocks! Right now, Y/n!” Sanzu growls, pink hue covering his face as he gazes into your eyes with a lustful, crazed glare.

“Feels good! S’ fucking good, hah! I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum again!”

In reality, post nut clarity will definitely come soon considering how violated you truly feel, though the feeling of being so full and your g-spot being abused causes your body to react, pussy contracting as you’re brought to your second orgasm, the men following along right after as they all release their loads.

You feel Sanzu and Mikey’s cum shoot deeply inside of you, so much coming out as some of the liquid spills out of your ass and pussy.

“Y-you all violated me.” You growl in anger as tears spill from your eyes, cocks pulling out of you causing you to grunt from the residue pain.

“You liked it.” Kazutora frowns as your vision becomes blurry.

“You should rest. Sounds like the weed is getting to your head.” Rin snorts.

Before you could prevent it, your eyes fluttered shut, darkness engulfing you into a deep sleep.

The next day, the men sat in the meeting room, awaiting your arrival. When you didn’t show up, Kakucho went to check your room, only to find you balled up in the blankets on your bed, hiding your whole body.

“Y/n?”

When you didn’t answer, he walked out of the room back towards the meeting to relay the message. The meeting continued without you. When it was over, Kazutora visited your room.

“Y/n? Why are you acting like this?” He says as he sits on the bed next to your figure. His eyebrow raises when his hand reaches your form, squeezing it before he stands up and snatches the blankets back, revealing an empty space.

“Shit!” He hissed in anger.

Two years pass and you just got out of your therapy appointment, walking to your car before you hopped in and drove to your apartment. You knew that the only way you could leave Bonten was by death or running away. So you decided to make a new life for yourself in a different country, far away from Japan.

You knew the job was toxic anyway but you didn’t know that you’d be violated sexually. You’re in a better head space, though you do have moments where you can feel the hands all over you, not scrubbing your body hard enough as your skin raws. Your new boyfriend, along with your friends and therapist have helped you grow positively as you slowly let your past go.

Entering your apartment, you expect to see your boyfriend in the living room on video games, not his limbs detached from his torso, or head decapitated as it’s rolled in between someone’s feet. Nor did you expect to see blood all over your carpet as well as the frames and paintings broken, thrown off the walls, glass shards everywhere. Your trembling hand covers your mouth as you eye the five men you never wanted to see again, staring at you with cold stoic expressions, worse than any angry look you could’ve ever received.

Hyperventilating, you turn on your heel to run back out your front door, only to run into Takeomi’s chest.

“No, no, no! Let me out, Takeomi! You don’t know what they did to me!” Your fists hit his back as he swings you over his shoulder.

“Oh I know. Now they’re pussy whipped and can’t get over you. Not even boss. You’re lucky you’re not gonna be killed, but there’s no way we’re letting you out of our sight again. Consider yourself, Bonten’s property.” He says as he walks to the car.

You continue struggling in his grip as tears leave from your eyes, crying out in anger and devastation over your boyfriend’s gruesome death. The life you created for yourself being torn from your grasp as another thing important is snatched away. You mourn your lost freedom as well as what’s to come.

[ironicallyyn]

Obey me cast getting Outta character....

Mc and mammon after turning the whole HoL upside down

Mammon: In my defence... I was left unsupervised

Lucifer: wasn't mc with you?

Mc: In my defence.... I was also left unsupervised.... And this was mammon's fault

Mammon: HEY-

[serpentandlily]

Wicked Games

Dark!Batboys x Reader

Summary: Desperate to pay off a debt, you decide to break into the penthouse of one of Prythian’s richest males, one rumored to make his money in a less than legal way. But after witnessing something you weren’t supposed to, you find yourself caught in a wicked game of cat and mouse with three of the most dangerous males in Prythian. (Modern AU!)

Warnings: Violence, dark themes (will update per chapter)

Part II

Part I

༺♥༻

It had been too easy sneaking in through the back door of The Sidra, a huge building filled with luxury apartments only the top one-percent could afford. Too easy sneaking into the laundry rooms downstairs and finding a freshly cleaned maid’s uniform. And too easy convincing one of the maids on duty into believing you were a newly hired employee.

It wasn’t hard to play the role. You had worked as a cleaning lady before—at a motel when you were only sixteen. So it wasn’t long before she was dropping a keychain filled with master keys for each floor into the pocket of your apron and pushing a cleaning cart into your hands.

Before you knew it, you had an access card to the elevators in one pocket and those all too important keys in the other. You waited until no one else was near the elevators before slipping into one and immediately pressing the button that would take you to the penthouse.

According to your sources, aka one of your exes, one of the richest males in Prythian lived in that penthouse. A male who was rumored to make his money in a…less than legal way. And if you knew anything about those types, you knew they’d have cash stuffed into just about every hidden crevice of that apartment. Because that kind of dirty money never made it into banks.

You had tried to do some research on who was living here but it seemed like he was a rather elusive male. All you could find was a first name, Rhysand—and that he had ties to Velaris, the illustrious night club downtown.

It didn’t matter though. All that mattered was getting into this penthouse, finding his hidden stacks of cash and getting the hell out of here. You needed this money and this guy was rich enough that you doubted he’d even notice a measly six grand missing from his piles of cash.

But that six grand meant life or death for you. Because you needed to pay off the debt you owe your ex. You knew his patience with you was slipping and you were worried that for once he’d actually go through with his threats.

The elevator dinged, signaling you had made it to your destination. You stepped out of the elevator, leaving the cleaning cart behind, and found yourself in a grand corridor. There was only one direction to go, only one set of large double doors up here.

You knocked once. Twice. A third time. No answer, no noise, nothing. You thanked God for your luck today as you fumbled with your ring of master keys, trying to figure out which one worked for this door.

It took you longer than you liked but soon you were pushing the doors open and making your way into the insanely large penthouse. Your jaw dropped as you took in the place, envy crawling up your skin like thorny vines.

This place was…incredible. It was opulent, full of expensive looking furniture and high-tech electronics. You spun around, taking in everything. Jesus, the sitting area alone was larger than your own studio apartment. Everything looked so ornate and for this being the supposed bachelor pad for one of Prythian’s richest males, you were surprised by how elegant it all was.

But you quickly snapped yourself out of your admiration. You had a job to do. Find the money you needed and get out of here before someone returned. You checked the usual spots for hidden safes—behind paintings, where medicine cabinets should be, in closets. You cursed as you found nothing out of place.

That was until you stumbled upon a large painting of three mountaintops with a star painted above each in the master bedroom. It was incredibly heavy, but you managed to get it off the wall and nearly let out a squeal of joy when you caught sight of the safe built into the wall. You pulled out the small electronic stethoscope that you had found at a pawn shop years ago and got to work with cracking the safe.

It was one of the skills your ex had taught you. A skill that had come in handy quite a few times. And you were particularly good at this part. So good that you had the safe opened within the hour. Your jaw dropped as the door clicked open and revealed piles and piles of cash, some gems and gold chains. You were half tempted to take it all but restrained yourself.

Just enough. You needed to take just enough to pay off your debt…and maybe some extra for rent this month. Just to get you back on track with your payments. Still, just a small amount that hopefully would go unnoticed. You opened the satchel you had hidden under the maid apron and started tossing stacks into your bag.

Once you were certain you had enough, you closed the safe and went through the strenuous process of hanging the large painting back up on the wall. You were sweating a bit as you finished, wiping your clammy hands on the apron.

Now all you had to do was get the fuck out of here. You could not believe your luck as you made your way back to the front door. Could not believe that everything had gone exactly to plan.

Which is why you shouldn’t have been surprised at the sound of a key unlocking the front door. Of course it wouldn’t have been that easy. Fuck. You looked around quickly, spotting a closet in the hallway and managed to slid yourself into it right as the front doors opened. You held your breath as three large men came walking in, the two in the back lugging in another person whose head was covered with a burlap sack.

Your eyes widened as you took in the scene, your heart beginning to pound in your chest. The male who led the group forward was one of the most handsome males you had ever seen. He was wearing a finely tailored suit, his tie loosened around his neck. His hair was short, a dark blue-black color which suited his golden skin.

The two guys holding up their captive were equally attractive, if not more. One was huge, taller than the other two, with muscles cut from stone like a God. He had shoulder length dark brown hair that had been pulled into a bun and wore black pants and a white button-up shirt with his sleeves folded up to his elbows, exposing his veiny forearms.

The other male was just straight up beautiful. His features were more elegant than the other two, as if a romantic artist had spent their whole life carefully crafting him out of clay. He also had dark brown hair, cut short like the first guy, and golden skin that matched the other two. His face was expressionless, unreadable, and that made him look all the more lethal.

The two guys dropped the captive to his knees and yanked the burlap sack off his head. You nearly gasped in surprise as you recognized him. He was known widely in the criminal world as “The Attor.” He was a slimy looking male who used all sorts of weird torture methods to get his victims to talk. Last you heard of him, he was working with Hybern, one of the many gang leaders in Prythian.

“Are you going to talk now?” The male in the suit purred. He sat down in one of the plush armchairs, resting his ankle over a knee. He held an air of authority and you guessed that he was the leader here.

“Fuck you, Rhysand,” The Attor spat, wiggling to try and break free of his bonds.

Ah, so this was the famed Rhysand. You had expected someone older, someone maybe in their fifties. But this guy couldn’t be older than thirty. And god, he was so hot. Most criminals were ugly, aging men. Nothing like the handsome devil who sat in his chair like it was a throne.

Rhysand merely chuckled before running a finger down the armrest of his chair. “Tell us what Hybern’s planning and I might just decide to let you leave with your life.”

But The Attor just spat at his feet. “You and I both know I’ve been a dead man since your dogs caught me.”

The lethal looking male snarled at that. The noise was so animalistic, it sent a shiver down your spine.

“You’re right, you have been,” Rhysand answered with amusement. “And now I tire of our games.” He nodded at the male who had snarled. “Kill him,” he ordered.

Before you could even process those words, the man yanked a blade out of his pocket and swiftly stabbed it straight through The Attor’s throat. A small gasp escaped your mouth as red blood sputtered out of the wound and the man slumped to the ground, his eyes glazing over. You quickly slammed a hand over your mouth, praying to God that they hadn’t heard your slip-up. But you had never seen someone killed before. You had only ever dealt with petty criminals, mostly thieves.

“Did you hear that?” The one built like a God asked, his eyes narrowing as they swept over the place.

You smothered yourself further with your hand, pressing your body against the wall of the closet—as far from the door as you could get.

“I did,” the lethal one answered, yanking his dagger from the dead man’s neck and wiping it clean on his clothes before returning it to his own pocket.

“Who’s here?” Rhysand called out, standing up.

The other two began to search through the room, their footsteps surprisingly silent. You squeezed your eyes shut and sank onto the floor, praying and praying that they wouldn’t look in the closet, that they wouldn’t find you. As a few moments passed, you were beginning to grow hopeful.

But then the closet doors were yanked open and you were being pulled out by your upper arms. You let out a small cry as you opened your eyes to see the lethal one staring down at you, his face impassive as he dragged you into the sitting room and tossed you onto the floor next to the dead man’s body.

You let out a whimper, your apron soaking up some of the blood on the floor.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves an intruder,” he called out, gaining the attention of the other two who returned from wherever they had been searching.

Rhysand stepped forward, looking down at you in surprise. He clearly hadn’t expected to find one of the maids hiding in his closet. Your whole body tensed as the corners of his lips ticked up. This close now, you could see the unusual color of his eyes, a rich shade of blue that almost looked violet.

“Well what do we have here?” His voice was so sensual, bringing color to your cheeks. “What a pretty little mouse you’ve caught, Az.”

“I’d say so,” the other one smirked, his eyes roaming your face. But you kept your attention on the leader.

“I-I’m sorry, sir. I was cleaning in the bedroom when I heard the ruckus and…I swear I won’t tell anyone what I saw. I’m sorry. Please, just let me go,” you pleaded, quivering under his amused stare.

“That’s odd,” he said, tilting his head at you. “I didn’t schedule any cleaning services today.”

You blinked, trying to come up with another lie. “I-I’m a new hire, sir. I only d-did as I was told.”

He stroked his jaw, glancing at the other two men who stood behind you. “Interesting. You know, I didn’t happen to see any cleaning supplies when I was looking around just now. Did you two see any during your search?”

“Nope,” the bigger one chimed. You could hear the smile in his voice. The other one must’ve shaken his head because Rhysand looked back down at you.

“I-I…” you choked on your own words. Fuck, how were you going to get yourself out of this one? You were screwed. So fucking screwed. You were going to die right here just like the man next to you.

Rhysand stepped forward before bending down on his haunches in front of you. A pathetic whimper fell from your lips as you backed away, only to run into a pair of legs. You gulped, looking up to see the pretty one staring down at you, that unfeeling face sent another shiver through your body.

“You’re not a maid, are you, little mouse?” Rhysand purred, reaching a gloved hand out to brush some hair from your face. You were shaking like a leaf now, as you found yourself surrounded by three dangerous males.

Fuck, you were going to die. All twenty-one years of your life wasted just to die here, likely never to be found. Not that anyone would be looking for you or miss you. You had grown up in foster care, never knowing who your parents were.

“I-I am,” you lied. “I swear it.”

Rhysand clicked his tongue, giving you a mocking frown. “What a pretty little liar you are. I don’t like liars, little mouse. Do you know what I like to do to the people who lie to me?”

You shook your head, not able to form any words. He gave you a wolfish grin and pointed a finger at the dead body on the ground, blood still oozing from the wound on his neck. You whimpered again, a few pathetic tears now slipping from your eyes.

“Oh, don’t cry, pretty girl,” Rhysand purred. “It would be a waste to kill a little thing like you. Don’t you agree?”

Your head was spinning now.

“What…what do you want from me?” Your voice shook, making you feel even more pathetic. Rhysand smiled again but it was not reassuring—more like a predator showing off its sharp teeth.

He glanced up at the other two. “What do you guys think? Should we let this little mouse go or should we punish her for her trespassing?”

“We don’t even know what she’s here for yet,” the pretty one said. His voice was as dark as him and just as cold.

You used this time to glance towards the front door, noting how far away it was. You could make a break for it. You were a fast runner and you had the advantage of being smaller and more agile than them.

It could go horrible but you had to try. You had to try and get out of here before they did whatever it was they wanted to you. You would only have one shot, one chance.

Before any of them could notice you plotting, you scooped a handful of blood from the floor and flicked it into Rhysand’s face. He let out a noise of surprise and you used the distraction to slip between the other two and dart towards the door.

You could hear their yells from behind you but didn’t look back as you yanked the door open and sprinted into the hallway. You bypassed the elevators and slammed into the stairway.

You could hear footsteps running behind you and you pushed yourself to run faster, hopping over railings to other floors when you could. You burst through the door leading into one of the other floors and sprinted down the hallway.

A man was leaving his apartment, his eyes glued to the phone in his hand. You pushed him out of your way and slipped into the open door, ignoring his curse from behind you. You ran into the bedroom, darting for the window.

You let out a small cry of relief when you noticed it was connected to a fire escape. You quickly pushed it open and flung yourself through the window, landing with a thud on the metal landing.

You didn’t waste any time climbing down the ladders from landing to landing. You had made decent progress by the time one of the males had figured out where you had gone. The metal fire escape rattled with both of your weights now on it, but you continued climbing down until you reached the bottom.

As soon as you landed on the ground, you took off down an alleyway—twisting and turning down different paths, trying to keep them off your trail. Unlike those rich pricks, you knew the underside of this city like the back of your hand.

As soon as you were confident you had lost them, you found a spot in the shadows to rip the maid uniform off. You tossed it on the ground and quickly got dressed back into the clothes you had brought in your bag.

Once you had pulled on the jeans and jacket, you tossed the hood up and slung your bag back over your shoulder. This time you made your way to a busy street, hoping to get lost in the crowd.

You didn’t let out a breath of relief until you were on the subway, on the line that would take you back to your neighborhood where your shitty apartment would be waiting for you.

You bit your lip, unzipping your bag to make sure all the money you had stolen was accounted for. You finally let out a breath and rested your head against the cold wall of the subway cart.

You had fucking done it. You had stolen from one of the richest men in Prythian and gotten away with it.

༺♥༻

“This is only six grand, bunny,” your ex, Tamlin, said with a small frown. “Where’s the rest?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean? I owed you six grand, right? That’s what you said. It’s all there.”

“Oh, bunny, you owed me six grand last week,” Tamlin replied, pushing some of his blonde hair away from his face as he looked up at you. You bounced from one foot to the other, standing in front of his desk. “It’s seven thousand, five hundred now—you know, because of interest.”

“What?” You breathed out. “You never mentioned anything about interest!”

Tamlin chuckled, sitting back in his chair. “I did. You must’ve not understood. It’s okay, bunny, not all of us can be smart. It’s a good thing you’ve got that pretty face of yours to get by. But I’ll take this for now. I’ll need the rest by next week, though. And it’ll be an extra one thousand, eight hundred seventy five by then.”

“You can’t be serious! Tam, I—do you know what it took to get that money! Please, I’m begging you. Can’t this be it? An extra thousand dollars is nothing but petty cash to you. Please.”

“I don’t think so, bunny,” Tamlin responded with a mockingly sad voice. “You see, you lost those kinds of privileges when you broke up with me. I could’ve taken care of all of this for you but you’re the one who wanted to cut ties. So now you have to play by the same rules as everyone else.”

“This is ridiculous, please,” you begged. You were willing to get on your knees at this point. All you wanted was to be done with this—done with him. “I can barely afford rent. Barely feed myself. I won’t be able to get you another grand by next week.”

“That stopped being my problem a long time ago, bunny,” Tamlin said, all niceties gone from his voice now as he stood from his desk, placing his palms flat against the surface. “Get the money to me by next week. I’d hate to see that pretty little face of yours ruined. Do you understand?”

You scoffed but Hart, one of his guards, took a step closer to you, so you swallowed your pride, ignored the tears building in your eyes, and nodded your head. You quickly left the room, made a quick exit from the warehouse and started the long walk back to your apartment.

How the hell were you going to get more money for him? He was doing this on purpose, still upset with you for breaking up with him. You wiped at the angry tears spilling down your face. Would you ever be able to pay him off? Would you ever be able to get rid of his presence in your life?

You kicked at the loose concrete pebbles on the ground as you made your way home. You kept your hood on, head ducked towards the ground to avoid any unwanted attention. Now that you no longer had Tamlin’s protection, the men in this neighborhood had gotten rowdier with you.

Once you reached your apartment building, you took two stairs at a time to get to the fourth floor, wincing as you heard Marcus yelling at his wife again for the third time today. You wished she’d put a kitchen knife through his gut and do your whole neighborhood a favor.

You pulled your cheap, burner phone out of your pocket along with your keys, ready to call your friend Valerie to bitch and moan about Tamlin as soon as you were inside.

But apparently God had other plans.

As soon as you flicked on the lights to your apartment, your phone slipped out of your hands and landed with a thud on the floor. Your eyes widened, your heart plummeted all the way to your stomach as your gaze fell on a pair of unusual violet eyes.

Rhysand.

Rhysand was sitting there on your dingy mattress, his nice clothes a stark contrast to your fraying sheets. He gave you a grin that could rival the devil’s.

“There you are, little mouse,” he purred. “I’ve been looking for you.”

[sky-high-standards]

Yandere!!Fairytale characters!!Dark Reverse harem xFemale reader

I recently edited this

Part 2 here

You always loved stories for as long as you could remember because every night until you turned 8 you had dreams about coming to visit these story book characters but strangely they were your age in these dreams and were incredibly possessive and kept going on about how you would have to get married to one of them when you grow up.

When you were 9 you stopped reading fairy tales and these dreams stopped too.

8 years later~

You where just minding your own business when your mother came in and told you that you had to donate some old toys to a charity shop, you lazily got up and went to your attic where you kept most of your childhood things. As you searched you picked up the story book that you haven't seen in 8 years, a wave of nostalgia came over yo as you flipped through the pages. Suddenly aa portal came from the book and sucked you in.

Story 1 Cinderellis

You found yourself in a castle when someone suddenly bumped into you. You were surprised to see a beautiful woman wearing gorgeous clothing and a crown probably the queen giving you her hand to help you up she apologized and then gasped taking a closer look at you.

Queen: y/n is that you?

Y/n: Um yes?

She beamed and hugged you.

Queen: y/n my dear its been so long you're all grown up and so beautiful!

y/n: Queen Charming?

Then it all came back to you .You where in the castle where you used to play with your old friends Ellis and Johnathan. The queens son Johnathan saw you as a little sister and the queen saw you as a daughter but Ellis was the son of a wealthy man who was very kind and had a close friendship with the royal family. You remember Jonathan was vey protective and teased you a lot while Ellis was very sweet and incredibly shy and was very clingy towards you but he had this dark side and hated competition.

Queen: Just call me Caroline dear.

She smiled warmly at you seeming euphoric to see you again.

Caroline: Come quickly we must tell Jonathan you returned he will be so happy to see you.

So she lead you to the vaguely familiar room belonging to Jonathan

When he turned around you could barely recognize him he really has grown up.

Johnathan: y/n?

You nodded and he then tackled you into a hug like when you were kids.

Johnathan: I knew you'd come back dummy!!!

y/n: You really haven't changed a bit huh Johnny.

After you three caught up you found out Ellis's dad had died after you left and he now lives with his stepmother and his two stepbrothers they stopped seeing him after they met his stepmother.

Caroline the told you that she was gonna plan a ball for your return and to find a wife for Johnathan she sent out invitations to everyone in the land including Ellis and his family.

Ellis's home

Ellis was doing his usual labor because his mother treated him like a slave ever since his father died. His step family now just calls his Cinderellis due to him always being covered in soot. Ellis barely got anything to eat and was always given ragged clothing to wear. His stepbrothers mad sure to make sure he feels and looks terrible because they are incredibly jealous of Ellis because of his looks and all the female attention he gets.

After all these years Ellis hadn't forgotten about you but how could he ever since he met you he had been madly in love with you so much so that he worships the ground you walk on and would do anything to get your attention and much much more to get you affection but after you left a piece of himself left too he was absolutely devastated but he never lost hope that someday you'll return.

When an invitations to the ball came Ellis didn't care but he jumped for joy when you saw that this was for your return finally, he'd see his beloved again.

He told his Stepmother, and she told her sons to try and get you to fall for one of them now Ellis didn't like this and poisoned his family that day, after all Ellis never liked competition.

After the murder he disposed of the bodies he then dressed in one of his fathers suites and daydreamed about how soft your lips where or how happy you'll be to see him he can already picture you running into his arms proclaiming your undying love for him and how you'd never leave him again you'll be his in a matter of time.

Back at the castle

You were getting ready for the ball when a blinding flash of purple light came, and you saw a woman with a wand and beautiful purple wings in front of you.

???: Oh hello dear.

y/n: um who are you ma'am?

???:I'm your fairy Godmother I'm here to help you get back home.

y/n: Why? everyone is so nice here.

She went silent for a moment looking at you sympathetically.

Godmother: Things aren't always as they seem my dear...you have to save Jonathan if you want to make it to the next story.

y/n: WHAT IS HE IN DANGER??!!!AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN NEXT STORY??!!

Godmother: Keep it down, yes he's in great danger and you have a few more stories to complete before you get to go home.

y/n: what do you mean?

Godmother: I mean in each of the stories you will live in you will have a task when you complete it you will be sent to the next story but if you fail a task you won't be able to leave when you were younger you made every one of the male leads fall for you and now their obsessions have grown in an unhealthy way so be careful I'll see you soon.

and then she left just like how she came with without warning and in a poof of purple light.

The ball had begun and you couldn't stop worrying about Caroline and Johnathan. You were shaken out of your train of thought when a young man asked to dance he seemed pretty exited even euphoric and...love sick?

Nonetheless you agreed and he swiftly took you to the the center of the ball room as you two danced you couldn't avoid his stare it was so intense but those gray blue eyes were just` too familiar then it clicked.

Y/n: Ellis...?

He smiles at you and nodded.

Ellis: Did you miss me little mouse?

you smiled back at him and hugged him and he was in pure bliss finally you're back in his arms oh how he's dreamed of this day everything was perfect until he saw those pretty eyes of yours start to lose focus on him as you kept glancing at Jonathan this made his blood boil he was always second place to Jonathan when it came to you he always got your attention but now he's finally snapped he's had enough.

When you left to go check on Caroline he pulled out a vile of poison the very same he used to kill his step family.

Ellis: I didn't think I'd have to use it so soon.

He mumbled coldly.

He was about to pour it into Jonathan's glass when he heard your voice and he quickly his it into his pocket smiling at you, you asked to speak to him privately and he was taken back when he saw you crying and he immediately went forward to comfort you only to be pushed away.

Ellis: Little mouse what's wrong.

You stared up at him with a mix of hurt betrayal and confusion.

Y/n: I saw what you were about to do Ellis...I don't understand, Why would you try hurt him.

Ellis: why? because I love you y/n I love so much that it drives me insane I love you so much that I'd kill anyone in a heartbeat just for your attention I love you more than you will ever know little mouse~

All you could do was look up at him in fear as he caressed your cheek smiling at you with a sickly-sweet smile.

y/n: what happened to you? You were so sweet so kind and so selfless.

Ellis: Oh y/n you happened to me.

you saw a deranged glint in his eyes and his smile turned more sinister.

Ellis: You turned me into this.

At that moment you knew there was no reasoning with him so you had to be with him until you get sent to the next story.

y/n: Ellis I'll be yours if you promise not to hurt anyone else.

You could tell he was more than euphoric hearing those words come out of that pretty mouth of yours it sent him over the edge.

Ellis: I promise Little mouse.

For about 5 months things where perfect for Ellis waking up and knowing you are there being the only one able to kiss your soft lips it was pure bliss until there was a flash and you were gone.

You were falling out of the sky and splashed into the water you tried your hardest to swim but couldn't you were about to drown but you were rescued by a strange being and all you could remember was its voice.

Tell me if ya want me to continue and please give my other yandere stories some love.

God loves you get plenty of sleep and stay hydrated

[kikyoupdates]

Girlfriend-For-Hire ⭑˚🦋⭑ 𝟶𝟷

yandere!ocs x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, yandere reverse harem, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Hoping to try something new and earn a bit of money on the side, you join an app that lets people hire you for your dating services. The idea is pretty straightforward — you pose as the client's girlfriend for a brief period of time, and in turn, you receive payment. But you didn't foresee everyone getting so attached to you, and suddenly, they're no longer satisfied with a fabricated relationship.

story masterlist | next

“...you can do what now?”

“Hire someone to date you,” your friend, Ava, repeats. She chuckles and waves you off dismissively. “Come on, [Name]. It’s the modern age. People are always coming up with new things these days. I’m willing to bet there’s an app or website out there for practically anything.”

You blink in disbelief. Granted, there is all kinds of crazy shit going on in the world, and you’ve heard of companionship services before—like escorts or sugar baby arrangements—but to hear that something like this is trending nowadays is still undeniably a shock. 

“Here, look,” Ava gestures, pulling out her phone. “I was curious, so I downloaded the app the other day just to check out.” 

“Uh, don’t you already have a boyfriend?”

“He knows I was just browsing. I showed him too, and we scrolled through some stuff together. A lot of the profiles on here are wild,” she laughs. “It’s crazy what people advertise they’re willing to do. Get a load of this guy. He says he’s down to meet your family and make a total ass out of himself just so that he lowers your parents’ standards and the next real boyfriend you get will look way better by comparison.”

“Fucking hell,” you mutter. “I can’t tell if this is actually real, or just some new meme template.” 

“Of course it’s real! I think you’re underestimating how lonely people these days are. There’s definitely a lot of money to be made in this industry. Just look at how much people are willing to blow on their favorite streamer, even though they’ve never met them a day in their life. Dating’s gotten a lot more complicated lately, so I guess some people just want to skip past the troublesome parts and experience what it’s like to be with someone.” 

You furrow your brows. The whole thing sounds incredibly sad when you think of it that way. People would rather pay for a fabricated relationship than put in the time and effort towards building something real? Loneliness is starting to sound like an actual epidemic nowadays. 

“Well, I guess I shouldn’t judge people without understanding where they’re coming from,” you acknowledge. “It’s not like I know what they’ve been through. Times are changing and all. It sounds like this is actually starting to become pretty mainstream.” 

Ava nods chipperly. “Yep! I mean, I love my boyfriend, so I’m definitely not the target audience, but maybe it’s what some people need to gain a little boost of confidence and get back into the dating scene. I doubt everyone uses it in a romantic sense too. There are people out there that just want a bit of company every now and then. Isn’t it nice that they have someone to spend time with this way?” 

“Yeah… I guess that’s true.” 

Honestly, you’re still struggling to fully wrap your head around this. You understand the premise well enough, but you can’t really get past the part about accepting payment just to provide someone with a fabricated experience. Then again, you suppose that’s the case for most things nowadays. People are willing to spend the brunt of their earnings on in-game purchases for video games and other things that aren’t tangible in the real world, because even though they aren’t necessarily organic, it still provides them with some satisfaction. 

Long story short, it’s not up to you to decide what does or doesn’t make someone else happy, and you suppose as long as it’s executed in a professional manner, there’s nothing wrong with meeting new people this way. 

“Hey, I’ve got a great idea,” Ava suddenly perks up. “You should join this app! You’re super pretty, smart, and nice. I bet you’d have loads of guys lining up to hire you as their girlfriend!”

“Me?” You blink repeatedly, shuffling backwards the closer she leans in. “I mean, I just don’t think I’m the right person for the job. If it makes people happy, then I support it, but deep down, I worry I’d feel like I’m exploiting someone’s feelings just for a few extra bucks. Morally speaking, I’m not so sure I like the idea…” 

“It’s not exploitation,” she insists. “People know what they’re signing up for. At the end of the day, it’s a buyer-seller relationship. Someone pays for the service being advertised, and they receive it. As long as you’re not ambiguous about what you’re willing to do for the amount that you’re charging, people know what to expect. Of course, I’m sure there might be the occasional asshole here and there, but if they do anything inappropriate or violate the terms, you can report them through the app and they’ll be banned from using it.” 

You’re not quite sure how to respond to that. Some extra money would be nice. You’re a university student with all sorts of loans, so it’s not like you’ve got excess cash lying around. And it’s also true that you’ve been looking to apply for a new job lately, since your old manager was a total ass and you ended up quitting. 

Still. A girlfriend-for-hire? Someone like you? It’s just really difficult to imagine. 

“I actually think it’d be a good experience,” Ava goes on. “You’ve never really put yourself out there before. I know everyone dates at their own pace and stuff, but you shouldn’t have to be afraid. Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet some cool people and want to date them for real. And even if you don’t end up going for them, you still make some money, so either way, you’ve got nothing to lose.”

You chuckle weakly. “Yeah, I just don’t know. I feel like I’m better suited for traditional jobs. But thanks for the vote of confidence. I’m glad you think people would actually be willing to pay to date me.” 

“Girl, you seriously need to believe in yourself more,” Ava sighs. “I’m telling you, you’re a catch. But at the end of the day, it’s your call. You shouldn’t force yourself into anything if you feel uncomfortable.”

You smile and nod in agreement, and sensing your discomfort, Ava decides to change the topic.

But for some reason, you feel a twinge in your chest, and it’s hard to keep your mind from wandering.

Later that same day, you’re lounging on the couch, mouth agape, having just downloaded the app on your own phone. 

“What the hell am I doing…?” 

You tell yourself that it’s just simple curiosity. Yeah. That’s all it is. Ava piqued your interest earlier, and now you just want to scroll through in more detail to get a better sense of what kind of people use this platform. 

The app is called ‘Partner For Hire’. The name isn’t particularly inspired, you have to admit, but you suppose it communicates its point rather effectively and leaves no room for ambiguity. Ultimately, this is a transactional relationship, and it’s probably for the best that clients know what to expect. 

You can use the app as either a buyer or seller. Meaning that you can create your profile and advertise your services, or simply list yourself as a prospective client and what your hobbies and interests are. In that sense, it’s kind of similar to most dating apps, since you have to take a flattering photo to go along with whatever blurb you’re providing. Of course, just because you try to solicit someone’s services doesn’t mean there’s any guarantee they’ll accept. This is an app where you can run everything yourself, and of course the company takes a cut of your profits, rather than an agency that matches you with a client regardless of whether you want to accept the job or not. 

There’s definitely a lot of flexibility, and you can easily choose who you want to pretend to date. If someone is interested in hiring you, they submit a request to be able to contact you, and once you accept, you can message them directly and establish the terms of the dating contract, such as the length and what particular services will be provided. 

You scroll through the list of boyfriends/girlfriends being advertised on the app, and honestly, it seems like there’s a decent amount of money to be made. Of course, a lot of that comes with building a good reputation and improving your ratings and visibility so more people will want to hire you, but it actually seems like a decent amount of people are able to make a living off this sort of thing. 

You bite down on your lower lip. Should you really go ahead and just do it? Like Ava said, there’s probably not much to lose. All the transactions are managed on the app, so you can easily report people who try to skip out on paying. Clients have to link their banking and personal info, so they’d be taking on a big risk by trying to scam people. You’re sure it might happen from time to time, but based on the reviews you’ve read, the company is really good at enforcing their policies and making sure everyone gets paid.

The money seems good, and it would definitely help take some pressure off your student loans, but ultimately, the biggest thing you’re struggling with is your moral compass.

People are willing to spend money for this kind of thing, and that’s entirely their choice to make, so it’s not like you’re extorting them or anything. Still… you wonder if it’s actually okay to profit off of someone else’s loneliness. You’ve never worked the kind of job that requires you to cater directly to another person’s emotions, and it kind of freaks you out.

But maybe Ava is right. There are all sorts of people in this world. Maybe some of them are just curious to try the app out. Maybe others just want to get their families off their back by pretending like they’re dating someone for a little while. There’s no way to discern everyone’s motivations, so perhaps there’s really no point in thinking about it at all. 

Most importantly, this could be a good thing for you. Life has been stagnant recently, and it’s true that you usually hesitate to put yourself out there. You’ll never learn what you do or don’t like if you keep on avoiding everything. This could be a chance to learn a lot about other people, but also, to learn more about yourself. 

Yeah. It’s time to stop overthinking for a change and just try something new. 

Thus, feeling unusually determined, you spend the rest of the day setting up your profile (finding nice selfies was the longest part of the whole ordeal), and with a resolved huff, you post it and officially go live on the app. 

You’re not really sure what you were expecting, but needless to say, there isn’t any immediate feedback. It probably takes a while for people to stumble across your profile, and even then, there’s no guarantee they’ll want to go out with you. 

I guess I was getting worked up for no reason. Certain people might find success with this kind of thing, but it’s probably not as easy as it looks. 

You scratch your cheek, suddenly sheepish over how needlessly excited you got earlier. You’re not used to stepping out of your comfort zone, so you must have gotten a bit carried away. 

For the rest of the evening, you set your phone aside and come back to reality. You get some homework done, make dinner, and by the time you’re ready for bed, you’ve pretty much forgotten about the whole thing altogether. 

That is, until you check and see that you’ve missed a notification.

“Huh? Someone viewed my profile and wants to message me?”

You’re undeniably taken aback. Not just because it’s happening a lot sooner than you expected, but also because it means that contrary to what you first thought, people are interested in you. 

Having minimal experience when it comes to dating and romance in general, you have to admit, the thought of being viewed as desirable is immensely flattering. 

Curious to see who wants to hire your services, you click on the user’s profile.

His name is Isaac, and he’s twenty-one years old, set to complete his undergraduate studies at the end of the year. He goes to a different university than yours, thankfully, because you can’t help but feel like it would be incredibly awkward to bump into him on campus after pretending to be his girlfriend. He’s studying to become a doctor, which means he’s still got a lot of school ahead of him, but you’ve always had a lot of admiration for people who are willing to commit to their goals and work hard. 

Also, even though you don’t want to sound shallow or anything… he’s really, really attractive. 

You frown. Granted, there’s more to a person than their appearance, but based on how he comes across in his profile and what his future career is, he doesn’t strike you as the type of person who would struggle to date someone.

But again, you can never know what’s going on in a stranger’s life. And there’s no real way to find out why he decided to join the app.

Apart from speaking to him directly, of course. 

[𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬?]

>>[𝐘𝐄𝐒]

After a momentary delay, the screen loads into a messaging interface, allowing you to see what Isaac sent you and respond to him directly.  

You stare at the messages without blinking, just taking it all in. So, there really are people like him out there, who use these apps for reasons other than seeking companionship. It sounds like he’s not too interested in dating for real, but his parents are putting a lot of pressure on him, so he just wants an escape. Honestly, you can’t blame him for it. Your parents were overbearing for the better portion of your life—even now, as an adult—so you can understand just how suffocating it gets at times.

All of a sudden, you don’t feel too bad about accepting the job. It doesn’t feel like exploitation in the slightest. In fact, you’d be helping someone resolve a frustration situation, while getting paid in the process. It actually sounds like it could be rather fulfilling. 

More importantly, you decided to be more confident and try something new. You refuse to back out now. 

You stare at the messages without blinking, just taking it all in. So, there really are people like him out there, who use these apps for reasons other than seeking companionship. It sounds like he’s not too interested in dating for real, but his parents are putting a lot of pressure on him, so he just wants an escape. Honestly, you can’t blame him for it. Your parents were overbearing for the better portion of your life—even now, as an adult—so you can understand just how suffocating it gets at times. 

All of a sudden, you don’t feel too bad about accepting the job. It doesn’t feel like exploitation in the slightest. In fact, you’d be helping someone resolve a frustration situation, while getting paid in the process. It actually sounds like it could be rather fulfilling. 

More importantly, you decided to be more confident and try something new. You refuse to back out now. 

[𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞]:

You’re admittedly a bit nervous, especially since you want to do a good job and avoid letting him down, but mostly, you’re feeling excited. All of this is uncharted territory for you, after all. Never in a million years would you have imagined taking on a job like this. 

And you really shouldn’t have.

You don’t know it yet, but this will be the cause of many, many regrets. 

Shit. I’m starting to have second thoughts. 

Even now, you still can’t believe you’re really going through with this. After talking to Isaac and ironing out the finer details, you agreed to join him for a family gathering and pose as his girlfriend. You expected for him to have quite a few requests, but luckily, he seems pretty laid back about the whole thing. The better portion of your conversation was spent on getting your stories straight so as not to incur any suspicion, and since you’ve always been a good student and a hard worker, you promptly memorized everything there was to know. 

And now, it’s finally time to put this plan in motion. 

“Hey,” Isaac greets. “[Name], right?”

It’s the evening, since his parents are hosting a dinner party. The event is supposed to be pretty casual, but you still dressed up semi-formal in the hopes of making a good impression. He never explicitly mentioned how strict his parents are, but since they’ve been on his case about getting a girlfriend, it never hurts to go the extra mile. 

"Hi, Isaac,” you smile. “It’s so nice to meet you.” 

“You, too,” he nods. He’s considerably taller than you, and every bit as handsome as his picture suggested. Unless his personality is god-awful (which you probably would’ve picked up on after messaging him for so long), you’ve got a good feeling that most girls would be interested in him.

Still, everyone is different. He might have really high standards, or maybe he wants to focus on his studies, or perhaps it’s just a case of having never met the right person. Whatever the reason may be, his parents shouldn’t be pressuring him to date someone, and if you have the means to help him out, you’ll happily do it. 

“You look really nice,” Isaac says. He tilts his head to the side. “I hope you didn’t feel like you had to dress up to impress anyone. The most important part is that they believe I’m seeing someone so that they finally ease up a bit.” 

“Oh, I just did this for my own peace of mind,” you reassure. “I made sure to memorize everything you told me in advance, so I’m confident I can convince them that we’re the real deal. Even though this is technically my first day on the job… I promise not to let you down.” 

You blush, feeling rather flustered. The idea of being someone’s hired girlfriend is still a lot to wrap your head around, and you certainly don’t want to make empty promises, but you have every intention of giving it your best shot. Isaac is in a stressful situation, and you’re resolved to do whatever you can to fix it. 

“Can’t wait to get this over with,” Isaac sighs. He opens the passenger door and gestures for you to step inside the car. “Don’t worry. I know you might be feeling a bit uneasy, but I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything like that. I won’t hold it against you if you have 911 ready on speed dial until we get to my parents’ house.” 

“I trust you,” you insist. “I’ve heard good things about this app, and it sounds like they take safety seriously. They’ve got your information in their system, after all. Plus, I can tell that you’re a nice guy. It’s just a gut feeling.”

“I appreciate it,” he smiles. “Anyways… I guess I’ve stalled for long enough. You can probably tell that I really don’t feel like going. But the sooner I get them off my back, the better.” 

“I’ll be the best girlfriend you can ask for,” you beam. 

It’s a promise to him, but also to yourself. You are committed to taking this new job seriously, and for the rest of the evening, you will do whatever it takes to blend into the role that’s been thrust upon you. There’s no reason to get worked up. At the end of the day, all of this is pretend. It won’t be anywhere near as complicated as a real relationship.

Right?

story masterlist | next

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🦋 main masterlist ♡ character appearances

[daenerysaizie]

Memes for my upcoming fic series about MK1 x Targaryen!Reader.

Chapter 1, summary:

[fuseandmerge]

most sought-after gal in the wasteland

[devotedlypinkpeanut]

Love us as much as we love you — part 1

Summary: Y/n is a professor who spends a night with four men, unaware that they are students at the university where she is about to teach. These four students, known as the Black Apollos, rule Ravenridge School. Wealthy, arrogant, and violent, they instill terror wherever they go. Through this one-night encounter, they gain leverage over her that they will use as they please. This Halloween month, she and other students are invited to celebrate at their mansion. What will happen to her?

PAIRING: Non-idols of ENHYPEN’s hyung line x female reader

GENRE: 18+ (MDNI), adulthood, reverse harem, teacher/student.

Warning : manipulation, psychological violence, physical violence, blood, blood kink, spitting, spanking, bondage, blackmail, intimidation, harassment, threats, student/teacher relationship, fighting, jealousy, dark atmosphere, insults, public humiliation, mental domination, body control, forced consent, confinement, dangerous seduction, domination, double play, emotional dependency, mental torture, physical constraints, extortion, abuse of power, degradation, erotic pain, double penetration, anal sex, cigarette consumption, oral sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, BDSM, fetishism, vaginal penetration, submission practices, non-consensual acts, acts in public places, mental domination, sexual humiliation.

Number of words : 36k

Hey everyone, feel free to like, comment, and share if you enjoy! Your support means a lot!

⤑ Main Masterlist — Series Masterlist | Final Chapter ⇢

“You’re a filthy slut, aren’t you, Y/n?” Heeseung’s voice echoes in the empty classroom, imbued with a mischievous lightness that vibrates the air around you. He utters this line with a cruel amusement, his gaze sparkling with palpable malice. Every word he speaks feels like a sharp blade, slicing through the already electric tension that hangs between you. He approaches you with calculated slowness, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his nonchalant movements concealing an underlying threat. He circles your desk like a predator toying with its prey, and his smirking smile reveals the satisfaction he derives from your apparent submission.

“Or should I say, professor?” His voice softens slightly, but the shadow of irony lingers. “But tell me, do you deserve it, you little bitch?” He positions himself right in front of you, his imposing stature dominating the space as he leans against your desk. A disdainful smile stretches across his lips as you shoot him a dark look, filled with a mix of anger and desire you dare not admit.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, feigning indignation, but a mocking glint shines in his eyes. He leans closer to you, his warm, spicy breath brushing against your skin, sending shivers through every fiber of your being. “Don’t tell me you don’t agree with my words?” His words, whispered like a caress, penetrate deep within you. Rage bubbles in your veins, but a part of you feels inexplicably drawn to this dangerous game.

Suddenly, without warning, he violently yanks your hair, a brutal motion that elicits a grunt of pain from you. You try to break free, clawing at the air in a survival instinct, but he only tightens his grip, his expression darkening with unhealthy satisfaction. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, professor. You shouldn’t annoy me more than I already am, right?” His tone is both mocking and possessive, sending a chill of anxiety and excitement down your spine. He pulls even harder on your hair, exposing your delicate neck, and you feel burning tears of humiliation welling in your eyes. In this moment, you are both vulnerable and entranced, feeling smaller under his grasp, reduced to an object of his desire.

“Now tell me, professor, you’re a filthy whore, a slut who has slept with four of her students without any shame or remorse. All this solely to satisfy your desire.” Each word he utters echoes in the air, like a whip crack. His words are like arrows, piercing your facade of control. He leans close to your ear, whispering these words like an obscene secret, a shared delight. His warm, fragrant breath brushes against your skin, and he nibbles on your earlobe, licking it with a calculated slowness that electrifies you and makes you tremble with anticipation. The mix of pain and excitement blinds you, and you almost cry, the urge to protest stuck in your throat.

“Like the needy whore you are, you loved it, you wanted more, always so much more, because you’re made for our cocks. One is never enough for you, is it, treasure?” His lips glide along your neck, licking, sucking, and nibbling your skin, marking every inch with feverish obsession. He is possessive, and this reality sends chills down your spine with fear and desire. Each kiss, each bite is a promise of ecstasy and pain, and you feel the imminence of your fall, drawn towards the abyss of his depravity.

He violently yanks your hair, lifting you from your chair and slamming you against your desk. You let out a gasp of pain, stifling it by biting your lips until they bleed. “Don’t want to talk, treasure? Then I’ll make you scream like the slut you are.” Heeseung chuckles, his laughter resonating like a sinister echo in the room. He pushes you further into your desk, making you feel a sharp pain in your belly and ribs. The furniture digs into your flesh, but he doesn’t care about your suffering; he only seeks to possess you. He slowly lifts your skirt, exposing your soft skin to his ravenous gaze. You moan in pain, trying to pull away, but he doesn’t allow it, his hand maintaining total control over your body. “I’m going to make you scream, and every corner of this school will hear how much of a whore you are, my personal slut. You’d better count, or you’ll regret it.” His voice is a delightfully cruel threat as he lets all his weight press down on your back, making you feel every ounce of his dominance.

Heeseung grabs your wrists, sliding them behind your back, holding them firmly between his fingers, keeping you pinned against the table. His eyes revel in your pain as he caresses your ass with deceptive softness, a shocking contrast to his brutal grip. He drops his hand on your cold cheek, burning with pain, and you let out a small moan, your sensations heightened by the struggle you’re fighting to free yourself. Your body twists slightly, trying to pull away from him, but he disregards your movement, bringing his hand down on your ass with deliberate force, making you scream in pain as a shiver of excitement courses through your body.

“I told you to count, didn’t I?” he says with a cold anger laced with pleasure in his voice, gripping your right cheek with brutal strength. His nails dig into your flesh, blood begins to flow, and the pain electrifies you as you feel an oddly delicious warmth. He watches the blood flow onto the floor, a satisfied smile forming on his lips as he brings his bloodied fingers to his mouth to lick them, letting out a moan of pleasure, savoring every drop of your suffering.

“Tw—Two.” Your voice trembles, and tears blur your vision. Pain oppresses you, and you writhe, desperately trying to break free, but nothing works. He is stronger than you, and he revels in your submission, in your weakness. Every scream, every moan strengthens his power over you.

“That’s it, my love, I’m so proud of you.” His hand caresses your wounded ass, spreading your blood over it. His voice sends a pleasurable shiver through your entire body, all the way to your lower belly. He notices how your body reacts to his praise, a sly smile forming on his face. “You love compliments, don’t you, treasure?”

“That’s not true!” You try to deny it, but your excitement betrays you, and you feel a flush of shame creep over your cheeks.

Heeseung kneels behind you, his gaze burning with desire and malice, as if he knows exactly what you’re feeling. His fingers slowly glide over the fabric of your panties, already completely ruined and soaked with your excitement. A satisfied smile spreads across his lips, the expression of a man who knows he has power over you. “Are you sure, treasure? That’s not what I feel,” he murmurs, his voice laced with mockery, each word a delicious poison that ignites you from within.

He slides his finger through the damp fabric, brushing against your femininity with unbearable slowness. The shiver that runs through your body makes you tremble against the desk, unable to control your reactions. A pathetic moan escapes your lips, revealing just how entranced you are by his touch. “Damn, you’re completely soaked for me,” he says, his tone filled with disdain and desire. “You liked it as much as I did, my love. You can’t fool me.”

With a sudden, unannounced gesture, he tears the delicate fabric, exposing your soft, vulnerable skin to the cool air. The thrill of this moment makes your heart race as he plunges a finger into your pussy, exploring your warmth with devouring audacity. You both release a collective moan, a cry of ecstasy mixed with pain, an echo of the dark passion that consumes you.

His finger movements are initially slow, as if he’s taking the time to savor every inch of your body. But as desire rises, he increases the pressure, adding a second finger, sinking deeper. His fingers penetrate your pussy, playing with your plump femininity, exploring it like a field of escape, teasing your sensitivity. The sensation of his fingers rubbing against the walls of your pussy makes you completely lose control, and you struggle to breathe. You know you should fight against this, but each thrust brings you closer to the release you so desperately desire.

“Do you like it, don’t you?” he asks, his voice hoarse and laden with sensuality. His words resonate like a promise of obscene illusions, each syllable bringing you closer to ultimate ecstasy. He mistreats your pussy, urging you to open up even more, to surrender completely to him. Pain intertwines with ecstasy, and you can no longer pretend, losing yourself in the obscenity of his caresses.

He slowly rises from the floor, his fingers sliding out of your pussy, still soaked with your excitement, leaving a shiny trail of moisture on your skin. The room is filled with a heavy atmosphere, charged with unspoken desires and palpable power. He approaches you, his hungry gaze scrutinizing every inch of your body stretched out on the desk.

His fingers, coated with your own pleasure, slowly approach your mouth, a smug smile forming on his lips. You know what he expects. Your eyes shine with anticipation as you open your mouth, your tongue ready to welcome what he offers. His fingers penetrate inside, and you envelop them, your warm, wet mouth greedily absorbing them. You start to suck on them as if they were his cock, your tongue swirling around them, playing, caressing, creating a sensual ballet of pleasure.

He groans, a rough, almost primal sound. “Keep it up, treasure,” he says, his voice heavy with lust and desire. As you take them deeper, you feel tears welling up, slightly choking you, but it’s a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that consumes you. His eyes gleam with a twisted satisfaction as he watches your submission, pressing harder against you, his hips aligning with your body.

Every movement of his fingers drives you mad. You tighten your mouth around them, applying pressure, your saliva dripping down your lips and falling onto your chest. He plunges his fingers deeper into your mouth, his hand moving in a controlled rhythm, and you start to moan, your body responding to the delicious brutality of the situation. A soft gasp escapes your lips, and you feel the thrill of pleasure coursing through you, igniting every fiber of your being.

While you stuff your mouth with his fingers, you begin to grind against him, each movement bringing you a little closer to ecstasy. The friction of your body against his elicits obscene moans, sounds that echo in the room like a reflection of your shared desire. “You’re such a dirty girl, professor,” he whispers, his voice full of disdain and admiration. “You take my fingers like a champion.”

He starts to grind against you more intensely, matching the rhythm of your movements. His hips move with calculated precision, each thrust rubbing his erection against your thigh. The friction drives you wild with desire, and you begin to moan louder, unable to contain the ecstasy that overwhelms you. The pressure mounts as he continues to push his fingers deeper into your mouth, forcing you to choke even more, submitting further to him.

“Look at you, so submissive, so greedy,” he says with a satisfied smile, his eyes shining with animal desire. “You’re so delicious like this.” He increases the pace, his fingers sliding and plunging even deeper inside you, pushing the limits of your pleasure to the brink. Each movement creates a wave of heat coursing through your body, an explosion of intense sensations, leaving you completely at his mercy. The heat consumes you, a heady mix of pleasure and humiliation enveloping you, leaving you in a frenzy of excitement. You know you’re ready to do anything for him, to abandon all resistance.

He slowly withdraws his fingers from your mouth, slick with your saliva and excitement, holding them up like trophies. “Look how you’ve ruined my fingers with your filthy mouth,” Heeseung sneers, a mixture of disdain and desire in his gaze, the expression of a predator savoring its prey. He shows you the mess, traces of your pleasure glistening on his skin, a clear reflection of your total submission. Then, he grabs you firmly by the jaw, his eyes narrowed in a mix of possessiveness and pleasure, forcing you to hold his intense gaze.

Your heart races, heat flooding your face like a rising tide. Your body is on fire, your burning desires colliding with the reality of the situation. He admires your face, ruined by your own pleasure, drool dripping down your neck, his gaze igniting your yearning to be his, to be consumed by his passion. “Damn! Treasure, I think I can’t hold back anymore,” he murmurs, the tension in his voice escalating with every second. The desire to please him grows within you, an almost irresistible urge that drives you wild.

He releases his grip on your jaw and roughly turns you around, laying you back on the desk. The cold wood against your skin makes you shiver, but that chill is quickly replaced by an insatiable heat that ignites your body, every fiber of your being vibrating with anticipation.

“So don’t stop, I need you, Heeseung…” Your voice trembles with anticipation, each word laden with desire. You spread your legs, exposing your bare, dripping pussy, the liquid dripping onto the desk as a blatant sign of your submission. You feel vulnerable, yet incredibly desirable, fully aware that you are at his mercy, ready to dive into the depths of your desires.

He approaches, his dark eyes fixed on your femininity, a satisfied smile gracing his lips. You feel his warm breath on your skin, a scorching caress that sends shivers of pleasure through you with every inhale, like a prelude to what’s to come. “Look at me,” he says in a hoarse voice, and you comply, your eyes locked onto his, revealing your total submission. You know he sees you as prey, and it drives you wild with desire, excited by the thought of what he might do to you.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers, bringing a finger close to your intimacy. The light touch against your sensitive skin sends a jolt of intense pleasure through you, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan, the excitement gripping you tightly. “So wet and ready for me,” he adds, his tone laced with raw, primal desire. He toys with your excitement, his finger gliding slowly along your sex, deliciously torturing you, leaving you languishing in anticipation, each movement triggering waves of pleasure that threaten to overwhelm you.

“I want you to scream for me,” he says, an arrogant smile on his face. Then, without warning, he suddenly plunges a finger deep inside you, making you gasp with surprise and pleasure. The sensation blindsides you, and you moan, unable to contain the sounds spilling from your mouth, the explosive feeling spreading throughout your being. He doesn’t waste a moment before adding a second finger, relishing the way you squirm, the way your body responds to each thrust, each movement plunging him deeper into your warmth.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse with desire, resonating in the warm, charged air. “So tight, so hungry.” His fingers begin to pump inside you, each movement becoming an intoxicating symphony of pleasure and pain. You feel an intense heat spreading through your entire body, an irresistible need to submit completely to him. The desk creaks under the weight of your untamed passion, and you are entirely at his mercy, lost in this dance of unconfessed desires, like a puppet in his expert hands.

“Give me everything,” he commands, his voice tinged with an overwhelming authority that sends shivers down your spine. You nod, ready to give him all that he desires, to offer every part of your being. Your body lifts against his fingers, seeking to feel him deeper, to satisfy him, as he continues to explore every inch of your intimacy. Moans escape from your lips, each thrust of his fingers amplifying the whirlwind of ecstasy consuming you.

“Give me your cock, Heeseung,” you cry, your voice breaking from the insatiable pleasure crashing over you like a wave, almost frantic with the need to possess him. “Please, I need it so badly.” Your eyes shine with a mix of desperate hope and burning desire as you surrender to this irresistible wave of need that pulls you down, completely at his mercy, ready to do anything to satisfy this man who consumes you.

Heeseung, with a cocky smile, slowly pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you wanting more, a cry of frustration on the tip of your lips. Then, with a provocative air, he slowly undoes his pants, savoring every second of your insatiable impatience. The sound of the fabric sliding against his skin resonates in the empty classroom, heightening the intensity of this forbidden, electrifying moment. He lowers his boxers, revealing his proud, thick erection, ready to take you, a sight that makes your heart race even faster.

“Is this what you want, professor?” he asks with a mocking smile, a glint of challenge shining in his dark eyes. “Do you want me to fuck your brains out here, in front of all these students who might walk in at any moment? Shouldn’t you be a little ashamed?” His words are a burning provocation, a dangerous game that ignites your desire further. He starts to tap his cock against your pussy, pre-cum dripping and sliding down your inner thigh, making you shudder with lust.

“Yes! Heeseung, I need it so badly,” you scream, almost enraged by the desire consuming your body. Every fiber of your being screams for him to fill you, to take you to the edge of oblivion as the tension rises with every passing second. “Don’t make me wait any longer.” In an act of defiance, you lift your hips, trying to draw him in, to connect with him in a way that feels both sweet and cruel.

Heeseung narrows his eyes, amused by your insatiable determination. “You’re so desperate,” he murmurs, his voice sardonic. Then, in a swift, dominant motion, he grips your hips, positioning you as he desires. His gaze is hungry as he leans in, his lips brushing against your delicate ear, a hot breath that makes you shiver. “Are you ready to sacrifice everything for a little pleasure?”

You nod, your heart racing, completely under his spell, aware that each passing second intensifies the desire binding you together. The tension in the air is palpable, a mix of lust and danger, and you know this moment is both beautiful and tragic, a dance on the razor’s edge between pleasure and consequences. He owns you, and you’re ready to do anything to keep him close, even if it means playing with fire.

“So get ready,” he whispers just before penetrating you, his hips pressing against yours, every muscle in your body tensing in a mix of intense pleasure and sweet pain. He enters you with irresistible force, shattering all barriers between you, every muscle in your body tightening in a blend of pleasure and pain. You cling to him, your hand gripping his arm, seeking an anchor as ecstasy takes you away.

He starts with slow, almost hypnotic thrusts, each movement like a sensual melody that envelops you. Each thrust is a burning breath, a languid caress that brushes your skin, leaving you just enough time to prepare for the impending explosion. The electricity spreads in the air, and the tension between you is palpable. His eyes sink into yours, obsessed with every shiver of your body, scrutinizing your expression as you arch under his grip, a declaration of his power.

Then, suddenly, he picks up the pace. His movements become more brutal, more demanding, and passion explodes within him. He holds your hips firmly, his fingers gripping your flesh with a force that leaves marks, indelible proof of his possession. His nails dig into your skin, and a delicious mix of pain and pleasure makes you moan, each thrust a promise of obscene delights. You are lost in this dance where you have become nothing more than an object of desire.

The table you’re laid on vibrates under his embrace. Each movement brings you closer to your limit, and an intense shiver sweeps over you, a desperate need to feel him even deeper, even more intensely. Each thrust reverberates in your body, electrifying you. You are suspended between ecstasy and anguish, a puppet in his hands.

He takes you with such intensity that tears well in your eyes, a mixture of overwhelming pleasure and exquisite pain. This crushing sensation overwhelms you, ready to implode, to dissolve in the ecstasy. The tears flow down your cheeks, warm and salty, leaving traces on your fevered skin. Each drop is a confession of your submission, your total abandonment to this chaotic dance where he is your tormentor and your savior.

“That’s what I want,” he growls, his voice husky, charged with desire. His eyes gleam with a wild light, commanding you not to stifle your moans. He deepens his thrusts, filling you completely, pushing you to your limits. The thrill of pleasure and pain merges in a delicious dance, and you feel an uncontrollable heat engulf every fiber of your being. Time seems to stop, leaving only the two of you, enmeshed in this exquisite stupor.

Your body convulses on the table, every tremor triggering a wave of pleasure, taking you to a place where reality dissolves. The sound of the table hitting the floor mingles with your moans, forming a brutal symphony of uninterrupted passion. You are entirely his, ready to sacrifice everything to taste this ecstasy he offers. Your body becomes his playground, and he does not hesitate to conquer it, exploring you with unparalleled voracity.

As he intensifies his pace, each movement becomes a declaration of conquest, a promise of endless pleasure. “You are mine,” he whispers, his warm breath against your skin, his lips brushing your neck with haunting tenderness. His words wrap around you like a vine, imprisoning you in a whirlwind of devouring desires.

He buries his lips in your neck, his teeth biting your skin with a savage force, provoking a sharp pain mingled with delicious warmth. You feel his scorching breath on your flesh, each exhalation seeming to ignite your skin. Your cries of pleasure resonate, blending with the pounding of your heart, as his hand firmly grips your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, marking you as his property.

Heeseung lifts you, moving you effortlessly, positioning you on the chair in front of your desk. Every fiber of your being is in turmoil as he sits, forcing you to climb on top of him. The moment his hard cock slides into your pussy is an explosion of sensations, a mix of terror and pure pleasure. The penetration is brutal, invasive, filling you in a way that erases all rationality.

He pushes even deeper, making sure to touch every sensitive corner of your insides. His movements are powerful, forcing you to ride him provocatively, each thrust resonating like thunder in your flesh. Your body reacts instinctively, arching and grinding to welcome him even deeper. The outside world disappears as you focus on the ecstasy he gives you, a symphony of obscene pleasure.

The moans escaping your mouth become more desperate, a mix of anguish and rapture as you realize you cannot hold back. Your mouth overflows with saliva, your breath becoming chaotic. Your hands cling to his shoulders, nails digging into his muscular skin, seeking an anchor in this storm of sensations. The muscles of his torso contract under your fingers, and you feel the heat radiating from him, burning and imperious.

Heeseung draws his lips to yours, his eyes shining with desire. He captures your breath before plunging his tongue into your mouth, intertwining his movements with yours provocatively. The way he teases you, nipping at your tongue and exploring your mouth with unparalleled savagery makes you shiver. His tongue dances with yours, rubbing against every corner of your mouth, entwining in a sensual struggle as he penetrates you with fiery intensity.

With each thrust, he makes sure to hit that sweet spot you crave the most, his movements becoming more intense, more desperate. You feel like a puppet in his arms, an object of desire that he manipulates at his whim. You are completely his, surrendered to his relentless desire. Your breath becomes chaotic, a blend of sighs and screams, as a wave of warmth engulfs your body, ready to explode.

The sensations become overwhelming, and you feel the orgasm looming on the horizon, a tsunami of pleasure threatening to engulf you. Each thrust is a shockwave reverberating through your body, a perfect blend of pain and pleasure pushing you to the brink of ecstasy. You know you’re on the verge of release, and he knows it too.

He quickens his pace, his thrusts more fierce, more frantic, as if he wants you to feel every inch of him. You cling even tighter to his shoulders, your nails digging deeper into his muscular skin as you try to hold on, but he is too powerful, too dominating. Your moans mingle with his, a symphony of unspoken desires and unquenched pleasures.

At that moment, everything becomes blurry. Pleasure, pain, anguish, and ecstasy merge into a single feeling, an endless spiral of sensations that envelops you completely. You are submerged by an ocean of pleasure, and as the wave of orgasm crashes over you, you scream his name, a cry of despair and jubilation, a silent plea that resonates in the air saturated with desire. In this obscene moment, you know that you belong to him body and soul, that every fiber of your being is devoted to him.

The outside world fades away as you are engulfed by this pleasure. Your heart races, desire consuming you like a raging fire, each pulse resonating in the intimacy of your union. He doesn’t let you go, continuing to take you with animalistic fervor, his powerful and brutal movements causing you to sway even more. The heat rises, your body trembling under each thrust, each push making you lose track of time and space. In this mix of sensations and emotions, you realize that you are completely lost in this moment, and that nothing will ever be the same after this.

Heeseung looks at you with a burning intensity, his dark eyes gleaming with palpable desire, a wild fire that consumes you. Each thrust he gives you is both brutal and exquisite, a frantic rhythm that makes every fiber of your being vibrate. His movements are precise, exploiting your sensitivity like a virtuoso, pushing your body to limits you never imagined. Each brush, each caress, each penetration resonates in your flesh, awakening in you unconfessed desires and unexplored sensations.

In this ocean of sensations, you completely lose track of time. He grips your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, leaving marks on your skin, a delicious pain that heightens the excitement. “That’s it, you love it, don’t you?” he whispers, his voice hoarse and deep resonating in your ear, the heat of his breath igniting you even more. The anxiety mixed with pleasure is like a drug, and you realize you’re ready to sacrifice everything for this moment.

Your heart beats faster as he intensifies every thrust, filling you with him at a frenzied pace, leaving you breathless, gasping. You can feel the explosion of pleasure rising within him, a volcano ready to erupt. His eyes, locked on you, shine with a glimmer of challenge, as if he delights in every reaction his body provokes in yours. He is determined to make you feel everything he has to offer, to make you succumb to his darkest desires.

As he approaches his orgasm, each movement becomes more desperate, more charged with energy. His hips collide against yours with such force that you feel like you’re losing your footing, drowning in this flood of ecstasy. The adrenaline pulses through your veins, each thrust amplifying the intensity of your pleasure, making you scream louder and louder, as if the outside world had disappeared. The world around you vanishes; there is only him and you, two souls intertwined in a wild dance of passion and desire.

Heeseung bites your neck one last time, his teeth sinking into your flesh, a shiver of excitement coursing through your entire body. The pain and pleasure blend, creating an almost addictive sensation. “You are mine,” he growls, his gaze alight with a consuming possessiveness, like an animal marking its territory. It’s a promise, a declaration of war against anything that could separate you, and you feel a thrill of excitement race down your spine.

And then, in one last effort, he climaxes inside you, each pulse of his body sending waves of heat that mix with the sweetness of your pleasure. The sensation is electrifying, every drop of him spilling inside you adding to the ecstasy that overwhelms you, a symphony of pleasure and pain resonating in the warm air of the room. The echoes of his orgasm resonate like an obscene melody, a melody of fulfilled desires that seems to haunt the space.

After this surge, he doesn’t release his hold on you. On the contrary, he gently glides his lips over the swollen and flushed skin of your neck, his searing kisses marking every inch with deceptive tenderness, a delectable contrast to the brutality of your encounters. His hands roam your body, tracing trails of heat and desire, lingering on your curves, intensifying every caress, every brush.

You are both covered in sweat, your bodies glistening in the dim light, a living tableau of passion and debauchery. The atmosphere is charged with desire, each breath and each movement creating an obscene melody that lingers in the air, a silent promise of many more moments to come. You know that this night will mark the beginning of a journey from which you can never return, a path paved with desire and danger.

The school hallways were noisy, filled with shrill laughter and furtive whispers, a cacophony that seemed to mock your loneliness. You walked, your arms laden with thick books and loose papers, a crushing ton of work weighing on your shoulders. The ground, cold and rough, echoed under your feet, but you focused on your destination, your classroom, where you could finally be free of this burden. However, you had barely crossed the threshold of a deserted hallway when a familiar figure approached you with disconcerting confidence.

It was Jeong Jaehyun, a student in your class, known for his arrogant smile and piercing gaze. He had barely broken away from his group of friends when he rushed towards you, a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes were shining with a mischievous glint, like a predator stalking its prey. You felt a wave of disgust rise within you, but you tried to keep a straight face.

“Professor, can I ask you a question?” His voice was smooth, almost honeyed, as he looked you up and down with a disturbing intensity. His gaze was a burning fire, sliding over your body, lingering on your curves, and it made you feel sick. But you hid it behind a mask of calm.

“Yes, Mr. Jeong, what can I do for you?” you asked, forcing a polite smile, though your stomach knotted in revulsion.

“I was wondering…” he began, stepping closer, his tone dropping to a whisper. “If you would mind giving me some more… intimate lessons on the human body, in a more private place.” He stepped forward, his voice almost a whisper, as he stared at your chest with a revealing greed. A shiver of anxiety ran through you as you instinctively lifted the papers to block his view, trying to shield yourself from his perverted gaze.

“What?” you asked, mouth agape, shock and outrage gripping you. Anger swelled inside you, but it was already too late. You tried to back away, to escape his hold, but he grabbed your arm with brutal force, pulling you towards him. The books fell to the floor with a thud, drawing the attention of the students, who watched the scene with mixed expressions of curiosity and disgust. “What do you think you’re doing? Let me go right now,” you growled, your voice shaking with anguish, but he didn’t release his hold, his defiant smile widening.

“Come on, stop being a goody two-shoes. We all know that no teacher has ever attended a Black Apollo Halloween party, but you’re going, right? It’s weird, right?” Jaehyun stated mockingly, his arm holding you captive, crushing your arm with incredible force that made you whimper. The pain was throbbing, but he didn’t seem to care, his satisfaction contorting his face.

“We all know you fuck them, so why not do it with me? I want to mark that pretty body, make you scream with pleasure. Don’t be mean, professor, after all, your job is to teach us everything, right?” His words slid out like venom, each syllable a humiliation, a dull threat. His free hand gripped your jaw, forcing your gaze to meet his. Tears welled up in your eyes, hot and humiliating, as you struggled against his hold.

“Come on, don’t cry, professor, save it for later—”

“What the hell are you doing, asshole? Let her go!” Sunghoon burst forth, visible fury marking his face. His fists were clenched, jaw clenched, his gaze burning with anger at seeing another man dare to touch you like that. An electric tension coursed through the air, palpable and menacing, as Sunghoon walked towards you, a storm in his eyes.

“Sunghoon, don’t you want to share this one with us too? Remember the good old days when you four shared your sluts with the whole school?” Jaehyun snickered, his hand sliding around your neck, forcing you to look at him, to see his satisfied smile. “How about we do this again? It’s not like this slut is special, right?” His laughter echoed in your ears, making you shudder in disgust, a raw humiliation that paralyzed you.

Sunghoon's rage erupted like a storm. With a violent gesture, he pulled you out of Jaehyun's grip, making you take a step back, then, with lightning speed, he grabbed Jaehyun by the t-shirt, pinning him forcefully against the wall. The shocked gasps of the students mingled with the ambient tension, but none of them dared to intervene. Faced with the brutality of one of the Black Apollos, they preferred to remain spectators, fearing reprisals.

“You little prick, you think you can get away with anything because of your father’s lowly position, but today, it’s over. Your father, you and your entire family, you’re finished,” Sunghoon said through gritted teeth, his voice a slick threat, his eyes blazing with rage. He tightened his fingers around Jaehyun’s neck, the fury making him almost unrecognizable, a demon ready to strike.

“Mr. Park, release him right now,” you said sharply, stepping closer to him, placing a hand on his in a desperate attempt to calm him down. He glared at you, maintaining his hold, but seeing your desperate expression, he finally released Jaehyun with an unsatisfied grunt.

“Listen to your bitch, it’s better, you son of a bitch,” Jaehyun spat, his gaze filled with hatred, the smile on his lips a taunt.

In an instant, Sunghoon couldn't contain himself any longer. With a swift movement, he threw a punch at Jaehyun's face, the impact resounding like a clap of thunder. Jaehyun fell to the ground, stunned, his face bruised, but Sunghoon didn't stop there. "What did you just say, asshole? Say it again," he exclaimed, getting on top of him, striking repeatedly, each blow harder than the last. Jaehyun's face covered in blood, but Sunghoon showed no signs of mercy. Rage fueled him, he wanted to destroy this man, make him pay for his audacity, reduce his arrogance to nothing.

Your heart was pounding, gasping in horror as you watched, unable to look away. The brutality of the punches terrified you, and you called for help, but even the students around you seemed frozen, petrified by the violence unleashed before them. Jaehyun's blood was flowing, mixing with the dust on the floor, splattering the wall, your eyes widening at the horror. Each punch Sunghoon threw sounded like a gunshot, vibrating the air around you, as his bloodied fists bore witness to the brutality of his act.

“Sunghoon, please release him,” you tried to say, but your voice was shaking, filled with anguish and helplessness. You desperately tried to reason with him, but he was disconnected from reality, a bloodthirsty beast. Jake, watching the scene with growing concern, came closer, trying to assess the situation while giving you a sympathetic look. “Jake, please do something— Sunghoon is…” Your voice choked as you tried to turn away, but the sound of punches, Jaehyun’s cries of pain, rooted you to the spot.

Jake, aware of your distress, sought to comfort you, but also knew he had to intervene. He walked over to Sunghoon, gripping his shoulders tightly. In a low voice, he whispered something in his ear. Sunghoon then turned to you, but he was only met with your trembling back, and he could hear the sobs you were suppressing. With one last hateful look at Jaehyun, he stood up, his anger at its peak, his fist still clenched.

“Take care of her, Jake, she needs you,” Sunghoon ordered, walking away from the scene as he pulled out a cigarette, his hands shaking with rage, struggling to light it. The smell of tobacco and blood hung in the air, a macabre melody of despair.

“What the hell are you doing here, Y/n? I don’t need you lecturing me,” Sunghoon spat, his raspy voice echoing through the empty staircase, laced with barely concealed contempt. Smoke drifted slowly from his mouth, swirling through the stagnant air like a looming shadow. His gaze, as sharp as a blade, pierced you with its darkness, a silent threat intensifying with every beat of your heart. He stared at you like a predator stalking its prey—still but ready to strike at any moment. Sitting nonchalantly on the top step, he crushed his cigarette under his heel, a cold smile barely forming on his lips, hinting at something sinister.

“I’m not here to lecture you. Show me your hands,” you retorted, your voice harsher than you’d intended, holding out your hand toward him with determination. Inside, your anxiety soared—you hoped he’d obey, hoped he’d let you see how bad it was. But he didn’t move, his cold indifference driving you mad. Your heart pounded harder, fear and anger swirling together in a storm. Your hands trembled slightly, and you decided to act.

Without waiting, you grabbed his hand abruptly, your fingers wrapping around his, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours—a warmth that contrasted with the freezing atmosphere surrounding you. You dropped to your knees beside him, opening the first-aid kit quickly, determined to disinfect the cuts despite his provocations. Every second spent next to him made you realize just how terrifying and captivating he was at the same time.

He stayed still, his eyes locked on you, weighing heavily. “Why are you doing this? Why waste your time on me? I’m not even worth anything,” he muttered bitterly, his words cutting through your heart. But you refused to give in to pity. He suddenly yanked his hand from yours, breaking the contact, and stared at you intensely. “You should’ve stayed with Jake, not come after me. You’re so stupid.” He laughed, the mocking sound slicing through the stairwell like a blade. Yet, you knew that laugh was a mask. Behind that icy exterior, something else was simmering—satisfaction, a flicker in his eyes that no one else could see. He was glad you were there, and he knew it as well as you did.

“Cut the crap, Park, and let me take care of you,” you growled through clenched teeth, your voice trembling with anger you could no longer contain. You tried to grab his hands again, but he stubbornly kept them at his sides, refusing to give in. His resistance pushed you to the edge, frustration boiling inside you. The adrenaline surged through your veins, and before you could think, you shoved him back hard, forcing him to fall heavily onto the floor. His back hit the step with a dull thud, but he didn’t flinch. His eyes, however, gleamed with a new light—darker, more intense, as if he welcomed the challenge.

“Look what you’re making me do,” you hissed, your eyes blazing with defiance as you straddled him, your legs on either side of his hips. The closeness between your bodies made the air thicker, each breath harder to take. He looked up at you, his face half-hidden in the shadows, but you could feel the desire burning behind his dark pupils, the tension between you becoming unbearable, every beat of his heart thudding against yours.

“You should’ve never come here, bunny,” he whispered, his tone suddenly deeper, almost threatening. His hands slid slowly onto your thighs, squeezing your flesh with brutal, possessive force. A shiver ran down your spine, and you couldn’t hide your body’s instinctive reaction to his touch. Every brush of his skin against yours ignited a fire you couldn’t extinguish—a flicker of desire you couldn’t ignore. “Now that you’re here, you’re mine. Until I decide to let you go. You should’ve stayed with Jake, you stupid little girl.” His words were crude, brutal, but he wasn’t just speaking. With a swift, calculated movement, he flipped you under him, his weight pinning you to the ground with relentless force. He dominated you completely, and you felt the air leave your lungs under the pressure of his body, the heat of his skin smothering yours.

“Park, you shouldn’t be doing this. I’m your teacher, remember?” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, but it wavered under the weight of the situation, the intensity of his gaze and his body overwhelming you. Your hips shifted instinctively, struggling to escape his grip, but every movement only increased the friction between your bodies, intensifying the suffocating heat surrounding you. Each second beneath him made your heart race faster, the desperation to escape mixing with a burning anticipation.

“We already fucked, Miss, and your stupid title isn’t going to stop me,” he sneered, his gaze growing fiercer, his hands wandering slowly across your body, as if marking every inch. You could feel his fingers explore every part of your skin, awakening sensations you thought you could control. “But this time, it’s going to be different. Very different. I’ll fuck you with that bastard’s blood still on my hands, and you won’t have a choice but to take it—every bit of it, whether you want to or not. Got it, bunny?” His words hit like blows—brutal and uncompromising—and you felt your body tense under their weight. He held you captive, forcing you to submit to his devastating desire. You were at his mercy, and despite the fear consuming you, a shiver of excitement coursed through you, an insatiable need to give in.

“You don’t have a choice, bunny,” he continued, a twisted smile curling his lips, a promise of both pleasure and pain. He grabbed your wrists roughly, pinning them above your head, leaving you completely vulnerable. With expert ease, he unbuckled his belt in one swift motion, wrapping it tightly around your bound wrists. The leather bit into your skin, cutting off almost all circulation, but you no longer cared. The satisfied smirk on his face made your blood boil with rage—and yet, the desire within you grew stronger, uncontrollable. Each second he maintained that pressure over you amplified your craving for him, creating an electric tension in the air.

“I want to hear you scream my name, so that bastard knows I’m the only one who can fuck you this hard, the only one who can fill every desperate hole in your body.” He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a cruel tease, never quite kissing you. Your breath was ragged, your body aflame, every nerve taut with anticipation, with the frustration he was inflicting on you. He was playing with you, controlling you entirely, and you felt like you were about to burst under the unbearable tension.

“I thought my bunny didn’t want this,” he mocked, his voice a poisonous whisper as his fingers trailed slowly down your neck, leaving a burning path along your skin. His hands glided lower, barely brushing over your breasts before pulling away, leaving you gasping, desperate for more. He knew exactly what he was doing, and you were powerless to resist, your body betraying you at every turn. Inside, you battled between desire and hatred, between rage and submission—a fight you knew you’d already lost.

“I’m yours, Sunghoon. I belong to you,” you finally whispered, your voice a broken breath, knowing those words were your only way out—the only way to end this perfectly orchestrated torment. Sunghoon’s eyes lit up, a satisfied grin spreading across his lips, a gleam of triumph shining in his gaze. He had won. He always did.

He brought his face closer to yours, his gaze locked on yours like a predator observing its prey. His smirk was a mix of irony and desire, and you knew he wasn’t trying to be gentle. When his mouth neared yours, the air grew heavy, saturated with tension and unspoken promises.

Without a word, he leaned in, his tongue slowly emerging to lick your lower lip. The contact was electrifying, a shiver coursing through your body like lightning. That simple gesture made you moan, a sound that echoed both desire and surprise. Instinctively, you sought to get closer, pressing your chest against his, the heat of your need undeniable. His mocking laugh mixed with your breath, a dangerous melody that made your head spin.

Then, with a sudden burst of hunger, he captured your lips with greedy violence. The kiss was immediately wild, his lips crashing into yours with brutal force, blending passion with possessiveness. His mouth was like fire, scorching and insatiable, each movement resonating throughout your body. His tongue invaded your mouth, exploring with irresistible fervor, as if he wanted to consume you whole.

Each stroke of his tongue was both a caress and a claim. He wasn’t just kissing you—he was devouring you, every press of his lips driving you deeper into an abyss of insatiable desire. You could taste his mouth, faintly metallic, a blend of adrenaline and danger that only heightened the thrill surging between you. His hands, stained with blood, wandered across your skin, leaving burning traces in their wake. They roamed along your waist, sliding up your ribs, pausing to pinch your flesh as if he wanted to mark you, make you his.

His grip was both possessive and gentle, the acrid scent of blood mingling with his musky cologne. He held you against him, his body pressing into yours, making every breath difficult. The heat radiating from him was overwhelming, but instead of fear, it made you crave more. Every movement you made, every sigh that escaped your lips only stoked his desire, and he responded with feral intensity.

The kiss grew rougher, pleasure blending with pain, every bite on your lips, every rough stroke of his tongue sparking a visceral reaction in you. Thinking became impossible; there was only feeling, each sensation heightened to the extreme. His deep, hoarse laughter echoed in your mind, every sound a declaration of his power over you.

Then, in a swift motion, he broke the kiss, leaving a string of saliva connecting your lips, his breath ragged and uneven. He stared at you with unsettling intensity, his dark eyes glowing with a wild gleam. The closeness of your bodies made the air heavy, every breath a struggle. His hands reclaimed your body, sliding over your skin with devastating certainty, making you feel both vulnerable and desirable.

“You’re mine,” he whispered in a hoarse, almost possessive voice, and you knew he wasn’t joking. Passion, violence, and desire swirled within him, and you were ready to let yourself be swept away by this obscene whirlwind, to succumb to the call of his lips and the heat of his body.

He stared at you intensely, his dark eyes filled with voracious desire, and you felt the heat of his gaze on every inch of your skin. His fingers lingered on your white button-down shirt, caressing it gently as if he were exploring prey. A provocative smile curled his lips, a silent challenge, and he couldn’t resist the invitation.

In one swift, brutal motion, he ripped your shirt open, the sound of fabric tearing echoing like a bell of decadence. Buttons flew in all directions, landing on the floor as silent witnesses to your profane act. You gasped, a melody of excitement and surprise hanging in the air, realizing just how vulnerable you were, exposed to his ravenous gaze.

“Sunghoon!” you growled angrily, your face twisting, but deep inside, a shiver of anticipation ran through you.

“Bunny, that was awkward,” he murmured, his husky voice betraying his mischievous amusement. He began parting your shirt, gradually revealing your chest. His fingers glided slowly, and you shivered under his touch, a wave of desire pulsing through your body. The black lace of your bra highlighted every curve, accentuating the display before him.

He paused for a moment, his gaze lost in the sight of your silhouette. He couldn’t completely remove your shirt—your hands were tied with his belt—but that only fueled his desire. He swallowed slowly, licking his lips as he admired your chest, wrapped in the sensual black lace.

“Fuck, professor, you’re such a tease, and you’ve got the body of a slut,” he murmured, his soft voice dripping with palpable obscenity. His words fell like drops of venom on your skin, making you shiver with both pleasure and disgust.

Lying on the cold stairs of the school, where anyone could see you, adrenaline surged through your veins. The idea that someone might walk in at any moment both excited and frightened you. Sunghoon relished the thought; he wanted to display your vulnerability, to prove to all those bastards that only he and his three best friends could make you this way—submissive and eager, desperate for their touch.

“Look how beautiful you are,” he said, bringing his fingers to your skin, barely brushing it. Each touch was a promise of what could follow. A shiver of anticipation ran through you as his hand drifted over the lace, caressing your body with a searing possessiveness.

“No one else can touch you like this,” he whispered, his voice growing more intense, more urgent. “You’re mine, and mine alone.” His words were a sweet poison, a mix of dominance and desire. Your heart raced at the thought of what he might do to you. He leaned closer, his warm breath brushing against your skin, and you realized the line between anger and desire was fading.

He placed a hand around your throat, his fingers tightening gently, but never enough to choke. It was delicate control, a dance between submission and domination. His eyes never left yours, and in them, you saw the shadow of a delicious threat. He leaned in even closer, his lips grazing your ear. “Let go, professor. I want you to feel every second.”

“You’re so beautiful, so desirable,” he murmured with an intensity that made you lose control. His hand slid slowly down your stomach, exploring every curve, every hollow. The heat of his touch sent a wave of desire surging through you, an irresistible pulse.

“I’ll show you how much you can belong to me,” he continued, his voice low and filled with desperate need. His hands explored your body with devastating confidence, tracing fiery paths along your skin. He leaned in to whisper again, “You have no idea what I want to do to you.”

He bent down slowly, his eyes locked on your vulnerable form, his warm breath grazing your skin as he brought his lips to your neck. Every movement was calculated, like a predator toying with its prey. He didn’t stop at kisses—he nipped, licked, marking every inch of your flesh as if it were territory to conquer. His breathing grew heavier as he moved lower, his lips drifting from your neck to your collarbone, from your collarbone to your chest, barely skimming your skin, leaving you panting, starving for more.

His large, powerful hands traced invisible lines along your hips, caressing your thighs with agonizing slowness. He knew exactly what he was doing—teasing you, making you crave. His fingers slid under your skirt, rucking it up slightly, then methodically raising it higher, exposing the bare skin of your thighs. The cool air made you shiver, but it was his gaze—burning with possessive desire—that made you feel exposed, naked under his hungry eyes.

His fingers slipped beneath your panties, barely brushing your wetness, driving you mad with impatience, while your pussy was already drenched with desire. “You’re already so wet, and I haven’t even started…” His voice was low, rough, almost an animalistic whisper, soaked in perverse satisfaction.

He crouches down at your hip level, his eyes piercing every inch of your exposed skin. He gently tugs on the fabric of your panties, letting the elastic snap against your sensitive skin—a reminder of the total control he has over you. Then, with a cruel smile, he slides a finger under the fabric, barely grazing your warmth, giving you only a tiny taste of the pleasure he’s deliberately holding back. “Look at you, already soaked… Pathetic.”

Without another word, he yanks your panties off in a brutal motion, sliding them down your legs. But instead of letting them drop, he presses them against his face, inhaling deeply. His nostrils flare with greed, and a low growl escapes his throat. “Fuck… The smell of your pussy drives me crazy.” His voice is hoarse, almost breaking from the raw excitement seeping through every word. He breathes in your panties again, his gaze locked onto yours, savoring the embarrassment written across your face.

He keeps the panties against his nose a few seconds longer, as if imprinting the scent into his memory. “So fucking good…” he murmurs before stuffing them carelessly into his pocket, as if he’s claimed something precious, a filthy trophy. His fingers now trace the bare skin of your thighs, barely brushing you, just enough to send shivers through your body—but not touching where you need it most.

“Hoon…” your voice is barely a whisper, a mix of protest and pleading, but he doesn’t listen. He’s far too focused on his own pleasure, on the thrill he draws from your complete vulnerability.

“Bunny, don’t even think about getting your panties back.” His smile is anything but reassuring—it’s cruel, mocking, and full of dark promises. “Unless you really want to see me angry.” His fingers graze your skin again, dangerously close to your core, never offering the slightest relief. “You’re mine now, and you’ll do exactly what I tell you.” He leans in, his mouth brushing your ear as he whispers, “You don’t have a choice, and you know it.”

You shudder under the weight of his implicit threat, but before you can react, he violently grabs your hair, yanking your head back and exposing your neck, forcing you to look directly into his eyes. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, professor.” His voice is a sharp command, and you feel your body respond despite yourself. Your breathing becomes erratic, your heart pounding wildly, desire and fear intertwining in a toxic dance.

“Hoon… please…” You barely recognize your own voice, weak and cracked from the mix of desire and shame. But he doesn’t let you finish, a wicked grin spreading across his lips.

“What, already begging, Bunny?” He laughs, a cold, mocking laugh that echoes through the room as he releases his grip on your hair. “I knew you were a little slut, but I didn’t think you’d break this quickly.” His fingers drift lower, barely brushing over your soaked core, keeping you on the edge of pleasure. But he pulls his hand away before you can give in to it. “No, no… You haven’t earned that yet.”

“You’re a disobedient little whore, aren’t you?” His dark eyes glimmer with perverse intent. “But you’ll soon learn who’s in charge here.” He shoves you against the wall, his imposing body crushing yours. Then, before you can say anything, he pulls your panties from his pocket, holding them in front of you like a silent warning.

“Open your mouth. Now.” He growls through his teeth, and you hesitate, but he gives you no choice. His hand grips your jaw roughly, forcing your lips apart, and he shoves your panties into your mouth. The damp fabric, soaked with your arousal, presses against your tongue, filling your mouth with a bitter taste—a mix of saliva and desire. “There we go…” His hot breath brushes against your face as he leans in closer, his gaze locked on yours with an unhealthy intensity. “That’s a much better use for that filthy little mouth.” He pushes the fabric deeper with his fingers until you’re forced to bite down on it, your muffled whimpers trapped behind the wet fabric.

He laughs, watching you struggle weakly, your attempts to speak reduced to faint, stifled moans behind the soaked panties. Saliva drips from your lips, sliding down your chin, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Every breath becomes a struggle, every muffled whimper a cruel reminder of your submission.

“Look at you…” he murmurs, his fingers trailing along your cheek, smearing the drool escaping your mouth, before tilting your face up toward him. “So pathetic… so beautiful… completely at my mercy.” He pinches your cheeks between his fingers, making you feel the wet fabric even more, your mouth wide open—exposed and humiliated.

“And you’ll take it all, because you don’t have a choice. You belong to me.” He loosens his grip slightly but keeps his gaze locked on yours. “This is exactly what you deserve…” His voice is almost tender, but there’s a dark undertone beneath it. “Every second of this humiliation.”

“Now, I’m going to fuck you, Bunny, like the filthy slut you are, and you’re going to love every second of it.” His voice is deep, almost animalistic, filled with raw desire. His fingers dig into your arm so hard you know there will be bruises. He yanks you away from the wall with no care, throwing you brutally onto the school stairs. Your body slams against the steps with a loud thud, the sound of your knees hitting the stone echoing in the empty hallway. The pain is sharp and immediate, but you don’t have time to fully feel it before he’s on you again.

He forces you to stay on your knees, your legs trembling, your knees burning against the rough steps. You try to hold onto the stairs, but with your hands tied behind your back, it’s impossible, and his harsh movements throw you off balance. Your wrists are bound so tightly with his belt that you feel the leather biting into your skin.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, running a hand through your hair—the softness of the gesture violently contrasting with the brutality of the situation. Then, suddenly, he yanks your head back with brutal force. A muffled cry escapes you, your mouth stuffed with your panties, preventing you from screaming, speaking, or breathing fully. “Fucking little slut.”

His hand slides down your back, his fingers grazing your body without a hint of tenderness, as if he has no intention of making you feel good. He rips your skirt off without hesitation, leaving your body exposed, vulnerable. “Did you really think I’d go easy on you?” He laughs, his breath ragged against your ear. “No fucking way—you’re here to be fucked.”

He unbuttons his pants in one swift motion, dropping his boxers to free his erection. He doesn’t bother to warn you or check if you’re ready—he doesn’t care. His hands grip your hips so tightly that you feel his nails dig into your flesh. “You’re going to take all of it, Bunny. Every fucking inch.”

With one brutal thrust, he slams into you. There’s no waiting, no gentleness—just the violence of the first thrust, forcing you to adjust to his size in an instant. The pain steals your breath, and your scream is muffled by the panties in your mouth. Your body tenses instinctively, but it doesn’t stop him. Instead, he laughs, satisfied by your reaction. “Fuck, you’re so tight… You really thought you could get away from me, huh?”

He yanks your hair again, arching your back even more, and drives deeper into you. His thrusts are feral, brutal, as if he wants to leave a mark inside you, a permanent reminder of this day. “Look at you, on your knees, unable to say a word, just good for being fucked like the bitch you are.” His voice is raspy, each word spoken between ragged breaths of pleasure.

Your face is pressed against the cold, rough steps, the abrasive texture scraping your delicate skin. With every thrust, your body is pushed forward, each movement triggering a sharp wave of pain that radiates through your legs, making every nerve vibrate. Your knees scrape against the steps, an intense burn intensifying with each passing moment, but you’re frozen, unable to move. His hands, powerful and relentless, hold you firmly in place, trapping your body under his control.

You feel a mixture of fear and excitement. The tension is palpable, your heart pounding wildly as he forces you to stay there, submissive to his will. The words that leave his mouth echo like an implacable order: “You’re going to take every fucking inch, and you better not make a sound.” His voice is rough, laced with desire, each syllable a challenge you’re eager to meet.

Sunghoon keeps slamming into you, his thrusts brutal, each one resonating through your body with wild intensity. His movements are fast and chaotic, as if he’s completely losing control, surrendering to the primality of his desires. Each thrust is an explosion of pleasure and pain, pulling you deeper into a whirlwind of contradictory emotions.

Every muscle in your body tenses, gripping around him with fierce intensity, anchoring you to reality while his violent movements leave you barely able to breathe. The brutality electrifies you, each impact sending obscene waves of pleasure that grow stronger with every second. You feel both vulnerable and incredibly alive, as if every thrust affirms your submission but also celebrates your insatiable desire.

His hands, powerful and possessive, grip your waist tightly, the control he exerts over you making you shiver with excitement. The pain becomes a burning caress, a reminder that you are here, entirely his, belonging to him in this savage dance. Every fiber of your being responds to his dominance, a mix of anxiety and pleasure sending you into a trance-like state.

Suddenly, his pace shifts. His thrusts become deeper, harder, forcing you to feel every inch of him inside you. He pounds into you mercilessly, relentlessly. “This is what you need, huh? For someone to remind you of what you really are, just a filthy little slut.” He tightens his grip on your hair, yanking your head back so hard your scalp burns from the tension.

The pressure around your throat becomes unbearable, each second stretching endlessly. You choke, the forced angle flooding you with pain, making your breath short and ragged. Your muffled whimpers struggle through the air, but he hears them, and it only fuels his savage desire. You know he delights in your weakness, that every sound you make feeds his consuming pleasure.

“Yeah… whimper for me, little bunny. Whimper while I wreck you.” His voice reverberates in the space, a blend of softness and menace that sends chills down your spine. Sunghoon doesn’t just dominate you; he bathes in your pain, turning it into a melody that enthralls him. You feel his body against yours, his warmth surrounding you, his musky scent overwhelming your senses, deepening your trance.

The taste of danger and the forbidden stirs something within you, an insatiable desire you can’t ignore. As his hand tightens around your throat, the suffering intertwines with a delicious pleasure. Every stifled moan you let out becomes an offering, a plea that spurs him on. In a surge of madness, you realize you want this—that this blend of pain and ecstasy ignites you like nothing ever has.

He loosens his grip slightly, giving you a brief chance to catch your breath, but just as you begin to feel relief, his hand clamps down again, wrenching a cry from you. “That’s it, my little bunny. Let yourself go.” His words are like strokes against your skin, a promise of dark and unexplored delights. The tension between you is electric, every touch, every gesture amplifying the thrill of the forbidden.

You realize you’re entirely at his mercy, and that’s precisely what makes you tremble. Your body responds to every impulse he provokes, a wild dance between submission and ecstasy. The tears streaming down your cheeks are both from pain and pleasure, bearing witness to your devotion, and you savor them. It’s debauchery, a release, and you’re ready to lose yourself in this carnal obscenity.

He yanks his hand from your hair with brutal force, only to wrap it around your throat. His fingers squeeze with savage strength, evoking a sensation both terrifying and intoxicating. As he begins to tighten his grip, the world around you darkens, your breath strangled. You choke, your body arching under his control, desperately fighting for air, but he doesn’t relent. On the contrary, he tightens his hold, savoring every second of your delicious agony.

His fingers dig deep into your skin, leaving red marks as proof of his authority. You feel your heart race frantically, caught between the pain and the pleasure that now seem inseparable. Each tiny whimper that escapes your lips is a desperate yet thrilling plea. He plays with your suffering, giving you just enough breath to remain conscious and feel every moment of what he’s doing to you.

“That’s right, choke for me… choke while I fuck you.” His voice, hoarse and brimming with desire, resonates like a promise, an invitation to lose yourself in this depravity. His words coil around you, devouring you, fueling the fire burning within. And you realize, with disturbing elation, that you love this. Every surge of pain that floods through you only brings new waves of pleasure.

Your body convulses under him, every muscle taut from the crushing grip on your neck. Heat floods your face, a testament to the mix of fear and excitement coursing through you. Your vision blurs, a halo of darkness creeping in as your desperate need for air transforms into a delicate dance between anguish and pleasure. Silent tears stream down your cheeks, tracing burning paths before falling onto his powerful fingers, tightening around your throat like an invisible chain.

But he shows no mercy. If anything, he revels in it, finding pleasure in your suffering, in your total submission. Every whimper muffled against your underwear is music to his ears, and he keeps going, relentless, tightening his grip with a satisfied grin. Sunghoon’s veins bulge in his neck from the effort, his gaze a blend of dominance and hunger, locked onto you.

Despite the pain, your body responds to his dominance. He forces every fiber of your being to surrender further to him, and you feel an uncontrollable heat stir deep in your core. Your breathing becomes increasingly shallow, each gasp a desperate struggle. Your chest heaves frantically, searching for air, but he holds you firmly, making it clear that this control belongs to both of you—and yet to him alone.

“Fuck, look at you, you’re perfect…” His voice echoes in the charged air, thick with primal desire that makes you shiver. He loosens his grip on your throat slightly, giving you just enough air to gasp frantically. It’s a fleeting reprieve, a moment suspended in time, but you know it’s temporary. Before you can truly feel relief, his grip tightens again, his fingers clamping around your windpipe, depriving you of the oxygen you so desperately need.

Your legs tremble under his weight, every muscle in your body burning. Your knees, scraped raw against the steps, sting with fiery abrasions, but you no longer have the strength to fight. He has all the control. Submission morphs into a trance, a dance between pain and pleasure where you feel both vulnerable and incredibly alive.

Every second stretches, making you aware of every detail. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest, a relentless drumbeat accompanying your struggle for air. He watches your every movement, his dark eyes glimmering with possessiveness. You are both his prey and his treasure, and he knows it. His grip on your throat becomes both an act of domination and a promise of indulgence.

You feel the heat of his body against yours, his breath warm against your skin. In this obscenity, he plays with your limits, testing the strength of your will. Each added pressure on your throat pulls you deeper into a blissful haze, a dance between pain and ecstasy. You know you should fight, that you should break free, but part of you rejoices in this submission. It’s as if every shallow breath, every whimper from you, is an offering, an admission of your dark desires.

He revels in his power over you, and you can’t help but respond to it. The pleasure you feel is unspeakable, yet it’s there, burning and vivid, wrapping around you like a serpent. Your will slowly dissolves, and in this submission, you find a strange freedom. You love it, you want it, and you’re ready to lose yourself entirely in this sea of unleashed desires.

His rhythm grows faster and faster, each thrust shaking you with a savage intensity, pinning you against the cold, hard steps. Your body is drenched in sweat, the heat of your skin contrasting with the stone beneath you. Your face is soaked with tears and saliva, each drop a testament to your complete surrender to this overwhelming passion. You can’t do anything anymore—just endure, letting yourself be swept away by the tide of sensations surrounding you. And he knows it; he feels your submission, and it drives him wild with desire. “Fuck, you’re so good when you’re out of breath like this,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse and filled with satisfaction.

He pushes you even harder against the steps, your knees almost digging into the stone from the force of his body. The pain becomes a kind of pleasure, a confusing blend that vibrates through every fiber of your being. The rough stones remind you of your position, making you feel vulnerable yet incredibly alive. He finally releases his grip on your throat, giving you a brief moment of respite—just enough to gasp for air—before he grabs your hair again. He yanks your head back with a brutal force that makes stars explode behind your eyes, the mixture of pain and excitement sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re gonna take it all, every last drop.” His words resonate like a disturbing promise, and you know he isn’t just talking about himself. Not by a long shot. Every syllable carries weight, a command that urges you to accept your fate. You feel his body press tighter against yours, his musky scent intoxicating you as you remain completely at his mercy.

Sunghoon brings his free hand to your face, a satisfied grin lighting up his expression as he pulls the saliva-soaked panties from your mouth, tossing them carelessly somewhere on the steps like discarded trash. “I wanna hear all those dirty little sounds when you come—don’t hold back,” he says in a rough, animalistic voice. His words hang thick in the air, heavy with tension, as he intensifies his thrusts. Each movement shakes you violently, sending you spiraling into a chaotic storm of sensations. The vibrations of his body against yours drag moans from your throat, escaping uncontrollably.

“Hoon… harder,” you whisper, your voice laced with desperation and need, saliva dripping down your chest as your eyes widen, lost in a sea of pleasure. Every thrust reverberates through your body, each impact filling you with a relentless heat that drowns and disorients you. You hover on the edge between pain and pleasure, every second stretching into agonizing ecstasy.

“You really are a slut,” he sneers, his tone laced with cruel amusement as he grows even more brutal, his pace picking up with a consuming ferocity. He releases his grip on your hair and grabs your bound wrists, holding them firmly behind your back to reinforce your submission and prevent you from escaping. Every motion is a declaration of his dominance, leaving you feeling both vulnerable and needy, every part of you craving him.

His hand glides slowly to your mouth, pushing his fingers inside with a gesture as possessive as it is humiliating. You eagerly take his fingers in your mouth, sucking them hungrily, your saliva coating them as if offering him a sacred tribute. The intensity of the sensations coursing through you is devastating, your tongue wrapping around his fingers, sucking with desperate need. “Fuck, bunny, you take me so well in every one of your holes—so perfect for me,” he groans, his eyes dark with insatiable desire. His words hit you like a drug, intoxicating and igniting you further.

Each stifled moan you release only fuels your arousal. You suck his fingers deeper and harder into your mouth, lost in a blend of pleasure and pain. Every movement of his body against yours is a wave crashing over you, leaving you longing for everything he has to give. The way he possesses you sends shivers through your spine, each thrust making you lose more control over your body as the heat of your impending orgasm begins to consume you.

Sunghoon slowly pulls his fingers from your mouth, dragging his palm over your soft skin, tracing imaginary lines across your chest. Each touch ignites an unbearable heat within you. With calculated precision, he twists the tips of your nipples, tugging violently, leaving slippery trails of your saliva on your skin. The pain is both exquisite and agonizing, each pull sending electric shivers through your body. A strangled moan escapes your lips, a desperate plea for more—more of his attention, more of his desire that wraps around you like a thick fog.

But he doesn’t grant you a moment’s relief. In one swift motion, his saliva-damp hand slips lower, forcing its way between your trembling thighs. His fingers find your clit, brushing it with calculated gentleness that makes your hair stand on end. Then, his touch becomes rougher, pinching and rubbing with increasing brutality. Each caress feels like a whip, awakening an insatiable hunger within you. Your clit, subjected to his relentless attention, amplifies the heat building in your core like a raging fire consuming everything in its path.

“Come for me, bunny,” he growls, his voice thick with a primal promise. His gaze is that of a predator—hungry, eager to devour every part of you. He intensifies the rubbing, his slick fingers driving you further into the abyss of pleasure, pushing you closer to the edge. The anticipation coils inside you like a spring about to snap, your entire body tightening in preparation for release.

Suddenly, the orgasm crashes over you. A guttural cry tears from your throat as your body convulses, your muscles clenching under the overwhelming wave of ecstasy. Time seems to stop, every second stretching into infinity as you surrender to the wild pleasure. But Sunghoon isn’t done—not by a long shot. He doesn’t let you escape so easily. He doubles down, his thrusts becoming more furious, more frantic, each movement driving you to new peaks of pleasure. The orgasm that had begun to fade is reignited, turning into a wild dance between pain and bliss.

He leans in, his lips grazing your skin with a disconcerting tenderness, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. His scent—a mix of musk and sweat—intoxicates you, plunging you deeper into this state of euphoria. You are his toy, and he’s only just begun to play. Each stroke against your clit tears at the boundary between ecstasy and suffering, and you realize you are completely at his mercy, trapped in a whirlwind of brutal and delicious sensations.

“Again,” you whisper, desperate to prolong the moment, eager to explore just how far he can take you. With a predatory smile, Sunghoon answers your plea by increasing the intensity of his movements. Your hips buck, trying to escape the merciless dance of pleasure, but he holds you firmly in place, locking you against him. Each thrust of his body against yours is a reminder that you are prey, a creature of desire under his control.

The thrusts continue, relentless, leaving you breathless and desperate, each push devouring a little more of you. The room fills with the sounds of your moans and the raw noises of your bodies colliding—a symphony of unfiltered pleasure that reverberates through the air. You are caught in a cyclone of sensations, your mind lost in a swirling storm of need, surrendering entirely to the intoxicating rhythm of your connection.

The tension rises again, and you know you’re about to explode once more. His movements become almost frantic, leaving you breathless, desperate, chasing that ultimate moment of release. Reality dissolves, leaving only the raw essence of your connection—a delicious dance of desire, pain, and possession. Sunghoon has turned you into a creature of pleasure, completely dependent on him, and he savors every second you’re at his mercy.

The outside world blurs as you lose yourself in ecstasy, each movement and touch pushing you closer to the edge. You are entirely his, a toy in his hands, and the depth of his desire for you leaves you speechless. Sunghoon is a master, and you are his submissive, ready to abandon everything for him, ready to dive deeper into this obscene and primal world he’s created for the two of you.

Each breath you take is filled with the intensity of his desire. The way he touches you, the way he penetrates you, is a promise of savage pleasure—a silent cry of possession. And just as you’re about to give in, you realize you want it all, over and over again, lost in the whirlwind of sensations slowly consuming you.

With a final, powerful thrust, you both reach a peak of pleasure. A guttural moan escapes your lips, echoing in the warm air of the stairwell. His cum spurts inside you, a burning flood filling your pussy, every drop marking you in an irreversible way. Both of you are out of breath, gasping for air, as the warmth of orgasm envelops your bodies, leaving a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your skin.

He lets his heavy body rest on yours, pressing your back against the step with a primal force. Each breath you take is a struggle—a mixture of excitement and pain—as he sinks deeper into the position. His muscular arms wrap around your waist, his hands exploring every inch of your damp skin, tracing lines of searing desire that make every fiber of your being tremble.

Sunghoon kisses your neck, his hot, wet mouth gliding over your skin, planting feverish kisses as if marking his territory. His tongue lingers on your collarbone, following the curve of your body, sliding between your breasts. Every movement draws you closer to complete submission. He lingers on every sensitive spot, gently nibbling your skin, electrifying you with new sensations as if determined to strip you of all reason.

Each caress is charged with wild passion, exploring the limits of your pleasure. His mouth travels down your body, his tongue tracing sinuous patterns. It pauses on your stomach, gliding around your navel before slowly working its way back up with exquisite slowness. You shiver under his touch, the heat of his breath against your skin making you vibrate from within.

When he finally pulls out of your pussy, a mixture of your cum flows down the stairs, a white, glistening trail that bears witness to your animalistic union. The sight is both filthy and deeply erotic—a visual reminder of your carnal connection. You feel the warm mixture sliding down your thigh, each drop reminding you of the raw passion you shared.

He straightens slightly, his piercing gaze locking onto yours, a wild and possessive gleam in his eyes. “Look at what we’ve done,” he murmurs in a hoarse voice, laced with satisfaction. He savors the moment like a hunter admiring his prize, every drop of cum on your skin a mark of his domination.

With a predatory smile, he leans in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “You have no idea what I’ve got planned for us.” The promise sends a shiver through you, your body still vibrating with echoes of the orgasm. Anticipation rises within you again, a delicious thrill for what’s to come.

He begins to explore your body once more, his hands gliding over your skin, each touch igniting a burning desire. His fingers trail along your thigh, making their way to your core, ready to make you relive that obscene pleasure. You are at his mercy, entirely submerged in the intensity of his desires. Every movement of his body against yours reminds you how deeply bound you are to him, shackled by an insatiable longing.

As the excitement builds once again, you realize you are willing to do anything for him, ready to dive even further into this savage world he has crafted around you. You are his prey, his toy, and you’ve never felt a desire so powerful, so irresistible.

The roof remains silent, barely disturbed by the soft breeze sweeping through, but this tranquility is nothing more than a fragile illusion. You stand there, frozen, your gaze locked on him, your heart pounding against your chest like a trapped animal. Park Jeongseong, sitting nonchalantly at the edge of the roof, doesn’t even bother to look at you. He smokes slowly, each drag lingering in the air like a provocation. That small, insignificant gesture drives you mad with rage. You want him to respect you, to take you seriously, but you know you’ve lost even before starting. His indifference crushes you.

His silhouette is imposing, even in that relaxed posture. With his legs slightly apart and his back curved backward, he seems to own the entire space as if he were its undisputed king. And you? You’re just a mere teacher, pathetic in your attempt to restore some semblance of authority. Your hands tremble slightly at your sides, but you refuse to show it. The slightest sign of weakness would be a victory for him, and you won’t give him that satisfaction.

“It’s forbidden to smoke here.” The words come out sharper than you intended, but your voice quivers slightly. He must hear it, sense it — that insidious doubt creeping into every word you utter. Jeongseong finally turns his head towards you, slowly, as if granting you the bare minimum of attention. His gaze pierces through you, cold, devoid of emotion. Yet behind that mask of indifference, you sense a latent violence, a promise of something far darker.

He stares at you, his eyes trailing lazily over your body, as if appraising every curve, every inch of your skin. Even clothed, you feel exposed, vulnerable. His gaze burns you like a fire, a silent judgment reducing you to prey under his hungry eyes. And what terrifies you the most is that unsettling sensation spreading within you—a shiver running down your spine under his scrutiny. You hate it. You hate this reaction, this sickening warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach.

“It’s also strictly forbidden to have relationships with students.” His smile, though cold, carries heavy insinuations, his lips barely curling, as if every word he speaks is a whip’s lash. There’s a hardness in his voice, a palpable threat hanging in the heavy air between you. He isn’t merely speaking—he’s gauging you, analyzing you, like a predator watching its prey. The cigarette dangles at the edge of his lips, smoke rising lazily, creating an almost hypnotic aura that keeps you hooked.

His dark eyes narrow slightly, sharpening the piercing coldness of his stare. Every feature of his face exudes overwhelming control, a crushing dominance. He knows you’re unsettled, that his authority drives you mad with desire and frustration. The tension between you is electric—a taut wire on which he plays, making the moment even more irresistible.

“I’m your teacher.” Your voice grows stronger, but you feel the tension within you, ready to snap at any moment. Yet he laughs—a low, deep laugh that resonates through the air, wrapping around you like a suffocating web. He openly mocks you, not even bothering to hide it. To him, you’re ridiculous—an insignificant creature trying in vain to appear powerful.

With a sudden motion, he rises, carelessly tossing his cigarette to the ground. He crushes the butt under his shoe with deliberate slowness, his eyes locked onto yours. Every movement is calculated, every gesture a direct challenge to your authority. He approaches with that slow, feline stride, like a predator closing in on its prey. The air thickens with tension, each step echoing in the oppressive silence of the rooftop.

“Teacher?” he murmurs, stopping just inches from you. “Are you sure about that? ’Cause right now, it looks like you’re begging me to fuck you like the dirty little slut you are.” His words hit like a slap—vulgar, cruel. Your heart skips a beat, and disgust washes over you. But what terrifies you most is the involuntary response of your body—the throbbing between your thighs, the tension building uncontrollably within you.

Before you can react, his hand is on you. He grabs your wrist roughly, yanking you against him. Your body crashes into his, and you immediately feel the stark difference between you. He’s massive, every muscle tensed beneath his clothes. His grip is iron, and you realize just how powerless you are against him. You try to pull away, but he tightens his hold.

“Let me go!” you spit, your voice laced with panic. But he only smiles—that smug, condescending smile that makes you want to throw up. His hand slides down your arm, then grips your waist, digging into your flesh with raw possessiveness.

He slams you violently against the wall, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs. Your back hits the concrete, and a dull pain spreads through your body. You try to scream, but he presses his body against yours, leaving you barely enough air to breathe.

“What were you expecting, coming here all alone?” His breath is warm against your ear, carrying the scent of cigarettes mixed with raw desire. “Did you really think I’d leave you alone?” His fingers glide along your neck, sliding down to your cleavage, tracing a burning path on your skin. He toys with the edge of your blouse, tugging slightly at the fabric, revealing just enough skin to make you shiver.

“Stop it!” You try to resist, but your voice cracks under the strain, weak and desperate. His fingers dig deeper into your flesh, and a nauseating wave of heat floods your lower belly. You hate yourself for reacting like this, hate the way your body betrays you every second.

His gaze locks onto yours, his eyes dark as a void. “You can act like a prude all you want, but we both know what you really want.” His lips graze your ear, his voice a whisper, obscene and poisonous. “You want me to take you right here, on this roof, where anyone could see. You want me to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk afterward.” His words cut like knives—sharp, brutal. They tear you apart inside, and yet a twisted part of you responds to every syllable, writhing with desire under his control.

With a swift motion, he rips your blouse open, buttons flying in every direction. The cold air strikes you, leaving you half-naked in front of him, vulnerable, exposed. His eyes roam over your chest with indecent greed. “Look at you, all laid out… It’s pathetic.” A cruel laugh escapes him before he grabs your chin, forcing your head up to meet his gaze. He savors your humiliation, relishing your vulnerability.

His hands grow rougher, gliding over your body with calculated violence. He grabs your breasts through your bra, squeezing with painful force. You stifle a cry, but he doesn’t stop. His gaze remains cold, detached, as if he’s merely toying with an object. His fingers slip beneath the fabric, tugging at your bra until it comes free.

His fingers trace your skin slowly, then wrap around your throat—a cruel, methodical caress, almost sadistic. The pressure is just enough for you to feel the grip tightening, without cutting off your air entirely. You gasp for breath, your lips parting in a desperate attempt to inhale, but each breath becomes a struggle. The world around you starts to fade, leaving only him, your blurred vision focusing on his face, masked in darkness, with that predatory gleam in his eyes.

He forces your chin up, exposing the vulnerable curve of your neck. His warm, heavy breath mingles with yours, creating an unbearable tension between you. “Look at yourself,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough, almost possessive. “You pretend to resist, but your body’s already betraying you. Every inch of you is screaming for me to take you, to burn you to ashes, doll.” His words drip with cruelty, every syllable seeping into your skin like venom. A wave of impotent rage rises in your throat, but it blends with guilty desire—something far more unsettling, a sinister shiver that coils in your belly, deepening your confusion.

His free hand trails down your bare arm, his cold, merciless fingers dragging slowly. He takes his time, savoring each second, until he grabs your waist with a brutal grip, his hold fierce and overwhelming. His fingers dig into your flesh as if he’s trying to mark you, imprint his presence deep within you. The intensity of his touch makes your heart race erratically, and you hate yourself for feeling this primal response. Your breathing grows more erratic, and you want to scream at him to let go, to let you breathe—but your body… your body is a traitor, yielding to this brutal, perverse sensation wrapping around you, swallowing you whole in a cocoon of devouring desire.

“Tell me you don’t like this,” he murmurs, his voice a rough whisper against your ear, his lips grazing your skin like a venomous snake. “Tell me you don’t want me to take you here, against this wall, to fuck you until you’re nothing but a broken mess at my feet.” His hand slides back up to your breast, his fingers wrapping around your flesh with brutal possession. He squeezes hard, without mercy, and a strangled moan escapes your lips. The sound—this mix of frustration and arousal—scorches your cheeks with shame, but the intensity in his gaze makes you falter.

You want to spit in his face, scream that he’s a monster, that you’ll never let him win—but the words remain stuck in your throat, smothered by pain and humiliation. You feel trapped, chained to this unbearable sensation driving you to self-loathing. And he knows it. He sees it—every detail of your body caught in this internal struggle. His eyes gleam with sick satisfaction as he continues to torment you, each movement a new blow to your soul. The pleasure he takes in your suffering only deepens your despair, dragging you further into the darkness he seems to revel in.

“You have this defiant look, but your body knows exactly what it wants,” he says, his hand slowly sliding down your stomach, inching dangerously close to the spot where you know he could completely break you. Every touch is a promise of both pain and pleasure. Your breathing quickens, and panic rises within you like a devastating tide

“You think you can resist me? Is that what you believe?” A sarcastic, cruel laugh escapes him before he forces you to meet his gaze, gripping your jaw with an almost animalistic violence. “No one resists me, doll. No one.”

You try to fight back, but it’s futile. He’s too strong, his grip too tight. He slams you harder against the wall, his hips pressed against yours, locking you in place. His hard, powerful body crushes you, leaving no room to move. The sense of submission, the weight of his desire, crushes every ounce of resistance in you. You are entirely at his mercy, your mind spinning between fear and a disturbing curiosity. Every word he speaks resonates in your head like a sentence, a proclamation of his dominance.

“Look at what you’ve become,” he whispers against your cheek, his lips brushing your skin slowly, provocatively, as if savoring every moment of your defeat. “You’re already mine, you know that. Your little authoritative teacher act won’t change a thing. You’ll end up on your knees, like all the others… broken and obedient. And believe me, doll, you’re going to love it.” His words drip with menace and excitement, the echoes of his power pounding in your heart.

His hand slips even lower, sliding under the hem of your skirt, his grip unrelenting. A wave of horror crashes over you, but you’re completely powerless. He already has you, mind and body. The heat of his body pressed against yours, this suffocating closeness, stirs a confusing desire within you. Your legs tremble under the weight of his presence, and your muscles tighten, unable to hold you up against the force of his total domination.

“Please…” The word escapes in a broken, barely audible breath, and you curse yourself for letting such weakness show. That single whisper, laden with vulnerability, seems to delight him, as if he’s achieved his ultimate goal. His dark, victorious laugh echoes in the room like a macabre melody.

“Please?” he repeats slowly, as if savoring the sound. “You don’t even know what it means to beg yet. But you will. I’ll make you plead like never before. And you’ll love every second of it.” Every word he utters lashes your already weakened mind like a whip.

Jay grabs you suddenly with terrifying violence, like a wild animal out of control. His fingers close around your wrist so tightly you can almost hear your skin tear under the pressure, leaving bright red marks where he grips you. He jerks you sharply, pulling you against him with such force that you lose your balance and slam into his hard chest. Before you can even process what’s happening, his lips are on yours. But it’s not a kiss.

No, it’s an attack.

His lips crush yours with a savage fury, his teeth immediately sinking into your lower lip until it bleeds, tearing a cry of surprise and pain from you. But he doesn’t care. He gives you no reprieve, no time to catch your breath or fight back. His tongue plunges into your mouth like a weapon, seeking to destroy, to break you down with the brutal force of his assault. The taste of your own blood, mixed with his rough saliva, creates a brutal blend of pain and raw desire.

His movements are messy, almost desperate, but relentless. His tongue crashes against yours with a violence that steals your breath, forcing you to yield, to bend under his control. Each deeper thrust makes the air harder to find, leaving you gasping, suffocating under the weight of his dominance. You try to push him away, to make him let go, but his hand clamps violently around your neck, locking you in place. He forces you to feel everything, to endure it all.

His free hand roams roughly over your body, grabbing your hip with such force that you feel his fingers dig deep into your flesh, leaving instant red marks. He’s not just touching you—he’s claiming you. His fingers slide under your skirt with a ripping force, shoving the fabric aside to expose your bare thigh, which he scratches with his nails and grips with inhuman strength. The cold air of the room clashes violently with the overwhelming heat of his touch. His body, hot and unyielding, presses against yours, making you feel every muscle, every erratic beat of his heart.

With a brutal yank, he grabs your hair, forcing your head back to expose your throat. His eyes, dark and clouded with desire, glimmer with something even darker, more savage. There’s nothing human left in his gaze, only a ravenous hunger to reduce you to nothing. His mouth trails down your jaw, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. And then, without warning, he bites. Hard. Too hard. Pain explodes in your neck as his teeth sink into your tender flesh. Your scream is swallowed by the shock, by the sheer force with which he holds you. Your body arches under the assault, a brutal mix of pain, terror, and a burning heat building deep in your core.

You feel the blood trickling slowly from the bite, seeping into the folds of your neck, sticking to your skin. But the sight of it only excites him further. Jay growls against you, a sound primal and animalistic. His lips latch onto the wound, licking the blood with a morbid eagerness. You tremble, lost in the violence of his actions, your body betraying you by responding to the intensity.

There’s no escape. His body crushes you against the wall, every movement reminding you just how completely you are at his mercy. You are trapped between his raw strength and the cold, unyielding wall behind you.

He returns to your mouth, and this time, it’s worse. His kiss is torture. His lips are drenched in blood, and his teeth clash against yours with a brutality you can’t avoid. He splits your lip open once again without remorse, and this time, the blood flows freely between your tangled mouths. He growls against your lips, drinking the mixture of blood and saliva with brutal pleasure. He isn’t kissing you—he’s devouring you. Every movement of his tongue is an invasion, every press of his lips a destruction. You drown under the obscene pain and pleasure he imposes on your body.

His hand moves lower, gripping your thigh roughly and lifting it with inhuman strength to press you even closer to him. You feel the weight of his body against yours, his hard, animalistic desire rubbing against you uncontrollably. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thigh, yanking harshly, forcing your body to bend to his will. You feel trapped, swept away by this wave of brutality and wild desire that overwhelms you. You suffocate under the stifling heat of his closeness, yet your body responds against your will, yielding to every movement, every brutal caress, and every tearing bite.

Blood and saliva mix in your mouths, and Jay seems insatiable. His lips keep returning to your throat, your face, biting, licking, savoring every mark he leaves on you. He humiliates you with his violence, with the way he reduces you to something fragile and vulnerable beneath his relentless hands. But your fragility only excites him more, making him wilder, more ravenous. His growls against your skin grow rougher, more savage, and you feel the suffocating heat of his body pressing into yours.

He bites your lower lip a third time, drawing a pure cry of pain that vanishes into the heavy air. The metallic taste of blood floods your mouths, but he still doesn’t let go. His tongue teases the wound, licking and sucking the blood with an almost animalistic greed. His violence knows no bounds, and you realize he won’t stop until you are completely his, broken under his primal desire.

He bites, licks, and tears at your skin over and over, wrenching cries from you that you can’t hold back. When he finally pulls away, your lips are smeared with blood and saliva, an obscene and wild spectacle. He pants against you, his hot breath caressing your skin, raw from his bites, and his eyes shine with cruel satisfaction, nearly deranged. But he isn’t done—not even close.

Jay grips your shoulder roughly, his hold so tight that the pain radiates through your entire body like a shiver. His fingers dig into your flesh with such intensity that you almost collapse under the pressure. In one merciless move, he forces you to kneel before him, demanding your obedience with no trace of gentleness. Your knees hit the cold, hard rooftop with a painful thud, tearing a cry from you. The sharp sting of pain burns, but the humiliation of the moment stings even deeper, dragging you into a desperate state of submission.

He stares down at you, his gaze dark, wild, and brimming with desire. “Now, I’m going to fuck that pretty little teacher mouth of yours, and you’d better take it all,” he says, his voice rough like shattered glass. His predatory smile reveals white teeth, ready to devour their prey.

He leans toward you, the aura of a hunter surrounding him. His hand slides slowly to your wounded lip, still bleeding, caressing the torn skin with excruciating slowness, his fingers sinking into your flesh with bestial intensity. A moan of pain and pleasure slips from your lips, impossible to suppress. Anticipation and terror twist inside your belly, each second heightening the tension between you.

He chuckles, a dark and suffocating laugh, satisfied with your suffering. “You taste so good,” he murmurs, his voice vibrating with desire. Every movement of his hand is deliberate, cruel. He pulls his bloodied hand away and rubs it against your cheek with perverse delight, marking your skin with his possessiveness. Your wide eyes follow his every move, mesmerized by the horror of the situation.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice a terrifying whisper. Your heart races, caught between fear and fascination. His dark eyes gleam with animal hunger, drowning you in a sea of devouring desire. “I want you to feel every second of this,” he says, a smug smile curling his lips.

Jay leans closer, his mouth mere inches from yours, breathing in your pain and pleasure. The air between you is heavy with tension, and an irresistible heat builds inside you, your body reacting involuntarily to his presence. In one swift motion, he grabs your jaw and forces it open slightly, his brutal fingers pressing into your flesh, making you meet his gaze.

“You’re not going to disappoint me, are you?” His words are both a threat and a command. He watches you with such intensity that you shiver, excitement thick in the air.

“No, Jay, I won’t disappoint you,” you whisper weakly, your voice barely audible. Your wounded lips throb with pain, and the metallic taste of blood still lingers in your mouth. The bleeding slows, but the burning sensation grows stronger, each heartbeat amplifying your suffering.

“Open your mouth wide for me.” He releases your jaw and starts unfastening his pants. Your lips part painfully, and a whimper of discomfort escapes you. He watches the mixture of saliva and blood pooling in your mouth, groaning in satisfaction as he imagines how your throat will stretch and mold around his cock.

When he finally pushes his clothes down to his feet, you salivate at the sight of his hard, flushed length, a bead of pre-cum leaking from the tip.

He slowly brings two fingers to your lower lip, a sadistic smile playing on his face. You know he’s about to make you suffer, yet a part of you burns with desire at the cruel anticipation. With a brutal pinch, he squeezes your wounded lip, forcing fresh blood to spill into your mouth. The metallic taste spreads on your tongue as you whimper, a sharp sound that betrays you. But his dark gaze pins you in place, like prey trapped by its hunter. He relishes your pain, his mocking laughter echoing like a macabre melody in the cold air.

You squirm slightly on the frozen rooftop floor, trying to ease the unbearable tension building between your legs. Every movement seems to ignite an even more ravenous hunger in him, and he leans toward you, a predatory smile stretching across his lips. His fingers, slick with his saliva, approach your parted mouth.

“Stick out your tongue,” he orders, his rough, commanding voice cutting through the night. You hesitate for a moment, but the intensity of his gaze compels your submission. You obey and extend your tongue.

He stares at you intensely before leaning even closer, like a predator about to strike. In one swift motion, he grabs your tongue between his fingers, his nails digging into your tender flesh. A sharp pain floods through you, and you feel blood bead again, mixing with your saliva as he plays with your tongue like a child with a toy. Anxiety paralyzes you, yet somehow, this pain awakens something dark and deep inside you.

A strangled sound escapes your throat, a cry of surprise mixed with pain, as he abruptly pulls his fingers away, giving you barely enough time to catch your breath. Panic overwhelms you, but before you can process what’s happening, he thrusts his cock deep into your throat. The shock is devastating. Every inch of him buries itself in you, reaching the back of your throat and robbing you of breath in a twisted mixture of pleasure and agony.

His cock glides over your tongue, and the tight grip of your throat around him makes you lose all sense of time. Each second stretches into an endless torment, a delicious torture. He starts to move, his rhythm violent, almost animalistic. Each thrust grinds against your injured tongue, torn by his brutal assault. The metallic taste of your blood mingles with his precum, and a wave of heat surges through you, bringing tears to your eyes. But he doesn’t care in the slightest.

He grabs your hair with a savage grip, yanking hard to assert his dominance. He forces your head down, driving himself deeper, as if determined to make you his toy, his instrument of pleasure. Every movement is an act of control, a reminder that you are nothing more than a prop in his filthy fantasy.

“I want you to move your fucking tongue for me, professor, and coat my cock with your blood,” Jay growls, his hoarse voice cutting through the thick tension. His words are harsh commands, leaving no room for refusal. You know you have no choice but to obey, despite the disgust warring with the twisted excitement swelling inside you. He pulls harder on your hair, forcing you to take him fully, turning your mouth into nothing more than a hole for his satisfaction.

Your tongue starts to move against him, gliding and curling around his cock, smearing your blood along his rigid skin. The mixture of pain and submission draws a broken moan from you, a desperate sound that hangs in the air. Tears spill from your eyes, blending with saliva, blood, and precum dripping from your mouth, creating a grotesque mess on your face. Your suffering only fuels his savagery. He doesn’t slow down, continuing to thrust deeper with every stroke. Each push feels like a whip against your tongue, another reminder of your helplessness beneath his insatiable desire.

The scent of your own blood mixes with his musky odor, driving you into a state of hysteria. Anxiety and disgust tangle with an unspoken desire rising within you. He offers you no reprieve; every thrust of his cock shatters your control further, drowning you in a sea of despair and violent satisfaction. Saliva and precum flow down your neck, pooling on your bare chest—each drop a reminder of how completely he owns you, how thoroughly you belong to him in this twisted dance.

You are a living mess, a puppet in his hands, a flesh-and-blood doll at his mercy. And amidst this obscenity, something inside you stirs. A ravenous desire for this brutal and animalistic submission awakens. Pain morphs into ecstasy; each thrust, each movement, deepens your weakness. Somewhere inside, you begin to crave this humiliation, this desperate need to be broken under his control.

With a sadistic smile, Jay brings his free hand to your dripping face. He watches with delight as the mixture of saliva and blood spreads across your skin. His finger dips into the sticky mess before smearing it further, every motion accentuating the chaos he has created.

He doesn’t stop there. He continues to pound into you with beastly force, pushing your throat beyond its limits. The sensation is both excruciating and euphoric, each thrust dragging muffled cries of agony and pleasure from your constricted throat.

With his other hand, he grabs your hair with merciless strength, preventing any attempt at retreat. He pulls you down onto him, forcing you to swallow him to the base, cutting off your breath entirely. The pressure is crushing, and you feel like you’re drowning beneath his dominance. Holding your head firmly against his pelvis, he commands your full submission to his savage desire.

In a twisted act of defiance mixed with insatiable submission, you grip his ass. But instead of pushing him away, a primal urge drives you to keep him buried deep in your throat. An overwhelming heat surges through you, awakening an uncharted need for the control he exerts over you.

Your tongue, now eager, explores every inch of his cock, caressing and teasing with a wicked tenderness. It glides over him, dancing along his skin with fervent lust, while your throat contracts around him, holding him in this wet prison. Tears stream down your cheeks, mingling with the sweat and grime on your face. Through the haze of tears, you watch him, every detail of his face etched into your mind.

His satisfied smile widens as he keeps thrusting into you, each stroke resonating like a declaration of his dominance. You feel every hit, every movement of his hips crashing down like a wave of violent desire, drowning your consciousness. You belong entirely to him, and that thought only fuels the fire of your submission.

He abruptly pulls you away from his pelvis, barely giving you time to breathe, but his grip on you remains firm. Jay plunges even deeper into the abyss of your mouth, pressing his body against yours with beastly force. His thrusts are relentless, each motion driving into your throat as another statement of his control. The pressure is overwhelming, and your head tilts back under the assault. The pain is both devastating and exquisite, a confusing blend that sweeps you into a whirlwind of adrenaline.

A final guttural growl escapes from his throat as he reaches his climax. His semen floods your mouth, scorching hot, overtaking you entirely. You feel each drop spreading across your tongue, the salty, bitter taste filling you as he continues to thrust brutally, his manhood crushing any trace of hesitation. He doesn’t withdraw until you’ve swallowed everything, forcing you to gulp down every drop, savor the filth, and absorb his essence completely.

As you struggle to take it all in, the pain and pleasure intertwine, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. His movements grow even more intense, each thrust resonating like a cry of defiance. You are here, fully submitted, lost in a trance where suffering becomes your new reality. Every moan you let out is an anthem to his dominance.

When he finally pulls out of your mouth, a strand of saliva mixed with blood connects his length to your lips, leaving them shiny and defiled. The metallic taste of blood mingles with his semen, creating an indescribable flavor—grotesque and a stark reminder of the act’s brutality. His manhood bears traces of blood, evidence of the intensity of this invasion. It’s a sordid image, a painting of debauchery and possession, and you realize you’ve become the canvas for his darkest desires.

Adrenaline pulses through your veins, each breath heavy with electric violence. You are trapped between pain and pleasure, your mind dissolving under the ecstasy of his control. As he gazes at you, he sees his reflection in your submission, like a puppet in the hands of a merciless puppeteer.

“I want you, Jay, please fill me,” you plead, your voice hoarse and trembling with desperation. On your knees before him, your face, still marked by your previous debauchery, is drenched with tears streaming down your cheeks. Every tear is a testament to your desperate need. Your fingers dig into the skin of his thighs, clinging to him as if it were your only salvation.

“Who’s begging to be fucked, doll?” His low, raspy voice rumbles like thunder in the confined space. He leans in slightly, his fingers sliding through your hair, stroking it with a perverse tenderness that makes you shiver. Each caress, each touch, pulls a soft moan from your lips, even though a part of you trembles at the violence simmering beneath his desire. His mischievous grin, a blend of arrogance and fascination, reveals the intensity of his craving. “Come on, say it, doll. I know you know it.”

He lowers his hand, brushing over your chest marked with saliva and blood. You shiver under his touch, excitement and fear sparking through every nerve in your body.

“Your filthy little teacher slut.” A defiant gleam shines in your eyes, and though you surrender to his desire, you don’t hesitate to reclaim your power. “Your cock-hungry teacher, who belongs to you. So please—”

Before you can finish, Jay lifts you abruptly and slams you against the wall with brutal force, making every bone in your body tremble. The pain of the impact is sharp, but it makes you smile, aroused by this sudden submission. Your legs wrap instinctively around his waist, desperately seeking contact, and his mouth crashes into yours, devouring your lips with insatiable hunger. Each kiss is an act of possession, every press of his lips a reminder of his control over you. The taste of his semen on your lips doesn’t deter him; instead, it seems to intoxicate him further, fueling his desire to claim you.

His hands roam your body with animal impatience, lifting your skirt and exposing your skin with a brutality that makes your heart race. In an instant, he rips off your panties, the fabric flying through the air as a symbol of your submission, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable under his ravenous gaze. Then, without any warning, he slams into you. The pain is sharp, but it mixes with overwhelming pleasure, an intoxicating blend of ecstasy and suffering. You moan, your voice breaking under the brutal impact, each thrust resonating through every fiber of your being—a symphony of desire and pain.

“You love this, don’t you?” he whispers, his voice hoarse with possessiveness and challenge. He intensifies his thrusts, driving himself deeper into you, the walls around you trembling under the force of each movement. Every stroke is a wave of sensation, a whirlpool of pleasure and pain that leaves you craving more. You feel like a prisoner of the moment, held captive by his desires, yet paradoxically free—liberated by the sheer savagery of his act.

Your body responds uncontrollably, your eyes fluttering as a tidal wave of pleasure crashes over you, nearly unbearable. The rooftop air tightens around you, but all you can think about is him. Your moans, mingled with sweat and blood, are a chaotic blend of anguish and excitement. Each breath fans the fire burning inside you.

He leans down to kiss your mouth, each kiss an act of possession. His taste mingles with yours, a delicious obscenity, and you lose yourself in this dance where disdain and devotion intertwine in a bestial impulse. You are both prey and predator, lost in this wild embrace of raw desire, each movement bringing you closer to ecstasy. The pain of his brutal entry is already a distant memory, replaced by an unparalleled pleasure that carries you beyond reality.

The thrusts become more savage, more desperate, as you surrender all your inhibitions. Each slap of his hips against yours is a whip to your mind, plunging you into a complete loss of control. You know you are at his mercy, but you crave this moment, this animalistic embrace that tears you apart and fills you at the same time.

You cling to him as if your life depends on it, your fingers digging into his solid shoulders. Your nails sink deep into his skin through the taut fabric of his t-shirt, leaving red marks under the pressure. This fabric is but a thin, almost useless barrier between your unleashed desire and his flesh. Your mouth slightly open, you let out loud gasps, your tongue slipping from your trembling lips, unable to stay still as every brutal movement of his hips drives you further into surrender.

The way he fills you shatters all sense of control. Your core is flooded, hungry for him, each thrust ripping you apart with a violence that makes you see stars. You can’t keep your mouth shut, your breath short, and the uncontrollable pleasure wipes away all modesty. You feel your body tremble, and your eyes roll back, betraying your state—a total submission, a complete surrender to what he is doing to you. His burning gaze remains locked onto yours, intensifying the hold he has over you. He knows you belong to him, that he can break you at will, and that thought excites him even more.

His fingers grip your face with a force that almost hurts, his thumbs sliding over your sweat-soaked, tear-streaked cheeks. He growls between clenched teeth, his movements becoming more erratic yet also more violent, each thrust deeper, as if trying to possess you beyond the physical. He penetrates you so hard that you can feel every inch of him stretching you, forcing you to embrace all his length, to absorb all his rage.

“Bite me, doll, I want you to mark me,” he murmurs in a hoarse voice, thick with desire and contained violence. His lips brush against yours as he whispers those words, and immediately, your body reacts. A guttural moan rises from your throat, uncontrollable, almost primal. His fingers slide to your neck, applying a gentle yet threatening pressure.

Without thinking, you bury your head into his neck, your lips grazing his hot, sweat-slicked skin. But the fabric of his shirt prevents you from tasting him completely, and this barrier frustrates you. With a growl of discontent, you violently tug at his t-shirt, nearly tearing it apart, exposing the bare skin you crave so much. Starving for him, your lips press against his neck with wild eagerness, leaving wet kisses on his taut skin, each contact pulling you closer to madness. His salty sweat fills your mouth, and you can feel his pulse racing under your tongue, a frantic rhythm, just like yours.

Your moans resonate in the air, uncontrollable, but he seems unsatisfied. Each sound you make, every tremor of your body seems to trigger something darker within him. His thrusts become more erratic, more violent, as if he were trying to tear you apart. His hips slam against yours with brutal force, and the pain mingles with pleasure, inseparable, leaving you unable to distinguish what is pleasurable from what is unbearable.

And then, without waiting any longer, you open your mouth, biting into his skin, testing his limits. He growls in satisfaction, his body tensing, but it’s not enough. You want more. You sink your teeth into his flesh with ferocity, breaking the skin, savoring the metallic taste of blood that instantly fills your mouth. His reaction is immediate, a groan of pleasure vibrating through his body against yours. It’s not a cry of pain; it’s a deep, visceral sound, a sound of pure satisfaction.

The blood flooding your mouth is warm and thick, and you drink it as if it were forbidden nectar. You lose yourself in this moment, in this shared savagery. He loves it—he loves the pain, he loves the mark you leave on him. And you, you drown in this violence, in this brutality that consumes you whole.

In a swift motion, his hand wraps around your hair, pulling your head back violently. Your body arches at the impact, and a sharp cry escapes your lips, but he doesn’t wait for you to catch your breath. His lips crash against yours, now bloodied, in a fierce kiss, his teeth biting your lower lip, his tongue invading your mouth with an intoxicating brutality. You can still taste the salt of his sweat mixed with the blood soaking your lips. He devours you, and you let him, drowning in this violent exchange, in this raw domination he enforces.

His movements never slow down. On the contrary, they intensify, becoming more desperate, more profound. He literally pins you against the wall with each thrust, tearing you apart from the inside, reaching depths you never knew were possible. Every inch of your body is filled by him, every nerve ignited by the delicious pain of this brutality. You are completely at his mercy, and he knows it. He has broken you, reduced you to a state of total submission where all you want is more of him, even if it destroys you.

His breath becomes heavier, his growls mixing with yours in an animalistic cacophony. There is no tenderness left in this exchange; only this visceral, brutal urgency remains. You can feel him close, his movements growing more erratic, more desperate. He takes you as if he is going to tear you apart from the inside, but you ask for more, always more.

In a final surge, he makes you tip over, your body crashing violently against the wall as he takes you again, harder, deeper, without mercy. You’re nothing but a puppet in his hands, your body shaken by each violent thrust, and you can no longer think, nor breathe properly. You belong to him entirely, at this very moment, reduced to a state where only pain and pleasure coexist in perfect destructive harmony.

Your body ignites as he plunges into you, an intense heat building with every thrust. The orgasm overwhelms you violently, a wave of pleasure that makes you lose all sense of time. His cock finds your G-spot with bestial precision, triggering waves of sensations that make you scream, your moans echoing. The wall seems to vibrate with the rhythm of your pleasure, and all you can feel is this inexorable rise consuming you.

You ejaculate on him, a torrent of pleasure crashing against his muscular abdomen, soaking his waist. The heat of your body and the moisture of your orgasm mix, forming a delicious concoction of unfulfilled desire. He doesn’t stop, continuing to thrust you against the wall, his movements becoming more and more frantic, as if he wants to mark you as his property. Each thrust is a lash, a brutal reminder of his dominance.

Feeling his own orgasm approaching, he intensifies his movements, his sweaty skin sliding against yours. He growls into your neck, a guttural, bestial sound that vibrates through every fiber of your being. His teeth sink into your flesh, and the pain makes you moan with pleasure. The metallic taste of your blood awakens something primal in him, and you can feel his excitement growing with every passing second. It’s a blend of pleasure and pain, a precarious balance between dominance and submission.

You feel like prey, completely at his mercy as he takes you with brutal intensity. His body presses against yours, each movement heightening the sensation of possession. He finally releases himself inside you, a wave of heat that makes you quiver around him. Your muscles contract uncontrollably, each pulse pulling you back into this bestial, obscene, raw reality.

The sounds of your bodies colliding fill the air, a savage symphony of moans, screams, and growls. The outside world disappears, leaving just the two of you, trapped in this obscene moment. The sensations intertwine, the pain of his bites and the pleasure of his body inside you creating a dangerous dance where the line between pleasure and suffering blurs.

The intensity of each moment becomes unbearable, and you feel ready to explode under this pressure. His hand slips between you, his fingers finding your clitoris, playing with controlled brutality, intensifying your pleasure even more. He looks you in the eyes, a wild glimmer in his gaze, as if he savors every second of your submission, your pain. “I’m going to make you break,” he murmurs, his voice rough and full of obscene promises.

It was an ordinary Friday night, one of those evenings when the world seemed to fade away around you, where everything became frozen, suffocated under the weight of your own torments. The bar, steeped in a damp, smoky atmosphere, stood as a refuge for lost souls, those who, like yours, sought to escape a sordid reality. Sitting alone at a secluded table, hidden in a corner where darkness enveloped you, you let yourself be engulfed by increasingly obscene thoughts, a glass of whiskey in hand. It might have been your fifth, maybe the sixth; it didn’t matter at this point. You had stopped counting the drinks, just as you had abandoned the idea of measuring the mistakes that marked your life.

Each sip of whiskey was a delicious burn, a blend of alcohol and nectar that erased reality, immersing you in unspeakable fantasies. The intoxication didn’t just numb you; it awakened an unquenchable fire within you, a heat that you could no longer extinguish. It wasn’t just the whiskey warming your belly, but the incessant thought of those four students… gods of flesh and blood: Sim Jake, Park Jeongseong, Lee Heeseung, and Park Sunghoon. Each of them, in their own way, had left a burning imprint on your soul. The mere thought of them was enough to provoke an uncontrollable shiver throughout your body.

These Black Apollos, as they liked to call themselves, haunted you. Every day, every night, you saw them, and with every exchanged glance, your mind wandered into thoughts you should never have had. Their burning eyes seemed to tear through your clothes, exposing every part of you, even those you had carefully hidden. It was as if they knew everything about you, every corner of your body, every flaw in your soul.

Three of them had already crossed that fatal line, enveloping you in a perverse game where you were their puppet. Heeseung had been the first, luring you into his web with disconcerting ease. The memory of that moment was etched in you, and with every thought associated with it, a guilty warmth spread through your lower back. He had taken you with calculated brutality, his rough hands gripping you without gentleness, a cruel smile on his lips as he forced you to bend under his insatiable desire.

You remembered his warm breath on your neck, his fingers sliding recklessly under your clothes, exploring your skin as if it were his property. He had left you no chance to escape his grasp, reducing you to an object, a doll without will. Each thrust was an affirmation of his total control over you, and with every muffled cry you let escape, you felt your submission strengthen.

And then there was Sunghoon. His domination was more subtle, almost insidious. He played with you, manipulating your desires like a master puppeteer. He made you believe you still had a semblance of control, only to yank it away in an instant, leaving you at his mercy, vulnerable under his hungry gaze. His fingers, so skillful, traced lines of fire on your body, brushing just enough to drive you insane, never giving you what you truly desired. His words, whispered in your ear, were a bittersweet poison, commanding you to submit, to let your basest instincts take over.

You had hated him for that, and you had hated yourself too. But despite everything, you kept going back, again and again, thirsting for the delicious humiliation he made you endure.

Jeongseong, or Jay, as he preferred to be called, was the cruelest of all. His icy calm concealed a silent violence, a contained rage that exploded every time he touched you. He loved to see you suffer beneath him, twisting you with pleasure and pain intertwined, pushing you to the brink until you couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t just seek to possess you; he wanted to break you, and in his eyes, you saw that mad desire to see you on your knees, begging for a little respite. Every mark he left on your skin was a trophy for him, a proof of his victory over you.

But there was also Jake. Sim Jake, the enigmatic one, the one who hadn’t touched you yet, and maybe that was what drove you crazy. His silence was more oppressive than anything else, a heavy weight of promises and threats. His dark, piercing eyes often scrutinized you from afar, as if waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He knew you were already broken, already kneeling inside, and that was what amused him. He saw you as prey, prey that knew it had no chance of escape.

You remembered every exchanged glance with him, every barely-there smile, as if he were telling you, “Patience, my turn will come.” And that was what terrified you as much as it excited you. You knew that when he finally decided to make you his, there would be nothing left of you. He would leave you no way out, reducing you to a state of ruin.

With each sip of whiskey, these thoughts became clearer, more obsessive. You imagined yourself, there, in that dark room, kneeling before them, their possessive hands taking hold of you, their bodies pressed against yours, crushing you under their domination. Their power overwhelmed you, and you knew you could do nothing but submit. You pictured their hands on your skin, sliding along your curves, their merciless fingers tracing paths of fire on your bare flesh.

Every movement of their bodies against yours made you shiver, transporting you to a world where pain mingled with pleasure, where every sigh was a silent prayer, a plea for more brutality, for more control. They enveloped you, possessed you entirely, and you lost yourself in the feeling of being their thing, their toy to use as they pleased.

The idea of becoming their willing slave, their toy, made you lose all sense of reality. You could already see yourself in their arms, torn between shame and ecstasy, between the desire to flee and the urge to let yourself be completely devoured. You were ready to abandon everything, ready to plunge into the abyss of their cruel games, ready to kneel before them and offer them everything they wanted. Because deep down, you knew that was what you desired most.

The campus parking lot is empty, the setting sun casting long shadows on the pavement. You are crouched down, leaning over the side mirror of a car that isn’t yours. The light plays on your face, highlighting your perfect makeup, but a dull irritation bubbles inside you. This place disgusts you, and each passing day makes you want to flee farther away, to distance yourself from the four students you hate just as much as you love. As you adjust your lipstick, you feel a mix of desire and anger, a need to escape and free yourself from this prison.

Suddenly, the car window rolls down with a creak, and you instinctively straighten up, your heart racing. A man appears, Sim Jake. His disheveled, almost wild hair gives him an air of danger, a brutal sensuality that irresistibly attracts you. Your stomach tightens as he fixes his gaze on you, his dark, piercing eyes scanning every curve of your body. He watches the arch of your back with such intensity that you feel like he can read your darkest thoughts. An unquenchable desire to please him overwhelms you, to show him how much you long to be the one he dominates.

He lets out a soft chuckle, his laughter vibrating with mockery. With a casual gesture, he runs his hand through his hair, making it even more tousled, and this sight ignites a wild desire within you. Your gaze lingers on his muscular neck, the way his muscles are defined under his skin, making you want to touch him, to mark your possession on him. You swallow hard, a wave of heat rising from your belly to your chest.

“Professor, don’t tell me you’re spying on me,” he says, his voice laced with sarcasm, a mischievous smile on his lips. You remain frozen, unable to respond, every muscle in your body tense from a combination of desire and fear. “You know it’s a crime, mommy.” His words wrap around you like a vine, holding you captive in his grip.

You try to pull away, but he suddenly grabs you by the hand, making you bend down even more as he seizes your neck, pulling you toward him. Your head slips through the lowered window, and your eyes lock with his, burning with desire and defiance. He moistens his lips, and that gesture compels you to bite yours, an uncontrollable urge to want to kiss him.

“Don’t play with me, mommy,” he whispers, his voice husky, as he leans in closer, his lips brushing against yours. In a surge of raw passion, he bites your upper lip, making you stop biting your lower lip. The pain is sharp, but it’s quickly followed by a wave of pleasure, leaving you trapped between desire and pain. He also catches your lower lip, nibbling it slightly, drawing a moan from you, a melody of pleasure and pain that encourages him.

The murmurs around you fade into distant echoes, barely perceptible in your mind, completely submerged by the man who dominates you. Students and professors stop, stunned by what they see, but their judgment no longer matters. Everything disappears, and only Jake and his grip on you remain, his fingers firmly wrapped around your neck, keeping you captive under his burning gaze. The world seems to shrink, reducing itself to him alone, to the promise of chaos and raw pleasure he embodies.

You feel every warm breath he exhales against your skin as a silent promise of what’s to come. An almost overwhelming sexual tension radiates from him, leaving you breathless, unable to focus on anything other than how he manipulates you, from his calculated caresses to the underlying violence pulsing in his movements. His breath lingers near your lips, so close you could almost feel their warmth, but he plays with you, like a predator savoring the suffering of its prey before devouring it.

Adrenaline floods your body, your muscles tense, and a delicious dizziness grips you. Nothing makes sense, yet everything seems perfectly aligned in this moment of madness. “Jake… not here,” you manage to articulate weakly, your voice broken, torn between the reason that still tries to resist and the burning desire that blinds you. But he just laughs, that rough, threatening laughter igniting your senses. The sound reverberates in your head, pulling you even further into this irresistible spiral.

“This is precisely the perfect moment, mommy,” he replies, a smug smile stretching across his lips. He loosens his grip on you slightly, causing you to lean back, your balance teetering dangerously, as if the world is collapsing around you. But he catches you before you fall, holding you tightly between his grip and the car, firmly captive. His movements are calculated, violent in their gentleness, and yet you’ve never felt such a need for him, such a craving for what he can give you.

Then, he opens the car door with a deliberate motion, careful not to touch you, and steps out, his eyes sweeping over the stunned faces of the students and professors surrounding you. He revels in their stares, feeding off their disapproval and shock. It only strengthens his hold on you. The mocking smile forming on his face is a silent declaration: they can judge you all they want, but you belong to him, completely, and he feels no shame in proving it to you here, before their eyes.

Slamming the door shut, he approaches you, grabs you by the waist with brutal force, and violently slams you against the car body. The handle digs into your back, triggering a dull pain that mingles with the ecstasy awakening within you. You let out an involuntary moan, weak and broken, but he hears it, and it encourages him. The gazes around you multiply, curious and shocked, but all you can feel is Jake’s grip and the fire burning within you.

“You’re going to show them how much of a slut you are, alright, mommy?” he murmurs against your neck, his voice hoarse and burning, full of obscene promises. His teeth nibble delicately at your skin, sending electric shocks through your entire body. The sensation makes you shiver, and he notices it. His lips slowly trail down your neck, each kiss reinforcing his claim over your body. Every caress of his tongue, every bite leaves a burning mark on your skin, making you increasingly vulnerable to him.

“I want you to moan for me, and show them who can make you this stupid,” he whispers, his words cutting through you like a whip. His hands slide under your top, fingers gliding across your skin, pausing just under your breasts for a moment. The threat of his brute strength lingers, even as he caresses you provocatively, deliberately slow, leaving you to languish.

“You’re going to show those sons of bitches, aren’t you, mommy?” He asks you, fingers lingering on your ribs, making you shiver under his touch. Then they rise slowly, sensually, toward your breasts, and you hold your breath, suspended between anticipation and overwhelming desire. But he doesn’t grant you any respite, grabbing your hair to pull it sharply back, exposing your throat. The pain mixes with a blazing ecstasy, leaving you floating between the two, unable to resist the grip he has on you. “I said, didn’t I, or are you already too stupid to answer?” he growls, his cruel words resonating in your muddled mind, dragging you even deeper into this total submission.

“Yes… Jake, I can do it,” you manage to say, your voice trembling, broken by desire. Your entire body is on fire, every fiber of your being calling for more, demanding the complete surrender he demands.

“You’re so nice to me, mommy,” he murmurs, his lips grazing yours, barely brushing your mouth from which a trickle of saliva slowly drips. His eyes glimmer with mischief as he extends his tongue to lap at your saliva, savoring every drop with a perverse pleasure. This act is a provocation, a clear sign that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and that you can do nothing to stop him. The heat rises within you, inevitable, each brush of his tongue fanning the flames inside you.

Adrenaline pulses through your veins as you press further against the car, desperately seeking to escape the pressure that crushes you. “Kiss me, Jake… please, I can’t wait anymore.” Your pleading tone makes him smile, and he senses your impatience, your desperate need for him. Seeing you so vulnerable, your knees rubbing against each other in search of a little friction, makes his groin throb with desire, a promise of immeasurable pleasure.

And you can smell his arousal, his need almost tangible piercing through the fabric of his pants. The scent of his masculinity, mingled with your own desire, overwhelms you, and you moan in pleasure as you press against him, rubbing against his member, feeling every pulse through your body. The tension rises further, the excitement pushing you to want more.

Jake slams you harder against the body of the car, your back pressing against the unforgiving coldness of the metal. His lips crash against yours, forcing you to tilt your head back until it strikes violently against the hard surface of the car. The impact shoots through you, a blend of sharp pain and troubling pleasure, merging into the intensity of sensations that collide within you. His tongue invades your mouth with unyielding aggression, probing every corner, as if trying to claim every part of you. His movements are brutal, a dance of relentless domination, each stroke of his tongue asserting his presence, leaving you powerless under his total control.

Your breath becomes erratic, caught in your throat as he almost suffocates you with his presence. His lips are hard, unyielding, and saliva begins to mix quickly, flooding your mouth. You try to keep up with the frantic pace, but he controls you, his movements much faster and more brutal. He nibbles at you, pulling lightly on your lower lip before diving back in, and you taste his sweet and bitter flavor asserting itself, your tongue powerless to do anything but submit to his.

Slobber flows freely. It quickly builds up, a sticky sensation overwhelming your mouth, inevitably spilling over your lips. You try to swallow, but you are already submerged. A thick trail of saliva starts to run from your jaw, tracing a wet path down your neck. It weaves between your breasts, sliding under your clothes. The warm, moist stickiness makes you shiver, a mix of shame and raw excitement leaving you panting. Each drop of saliva that escapes your mouth is another mark of how he sullies you, and the thought of being like this, exposed to everyone’s gaze, makes your head spin.

Jake doesn’t slow down. His kiss becomes increasingly disorderly, savage. The rhythm intensifies to the point where you feel he wants to crush you. His lips are brutal, smashing against yours without any tenderness. He slobbers profusely, saliva continuously overflowing, making the exchange even filthier, more primal. The obscene noise of fluids mingling with your stifled moans creates a symphony of indecency that only you two can hear amid the shocked whispers of onlookers.

His hand grips your hair violently, pulling with a sharp yank. You cry out, a mix of pain and pleasure bursting from your lips, but he doesn’t care. His fingers dig into your scalp, pulling even harder to expose you, forcing your face to tilt back. Your neck stretches under the pressure, a perfect curve he totally dominates. His eyes, burning with desire and cruelty, lock onto yours as he looks at you, a smug smile twisting his features. He knows you are his, entirely. And he savors every second of this submission. He leans down slowly, his tongue darting out to lick your neck with a calculated slowness, leaving a trail of hot saliva on your already sweat-dampened skin. You shiver, the sensation consuming you from the inside, your body responding immediately to this humiliation.

He descends, deliberately, biting your skin until red marks are left, his teeth sinking in just enough for the pain to mingle with pleasure. Each bite is a new mark of his territory, each scratch of his teeth on your delicate skin plunging you deeper into this abyss of submission. You can’t help but moan, your sounds blending into the suffocating heat surrounding you.

Jake finally pulls back, straightening up, his gaze still fixed on yours. “Do you want me to do something for you?” he asks, his voice hoarse and laced with mischief. He waits, leaving you trembling under this promise. His hands rest on your hips, gripping almost painfully tight, and you know it’s up to you to decide what comes next. The pressure of his fingers against your flesh reminds you of how he has control, yet a part of you desires to break this barrier, to take that risk.

You lean slightly forward, your voice a mere whisper charged with desire. “Yes, Jake… I want you to take me.”

He bursts out laughing, a vibrant and almost malevolent sound, before plunging back into your lips, his kiss igniting, mixing desire, domination, and this insatiable madness that consumes you both.

The air around you is thick, saturated with the musky scent of his excitement, mixed with the sweat and saliva that flows freely. The humidity becomes unbearable, almost toxic, but you crave more. This suffocation only feeds your need. You feel the heat rising sharply within you, an uncontrollable blaze, as he presses harder, almost pushing you through the car. Your senses are overheating, every friction, every contact amplifying your desire to the point of obsession.

His breath is heavy against your ear, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse, laced with venomous arrogance. “You’re going to remember this, fuck…” He pants, his movements becoming more frantic, more urgent, his words slipping into your foggy mind. “You’re going to remember how I humiliated you here, in front of everyone…”

The words carve into your mind like blades. Shame and excitement violently intertwine, leaving you on the brink of collapse. Your body vibrates under his grip, every fiber of your being burning with desire. Your vision blurs, as if the world around you is disappearing. All that remains is him, his body against yours, his total domination, and the guilty pleasure that continues to grow.

Jake turns you around with brutal force, slamming you against the car in a deafening crash. Your palms smash against the cold window, the impact resonating through your body like thunder in the storm of your excitement. The heat of his body, intense and overwhelming, mingles with the coldness of the metal, creating an electric tension in the air. He groans against your back, his words resonating like an obsessive and irresistible promise. “Now, mommy, I’m going to take care of you.” His warm breath, heavy with desire and domination, caresses your ear, and a shiver of excitement runs down your spine, making you emit an obscene, almost involuntary noise that betrays your anticipation.

He pulls away slightly from you, his powerful hands sliding down your skirt, slowly lifting the fabric with an exasperating slowness, as if he takes sadistic pleasure in torturing you. When he uncovers your buttocks, trapped in a completely wet thong, soaked with your excitement, a satisfied, carnivorous smile spreads across his lips. The curious whispers of the people watching you intensify around you, their hungry and disgusted gazes a mix of envy and judgment. “Look at all those bastards hungry for you, but who can only brush against you from afar with their looks, because you’re mine, aren’t you, mommy?” His voice is full of contempt and possessiveness, each word a whip to your reason, making you lose all sense of dignity. He laughs, a salacious and provocative laugh, as he kneads your buttocks with brutal force before slapping them violently with his ring-adorned fingers.

The pain makes you moan, a sound that is both of suffering and pleasure, the rings sinking into your skin, leaving marks that testify to his dominance. “Yes, Jake, I belong only to you!” You cry out, your voice tinged with despair and enthusiasm, as he snickers, proud to see you at his feet, exposed and vulnerable like never before. The scent of your fear mixed with your excitement fills the air, making the atmosphere even more charged.

“Yes, that’s right, mommy, you’re mine, and the whole damn school will know it today.” He slides his fingers over your buttocks, his caresses becoming more insistent, more violent, before tearing the fabric of your thong effortlessly, a savage act that makes you emit a sound of discontent mixed with excitement. “They’re going to know how much of a fucking slut and cock-hungry teacher you are, my cock.” His words, like an intoxicating poison, degrade your being, raising the atmosphere to an unbearable level of tension, a delicious mix of shame and desire.

“Now, turn around, I need to feast on you.” He tells you in a hoarse, almost guttural voice, as you slowly turn around, facing him. At that moment, you realize that some students and teachers, caught up in this disturbing spectacle, have already dropped their pants, their hands eagerly caressing their members. Heat rises to your cheeks, but it’s not just embarrassment; it’s a savory humiliation that ignites you from within. You look away, feeling the humiliation overwhelm you, but that only exacerbates your excitement. “Don’t look at anyone but me, mommy, not them, just me, okay?” His hand grips your jaw tightly, his fingers applying enough pressure to force you to look him in the eyes, to submit to his voracious desire. His gaze, filled with possessive desire, pierces you, and you let out a small moan as you nod your head, but the non-verbal response doesn’t seem to please him. He wanted a real answer; he wanted to hear your pretty voice, so he pulled his hand away from your jaw before slapping your cheek.

The pain is immediate, a sharp burn that you feel intensely, a pain that mingles with the excitement already within you. His rings sink into your cheek, leaving a painful imprint that brings tears to your eyes. The tears begin to flow, mixed with your confusion and suffering, as you softly sob, the pulsing pain of your cheek and your lower lip, now split, letting blood flow, a red stream that betrays your submission.

“Shh… don’t cry, mommy.” Jake says, his voice soft and tender in contrast to his previous actions, cradling your cheek between his hands. But his eyes tell a different story, a story of domination and insatiable desire, a story where your pain becomes his pleasure. “I’m not angry with you, okay?” He wipes your tears away with a twisted, almost sadistic smile, as his gaze revels in your tear-soaked face and your injured lip, bleeding. He seems to savor your suffering, like a fine wine, and he could literally die a happy man in this moment.

You sniffle, gently shaking your head, but upon seeing his gaze darken even more, you freeze in place, fear mingling with desire paralyzing you. “I know, Jake, I’m sorry,” you manage to say through your tears, staring at him with misty eyes, but you can still catch a glimpse of his small, satisfied smile as he leans toward you, his lips brushing against yours for a delicate kiss, yet charged with a mixture of sweetness and mischief. This kiss, both tender and dominant, was a promise of what was to come.

“I’m the one who’s sorry, mommy,” he murmurs against your lips, the taste of your blood on his tongue, a mixture of pleasure and pain that intoxicates him. He does nothing to pull away, his lips engulfing your lower lip that he sucks and nibbles on with eagerness, savoring every drop of your blood like a precious delicacy. A rough groan escapes his mouth, and he realizes he could easily lose all sense of reason at the mere taste of your blood, so sweet yet so electrifying at the same time. He could never get enough of you, of your pain and pleasure intertwined, and this thought only made him hungrier.

He eventually pulls away, breathing heavily, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. “Let me make it up to you properly,” he says, kneeling before you, his hands beginning to wander over your tender thighs, sliding up along your soft skin, making you shiver with anticipation. The adrenaline pulses in your veins, and you know you could fall if you weren’t leaning against the car, but every second spent with him makes you desire more, sinking you deeper into this obscene and irresistible abyss.

Jake no longer just caresses your skin with his fingers; every movement becomes measured torture, a promise of what is to come. He lets his nails dig into your flesh, tracing red lines that burn, as his hand slowly rises along your thigh. He doesn’t just want to reach you physically; he wants to imprint himself in your mind, marking you in an indelible way. His fingers are cold, but it’s this icy bite that makes you moan in pain and frustration. Every caress is like a soft, progressive knife cut, meant to make you feel vulnerable, exposed to his unconfessed desires.

His mouth is merely an extension of this cruelty. His lips crash against your tender skin, and this warm wetness brings no comfort. On the contrary, each kiss is a warning, as if he’s testing your limits, savoring every reaction. He doesn’t just want to possess you; he wants you to remember every place he has left his mark, through pain and humiliation. His lips are neither sweet nor sensual. They are there to devour, to take, with no regard for your pleasure or consent. The way he sucks on your flesh, slurping loudly, reminds you that you are nothing more than a toy in his hands.

The men surrounding you are no longer mere spectators but silent participants in this degrading scene. Their guttural groans fill the heavy air of the parking lot, mingling with the wet sounds of their hands sliding over their erect cocks, glistening with pre-cum. They watch you with disgusting greed, their eyes glued to your body, waiting for you to fully submit to Jake’s brutality. Every movement he makes, every moan you let escape only feeds their sick desires. They reduce you to a mere object of fantasy, torn between the pain and the excitement you don’t want to admit.

Then, everything shifts. Jake plunges his fingers deep into your flesh, his nails tearing at you like claws. His hand moves to the inside of your thigh, pressing with relentless force, spreading your legs without mercy. He no longer seeks to excite you; he forces you, imposing his will relentlessly. “Look at me, Y/n,” he growls in a hoarse voice, like an order that leaves no room for disobedience. He forces you to meet his gaze, and in his eyes burns a wild fire, an almost inhuman desire that makes you shiver with terror.

He bites then, but this time he doesn’t stop at the surface. His teeth sink deep into your flesh, until you feel your skin tear under the unbearable pressure. Pain explodes in your body, a brutal shock that steals your breath. You scream, a piercing cry that resonates in the suffocating atmosphere, but that’s what Jake was waiting for. He drinks with animalistic greed, consuming the blood flowing from the gaping wound, his lips soaking in the warm, viscous liquid that slides down your thigh. His growls become increasingly bestial, like a predator savoring every drop of his prey’s blood.

The scene becomes even more grotesque. Jake no longer just bites you; he literally devours you, his face smeared with red, his lips and teeth covered in your blood. He bites again, his teeth sinking into another part of your thigh, this time with such violence that you feel the flesh tear. Blood gushes, flowing in a continuous stream, soaking his mouth, his chin, and the ground beneath you. Jake seems to go mad, intoxicated by the taste of your blood, his guttural growls resonating in the parking lot as his lips greedily suck on your flesh.

Around you, the men gasp, their hands moving frantically over their swollen members, the obscene sound of flesh hitting flesh filling the air. Their groans of pleasure grow louder, almost desperate, as they surrender completely to the perversion of this bloody scene. Every moan, every rough breath reinforces the macabre atmosphere surrounding you, and you feel yourself sinking into an abyss where pain and excitement become one.

Jake pushes your thigh even further, spreading your legs with such violence that your muscles scream under the strain. “I’m going to mark you, break you, until your entire body bears my imprint,” he whispers against your skin, his words spitting a promise of total domination. His teeth sink into your flesh again, biting even deeper, and this time you can almost feel your muscles giving under the pressure. The flow of blood pouring from the wound is more abundant, the warm liquid escaping from your bruised skin to spill onto the ground.

Jake lifts his head, his face dripping with red, and looks at you with a sadistic smile. “Do you feel that, Y/n? You like it.” His words are venom, a truth you refuse to admit. But your body trembles, overwhelmed by a wave of contradictory sensations — pain, humiliation, and that obscene pleasure that makes you shiver against your will. You are at your breaking point, broken under his relentless control, and yet something inside you doesn’t want to flee this grip.

He licks his lips, savoring the taste of your blood, that hot, metallic nectar that consumes him. His eyes shine with a wild glimmer, a predator relishing its prey. He leans in closer to you, his teeth scraping against your battered flesh, a cold shiver of pleasure coursing down your spine as he brushes against you. Each bite, each contact of his skin against yours makes you tremble with excitement and pain. Then he bites one last time, deeply, violently, leaving an indelible mark on your skin, a cruel reminder of that day when he reduced you to nothing more than a body offered to his brutality.

“Don’t stop, Jake…” you murmur in a trembling voice, eager to feel every part of his domination over you.

Jake kisses your bloodied thigh, leaving a crimson trail that slowly slides down your soft skin to your intimacy. The metallic smell of blood mingles with that of your flesh, an intoxicating fragrance for him. He inhales deeply, savoring the mix that makes you shiver against the car, your muscles taut with frenzied anticipation. His eyes, obsessed with your pussy, shine with a wild light, a predatory grin stretching across his lips as he approaches, his breath quickening as he loses himself in the ecstasy of your suffering.

His face, stained with your blood, leans even closer, brushing against your delicate skin with his warm lips, provoking a shiver that runs through your entire body. “You are so delicious,” he murmurs, his rough voice tinged with desire, as he kisses your thigh with feigned tenderness before diving lower.

“Jake…” your voice trembles with excitement, but he only responds with a guttural growl, eager to make you experience the ecstasy he has in mind. He slowly lets his tongue slide out, tracing a final path along your thigh, his saliva mingling with your blood in a display of violated innocence. His movements are both tender and brutal, a macabre dance between sweetness and cruelty. He eagerly buries his face between your thighs, forcing you to spread your legs to allow him access to your femininity, his hungry mouth seeking to claim your essence.

“Take me, Jake… make me feel everything you are…” you plead, desire consuming every part of your being. Your voice is a whisper, a supplication both submissive and ardent, a call to debauchery.

He gently licks your pleasure button, teasing it with devilish patience, each movement of his tongue provoking waves of sensations that are both delightful and painful. Uncontrollable sighs escape your lips, mingled with moans of pain. Every movement of his tongue is calculated, a delicious blend of delight and suffering. He toys with your pain, lightly biting your pleasure button before sucking it entirely into his mouth, as if he needs your warmth to survive, a rabid animal devouring its prey.

“More… I want more, Jake…” you cry, your voice filled with despair and desire, a wild scream resonating in the parking lot. The pain is unbearable, but it is also a sweet melody that lulls your mind.

Your moans turn into cries, excitement mingling with the throbbing pain that courses through your body. He releases your pleasure button with a wet, lascivious sound, then widely parts the lips of your sex with his fingers, his nails making each movement more painful yet deliciously pleasurable. His tongue laps relentlessly, savoring every drop of your desire, each stroke fueling his own hunger. You feel that he could come in his pants at any moment, so consumed is he by the obsession of your pleasure.

“I am yours, Jake… take me completely…” you murmur, your voice broken by pleasure, and a part of you knows there’s no turning back.

His eyes shine with a wild gleam as he rubs your pleasure button with his thumb, sinking even deeper with his tongue, exploring every corner of your intimacy. He moves with the precision of an expert, discovering every sensitive area, pulling louder moans of pleasure from you. Your fingers grip his tousled hair, pushing him deeper inside you, your flesh demanding his tongue. The intensity of the sensation makes you lose track of your thoughts, and you let yourself be swept away by the whirlwind of pleasure engulfing you.

In one corner of the parking lot, the atmosphere becomes even heavier, saturated with forbidden desires and unacknowledged fantasies. The teachers and students, caught in a dance of vice and desire, abandon themselves without restraint to carnal pleasures. Some teachers, defying all ethics, slip their hands under the clothes of other colleagues or students, grazing feverish and lustful skin. Their hoarse whispers get lost in the air, words of unacknowledged desire exchanged through panting sighs. Every forbidden touch becomes a silent oath of perverse complicity, a pact sealed by desire.

Further away, students find themselves together, clutching at each other as if they were going to devour one another. Bodies intertwine in a chaos of feverish caresses and stolen kisses. A boy with tousled hair leans against a car, pulling a girl against him with a brutality that borders on indecency, their heavy breaths mingling with the distant sound of engines. Others give in to multiple partners, bodies intertwining in a lewd ballet. Groups form and dissolve, jealousy and excitement igniting every embrace.

The teachers themselves are not left out. One of them, his eyes shining with a twisted desire, slams another instructor against the wall of the building, their mouths fiercely seeking each other. Further away, a female teacher slips her hand under a student’s shirt, her movements skillful and assured, making him shiver under her control. They exchange knowing glances, defying any notion of limits. The roles of authority fade away, leaving only primal instincts.

The onlookers in the shadows, both students and teachers, get swept up in this spiral of debauchery. Some slowly caress themselves, their gazes fixed on you and Jake, their hands moving across their own skin, eager witnesses to what unfolds before them. Others lose themselves in their own embraces, consumed by an insatiable need to submit to this suffocating atmosphere. A whisper of excitement spreads through the group when a student, unable to contain his pleasure, lets out an overly loud sigh, briefly drawing the attention of those hesitant to engage in the surrounding obscenity.

But none of this matters to you. You are completely absorbed by Jake and the brutality with which he takes you. His movements are fierce and relentless, as if he wants to break you while pulling you into a dizzying fall toward forbidden pleasure, an abyss where pain and ecstasy blend.

“Look how much she loves it…” a man throws out, a sadistic grin forming on his face, laughing at how you give yourself up to Jake’s onslaughts, relishing your surrender. His laughter is a sinister echo that resonates in the air charged with desire and tension, amplifying the adrenaline pulsing through your veins.

Jake intensifies his efforts, his licks becoming increasingly erratic, almost frantic, as he plunges deeper inside you. Each caress is a promise of pleasure, each stroke of his tongue a threat of losing control, a brutal reminder that you are at his mercy. The moans escaping your mouth blend with the pain, and you feel your sanity wavering under the pressure. Your head falls back, the muscles in your body tightening under his grasp, and you know you are entirely submissive to his darkest desires.

“Don’t stop, Jake… I’m begging you!” you cry out, your body contracting under his touches, thirsty for his brutality. You feel the adrenaline rise, a mix of anxiety and excitement.

He penetrates you with his tongue with such violence that you begin to lose track of time and space. His fingers delve deep inside you, filling you completely, an intrusion so profound that you feel ready to burst. He lets out a growl of satisfaction, his face feasting on your pleasure as you begin to tremble, every fiber of your being vibrating under his caresses, his mouth savoring your bliss.

The people around you are now just a mere backdrop, their sighs and moans merging with yours, a chorus of desire and debauchery. Pain becomes an integral part of your pleasure, and you start to understand the power dynamic at play. Jake is a predator, and you are his prey. Every movement of his tongue is laden with an implicit threat, a reminder that you have no escape. He ravages you with a consuming obsession, and you realize you are trapped in this dangerous game, lost between pleasure and pain, between life and death.

“Isn’t this what you want?” he murmurs with a predatory smile, his eyes scanning your face contorted with ecstasy, as if he savors every drop of your suffering.

The intensity reaches its peak, and you feel a wave of heat engulf you, making you completely lose your mind. It’s a mix of pleasure and pain, an experience so overwhelming it feels almost unreal. In one final surge, you let out a piercing scream, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, as Jake continues to devour you, insatiable, like a starving man. His tongue, his breath, everything about him consumes you in an infernal blaze.

“Yes, Jake! I’m yours!” you cry, your voice filled with a mixture of adoration and submission, a promise of your total surrender.

“Yeah, damn it! You’re mine, mommy,” he growls, his gaze burning with desire as he rises from between your trembling legs. He places a kiss full of promises on your lips, leaving you breathless, your eyes glazed with excitement and shivers. “Only mine, and I’m going to prove it by fucking you so well you’ll forget your own name.” His powerful hands grip your hips, and with controlled force, he pushes you back, opening the car door with a swift motion.

“Lie down on the seats, mommy,” he commands, his hoarse voice resonating like a soft threat. You don’t hesitate; you slide inside, lying on your back, your legs spread, offering your body in this confined space. Your liquid drips, a shiny and warm trail mixing with the leather of the seat, staining it with your desire.

“I want you to squirt everywhere when you come, mommy, to leave your fucking scent,” he murmurs, his voice a blend of unspoken desires and brutal dominance. His eyes gleam with a wild light as he lowers his pants and underwear, revealing a member already hard, ready to claim you.

He approaches you with calculated slowness, his muscular body leaning over yours, every muscle tense, his hot breath brushing against your skin. The tension between you is palpable, almost electric, and you feel every beat of your heart resonate in your chest as he positions himself above you, making you fully aware of his power over you.

Jake firmly grips your hips, his possessive hold immobilizing you as he pulls you toward him with brutal, almost animalistic strength. With a quick, merciless thrust, he penetrates you, his brutal movement eliciting a cry from your lips, a mix of pain and pleasure. The shock reverberates through your entire being, a wave of intense heat that makes every fiber of your body vibrate. You feel the flesh of your thigh pulse with pain, blood slowly trickling down, tracing red lines on your skin, marking your submission in that moment.

He impatiently caresses the fabric of your top, his gaze gleaming with wild desire. With a sudden motion, he tears the material, exposing your breasts, and a guttural growl escapes his throat, like an animal in heat. His hands attack your breasts, squeezing them with such force that it feels like he wants to deform them under his grip. You experience a delicious pain, each movement making you vibrate with pleasure while carving the marks of his possession into your flesh.

“Damn, you’ll look so beautiful covered in your blood,” he murmurs in a hoarse voice, his breathing quickening as if every word is a promise of what’s to come. He continues to mark your flesh, his hands roaming over your body, leaving traces of his fingers wherever he goes, as if he wants to announce to the whole world that he will always have you, no matter the cost.

He slides his hand between your thighs, gathering your blood and dragging it across your skin, making it flow, as if he wants to imprint you with his essence. His fingers caress the lower part of your belly, then move up towards your breasts, where he leaves hot red marks, pressing with an insistence that borders on obsession. Each pressure on your flesh feels like a whip, and every moan you let escape is proof of your submission.

When he violently slaps your breasts, a cry of surprise and pleasure escapes your lips, and you realize how enchanted you are by this pain. He loves to see your reactions; he adores watching your eyes widen, that glimmer of defiance slowly transforming into submission. His movements become increasingly chaotic, frantic, like an animal wanting to mark its territory. He caresses your jaw, his gaze locked on yours, then shoves his ringed fingers into your mouth, forcing you to clean them, to swallow every drop of blood that remains.

The cold of the metal against your tongue contrasts with the warmth of your own blood, and you start to succumb to this mix of pain and pleasure, drooling around his fingers while moaning, your eyes rolling back. The world around you disappears, and all that matters is him, his body against yours, his brutal, almost wild movements igniting an insatiable need within you.

As he intensifies his movements, he begins to abuse you even more violently, each thrust making you cry out in pleasure. His body plunges into you, and he feels your sex pulling him in, as if your body craves even more of him. His fingers dig deeper into your mouth, making you choke as your eyes roll back. The sensation is both terrifying and exhilarating, and he loves it; he wants to see you lose all control.

When he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, he slaps you hard across the cheek, an act of domination that only exacerbates your already burning desire. This shock makes you quiver with desire, and you tighten around him even more, demanding more, as if your body were on fire. His fingers, soaked with your blood and saliva, glide over your jaw, slowly descending toward your neck, where he applies a skillfully calculated pressure.

Jake continues to penetrate you with increasing frenzy, his thrusts quick and brutal. Each impact makes you feel like you’re about to explode under the wave of pleasure and pain flooding you, immersing you in a whirlwind of sensations. His grip on your neck becomes tighter, and he lets out hoarse moans of pleasure, reveling in your total submission.

“Damn it, mommy, you drive me crazy,” he growls, his hoarse voice rumbling like thunder. As he lifts your legs and presses them against your stomach, his body draws closer to yours, every muscle taut like a string ready to snap under pressure. His member, hard as steel, brutally plunges into you, each thrust causing an electric shock that sends shivers through your entire body. The sounds of your union—sharp moans, gasping breaths, and the wet sound of your intimacy colliding—echo like a bestial symphony, filling the car’s interior with suffocating heat.

He gives you no respite; every movement is a whip, a mark of his possession. His thrusts are violent, brutal, as if he wants to break down every barrier separating you from him. You moan in pleasure and pain, a desperate melody escaping your lips as he firmly grips the back of your thighs, his nails digging into your delicate skin, leaving red marks, reminders of his conquest. Each thrust is a reminder that you belong to him, that you are his toy, his prey.

His pre-cum escapes, a mix of desire and need, sliding along his member as he fills you with each thrust. He hits your G-spot with devilish precision, making you lose all sense of time and space. Your eyes roll back, drool spilling from your slightly parted lips, a testament to the ecstasy overwhelming you, as if your reason were evaporating under the weight of his insatiable desire.

“More, Jake, please, don’t stop,” you plead, your voice a desperate cry between moans, each syllable trembling with need. He desires to merge your bodies to the point where you become his extension, an integral part of himself, and he will let nothing and no one stand in the way of this fusion.

A guttural growl escapes his throat, a wild and primal sound that vibrates in the air around you. He penetrates you even deeper, your warmth enveloping him as he seeks to possess you completely. You feel the heat building in your lower belly, each thrust making you lose your footing. When you climax, it feels like the entire world is collapsing around you. A piercing cry escapes your mouth, resonating in the car as your body contracts, your femininity squeezing around him with such force that he gasps, reveling in your ecstasy, feeding off your loss of control. Waves of pleasure wash over you, leaving you breathless, as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, overstimulating you with delicious brutality.

“Jake… it’s too much, I can’t… take anymore,” you cry, tears of pleasure and pain mingling their salty taste on your cheeks. But he doesn’t slow down; on the contrary, he abruptly pulls out of you, breathless, before putting you on all fours on the car seats. You are vulnerable, exposed, a perfect target for his insatiable desire.

He grips your hair, pulling your head back with a brutality that makes you moan. His words resonate in your mind like a challenge. “If you can do it, I’m sure you want more,” he says, his hoarse voice tinted with defiance. His thrusts become faster and harder, each impact making you tremble with pleasure and pain, as if each hit were a promise of total domination.

He increases the tempo, his raw power taking you mercilessly, as if he were trying to reach a depth that only a wild animal could know. His hot breath caresses your neck as he intensifies his movements, penetrating you with such force that you feel your body deforming under his strength. Each thrust is a whip, an electric shock resonating through your being, sending you into a trance where pain becomes pleasure.

His free hand wraps around your neck, cutting off your breath, and you feel panic mingled with ecstasy invade your being. Oxygen begins to run low, and each breath becomes a struggle between life and desire. He loosens his grip slightly, allowing you to catch your breath just enough to scream his name again, before plunging you back under his hold, each strike more brutal than the last.

“You are mine,” he growls between strikes, his voice laced with possessiveness. Each word is a declaration, a vow of primal devotion, and you can only submit to this wave of emotions. The combination of pain and pleasure takes you to a state of complete vulnerability, and you realize you crave this domination, this sweet violence that consumes you. You are his toy, his prey, and you let yourself be swept away in this chaotic dance, lost in the fury of his blows.

Your body becomes a canvas where he paints marks of desire, each strike, each tug of hair a new color added to this dark and obscene artwork. You are his, entirely, and you wish for nothing more than to lose yourself again and again in this obscene madness. Each gesture is a promise of raw pleasure, and you are ready to endure anything to feel this power upon you, at the point where ecstasy and pain intertwine in a sensual and cruel dance.

As he intensifies his movements, his strikes become more and more beastly, each impact making you moan and scream with pleasure, until you reach new heights of bliss. The car itself trembles under the violence of your passions, as if it wants to submit to your consuming fervor. In this savage union, you are his, body and soul, and you wish for nothing more than to plunge deeper into this obscenity, this delicious violence that envelops you, consumes you, and redefines you.

Jake leans over your body, his burning lips leaving hungry kisses on your skin. He starts at your back, exploring every curve, every hollow, as if he seeks to mark his territory. Each kiss is wet and eager, his lips gliding over your flesh, making you shiver with pleasure. As he moves up to your neck, he inhales deeply your scent, a blend of warmth and desire, his hot breath mingling with your damp skin. Drops of his sweat fall on you, creating a delicious sensation of warmth that envelops you, and you can’t suppress a hoarse moan escaping your lips, a silent cry of need.

He thrusts into you with sweet violence, each rhythmic movement both brutal and exquisite, a perfect blend of pain and pleasure. You feel his hard member penetrate you deeply, and each thrust is a declaration of his possession. He sucks on your neck with animalistic intensity, biting your skin to leave marks, traces of his domination. He wants you to feel his presence within you, to be etched into your flesh, and you are more than ready to yield to him.

In one final thrust, he releases all his desire, and you violently squirt on him, your body contracting around him like a crashing wave. The heat of his semen fills you, a perfect fusion of passion, flooding your insides and overflowing, wetting everything around you. The sound of your bodies crashing together resonates in the car’s cabin, each impact making you lose track of your thoughts. He doesn’t stop there, continuing his assault with fierce determination, driving his warm seed deeper inside you, growling like a rutting animal, relishing every moment he possesses you.

Your saliva slowly trickles down, a testament to your state of ecstasy. You are breathless, each breath a struggle between pleasure and the need for more. Each thrust from Jake becomes more violent, more brutal, as if he is trying to devour you, to make you his prey. His hands grip your hips, his fingers sinking into your flesh, and you feel the pain mingling with ecstasy, pushing you to a new peak of pleasure. You are his, entirely, and you let yourself go to this bestial madness, to this dance of desire and possession.

When he finally pulls out, his seed mixed with yours flows out of you, a warm, sticky liquid gliding down your thigh, proof of his hold. You know you belong to him, that you are entirely his. This blend of fluids testifies to the depth of your union, a wild union that leaves marks on your body and in your mind. In this moment, you are lost in an ocean of desire, passion, and submission, ready to be devoured again and again.

Jake skillfully maneuvers you, positioning you sitting on him, his hard and pulsing member pressing against your intimacy with an almost painful pressure. Each pulse of his desire against your delicate skin awakens a whirlwind of sensations within you that are both disturbing and exhilarating. Fatigue begins to weigh you down, but the burning excitement in your belly keeps you awake as his powerful arms wrap around you, holding you against him with an almost possessive strength. His caresses, initially soft and gentle, slowly slide down your back, but you can feel the intensity of his desire growing, with each second making his intentions clearer.

“Now, baby, I’m going to fuck your ass,” he murmurs in a rough voice filled with promises, leaning towards you, his burning lips grazing your skin. His hot breath travels over you, igniting every inch of your body. He captures your lips in a passionate kiss, a wild embrace, mixing your saliva in a messy dance, as if each drop is a promise of what is to come.

His hands explore your body with frantic determination, sliding slowly towards your sex. His skillful fingers gather the blend of your fluids, making you shiver under his touch, each stroke heightening the sensitivity of your intimacy. You feel desire rising within you, a crashing wave threatening to overwhelm you. He approaches his fingers to your ass, spreading this burning mixture over your skin, leaving you breathless as he continues to kiss you with a devouring fervor.

You cling desperately to his shoulders, your nails digging into his muscular flesh, seeking support against the intensity of this moment. He slowly thrusts his fingers inside you, each calculated movement making you moan against his mouth. The sensation is both delicious and painful as he stretches you with bestial precision, making you lose all control. His eyes shine with a wild gleam, devouring every expression on your face as he bites your lower lip with deceptive gentleness, his mouth slightly opening to let out a guttural growl, a promise of what is to follow.

You grip his hair, taking control of the kiss, tilting his head to deepen this burning connection. Your tongue plunges deep into his mouth, battling with his, a chaotic dance of unfulfilled desires. You feel his response, a rough moan resonating in his throat, a vibration echoing your own desire. His free hand ventures over your body, caressing your curves, while the other continues to torture you with slow yet penetrating movements, pushing even deeper into your depths.

He pulls on your wet hair, wrapping it around his fist, the pain mixed with pleasure making you lose track of time a little more. With his other hand, he keeps you prisoner, holding you tight against him, and you realize you are at his mercy. Each thrust of his fingers inside you makes you lose your sense of time, and your breath becomes erratic, every moan you let out being an offering to his insatiable desire.

But suddenly, he pulls back slightly, and a shiver of anticipation and anxiety runs through you as he bites your lip harshly. The anxiety mingles with a burning desire, making you cry out softly, as if his violence only intensifies the need that consumes you. Every pulse of his member against your skin reminds you just how dependent you are on him.

“Jake, I just want to sleep,” you murmur, slightly tired, your eyes half-closed as he continues to play with your ass, a carnivorous smile spreading across his lips. His fingers glide over your skin, plunging back in with calculated brutality, as if he were trying to make you lose all control.

“Mommy, you can sleep if you want.” His voice resonates with cruel amusement, a slight chuckle cutting through the tense air. He pulls his fingers from your ass, lifting you effortlessly, as if you were nothing more than a rag doll. You feel vulnerable, your heart racing as he positions your ass over his member, already dripping with pre-cum, ready to claim you as his prey.

“As long as I can fuck this pretty little ass, you can do whatever you want.” His words, spoken in a possessive tone, echo in your head like a promise of pain and pleasure, and a wave of dark excitement washes over you.

The next moment, he begins to penetrate you. His member slowly sinks into your tight hole, a mix of pain and pleasure awakening within you like a sacred fire. The pain is sharp, like an electric shock, a moan of suffering escaping your lips. You can feel every inch he pushes inside you, stretching your flesh beyond its limits, a struggle between despair and an unacknowledged pleasure. Tears begin to fall down your cheeks, mingling your distress with tragic beauty. You are both desperate and captive in this intense moment, trapped in his game.

“It hurts,” you moan, your voice trembling, seeking refuge in his muscular arms. You bury your head in his neck, the tears soaking his t-shirt, hoping your suffering might soften him. But he is not there to be gentle. One hand rests on your back, the other firmly holding your body against his, continuing his intrusion with calculated slowness, every movement heavy, as if he savors your pain, each second stretching your torment.

“It’s nothing, mommy,” he murmurs in a hoarse voice, sweet yet mocking at the same time. His hand slips to caress your hair, a contradictory gesture in light of the brutality of his actions. “Just relax, and it’ll be fine.” His words, though laden with promises, do not mask the anxiety rising within you. A part of you knows he feeds on your despair, that he relishes your pain like a predator before its prey.

You try to relax, but the pain is excruciating, a burning wave coursing through your body. Every inch he inserts seems to stretch your flesh beyond its limits. Anxiety overwhelms you as he intends to claim every part of your body, and with one last brutal thrust, he finally buries himself completely inside you. A scream of pain escapes your lips, resonating in the tense air, your body reacting fiercely to this intrusion.

As he begins to move inside you, he realizes you are gripping him too tightly. “Baby, relax even more, or you’ll end up hurting,” he says, his deep voice echoing like a whisper in the hollow of your neck. He caresses your back, his fingers sliding down your spine, trying to soothe your pain, but it’s not enough to extinguish the flames consuming your body. The mix of pleasure and pain is intoxicating, a macabre dance you are forced to participate in. Every thrust, every movement of his hips inside you becomes an act of brutal possession, further submitting you to his desire.

When he feels you starting to give in, he moves slowly, each thrust of his hips inside you seeming to tear and reshape you in his image. His rhythm is measured, a cruel slowness that forces you to adjust to this unpleasant sensation, a mix of pleasure and pain that makes every nerve in your body vibrate. He whispers encouragements, his voice intensifying as he runs his fingers through your hair, caressing your skin with a deceptive tenderness that contrasts with the brutality of his actions.

But when he sees you starting to moan in pleasure, your body adapting to him, he abruptly speeds up, taking total control. Your hips move against his, an instinctive and desperate motion, as if your body already knows the way to pleasure, even as your head is filled with contradictions. Every thrust becomes deeper, more primal, a mix of despair and wild desire that seems to tear you apart from the inside. He plunges into you with such force that you can feel your flesh yielding under his grip.

He pushes you to the edge, to the brink of pleasure and pain, and you feel completely devoured by this intense experience. The sounds in the car are drowned out by the noise of your bodies colliding, each movement resonating like a declaration of possession. You are his, and he has no intention of letting you go. Excitement builds within you, and you feel your body reacting uncontrollably, every moan escaping your lips being an involuntary response to his delicious assault. He makes you lose all rationality, his presence being both a scourge and a delight, and you are caught between pain and a frantic pleasure that consumes you.

With every thrust, he seems to transform you, extracting you from your own existence to plunge you into a world where only pain and pleasure have their place. You are at the mercy of his brutal desires, and each thrust becomes an indelible mark on your body and in your mind. The light fades around you, leaving only the darkness of this primal connection. You feel yourself sinking into a spiral of madness, unable to break free.

In this whirlwind of contradictory emotions, you no longer know where your suffering begins and where your pleasure ends. Everything becomes blurred, and you are ready to do anything for him, even if it means losing a part of yourself in this chaos. The tension rises, leaving you breathless, your thoughts blending with the moans of your body. He possesses you completely, and this possession is all you know. You have become his toy, a thing to be manipulated at his whim. Reality fades away, leaving only this desperate need to please him, even at the cost of your own suffering.

Jake holds you firmly, his powerful hands gripping your waist as he intensifies his movements inside you. Each thrust is a thunderclap, making your whole body vibrate and provoking moans of pleasure that escape your lips. The car, this confined cocoon, becomes the silent witness to your debauchery, each vibration, each sigh mixing in the warm, charged air of desire.

You bend over him, your head tilted back, seeking support on his strong shoulders. Your nails dig into his flesh, leaving marks as you surrender to the ecstasy he provides. The tension between you is palpable, a fusion of unquenchable desire and animalistic need. With every thrust, he plunges deeper inside you, his virility tearing you apart, and you feel yourself slipping slowly, ready to be overwhelmed by this wave of raw pleasure.

He suddenly flips you over, facing the dashboard, pressing you against the cold surface. His movements become a beastly dance, a frantic rhythm as he dives back inside your ass, making you scream with pleasure and pain. Each thrust is a delicious mix of sensations, and you grab onto anything within reach — the smooth leather of the seats, the handles, the dashboard — as if your life depended on it. The smell of alcantara and his musky perfume envelops you, creating a suffocating atmosphere where desire and thrills intertwine.

The blows grow stronger, each impact making you lose more control. With every thrust, he goes deeper inside you, and your cries of pleasure mingle with his growls of satisfaction. “You’re so perfect for me, mommy,” he whispers, his voice husky, filled with primal need. His lips slide along the curve of your back, leaving burning kisses that mark his passage, a reminder of his possession.

He nibbles on your skin with desperate fervor, a gesture that is both tender and terrifically possessive, before diving his head into your neck. You can hear his moans blend with yours, creating a symphony of desire. His teeth graze your flesh, leaving marks of his raw passion. “I’m going to make you feel everything I have inside me,” he growls, intensifying his movements with wild fury.

He pulls your hair violently back, forcing your head toward him. When he sees your tongue hanging out, a muffled cry escapes your lips, and he can’t help but smile, his gaze glistening with desire. “Look at me,” he commands, his deep voice authoritative. You dive your eyes into his, lost in that predatory gaze, and you know he is completely consumed by need.

He presses his lips against yours with beastly force, his tongue probing your mouth, dancing with voracity. The movements of his hips become increasingly desperate, as if he seeks to merge into you, to erase any separation between your bodies. The intensity of his thrusts makes you vibrate, each impact resonating in the confined space, creating a melody of pleasure and debauchery.

In a burning breath, he plunges his tongue into your throat, exploring it with an insatiable eagerness that leaves you gasping. “Let go,” he whispers in your ear, his voice heavy with obscene promises. “I want you to feel every second of this.” His words are like a fire consuming everything in its path, and you feel ready to explode, desire rising within you like an unstoppable tide.

The orgasm approaches, an unbearable pressure building inside you, a tsunami of pleasure threatening to overwhelm everything. Each thrust is a hammer blow on the anvil of your desire, and you feel your body tense, ready to release this wave of ecstasy. He intensifies his movements, your cries of pleasure echoing with each thrust, and you know you can no longer hold back. “Let go,” he repeats, his raspy voice filled with desire.

Pleasure overwhelms you as you give in, a primal scream escaping your mouth as the orgasm hits you. The heat explodes inside you, a blinding light erasing everything in its wake. You feel yourself melt under his grip, his thrusts becoming even more frantic, filling you with sensations so intense you feel like you’re losing your footing.

“Yes, that’s it,” he growls, his gaze locked on you, his determination strengthening as he plunges even deeper inside you. The sounds of flesh meeting flesh mingle with your panting breaths, producing a symphony of raw pleasure. Each thrust becomes a cry of possession, an act of reclamation, and you know in every fiber of your being that you are completely his.

In one final surge of passion, he pulls you even closer, driving deeper into this sea of sensations. His movements reach a frenzy, each thrust making you moan with pleasure, and you feel ready to collapse. The ecstasy is at its peak, and you lose yourself in this wild fusion, the boundaries between you two disappearing, leaving only enveloping warmth and unrestrained satisfaction.

In this intense moment, you realize you have become one, two bodies united in a whirlwind of animal desire, a blend of pleasure and pain, submission and domination. And as you allow this wave of ecstasy to engulf you, you know that this moment will mark you forever, an indelible imprint of raw passion and consuming desire.

“I’m going to fill you up,” he growls, his hoarse voice whispering promises in the warm, desire-laden air. With one final powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, making you scream with pleasure as a flood of sensations washes over you. His warm cum bursts inside you, each drop marking you as a symbol of his possession. He doesn’t slow his rhythm, continuing to penetrate you, each movement a brutal reminder of his dominance over your body.

“Now, you belong to me body and soul,” he continues, his warm breath caressing your skin. His words are charged with bestial intensity, as if he is ready to claim every part of you. He then dives to kiss you deeply, his tongue probing your mouth with savage voracity, blending passion and control. His kisses are a mix of sweetness and brutality, a dance between possession and insatiable desire.

As you feel the orgasm overwhelm him, his thrusts become more frantic, almost desperate, as if he seeks to ensure every part of you is marked by him. Each thrust is an act of reclamation, every moan escaping your lips an echo of shared pleasure. You feel completely lost in this wave of ecstasy, your body responding to every movement, every contact.

He takes your face in his hands, his eyes locked onto yours, capturing your gaze. “I want you completely,” he murmurs, his voice filled with desire. “Not a piece of you will ever belong to anyone else.” His words seep into your mind, making you understand the depth of his obsession.

His mouth trails down your neck, his teeth nibbling gently at your skin, leaving red marks that testify to his possession. He straightens up, taking you again, lifting you and pressing you against the dashboard, each movement intensifying the connection between you. In this moment, you are his, entirely, and you know that no force in the world could ever separate you.

The heat of his body against yours, the weight of his palpable desire, and the promise of his possession heighten the tension. You are caught in a whirlwind of passion and unfulfilled desires, and you know this is just the beginning. The outside world fades away, leaving only the two of you, merging in a sensual dance of animal desire.

He holds you close, his movements becoming wilder, each thrust a brutal reminder of his dominance. You are his prey, and he has no intention of letting you go. Ecstasy mingles with delicious pain, each impact awakening sensations within you that you’ve never known. You know you are at the mercy of his desires, and you completely surrender to him, a cry of pleasure escaping your lips as you feel overwhelmed by this tide of sensations.

As pleasure reaches its peak, everything around you illuminates, a mix of raw pleasure and animal passion. You know this moment will mark you forever, an unbreakable bond between you, a union of bodies and souls, sealed in the warmth of the moment.

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

[eetherealgoddess]

ꨄExotic Troubleꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Hybrid Au

❦Y/n pet sits a rich owner’s exotic hybrids❦

Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchuyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

Not fully proofread!

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

Japanese language is red

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There will be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Exotic Trouble

“Rin, Ran! Goddamnit, what is this?!” Y/n exclaims after closing the front door of the mansion behind her. Glaring at the culprits as she waves her hands around the mess that lies everywhere, including the scratched furniture and fallen frames, glass shards all over the wood.

The oldest brother could be seen sleeping on the torn couch, his furry ears flipping down as his slumber is disturbed, turning his body to face the back of the couch as his tail drapes over the seat. The youngest simply sat on the floor beside his brother’s tail, leaning back against the bottom of the couch as he licked his hand, claws out.

“Explain yourselves, right now!” She stomps one foot as she places her hands on her hips. She throws her hands out as they slap against her thigh, dropping as she frustratingly sighs when she’s ignored.

“You’re getting paid for this, you’re getting paid for this, you’re getting paid for this.” She murmurs to herself as she walks past the mess, walking up the staircase in search of the others she’s been paid to pet sit.

“Mikey! Kazu! Haru!” She calls out. The door down the hall creaking open as the tiger hybrid walks out, strolling towards her.

“I don’t know about Sanzu, but Mik-.”

“Master!” A cheerful cry reaches her ears. A short, blonde lion hybrid dashes toward her as she holds her arms out, already knowing what he was about to do. He jumps on her, arms wrapping around her neck as she holds him up. He buries his face into the crook of her neck, causing her to lightly shiver as his warm breath reaches her skin.

“Mikey, you know I’m not your master. Where’s Sanzu?”

“I don’t know.” He whispers as he drifts off to sleep. She sighs as she eyes Kazutora.

“Y/n, can we lay down? I want to watch a movie.” Kazutora yawns as his fangs show, rubbing his eyes. She smiles slightly at the cuteness before her frown returns.

“It would have to be later, before I go home. Kazu, do you know who trashed the foyer downstairs?”

She has an idea that it’s the Haitani brothers doing, but she had to make sure so she could explain why the owner’s furniture is torn apart.

“No.” He shakes his head. “Can you spend the night, again?” He questions as he gives her a doe - eyed expression.

“Kazutora, I know you’re lying to me.” He flinches as her tone changes. He crosses his arms as he looks away.

“Fine, I won’t make you snitch. Perfect timing to have company over, great.” She sighs. His eyebrows furrow.

“Company?” She ignores his question as she walks from room to room.

“Damn, Haru hides too well.” She murmurs as she searches. A ring at the doorbell halts their movement. Kazutora sniffs the air.

“Here, take him for me please?” She hands him Mikey before he could respond, rushing down the stairs.

Before she could make it to the door, she gasps as she sees both brothers at the doorway, interrogating her boyfriend.

“Who are you?” Rin glares at the newcomer while Ran sniffs in suspicion, his hands in his pockets while Rin’s arms cross.

“Uh, Hi. I’m Tanaka, Akio.” He bows as he sheepishly smiles, nerves a little wrecked as he wasn’t expecting to be greeted by exotic hybrids. He underestimated the words ‘pet sitting,’ thinking of them being regular pet hybrids and not exotic which are known to be bigger and intimidating creatures.

The door slams closed as Ran became bored of the conversation, if it could be called that. Tanaka scratches the back of his head before the door opens swiftly.

“I’m so sorry about that Aki, they’re just grumpy.” She says, moving out of the way to invite him in. “Hence the mess that I recently came home to.” She chuckles. The hybrids frown at her use of a nickname.

“Don’t worry about it, babe.” She grabs his wrist to pull him as she shows him around.

“By the way, that was the Haitanis. The tiger carrying the lion is Hanemiya and the lion is Mikey. The jaguar is hidden somewhere, but his name is Sanzu.” She explains.

“How is it taking care of exotic hybrids? I heard it can be troubling.” He inquires, readjusting his glasses as they walk down the hall to the kitchen.

“It’s not too hard. Some of them are troublemakers, though. I’d say that’s the only ‘issue’ that I've had.”

“Who is that?” Mikey asks, crawling out of Kazutora’s hold as he raises a brow. They walk behind the two humans, along with the Haitani brothers.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like him.” Kazutora responds.

“He looks weak.” Ran chuckles, “What is she doing with him?”

“He better be a friend. It’d be humiliating for him to be anything else.” Rin says.

“He’s obviously her partner.” A soft voice says behind them. They stop in their tracks as they turn their heads.

“Sanzu, where have you been?” Kazutora asks.

“If you look at their body language, you can see that they’re in a romantic relationship. Especially with how she looks at him.” He frowns, crossing his arms.

They all turn to observe the couple, to their disappointment they glare at the way they hold hands and laugh together. Some of them let out small growls as they see the man rubbing her arm as they converse.

“We should watch a movie. Need an excuse to cuddle.” He suggests, chuckling along with her giggle.

“Yeah, let's do it.”

They headed up the stairs having grabbed a few snacks as they made their way to the bedroom. The hybrids watch as they close the door behind them, shutting off access to their view. They all glance at each other before nodding.

After thirty minutes of watching the movie, the couple began their make out session on the bed, her leg draped over him, her body nearest to the door. His arm draped over her waist. As they motion their lips together, he slightly opens his eyes, only widening them when he sees two pairs of glowing purple eyes in the doorway. In response, he wraps both arms around her waist and pulls her on top so he can ignore the presence standing by.

He closes his eyes as he continues, his hands making their way to her ass, giving her a gentle squeeze before moving them back to her waist. When he opens his eyes, he jumps as if he wasn't expecting a pair of icy blue eyes or even the dark voids to be staring directly from his side, stoic facial expressions that give him the chill.

“Hey, are you okay?” She questions, not realizing the reason for his halted movements.

“Um.” He points at their audience.

“Mikey, Haru! What the fuck are y’all doing?” She exclaims.

“We wanted to watch the movie, too.” Mikey pouts.

“Fine. Let’s all move to the den.” She says, moving from her position as her bottom hits the mattress.

“No, I want to be comfortable.” Mikey whines as he hops on top of her, burying his face into her chest.

“Mikey, we can’t all fit on the bed. Let’s go.” She says as she carries him downstairs, her boyfriend and the other hybrids following behind.

Tanaka can feel the hatred radiating from the group, not only by the glares coming from every which way, including Mikey who’s staring at him from the crook of her shoulder, but also by the Haitani brothers bumping into him as they walk side by side. The tension in the room is thick, intimidating him.

When they all make it to the den, her boyfriend sits on the end of the sofa as she sits next to him, Mikey sitting on top of her with his face still buried on the crook of her neck. Sanzu sits on the floor, leaning his head against her leg farthest from the boyfriend as Kazutora sits near her other leg that’s nearest to Tanaka. Rin sits beside her, wrapping an arm around hers. Ran stands in front of the boyfriend.

“Move.” He demands, nonchalantly, eyes heavy lidded with a stoic expression, his tail swaying. Although there was no tension in his face, those lazy eyes pierce through Tanaka, causing him to immediately get up.

“Wait, Ran that wasn’t fair! Aki-.”

“No, Y/n. It’s okay.” Tanaka responds. She continues to eye him as Ran sits down, using his tail to wrap around her waist as he leans his body onto hers.

“Are you sure? Ran come on don’t be mean.”

“It’s okay, baby.” Tanaka says, sitting next to Rin, although not too close.

“Alright.” She sighs, turning the tv on and another movie on display.

Thirty minutes passed once more as Mikey’s head rested on her shoulder closest to Rin.

“Master, can you rub my back?” He whispers, hot breath on her ear. She nods as she uses the hand closest to Ran to begin petting his back. Tanaka side glances. His eyes widen when he sees a wet tongue come out and glide up her neck.

“Mikey, I know you’re affectionate, but not right now, okay?” She whispers, knowing that he licks in content often like a normal hybrid pet, though she doesn’t want to freak her boyfriend out considering he has barely any knowledge of these creatures.

“But the movie is scary and this relaxes me.” He whines. Tanaka hears everything as he grits his teeth. Rin and Ran snort as they know what Mikey’s doing and they’re not against it.

“Fine.” She sighs. “Just try to chill out okay. It’s not real.” She rubs his back.

He continues to give her little kitten licks, to Tanaka’s disappointment, though he didn’t dare say a word. Finally, he and Mikey make eye contact, the lion hybrid staring intently as he uses his tongue to give a long lick before sucking the sensitive skin. His ears pull back as he gives another long lick, kissing her neck before nibbling.

“Mikey, stop that.” Y/n whispers, shivers going down her spine at the newfound sensation he gives her. He begins to purr as he continues his suckling, ignoring her as he continues to stare Tanaka down. He smiles when he stands up.

“Hey, babe. I’m gonna go, okay?”

“What? The movie isn’t even over.” She says, unknown to his real motives of leaving.

“It’s fine, I have work in the morning anyway and this was a distant drive.” He says as he walks near the exit of the den.

“Okay, let me at least walk you out!” She says as she begins to try and move Mikey, though she’s plastered in her seat by all of the hybrids holding her.

“It’s fine. It was good to see you. Text me.” He waves goodbye.

When he disappears from the room, Sanzu and the Haitani brothers hop from their seats.

“Where are y’all going?” She questions.

“To lock the door and get food.” Ran answers.

She nods as they disappear, Mikey’s tail wrapping around her waist as a sleeping Kazutora subconsciously rubs his face against her leg. Mikey’s grip tightens as he continues assaulting her neck.

“You must be overstimulated. Do I need to grab one of your toys?” She asks as his fangs lightly pierce her neck when he nibbles. He shakes his head no and continues his licks and kisses.

As Tanaka walks to his car, he fails to notice the figure before it jumps on him from behind. His glasses fall, shattering as he looks into crazed blue eyes. Before he could react, large claws scrape against his chest as he screams. Ran shoves a cloth into his mouth before moving to his arm, tearing it clean off using his mouth and claws. Rin grabs his leg, using his strength to break it, slicing the skin with his claws as he pulls it completely off. Screams muffled as Sanzu wraps his mouth around his neck, using his sharp teeth to take a chunk out of his body, killing him as the blood splatters out.

They continue to slaughter his body for fun before contacting the butlers and maids to clean the mess before their pet sitter could see.

“Guys?! What’s all this blood from?!” She exclaims when they enter the den. Kazutora wakes up as her yelling brings him from slumber. Mikey eyes the other hybrids in content.

“Food.” Rin simply responds.

She sighs, feeling sorry for the poor animals they fed from.

“Let’s get you guys bathed and ready for bed.”

As they walk to one of the bathrooms, the men converse in their own language, knowing she can’t understand anything that they’re saying. After all, she only just moved to the country, this being her first and only job considering the pay.

“How’d he taste?” Kazutora questions, smirking as they walk.

“I would never eat disgusting scum. We tore him apart and the employees completed the rest.” Sanzu states.

“Good.” Mikey smiles.

“It was too easy. I wanted a challenge but he just laid there.” Rin pouts.

“What else would you expect from a weakling, brother?” Ran smiles.

“Alright, let’s run this bath.”

She turns on the huge tub, adding soap as the hybrids undress. She turns away to block her sight from their human genitals as they hop in.

“Can you bathe us, master?” Kazutora teases.

“Stop calling me that. You can bathe yourselves, I’m just here to clean the mess.” She responds, crossing her arms.

“Please?” Mikey pleads, giving the signature doe eyed expression.

“What kind of pet sitter are you?” Rin taunts.

“Fine, fine, but you’ll have to wash your own balls.” She states.

“First, I’m gonna drain this bloody ass water and remake the bath.”

She does just that. As soon as the tub is full, she grabs the shampoo.

“Alright, who’s first?”

After everyone is done, they head to their designated bedrooms. Her walking each of them to make sure everything is okay. Finally, putting Sanzu to bed last, she tells him goodbye.

“Are you staying over?” He asks. She nods her head.

“Yeah, it’s gotten too late to drive home. Sweet dreams.” She says before walking out and closing the door behind her.

When she makes it to her room, she gets ready for her own shower. When she’s done she completes her night routine and hops in bed. Her brows furrowed in confusion when she didn't receive any routine responses from Tanaka. Suddenly, her phone rings. She answers the call.

As she talks with her friend, she reveals that their owner will be back either late that evening or tomorrow morning, indicating that this is her last night at the mansion, unknown to the prowling ears listening to her conversation. Once their call ends, she puts her phone down, falling into a deep slumber.

The moonlight shines through the room as the bouncing of the bed wakes her up. Sweat falls down her body as she feels cold air hitting all over her heated bare skin. Heavy breathing could be heard as moans and whispers filled the air.

As she comes back to her senses, she realizes the sensations brought to her skin, including her body rocking up and down. Opening her eyes wide when her thoughts click, she eyes in horror, a strangled gasp leaving her mouth as she sees Rin naked above her form. His hand is wrapped around a chain that connects to a collar around her throat. His other hand balances himself above her as the skin’s smacking sounds echo.

His forehead is leaning on hers as he thrusts hard, pulling his hips back and slamming it against her propped up thighs. His lips are slightly parted as his eyes are closed, breathing heavily as she feels his warm breath hitting her face. His ears flipped back as his tail wrapped around her leg.

“R-rin! Stop, right now!” She exclaims, breathlessly as her nose scrunches from the intense beating. He ignored her, continuing as he released a moan. Her hands reach up to push against his chest, his hand blocking one of them as he uses the balancing hand to hold her wrist down, claws scratching against the sheets.

“No. It’s my turn.” He breathes, sitting up as he faces her, smirking before accelerating his thrusts.

“Your t-turn?” She questions, still attempting to push him off with one hand on his chest. He nods as he motions his head to the side.

On the bed, the other hybrids, naked, are kneeled some palming their own erections while the others pump themselves, watching the display. She wails in humiliation.

“You have to stop! Th-this is not okay!”

Ran crawls toward her as he leans over to steal a kiss, shoving his tongue in her mouth as he grabs her cheek, caressing with his thumb. Sanzu comes to the other side of the bed, bending over as he latches his lips onto her neck. Mikey and Kazutora, on opposite sides, latch to her nipples, playing with them using their fingers as well as sucking.

Rin leans over as he thrusts into her from a deeper angle, causing a grunt to come out of her as he repeatedly hits her g-spot. Her toes curl as her head falls back. She pleads for them to not continue this madness, half way hoping she was still dreaming.

“My my, what a welcome home.” A familiar, sultry voice says. Y/n turns her attention to the doorway as the men continue their assault, not shifting their attention at all.

“P-please! Ah! I didn’t-! Fuck! Mean for thi-!” She tries to explain, tears falling as her eyes squint.

“Yes, I know. My boys have taken quite a liking to you so you’ll be staying here for now on. Isn’t that great?” The owner walks in as she strolls to the side of the bed, closest to Y/n’s upper body.

“B-but I can-! I can’t stay…! Ah! Here.” She responds before Ran grabs her chin and forces another kiss, tired of their conversation.

“Oh, but you can. You will. Everything has already been set in motion and you know how I spoil them. They’re good boys after all.” She walks towards the door before turning on her heel.

“Also, you won’t be hearing from, what’s his name? Tanaka, right? Don’t worry about it, everything has been taken care of. Even the damaged furniture.” She smiles before walking out and closing the door. She pulls back from Ran.

“G-guys! What h-happen-?!” Ran bites her lips as Sanzu nips painfully at her neck. Rin pulls her chain roughly, causing pain in her neck as the two fondling her breasts pinch her nubs. She shuts her eyes in pain as blood is drawn from her lip and neck.

They continue, Rin thrusting sloppier as he reaches his climax, her head dropping back as her eyes roll in the back of her head. Her body convulses as her hips buck, creaming on his bare cock. With one deep thrust, he orgasms deep inside of her.

Rin moves off of her as everyone pulls back. She lies weakly as she catches her breath, attempting to face her new reality.

“That must’ve felt great. My turn!”

“You already went, Mikey.” Kazutora responds. “It’s my turn.”

“No, I’m going next.” Sanzu says.

“Doesn’t matter who goes next. She’s going to be bred full of our cubs.” Rin hisses.

Ran ignores all of them as he crawls above her, placing his head at her entrance before shoving himself all the way in. He lifts both of her legs and leans over her with his hands wrapped around them. One of his hands moves to the chain and pulls. He smiles with amusement.

“You look so pretty all worn out, Master. I’m glad we’ll get to have you like this all the time.” His thrusts harden, steady as he hits her cervix.

“Fine, but I’m after him.” Sanzu calls dibs.

“Hey!” Kazutora hisses.

Juice oozes out of her hole as his thick girth stretches her pussy. Once again, her nipples caught in fingers as well as her neck planted with kisses. Her lips caught as she’s once again, bredded. Ran slows down as his skin slaps against hers as they make eye contact. A red hue takes over his face as his fangs tingle.

“I’m ready to mark her.”

“No! We have to wait until we all get a turn.” Kazutora says, only because he wants to mark her while he’s inside.

“Why? Let’s claim her now.” Rin says.

“You only say that because you’ve already fucked her.” Sanzu growls.

She eyes them in confusion as she tries to decipher what they’re going back and forth about. Mikey rolls his eyes as he bites her side, causing her to flinch at the pinch.

“Damnit, Mikey!” Kazutora exclaims before grabbing her arm and biting her wrist. Rin bites her neck as Sanzu bites her other side. As she orgasms, Ran leans over to bite the other side of her neck.

She yelps as Ran accelerates drastically, thrusting his hips back and forth as the meat on her thighs jiggle. Her mouth drops open as she tilts her head back once more, her core overstimulated as she arches her back.

“That’s so hot.” Kazutora states as he drops her wrists, some of the others nodding as they watch.

Eventually, he releases deep inside of her with one hard thrust, the pressure pushing against her g-spot as it’s held there causing her to cum again.

She attempts to catch her breath before Ran moves and Sanzu climbs on her.

“Haru, please don’t.” She whispers, completely spent as she holds no more strength. He smiles warmly as he grabs her palm and places it on his cheek.

“Be good for us, okay Master?”

[natsukicookies]

The sinful allure

Summary

What you thought was the life of a side character turned out to be the life of the main character!

On your 18th birthday, you discover you're a succubus, and everything you thought you knew about yourself changes.

What’s more, your newfound powers don’t just come with supernatural abilities—they make you act... different. Flirty, confident, and completely unlike your usual shy self.

As if that wasn’t enough, the Batboys have somehow gotten tangled in your life. Balancing secrets, powers, and the chaos they bring? Yeah, happy birthday to you.

< masterlist > chap 1

Your eyes couldn’t leave your phone’s screen as they were locked onto the calendar app. You eyed a specific date with barely contained anticipation noticing that your birthday was approaching. In just a few days, you would turn 18. You were finally going to be an adult. You weren't sure if you felt excited or anxious-maybe a little of both.

With a sigh, you tried to focus back on the teacher's lecture, though your mind was elsewhere.

Turning 18 meant you'd finally be the same age as everyone else in your year.

The class ended, before you realise that, whatever the teacher spoke went in one ear and out the other, Fantastic! Now you were clueless about the chapter and would have to head to the library to study. "Just amazing," you muttered sarcastically under your breath.

As you left the classroom, someone bumped into you in a hurry. "Sorry!" the guy called out as he rushed past. You recognized him instantly-Tim Drake, one of Bruce Wayne's adopted sons, and one of the richest guys in Gotham.

He's one of the 3rd years, in the computer science major, same as you. The two of you even share some of your classes. And yet despite this.

You hadn't talked to him, or really to anyone at this college if you were to be honest. You were more of an introvert... wait, don’t introverts also have friends, but you didn't. A small laugh escaped you at the thought.

It wasn't always like this though,. You used to have friends, but then COVID happened, and all your social skills vanished. There wasn’t much to begin with, but it dropped to zero after that.

And iIf that wasn't bad enough, your mom got transferred to another city for her work, and guess what? It was Gotham City, the crime capital. Thankfully, the one year you'd spent here had been normal,well as normal as it could be in Gotham.

Being suddenly moved, in the middle of your last year of high school mind you, wasn't great. By the time you arrived everyone had their own friend groups, and you didn't fit into any of them. Your lack of social skills not helping either.

High school came and went, college started, but your chances of making friends? Nope, that still seemed like a pipe dream that would never happen.

You headed to your next class, passing the art club where you overheard people talking about Damian Wayne.

Another Wayne? You rolled your eyes at the name. You weren't really fond of the rich kids- most of them weren't great.

But then again, this was Gotham State University, and a lot of rich kids were here. To this day, you still had no idea how your mom managed to get you into this college. Did her job really pay that much? Definitely not.

Not caring much about it, you took a seat in an empty spot and watched the day fly by.

That was your norm- going to college, judge people,head home to do your course work and other stuff, then repeat, it was a cycle

It was seriously boring.

Guess that's the life of a side character for you.

Your attention shifted as you heard your name being called by your mom. "Are you still wearing that pendant?" Of course, that was the question she always asked. You knew her obsession with that pendant all too well. Whenever you were asked, she would respond with, "You must wear that pendant forever and never take it off, even for a second."

At this point, you were used to it, but still, her asking the same question every week for years kind of got on your nerves. "Yes, Mom, I am." You couldn't help but roll your eyes as you continued to watch TV.

Your mom did her usual routine, reminding you not to open the door for strangers (typical mom) and telling you what food was in the refrigerator before heading off to work.

Your mom was hardly home; like 90% of the time, she was at work. You didn't blame her for that now that you were older. She was a single mom working hard to support both of you.

Well, you tried not to blame her, at least. But there were still those moments.

Now the movie you were watching didn't seem fun anymore because of those thoughts. Cursing under your breath, you turned off the TV and headed to your room, passing by the mirror.

Stopping in your tracks and stepping back, you stared at your reflection. You looked normal; nothing seemed out of place, but you could have sworn you saw something whilst walking past it.

You shrugged it off and went to your room, chalking it up to your imagination.

The next few days went by and it's the night before your birthday. You're alone in the house, because of course your mom has work to take care of.

The next few days passed in a blur, and soon it was the night before your birthday. You were alone in the house, of course, since your mom had to work -again.

You were her only child, yet she didn't even have time for your 18th birthday. "Amazing mom," you muttered, trying to push down the bitterness creeping in. You scrolled aimlessly through your phone, distracting yourself from the thoughts swirling in your mind.

You watched the clock hit 11:48 and decided you might as well get that cupcake out and blow some candles- that's the only thing you can blow anyway.

As you moved around the kitchen, you kept catching glimpses of strange things out of the corner of your eye-like objects floating slightly before settling down. But every time you turned, everything seemed perfectly normal.

You shook your head, Maybe you were getting sleepy? You really hoped that was the case because you were not up for a ghost fight on your birthday.

By the time you set up the cupcake, the clock read 11:58. Just two more minutes, and you'd officially be 18- meaning you won't be able to use your 'sir I'm a minor' card but hey, you could at least legally drink wine now... if you could afford any.

You quickly lit up the candle and waited till the clock hit 12

"Happy birthday to me" you wished right on midnight as you closed your eyes to blow out the candle "I hope for a change this year"

Opening your eyes expecting to see the same old living room only to be met with a pair of bloody red eyes staring at you from High up.

A wave of fear washed over you making your body freeze. As you took in your surroundings, you were indeed not in your living room anymore. This wasn’t what you meant when you wished for a change this year...

"Worry not, my child," a deep voice echoed. you can't see its face or what it is, all you see is a shadow like figure on a throne which was placed on.... your eyes widened as you realized it was human skulls.

Oh you were a goner, you just knew it.

"You are not a goner" Did he- guessing by the voice- read your thoughts? You weren't even gonna question how, none of this was making sense so it's better to just not use the logical side of your brain and just roll with it.

"You must have a lot of questions," he spoke, amusement clear in his voice, as he rested his cheek on his hand.

You nodded, you definitely did.

"Good, let's add one more" he pointed at you, more specifically at your clothes.

"Huh?" You looked down and felt your face heat up. Your outfit wasn't the one you'd been wearing-it was something much more revealing, leaving you scrambling to cover yourself with your hands.

"What is going on?" you stammered, cheeks flushed.

The figure burst into laughter, seeming to enjoy your reaction a little too much. Finally, after calming down, he explained.

According to him, you were a succubus. A... what now?!

And hence the reason for things floating around in the air and you seeing stuff in the mirror.

Did it make sense? No, absolutely not. Was he gonna explain more? It didn't seem like it.

"So you’re saying.... that I have to have.... sex with.... guys now?" you asked, cutting to the question weighing on your mind

"Girls work too," he replied you could hear the smirk from his tone.

Your jaw dropped at his casual response. "Girls work too"? This was insane. You barely managed to talk to people as it was, and now you were expected to seduce them? The thought alone made you want to dig a hole and hide in it.

"So, let me get this straight," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "You're telling me that, overnight, I turned into... a succubus. And now I have to... you know... with people? Just to survive?"

The shadow figure leaned back in his throne, still smirking. "That's the short version, yes. But it's not quite as dire as you're imagining." He seemed amused, as if he could see the whirlwind of emotions playing out on your face. "You'll get used to it. Besides, a succubus's charm is automatic. Your appeal will increase naturally, even without you trying."

You blinked, taking a shaky breath. This was all too much. "But why me? Why now? I've gone my whole life without... without feeling like this."

"That's the way it works," he said simply. "Eighteen is the age when your powers awaken. And now that they have, you'll start to feel new urges and... influences."

Influences? That didn't sound reassuring.

"Here's how it works," he continued, clearly enjoying your unease. "When you're in your succubus form, your personality will shift to help you attract... let's say, energy sources. You won't even recognize yourself. And in your regular form, you'll be-"

"Shy and quiet?" you guessed dryly, crossing your arms over your revealing outfit. "Because that's how I normally am."

"Precisely," he replied, giving you an almost fatherly nod. "But in your other form, you'll become... well, let's call it 'confident.' All of this will be second nature soon enough."

This wasn't exactly reassuring, but you nodded, still struggling to process everything. Then a thought struck you, and you bit your lip. "So... if I need energy, does that mean I... you know... with anyone who-"

"Relax," he cut in smoothly. "You don't have to go that far if you're not comfortable with it. Succubi draw energy in a lot of ways: touch, presence, even just eye contact. What matters is connection. The deeper the connection, the stronger the energy you receive."

You let out a sigh of relief. That, at least, took some pressure off. But even then, none of this felt remotely possible for you.

"How will I even know when to... when to switch forms or get energy? I have no idea what I'm doing!"

The figure let out an amused chuckle "Ah, but that's the fun of it, isn't it? You'll learn as you go. The instincts are within you, even if they're dormant right now. When you need them, they'll surface."

He rose from his throne, the shadowy shape growing even larger as he seemed to loom over you. "And remember, child," he said, his voice suddenly serious. "You have a gift. Use it wisely-and sparingly. Too much charm, too quickly, could draw attention... and not the good kind."

With that final ominous warning, he snapped his fingers, and the room around you began to swirl and blur, as if reality itself was being pulled out from under your feet.

Before you could react, you found yourself back in your living room, alone and staring at the cupcake in front of you, the candle still flickering.

You blinked, heart racing. "Did that... really happen?"

Just then, your phone buzzed, snapping you back to reality. A birthday text from your mom.

You ignored the message and blew out the candle, the excitement from earlier completely drained. As you reached out to remove the candle, you froze. Your clothes... they hadn't changed back to normal.

So, that really did happen...

Heart pounding, you ran to the mirror. Standing in front of it, you realized two things. First: you actually looked... really hot. And second: your appearance had changed. Your eyes were now a striking pink, and small, barely-there horns peeked out from the top of your head.

Curious, you reached up to touch one of them- only to let out a surprised whine. Sensitive. Those little horns were tiny but extremely sensitive.

"How do I change back to normal?" you muttered with a nervous laugh,thinking of every scenario this could go wrong.

Shoulders slumping, you trudged back to your cupcake, peeled off the wrapper, and stuffed the whole thing into your mouth. You probably looked like a chipmunk, but who cared? You had bigger problems-like, for instance, the horns or the bright pink eyes.

As you chewed, you couldn't help but wonder who-or what-that shadowy figure was. He seemed to know way more than he was letting on.

But... how exactly were you supposed to summon him again? You tried doing a strange little "summoning dance," waving your arms around in a circle, but nothing happened.

Wait a second. Weren't succubus supposed to have superpowers? That would be amazing! You'd always wanted powers like Superman or Wonder Woman.

The real problem was... how on earth were you supposed to activate these so-called powers?

Stepping out onto the balcony, you stared at... the wall across from you. Not the most inspiring view-just the brick wall of the building next door, practically in arm's reach. You let out a sigh. "Well, it's not like I'm swinging across rooftops anytime soon," you muttered.

Still... maybe you could try something. Like super strength! Or maybe some kind of powerful leap? Not that you were about to actually jump off the balcony- you weren't that reckless, but if you had powers, how were you supposed to... what, think power on? Activate?

You stretched your arms forward dramatically. "Powers, activate!" Nothing happened. You waved your hands around a bit, wiggled your fingers, even struck a ridiculous pose for good measure. Nada.

"Well, that's disappointing," you grumbled, heading back inside quietly before anyone saw you looking like a wannabe superhero.

Or so you tried to-until you stepped right onto that one loose board on the balcony. The next thing you knew, your ankle twisted in the ridiculously high heels that came with this outfit, and suddenly, you were tilting forward with nothing to grab onto.

And just like that, you found yourself tumbling over the edge.

"Oh, crap! Crap, crap, crap!" you screamed in panic as you fall from the third floor, arms flailing like a bird that had no idea how to fly.

Your mind raced in pure panic as the ground rushed closer. 'This is it' you thought. You just became a succubus and You're about to be a splat on the pavement. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for impact.

But... it never came.

Instead, you felt a strange pull at your core, and you slowed down, hovering just a few feet above the ground. You opened your eyes cautiously, and sure enough, you were floating there mid-air, bobbing slightly like a very confused balloon.

You blinked, stunned. "Did I... just fly?"

Testing it out, you tried to move forward. You wobbled awkwardly, managing to drift a few feet before tilting sideways, nearly tipping over. Okay, this was gonna take some practice.

Still floating, you managed to get back up to your balcony, though not without a few embarrassing bumps along the way.-we don't talk about that- When you finally got back over the railing and landed safely, you let out a deep breath, half-relieved, half-excited.

"So I have powers," you muttered, grinning in spite of yourself.

And behold, this was the moment a very dumb idea went through your head. Did I mention it was dumb? Because, yeah, it was very dumb.

Without a second thought, you decided you might as well check out Gotham at night. Hey, it was a great excuse to test out your powers, right?

With that brilliant thought in mind, you stepped onto the railing of your balcony and, this time, willingly jumped off. Floating in midair, you felt that thrill again-flying was actually getting easier! Or, so you thought. One glance to the left, and suddenly you were veering off course, wobbling wildly as you struggled to stay steady.

You almost crashed right into the huge Wayne Enterprises billboard, narrowly avoiding it by flailing your arms and kicking your legs like a panicked duck.

You found yourself butt-landing onto a fire escape, the metal steps clanging loud enough to make you wince. So much for a graceful first flight.

"Ow," you muttered, rubbing your sore backside. At least you didn't end up face-first in a dumpster. That was something, right?

You pushed yourself up, dusted off, and looked around to make sure no one had seen that very professional landing.

Thankfully, this part of Gotham is usually empty half the time, sparing you from total embarrassment.

You considered that maybe flying wasn't the best idea after all, so you opted for the stairs instead-only to regret that decision a second later.

Those metal stairs combined with your high, pointy heels-which you had no idea how you managed to walk in-were a disaster waiting to happen. Your heels kept getting stuck in the small gaps between the stairs, turning what should have been a simple task into a clumsy game of balance.

Somehow, you managed to get down the stairs and stayed in the shadows, not wanting to attract unwanted attention. As you walked, you stumbled upon what appeared to be a bank robbery.

The bank was small, tucked away in a shady area-no wonder there were no police around. Let's be honest: the police in Gotham really don't do shit anyway. And God knows where vigilantes were...

You gripped the little clothing you had on, your feet glued to the floor-not because of the metal stairs this time, but out of sheer hesitation.

Here's the thing: you may have newfound powers, but you weren't a vigilante. You had no idea how to fight or even how to use your abilities yet. Rushing in recklessly to save people you didn't even know? Not the best plan.

Plus, Batman or one of his allies would probably show up and handle the situation, right?

That was the plan, right...?

Then a loud scream echoed through the air, followed by a gunshot, and your heart stopped. Someone could be dead right now, and you had the power to save them.

But you weren't a vigilante; you were merely a succubus, a very new one too.

"Go," a calm but familiar voice echoed in your ear, and before you could process what was happening, you found yourself sprinting toward the bank. Peering through the windows, you spotted three masked men holding a few bank staff hostage. Luckily, there weren't any customers inside-thankfully, they were closed for the night.

If you remembered correctly, the shadow figure had mentioned that you had the ability to charm people. Maybe that could come in handy?

Glancing around, you searched for a way in. The front door was clearly not an option, and as you walked around the building, you didn't find a back door either. But then, you spotted it: a bathroom window just large enough for you to squeeze through.

Were you seriously about to do this?

You took a deep breath, letting the anticipation wash over you. "You're supposed to do crazy things on your 18th birthday, right?" With an awkward laugh, you opened the window and began to climb in-only to find yourself stuck halfway through, your legs kicking awkwardly as you tried to free yourself.

"Yeah no I'm not going to end up being the stuck stepsister of the night," you muttered, finally wriggling yourself free and tumbling into the small bathroom with a thud.

You glanced around, taking a moment to catch your breath. "Okay, focus," you whispered to yourself.

It seemed the loud thud had caught the attention of one of the thieves, and the door swung open to reveal one of them standing in front of you, gun in hand.

"Um..." you stammered awkwardly, standing there like a deer caught in headlights. How were you supposed to charm this guy again?

You tried winking-after all, that's what people do to charm someone, right?

"Who the fuck are you?" he growled, his expression a mix of confusion and irritation.

Yep, that didn't work at all. You were definitely done for.

"I... I'm just a girl," you blurted out, trying to sound as harmless as possible.

But instead of calming him down, your words seemed to fuel his anger. He raised the gun and fired, but thankfully, you managed to duck just in time, letting out a small scream as you covered your head with your arms.

"Actually... you don't look so bad," he said, his eyes darkening as he sized you up with a new, unsettling interest.

You cringed at his words, hearing his footsteps approach as he towered over your crouched form. Just as he leaned in to grab you, you shot up, your head colliding with his chin. He staggered backward and dropped to the floor, completely knocked out.

Wait... did that actually work? That hadn't exactly been your plan, but hey, you weren't complaining.

Seeing him sprawled out on the ground made you feel a spark of confidence. You grinned and stepped over his unconscious form, making sure to grind your heel into the hand that had nearly grabbed you. "Oh," you muttered, noticing his gun. Quickly, you grabbed it-you might need a little extra help.

Alright, one down, two more to go.

Peeking out the door, you saw one of the other robbers tapping his foot impatiently. "What's taking that idiot so long?" he grumbled, glancing around.

Most of the bank staff were tied up, while two unlucky ones were filling a bag with cash at gunpoint. You bit your lip, trying to think. Maybe you could lure one of them away? You definitely can't two men at once, especially since this was your first time.

"Where are the vigilantes when you need them?" you mumbled, pressing your face into your palm in frustration. "If only I could turn invisible..."

Suddenly, you noticed your hand start to go translucent. You stared, wide-eyed, as the rest of your body began fading too. "I'm not freaking out... I'm not freaking out... I'm freaking out!" you whispered to yourself, resisting the urge to yell.

You'd wanted to turn invisible, but this was surreal-like being a ghost!

Were you going to complain? Absolutely not. After your momentary panic, a wicked grin spread across your face. you rubbed your hands together like a fly- wait why like a fly?

You crept out of the door without a sound, approaching one of the robbers. With a swift punch to his face, he crumpled to the ground, catching the attention of his partner. Before he could react, you followed up with a well-placed kick to his...pp area. Both men went down, groaning on the floor.

Quickly, you gathered their weapons, but after glancing around, you realized you didn't have any rope or anything to tie them up with. Letting out a sigh, you began thinking of your next move, when your ears picked up stood steps approaching.

It seems your senses have been improved.

The front doors burst open, and a vigilante strode in. You quietly tiptoed to the side, raising an eyebrow. What kind of hero just barges in through the front door? You rolled your eyes, watching as he surveyed the scene in confusion.

Just as you thought you could slip out, he whipped out a baton and threw it your way. "Wha-!" You barely managed to dodge it, shooting him side eyes.

"Can't have you sneaking away now, can I?" he said smoothly, his gaze following your movement. Wait... could he see you? You glanced down, still invisible. How did he know?

Picking your jaw off the floor, you started to say something, but quickly changed your mind. He was nightwing, trained by Batman himself, so of course he'd sense someone was there.

You let out a small sigh and turned off your invisibility, meeting his now slightly widened eyes. He recovered quickly, though, looking unfazed.

"There's one unconscious in the bathroom," you said confidently, gesturing with a nod toward the door.

He glanced down at the two men on the ground, too dazed to move. "You... did all this?"

You nodded, but before he could ask another question, you bolted toward the door-or at least, you tried to. Just as you were about to step outside, his hand shot out, grabbing you firmly and stopping you in your tracks.

"Ah-!" you squeaked, pausing with a pout. "I'm not a villain," you insisted, crossing your arms with as much indignation as you could muster.

He raised an eyebrow. "Then who are you?"

You blinked, holding his gaze, before a mischievous smirk spread across your face. Your eyes glowed a little more pink as you leaned in, voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "The girl who's going to haunt your dirtiest dreams."

Before he could even react, you somehow slipped out of his grip, leaving him standing there bewildered as you sprinted out of the bank.

Not looking back, you floated all the way back to your apartment, bumping into things left and right. Each impact made you cringe a little harder-not just from the bumps, but from the embarrassing line you'd dropped earlier. "The girl who will appear in your dirtiest dream?" Seriously? You wanted to disappear just thinking about it.

As soon as you got inside, you headed straight for the couch, burying your face in a pillow with a groan. The scene replayed in your head on a loop for a good 30 minutes before you finally managed to shift your focus to something else: how on earth to turn back to normal.

Rolling onto your side, you caught a glint of something under the coffee table. Reaching out lazily, you pulled it closer and realized it was the pendant-the one you were supposed to keep on you at all times. Without thinking, you slipped it back around your neck.

And just like that, your clothes transformed back to normal.

You rushed over to the mirror and sure enough, you looked like yourself again-mostly. Your eyes still held a slight hint of pink, but you doubted anyone would notice.

Curious, you decided to test your theory. Taking off the pendant, you watched as the tiny horns reappeared. So that was the trick!

"Oh, cool" you mumbled under your breath, putting it back on.

Maybe it was the adrenaline finally wearing off, or the sheer chaos of tonight catching up with you, but you felt yourself teetering on the edge of exhaustion, just one step away from crashing right there in the living room.

But no-somehow, you managed to scrape together the last bit of energy to drag yourself toward your bedroom. Your steps were slow, heavy, almost zombie-like. If anyone saw you now, they might actually mistake you for the undead, stumbling down the hall with only the thought of collapsing on your bed keeping you moving.

You let out a tired sigh, replaying flashes of the night in your mind. The discovery, the thrill, the whole insane twist your life took in just a few short hours. And now...you were supposed to go back to normal? Act like this was just another day at college?

Flopping onto your bed, you closed your eyes, leaving the problems to the future you to deal with as you let the sleep fairy take you to the dreamland.

Yall thank @purplexing-writing-and-concepts for beta reading it <33

I have no idea when chap 1 will be out, hopefully in a month or so.

✎ ∙︓⋅⠄✯∘⠄✧

Taglist: @xingyunny @4rachn3

[cheeby]

The weight of what comes next

read chapter 1 here

content: a multi-part isekai story. reader is aware of the plot, and every minor character is aged up. Jujutsu high is now the University of Jujutsu.

18+, eventual smut

Chapter 2-

“You’re coming with me.” He states plainly, leaving no room for argument.

“With you? What? No!” You blurt. You know exactly where he plans to take you, Jujutsu High. You’re too old to be stuck in high school again, and the thought of learning alongside a bunch of 15 year olds? Mortifying! Plus, you didn't actually intend to get involved with the plot of Jujutsu Kaisen. You’ve seen the show. You don’t want to die! You were sort of just banking on the hope that you’d stay out of trouble until you somehow… made your way back into your own world?

But Nanami’s tone is unyielding, and you know that this gorgeous hunk of a man always gets his way. Wait, gorgeous hunk of a man? Who thinks like that? Stop being so weird! Focus! “Like I said earlier, it’s not safe for you here.” Nanami says, his voice softening, but still remaining quite firm. “If you come with me, I can ensure you’ll be protected against those curses you’ve been seeing. If not, out here, its a free-for-all. If someone worse than me comes along, I can’t guarantee they won’t drag you along with them regardless.”

You hesitate. There’s not much you can do, admittedly. What other choice do you really have? You know you’d be earning some sort of money, working on missions at Jujutsu High, but seriously... you’re too old for high school again. Those were easily the worst years of your life, and you don’t want to relive even a moment of it, whether or not you'd be studying with the plebs from your old high school. But, you also know you can't let much on about knowing about Jujutsu High... You sigh, resigning yourself to fate.

“Okay, fine..” You mutter, casting your gaze away from Nanami, staring at the ground like a scolded child. Nanami nods curtly, before taking a step back and making a call to someone, ordering a car to your location. After hanging up, he turns to you. “What’s your name?” He asks. Oh, right. You haven't even introduced yourself! “Oh! My name is (Y/N) (L/N)!” You say quickly, feeling a blush creeping up to your ears. He nods, studying you. “Well then, (L/N), thank you for trusting me. A car will be here shortly, to take you somewhere where you'll be kept safe.” He says. “I'm Nanami Kento, a grade 1 sorcerer.” He says, a hint of pride in his voice with the last part.

“Oh, uh, you don’t have to call me (L/N),” you try explaining, waving your hands. You’re not originally from Japan, and in your home country its uncommon to be called by your last name, so you’re not used to it. “You can just call me (Y/N)!” You insist.

He raises a brow. “Not from Japan, huh?” He quietly remarks, before nodding. “Alright, (Y/N) then.” Before either of you can say much more, a sleek black sedan pulls into the street you’re waiting on. You squint. Is that.. Ijichi? It is! Wow, he looks exactly like he does in the anime! Whereas Nanami looks impossibly better in real life, Ijichi… well he’s just Ijichi. Nanami opens the back door for you. You slide in, and he closes the door before returning to the front of the car to sit in the passenger seat. The drive to Jujutsu High is fairly quiet, save for Nanami and Ijichi talking amongst themselves occasionally. They don’t even try to hide the fact they’re talking about you. Meanwhile, you’re glued to the window, drinking in the sights of Tokyo in front of you. You’ve never been before, being a broke university student, but you’ve always wanted to. Everything seems sleek and modern, and even though you live in a major city for university, Tokyo just seems even bigger, and more shiny. You watch as the scenery changes from high glass clad skyscrapers to dense viridian forestry. Eventually, you pull into what you think is the grounds of Jujutsu High. There are large ancient looking temple buildings surrounding you, and your excitement turns into awe. The architecture is totally neat!

The car pulls stops in front of a sprawling, temple-like building. Nanami gets out first, and opens your door, ever the gentleman. “Well, (Y/N), welcome to the University of Jujutsu.” He says, gesturing ahead. University of Jujutsu? Huh? You were 100% sure in the anime it was a high school… unless this building is something else? No, it couldn’t possibly be, it looked exactly like what Jujutsu High did in the anime… this stuff was really messing with your head now. Pulling yourself out of your thoughts, you get out of the car and look ahead at the building in front of you.

You feel a sudden gust of wind, and standing before you now is a familiar white haired man with a blindfold on. His smile feels almost too wide to be genuine.

“Woah, Nanami, you’re right— She is totally weird!” The white haired man exclaims. But you can barely register what he’s saying. GOJO?! The Satoru Gojo is standing in front of you, in the flesh? All 6’3 of him? There’s no way! “Go- I mean, its nice to meet you!” You blabber, catching yourself before you say his name. This seems to be a theme, you think. “I’m (Y/N) (L/N), but please just call me (Y/N)!” You say, reaching a hand out stupidly.

He makes a point of tilting his head down—to look?— at your hand, before taking it in his own and shaking it. “Satoru Gojo. But you already seem to know that, hm?” His grin is positively Cheshire-like. Your eyes widen. “Y-yes! Nanami mentioned you in the car..” You lie hastily. You weren’t actually sure if Nanami had said anything about Gojo, you were too busy staring at his chiselled face to pay attention, but he probably did… right? Nanami grunts in affirmation, confirming your statement. Phew! That was close.

Gojo hums in reply, not totally convinced, but choosing to let it slide. “Sooo, a little birdie told me you’ve been causing quite the stir.” What? Quite the stir? Not really, you think. It was really just one cursed spirit lunging at you.. but whatever. You stay silent, letting him continue.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Nanami interjects. “But I began tailing her after running into her for the first time. Then, a cursed spirit attacked her, but she dodged with.. inhumane speed. She claims not to know about cursed energy, but no ordinary human moves like that. And surely, you can see that energy radiating off of her?”

Gojo tilts his head, playful smile faltering and being replaced by a more serious expression. It suits him, you think, in your fangirl daze.

“Nanami, come with me. You,” He says, then turning to face you. "Ijichi will take you inside.” 

Before you can protest, Ijichi steps out of the car, gesturing politely at you to follow him. You glance back at Gojo and Nanami as they walk off, feeling like you’re about to be thrust into something far bigger than you ever wanted to be a part of.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Gojo leads Nanami into an empty room and closes the door behind them. Turning to Nanami, he speaks in a low voice. “No, I can’t.. see her energy.” He admits, quietly.

Nanami’s face pales. “What? That can't be possible.” Gojo nods, frowning. “No, seriously. I can absolutely feel her energy, its thick, and foggy, almost. But I can't see it. She looks as if she’s got absolutely no cursed energy whatsoever. I can’t make sense of it.”

“Is it possible she’s concealing it?” Nanami asks.

“Maybe.” Gojo replies, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “And if that’s the case, she’s incredibly powerful, and knows a lot more than what she’s letting on. We couldn’t afford to let her slip through our fingers. Buuut…” He trails off, his lips curling into a small smirk. “She doesn’t strike me as cunning enough for that. At least, not yet. Still, no way of knowing for sure.” 

Nanami sighs, crossing his arms. “She seems about Fushiguro’s age. Should we enrol her?”

Gojo tilts his head, considering.

“It’s risky. If she does turn out to be dangerous, Megumi could be in some serious danger. Not that he can't handle himself, but the boy is an idiot sometimes.” Gojo chuckles. “But, it seems like the best idea. We can't just babysit her all the time, and at least if she’s in the school, Yaga will also be able to keep an eye on her.” “And the higher-ups?” Nanami asks, his tone cautious. “Absolutely not.” Gojo’s grin returns. “They’ll lose their minds if they become aware of her. Her energy isn’t like anything I’ve ever felt, and that’s bound to scare those old fucks.” He snickers. Nanami nods, reluctantly agreeing. “We’ll pitch it to Yaga, then. He’d obviously want some sort of interview with her though, which is tricky. So far, I think she’s just got… good reflexes?”

“Hm…” Gojo hums thoughtfully. “Well, her energy signature speaks for itself. I’m sure Yaga will get it, when he sees it for himself.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Meanwhile, Ijichi leads you to a large room with plush sofas. You take a seat, unsure if you should say anything to him. You decide not to, in the end. Ijichi similarly doesn’t say anything to you, and the silence stretches uncomfortably. You feel too awkward to pull out your phone—it seems rude— so you’re left with nothing but your thoughts and boredom.

Finally, after what feels like forever, Nanami and Gojo return. Gojo claps his hands together, with that signature grin back on his face. “Good news, kid!” He exclaims, grinning like a kid. “You’re being admitted to our university!”

“What?” You sputter, at a loss for words. You didnt want to stay here! Sure, you enjoyed jujutsu kaisen as an anime, all the guys were hot, and the plot was cool and every fight scene was totally badass. But you knew you weren’t cut out for this. Being a sorcerer? You get winded walking up one flight of stairs!

“It’s the best possible outcome.” Nanami says, in that resolute tone of his. “You’ll attend an interview shortly, but we’ve already sorted it all out, you’ll be enrolled for certain here. There’s currently.. only one other first year student, but we anticipate more students that will join as the year goes on.” He says. Your eyes widen. Is he talking about.. Megumi? Wait, so does this mean that he’s your age here? Before you can ask anything, Gojo grabs your arm and whisks you away. You manage to wave goodbye at Ijichi and Nanami. Gojo leads you through a maze of corridors before stopping in front of two large ornate doors.

“The interview room. Or, technically, just principal Yaga’s office.” He grins at you. “Just remember kid, be yourself!” and with that, he pushes open the doors and ushers you inside. You blink, adjusting to the darkness in here. You see Yaga, sitting at the far end of the room, surrounded by his puppets. He doesn’t even look up, just continuing on his current project, making a cute pink bunny.

“You’re right, Gojo. Her cursed energy is something completely else.” Yaga says, his voice gruff. Finally, he looks up to meet your gaze. “Principal Yaga,” He introduces himself. “Nice to meet you, (Y/N).”

You open and close your mouth, stupidly. It figures that he would already know your name, if Gojo’s mentioned you. “You’ve had no prior training as a sorcerer?” He asks.

You shake your head quickly. “No, sir.” “How long have you been able to see curses?” He presses.

“Uh… only recently, honestly.” You decide to tell the truth. You had literally started seeing them today, but saying that feels like a bad idea, so you leave it vague.

Yaga nods thoughtfully. “Usually, there is an initiation battle for new students, but as far as I’m aware, you don’t know how to properly activate your cursed technique or manipulate your cursed energy, correct?” He asks.

“Yes, sir, I think so.” you reply nervously.

Yaga studies you for a moment, then nods.

“No matter, we’ll help you. Welcome to the University of Jujutsu. You’ll be starting lessons on Monday. You will stay in the dormitories, and Gojo will brief you on the rest of the things you’ll need to know.”

“Thank you, Principal Yaga!” You manage.

Yaga dismisses you with a wave, and you exit the room with Gojo, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet. He looks deep in thought. “Well,” he finally mutters. “that was the quickest and most underwhelming interview ever.”

He shakes his head. "I'll show you to your room. There's currently only one other first-year student, like Nanami said earlier. Your room will be next to his."

As Gojo leads you through the corridors once more, you hear the sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway you’re in. Gojo glances over his shoulder, a grin forming on his face. “Oh, speak of the devil. Here’s that fellow first-year buddy,” Gojo chuckles. “Megumi! C’mon over!”

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Thank you for reading! i'll be updating every wednesday. this chapter was a lil slow paced i admit, but only to add in a solid structure so the future chapters make more sense. see you next week!