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devotedlypinkpeanut · 29 days ago

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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!

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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.

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metaphorspears · 7 months ago

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Finally, putting faces to names in greek mythology

I came from an Asian background but I love Greek mythology. the thing is I struggled sm with the massive cast of characters (the same reason I could never get through GOT)

Lately I was hooked on a reverse harem based on Greek mythology. It’s a Wattpad hit with millions of reads, and the visually adapted version is even more awesome given how accessible it is

Take it and have fun: https://www.playknockknock.com/story/dark-reverse-harem-x-reader

And you can join their discord to write your own visual novel or interactive stories: https://discord.gg/5N5VWTNWC2

#ao3 #fanfic #x reader #wattpad #greek mythology #greek gods #apollo #zeus #dionysus #poseidon #reverse harem #fantasy romance #dark romance #reader

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isabeauwolf · 5 months ago

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Of course, when I was trying to sleep last night.

Instead, I was working on the prologue for my Overhaul x Mary (x Dabi x Shigaraki) fanfic until I finally passed out

I hope everyone who's read or liked the sneak peaks, crackfics and others I've done so far. I appreciate everyone's encouraging words. Thank you so much for your patience with me!

I still get nervous and giddy posting them, but sharing my love for our birdman and my oc Mary makes me happy and I want to share it.

I hope I capture out beloved villains right.

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anitalenia · 2 years ago

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━━━ .°˖✧ romance tropes ⋆˙⊹

𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑢𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑠. 𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑑𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑢𝑏𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑝𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑒, 𝑜𝑟 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑜𝑐𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑒.

╰₊✧ ﾟOTHER LINKS . ྀི ⊹ masterlist | taglist | my library

| prompt help | symbol packs | dividers

˖⁺ ⊹୨ forbidden romance ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ when a character cannot openly be in a relationship with someone for some reason ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ enemies to lovers ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ when two characters are enemies / in violent opposition to each other in the beginning but gradually end up in love ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ friends to lovers ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ when two characters are friends first, but end up falling in love with each other ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ dark/taboo tropes ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ romance between two people that is considered inappropriate or wrong/not acceptable in society ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ opposites attract ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ when two characters are drastically different people/opposite personalities but still somehow love each other ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ unrequited love ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ when a character loves someone who is unattainable for some reason. one sided love. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ fake relationship ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ when two characters feel no romantic feelings for one another but are forced to be together. in some cases, they eventually fall in love. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ fish out of water ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ when a character is in an unfamiliar environment and has to adapt. think city girl on a farm. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ soul mates au ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ when two characters are meant to be together from birth, destiny, or soul ties. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ oblivious to love ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ when a character is clueless about their own romantic feelings towards someone else ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ reverse harem ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ consists of one female protagonist and three or more male love interests. although I have heard varying definitions. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ secret identity ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ when two characters are in love but one is not being truthful with who they really are/they’re hiding something from their love interest (like spiderman) ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ love triangle ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ when two characters are in love, but a third party loves one of the characters as well. or, one character is confused between two people who they love (edward x bella x jacob, stefan x elena x damon) ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

━━━ .°˖✧ 𝑻𝑹𝑶𝑷𝑬𝑺 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑵𝑬𝑬𝑫 𝑵𝑶 𝑬𝑿𝑷𝑳𝑨𝑵𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 ⋆˙⊹ 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇-𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚. 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑗𝑓 𝑖 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑢𝑝 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑚 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑝𝑙𝑒, 𝑠𝑜 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .݁

˖⁺ ⊹୨ marriage ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ when a character is forced to marry another for some reason (arranged marriage) ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ dark past ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ when a character has trauma or pain because of their past, and their love interest helps them heal. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ amnesia / memory loss ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ when a character loses their memory and has to regain their love and memories for another. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ alpha hero ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ when a male character is overprotective, bossy, jealous, possessive, and have great sexual appeal. think bad boy, biker, ceo fanfics. This can also be military men, superhero’s, men in leadership. a vague category. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ one bed trope ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ when two characters are forced to share a bed 👅 you should know this one ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ forced proximity ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ when two characters are forced into small spaces together or forced to be together in the same room. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ beauty and the beast ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ when a typically male character is capable of great rage and destructive, sometimes a literal monster, but the fem character loves them beyond their looks and sees the good in them. doesn’t have to be a literal monster. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ in peril tropes ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ when a character is in some sort of crisis and has to be saved by love interest. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ job related tropes ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ when a character is attracted to someone because of their job, or their romance happens at work/ a specific location (corrupt priest, military man, construction worker). can be taboo. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ time travel ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ━━ when a character travels back or forward in time and falls in love with someone from that time period. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

authors note: I am going to be making posts describing each trope individually as well as sub-genres and examples of that trope. I had something similar to this in my notes for my stories and decided to share. there are a lot of tropes out there, so feel free to comment other ones. remember you are loved and important <3

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happypotato48 · 10 months ago

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List of Thai BL dramas i've watched with short opinions about them i guess :P

Thai BLs that i finished:

A Boss and a Babe. It's cute for what it is, i loved the gaming friendships and i'm a sucker for forcebook. 7/10 need more unhinged energy from book.

A Tale of Thousand Stars/Our Skyy 2 : Bad Buddy x A Tale Of Thousand stars. this show reminds me a lot of early to mid 2000s lakorns. it's a beautiful by the book love story, i appreciated that a bl got to take a spin on this kind of quiet thai story. 8/10 loved it but still too vanilla for my taste.

Bake Me Please. Guide Kantapon is the cutest man alive and CAKES! that it, that all i have for this show. 6/10 it's a show that exist.

Be My Favorite. damn fluke gawin is so pretty what was this show about again? :P i'm kidding, i actually really liked this show. i watched it when i had zero knowledge about bl industry, i was oblivious about krist's controversy and i find krist acting to be charming and think kawee is very relatable as a cringe fail human myself. 8.5/10 this show made me want to collected weird thingies.

Cherry Magic (Thailand). oh boy this show. it's was everything to me also the only show so far that i've written extensively on this site. here is my personal feeling about this show. 9.5/10 would kill for taynew.

Cooking Crush. what! the fuc$! look look, i just learned that both offgun are older than me. when i first saw the show i thought they were some rookie actors with how young they looks. watching cute bl is gonna be the death of me. anywho this show is supercute don't have a lot of thought about it though. 7.5/10 cutting half a point cause of no samsee x metha.

Cutie Pie/Naughty Babe. what a fuckin legend of a series. all the characters have zero braincells and somehow all the rich pretty boys are engaged to each other and by arranged marriages nonetheless. wtf is this fanfic version of thailand and where can i get hit by a truck and get isekai to it. 7.5/10 still haven't watch Cutie Pie 2 U, i hope it get dumber.

Enchanté. this show is so dummmb it should've go full camp reverse harem yaoi nonsense but it didn't and ended up being kinda boring. 6.5/10. meh, i'm still a sucker for forcebook.

Last Twilight. UGHHH!! i'm still so mad. this show was going to be THE SHOW for me then ep 11-12 happened i legit mentally check out halfway through ep 12 and i basically blocked the ending from my mind. this show came out at the right place and the right time for me, the first 9 episodes helped me through a very tough time in my life. the story of two people helping each other finding their way out of the dark was very compelling to me. ughh. 5.5/10 (9/10 for ep 1-9) P'Aof why are you like this!!

Laws Of Attraction. yassssssss this show slay(literally :P) the show is a breath of fresh air for me despite how very lakorn of it is. i'm glad that there is a bl that feel this soapy and campy cause like i do love my angsty and innocent school bls but the industry really need show like laws of attraction. jamfilm also were very great in their roles espically film, charn is the most babygirl corrupted cute evil lawyer of all time. 9/10 no note headempty only charn's evil smirks in my mind

La Pluie. now, this is a romance. this show is one of the most romanctic media that i personally have experience. i loved that the show took the cheesy premise of soulmates and work it so well to do both deconstruction and exploration of the trope. i think using rain, thing that isolated people as a narrative tool for love connection is absolutely brilliant. last but not least pat is just the perfect bl love interest, he's an very idealized character but he do feels like an actual person. i want to give a shout out to Pee Peerawich the way he said "มันหนาวอ่ะ" in ep 8 sent me, the raspy voice, the eye twich and combo those with a back cuddle, sir! you just commited a mass murders with that move. 9/10 plz i need season two with my baby boy tien.

Love in Translation. the unhingendness of that first meeting is probably my favorite bl meet cute. look if you don't get into a fistfight with the guy you destined to be with then what is the point of life. this show fake date is very well done it's doesn't feel forced like in a lot of other bls and it make the growing attraction feels very genuine and it pay off in one of the best sex scenes in all of bl, yang is such a freak and i loved him for it. 8/10 the last two episodes did got slightly off the rail for me but i still enjoyed the show.

Moonlight Chicken. one of the most beautiful shows i ever watched. when watching this show i can feels, smells and tastes everything it depicted. from the comfort khao man gai to jim's loneliness, from alan's heartbreak to liming and heart's midnight motorcycle ride. this show gave me all the feels and i still can't completely shake it off. 9.9/10 this show is a healing.

My School President. These boys!!!! i can't, i loved these boys so much, all the boys, YES ALL OF THEM! this show is on the opposite spectrum of Moonlight Chicken for me. while MC give me the good heartaches this show give me unbridled joy it's like heartstopper on cracks. i absolutely adored tinn and gun and the show relentless optimism about thier first love. love is awesome no matter the romantic, familial or platonic kind and i think this show hit the marks with all three. 10/10(i'm super bias but fuck it idc i even liked the singing) this show made me started watching thai bl and it always will have a place in my heart.

My Ride. this show is lacking in intimacy but making up by being all heart. could this show be better if they fleshed out and explore more of tawan and his cheating bf's relationship, maybe but i'm happy for what we got. 8/10 mork and tawan were very cutie patootie, i don't remember much about the het and the side couple were just st ok.

Step by Step. man trisanu is exactly the same height at me and i want everyone to know that is the only reason i started this show🤣 . i feels like this show have a lot to say about stuff but i kinda got lost staring at man trisanu while watching. one thing i really loved is the very fem *ตุ๊ด coworker who got to be a real character not just a jokey sidekick and having a loving relationship with a hottie. 7.5/10 can i get more man trisanu in bl plz.

Triage. asshole doctor stuck in a timeloop for him to find the meaning of life, yes plz give it to me. i loved stories about assholes who need to better themself for love and other junk. tinn and tol are both grumpy bitches and i just loved that the show use the timeloop to soften these nerds. at the end i just want to wrap them in blanket and let's them cuddle each other forever. 8.5/10 the last ep is bit convoluted but i forgave the show for that cute clocktower kiss.

You're My Sky. i started this show for my boy suar and he did not disappointed. the pining and the longing for an older boy who been there for you most you life, chef kiss. this show also very beautiful to look at. 8/10 i'm kinda meh about the side couples, i do think they all got the "good ending" for their stories.

Thai BLs that i didn't finish or gave up and skipped to the ending:

Bad Buddy. Oh boy, am i gonna get murder for this??? sorry but idk why i didn't wholeheartedly love and give this show my undivided attention. i watched this show very weird and out of order, i started with the last ep than just watch other episodes in bit and peice. i think i've seen 70% of this show. plz forgive me this is the first thai bl i tried to get into but can't. maybe i need to give this show another chance and watch it properly. or idk maybe cause the way i watched it, it's ruined for me forever. 6.5/10 i loved the rooftop kiss plz don't kill me.

Dangerous Romance. this show is trash and not the good kind, how this show depicted relationship between a rich asshole and a poor boy feels very gross to me. i fast forward a bunch and gave up after the not just dumb but very cruel breakup. 4/10 it's watchable if you ignore the plot and the chatacters.

Hidden Agenda. wow this is the most nothing show that ever nothing for me. it's a perfected white noise while playing chill video games. i stopped watching after ep 8 cause look like there going to be a dumb break up, i have no desire to revisit this show. 5/10 joongdunk were kinda cutes.

The Miracle of Teddy Bear. this show is too god damn long with too many side plots the one and a half hour per episode killed the momentum for me. i liked the show and do think i want to revisit and finish it one day. 6/10 for now.

Vice Versa. why are they giving jimmysea this show. this show is so boring for me, i gave up in episode 6. 4/10 gmmtv give my babies better shows!!

Thai BLs that i've watched all the sex scenes and have no intention of watching the actual show:

Kinnporsche: heheehehhehehe everyone were so hot, too bad i don't like rich mafia story. mile being a nepobaby also significantly killed the mood for me. 55555/dead bodyguards (idk how many there are but i don't care) the ost are bangers though.

Venus in the Sky and Love in the Air. cringe gay sex for the wins. 69/420.

ok, whoo that was a lot. gonna pin this cause i don't think anyone want to read all that in one sitting. i think i'm gonna make another post for non thai BLs in the near future. thanks for reading my unhinged opinions hope i'm not gonna get moider for it 55555555.

#thai bl #bl drama #bl meta #bl shows #i think i got all of them #but idk maybe i'm missing one or two shows #i shouldn't written and posted this at 5 am after staying awake all night but fuck it #dumb boy rambles

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vivilove-jonsa · 2 years ago

Note

I know you and Amymel are both publishing your OG stuff now. How is that going for you both? And do you have any tips for someone who might want to do that sort of thing?

Thanks so much for the ask, Anon. I mentioned it to @amymel86 and, while we're keeping our pen names relatively private, we truly appreciate you checking in with us :)

How's it going? It's going great! We're both thrilled to making money off writing smutty romance 🤣. To quote Amy, 'Sex sells, girlies.' But I'll add that the swoony, romantic, buttery goodness is what keeps readers coming back for more.

Tips? You got it! I'm going to put them under the cut for those who are interested but I'll preface this with the following - we are writing romance novels (primarily as eBooks) that we're self-publishing on Amazon. If you want to be the next Hemingway or Virginia Woolf, that's awesome but our route might not be your route...

Tips for self-publishing romance on the Zon and making BANK:

First off, research. Read, read, read a genre that interests you. What's killing it in the rankings? What's not? What are readers looking for?

Drill it down to a specific niche and find the tropes that work best with it. Unlike with fanfic, you will not make a killing as a newbie writer switching widely between genres and niches. Your Sweet and Clean Christian Western Romance might be fantastic but your fans won't be delighted if you follow it up with an Erotic Dark Mafia Romance. There is so much out there! Sports Romance, Regency, Paranormal, Small-Town, Billionaire, Bikers, Mountain Man... go find yourself a new book boyfriend. Choose the heat level you're comfortable with. There are readers for all levels.

But, find something that appeals to you and stick with it for the time being, learn the ins and outs but make sure it's something you can see yourself writing. Don't choose Reverse Harem or Shifter Romance simply because they're popular if you can't stand reading them. You're setting yourself up for failure that way.

Second, do a little light craft book reading. For romance, I highly recommend Romancing the Beat by Gwen Hayes and 7 Figure Fiction by T. Taylor as a starting point.

Join an indie author's discord group for important tips and stuff that you might wind up paying to learn from others. It's free and you can choose what's worth retaining and what's not. The one Amy lured me to last year is AMAZING and I've picked up so much information/resources that I never would've known about stumbling around on my own.

Pick a pen name. Do not write under your actual name. You do not want your grandma reading your book. Or maybe you do but you might not want your boss or ex or neighbor reading it. Make sure it's not a claimed pen name. Google it, check Amazon, etc.

Next one is the hard part... write a book. Dream up your story, write down those 'moments' that come to mind (you won't remember them all otherwise) and outline that sucker. Then, WRITE IT. Which sounds impossible but it's not. Most full-length romance novels fall between 60 to 85k words. There are soooooo many fanfics that are longer than that. Take a deep breath. It's doable.

The must-dos for your first book:

Think it up, write down what tropes you're looking at using, outline (at least a little) and write it. I made that sound so easy, didn't I?

2. Edit, edit, edit. You don't have to pay an editor or copywriter - I have not so far - but, for the love of God, don't release something riddled with typos or full of purple prose. Streamline it, make it page-turning goodness readers have a hard time putting down. Throw it in grammarly and spellcheck the bejesus out of it.

3. Format it using a free site like Reedsy or Kindle Create from Amazon's Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP). All that lovely spacing we enjoy doing on Ao3? That will not fly here. It's going to look like an actual book... because it is!

4. Make a cover or get one made. Look at what sells in your niche and copy it. You want to be an outlier? Wait until you're bringing in 50k a month to set the trends. Otherwise, you'll just be passed up. How much work it is can be niche dependent. Fantasy or Sci-Fi Romance might require a lot of talent to get the right look. Contemporary? Easy by comparison. GIMP or Photo Shop work great but there's a learning curve. Also, I recommend Deposit Photos or similar sites for photos/model shots. Don't steal photos off the internet for something you're selling. That will get you in hot water. Remember your cover is the first thing readers see and it needs to sell what you're offering.

5. Write the blurb. Some writers do this first but I am not one of them. It's HARD. However, I cannot stress how important this is to get someone to give your book a look, second only to the cover. It's 100 to 200 words to tell people why they absolutely have to read it! Don't do a summary of the book either. Feed them tropes, give it a hooky intro, draw them in like flies with honey.

6. Get ARCs (Advanced Reader Copy reviews) through a site like Booksprout or SM like Author Facebook groups. It'll get your book in front of eyes and it's lovely having a bit of feedback and some shiny 4 and 5 star reviews queued and ready when you publish.

7. PUBLISH IT. Flip that pancake as we say in the discord group I'm in. Serve it up, see who's biting and keep that griddle hot to make the next one. It will be even better.

And remember, this book will probably not be THE BOOK. And your first pen name will probably not be the one you retire on. It's okay. Every book will teach you something new about who you are as a writer. You'll grow, you'll get better. I'd rather publish a dozen books that are okay if I'm improving than talk about the ONE I'm going to write someday. It's totally worth giving it a whirl.

For more direct tips, feel free to send specific asks. I'm happy to help anytime :)

#writing #romance writing #romance novels #writing asks #writer tips #self publishing #anon ask #vivi rambles

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rafs13 · 1 year ago

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Gojohime/Gouta fanfic

Here’s a k pop inspired fanfic idea of gojohime for anyone who’s interested. I’ve had it in my mind for a while now.

It’s called Sweet Debauchery.

It will include be a reverse harem romance where a lot of the characters are pinning for Utahime giving Gojo competition It’s slow burn, fluff, flirting, loss of innocence, angst, kissing etc in chapters to come.

Summary:

Sweet Debauchery is the newest hottest sensation in Japan, a boy band that has taken the world by storm. The billion-dollar group consists of 6 members who have the world to their name with riches and fame. Gojo Satoru is known as the Face of the group with his infamous nickname ‘’Baby Blue’’, known for charming ladies, wooing, and breaking hearts. He lives on the edge, on the high and fast life fueled by exhilaration, however, everything changes when he accidentally comes across paths with a lady named Lori Utahime. A poor lady with humble ambitions to become a professional baseball player ends up applying for a job as a personal assistant for the group to save up and fund her dreams.

Here’s the prologue

Prologue -D Day

Sunset had peaked at its zenith, and the sky shined a blood-red orange with dark hues creeping in. It was the eve of summer in the year 2020. After 7 years of tremendous preparation, 1 million auditions, and vigorous training, JJK Records, Tokyo’s most prestigious record label finalized their first official boy band. The idea to debut a new boy band came to fruition in 2013 when the boom of boy bands rose again in Japan. Before that year the interest in boy groups from Japan had declined with the Japanese audience as international groups (specifically in the States) dominated the music charts. However, a shift occurred in 2013 when a Japanese solo artist from JJK records named ZER0, debuted with his hit song ‘’Lost In Paradise’’ which charted number 1 on the Billboard Charts and went viral worldwide. The world was now interested in new talent found in the depths of Japan, it was a new world for a new audience to discover with curiosity. The culture and spin on music were fresh and unexplored territory.

This wave of change was dubbed ‘’The New Gen’’.

‘’Are you all okay with the conditions?’’

Six contracts were placed on a sleek metallic table in a horizontal line, all printed and ready to sign by the six young men standing before two male figures. The six young men all were found muttering to themselves in a small circle as minutes before they had, had the time to look over the contracts. The most they did was skim through the first couple of pages as the excitement to debut was too hard to contain. Behind the two men was a huge widespread fine glass-tinted window giving a view of Tokyo at sunset. It was a Friday so traffic, city lights, fumes, and people were buzzing on the scene. The city chaos outside was a huge contrast to what was going on. The six young men were in the office of the CEO of JJK Records, being offered to sign with the company as a six-membered group. Each contract presented to the group is seven hundred and three pages long, but out of all the pages, page seven clause three point one is the most important. This page included a list typed out in thick red capitalized words that stated the following:

The Ten Unbreachable Rules

1. NO DATING. AS A SIGNED AND ACTIVE MEMBER OF JJK RECORDS, YOU MUST NOT DATE. THIS ALSO INCLUDES SEXUAL INTERCOURSE WITH ANYONE, ESPECIALLY A FAN. THIS IS NON-NEGOTIABLE.

2.ALL UNRELEASED/RELEASED WRITTEN SONGS/MATERIAL, INSTRUMENTALS, REMIXES, AND COLLABS THAT ARE RELEASED UNDER JJK RECORDS OR BY ANY SIGNED ARTIST UNDER JJK RECORDS WILL BE COPYRIGHTED TO THE COMPANY. THEREFORE 100 PERCENT OF THE RESIDUALS/ROYALTIES WILL BE SUPPLIED TO THE COMPANY

3.50 PERCENT OF ANY MUSIC SALES MADE FROM THIRD-PARTY BRAND DEALS WILL BE GIVEN TO JJK RECORDS

4.ALL SIGNED JJK RECORD ARTISTS WILL BE ASSIGNED A WORK SCHEDULE REGARDING THE YEAR. OUT OF THE 365 DAYS IN A YEAR, EACH ARTIST WILL GET 1 MONTH OFF, ZERO SICK DAYS, AND MUST WORK OVERTIME/ON WEEKENDS

5.THE NAME, BRAND, MUSIC, AND IDENTITY OF YOUR ASSIGNED GROUP AND GROUP MEMBERS ALL BELONG TO JJK RECORDS

6.A LOAN OF ¥300,000,000 WILL BE PAID IN ADVANCE AS A NEW ARTIST. THIS MUST BE PAID BACK A YEAR AFTER THE DEBUT THROUGH SALES.

7.ALL SIGNED ARTISTS UNDER JJK RECORDS CONTRACTS ARE ACTIVE FOR 7 YEARS WITH THE OPTION TO RESIGN ONCE THE 7 YEARS COMPLETE.

8.STRICT DIETING MUST BE INCORPORATED INTO THE EVERYDAY LIFESTYLE

9.STRICT DECORUM AND PROFESSIONALISM MUST BE KEPT AT WORK, PUBLIC EVENTS, CONCERTS, FANSIGNINGS, AND ALL PUBLIC APPEARANCES. NO DRINKING PUBLICALLY, NO CRIMINAL/ILLEGAL ACTIVITY SUCH AS DRUGS, GANG/YAKUZA ACTIVITY, OR USE OF GUNS/KNIVES & INAPPROPRIATE ACTIVITY SHOULD BE ENGAGED IN

10.IF AT ANY TIME ONE OF THESE RULES IS BREACHED THIS CONTRACT WILL BE CEASED AND VOID

‘’Think carefully. Once the ink is dry you’ll belong to us.’’ joked the older male playfully, the man looked ancient as if he had passed his life limit spotting sunken eyes that were hollow you could barely see through them, due to being cast over by thick black shadow. The elder was sat down hunched in his chair with his slender weak hands resting on the table for support. This man was named Yoshinobu Gakuganji who owned JJK Records, he was notorious in the music business for making dreams come true for up-and-coming artists. Gakuganji made stars such as platinum two-time seller Mei Mei, a ballad/soul singer who debuted last year and is now gaining international fans. Teen pop sensation Momo also busted onto the scene debuting earlier that year in 2020, but has been actively promoting in Korea & Thailand outside of Japan. Plus Gakuganji hit it big with ZER0 which gave him huge credentials for his record label to the point that American labels are looking to do business with JJK Records in a partnership.

Gakuganji smiled at the view of the six young men speaking upon themselves, despite doing so he already knew they would accept the offer. These young men were desperate to debut, it was too easy for him to know that as they wouldn’t have trained for so long to debut. It made it easier for him to set his traps…

Aside from Gakuganji the other man now stood up placing a hand on his hip and waiting for an answer, in contrast to Gakuganji this man was middle-aged, presumably in his late 30s, and was bulky in stature with tanned sun-kissed skin. The man wore black thick shades of sunglasses, spotted a spiky dark brown undercut, and was clad in dark purple shiny clothing. His name is Masamichi Yaga, he is currently the CEO of JJK Records, he specifically is responsible for scouting potential trainees, all auditions that take place to select trainees, and the whole training process. He would drop trainees like flies if he believes they are too lazy, weak-minded, and fail to progress/improve. For one to make it to debut is a testimony itself, because the training period is madly chaotic and built for the Marines.

The fact that literally 10-year-olds are trainees is astonishing as it can make (lead to debut) or break (become cut after years of sacrifice to train) a person. Both sides of the coin are tainted.

‘’So…do we have a deal?’’ Yaga spoke up, and the group split quickly after hearing Yaga’s voice. The names of the six young men were as follows: Kento Nanami, Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Ryomen Sukuna, Toji Zenin, and lastly Choso Kamo.

The first to get scouted and join the company as a trainee was Toji at the age of 15 years old. He originally got scouted to be a child actor under the acting division of JJK Records after a talent scout saw him and thought he would make a good child villain in a TV show. But he was a terrible actor, he could never remember his lines and later got transferred over to train after showing promising skills in rapping. By blood, Toji is a part of the Zenin Clan, one of the most prestigious families in Tokyo known for being elite in talent. Every member was exceptional in something and had built an empire. Still, Toji was VERY average and couldn’t make a name or make a living for himself independently leaving him banished from his family. As a member of the Zenin Clan, Toji inherited the family's good looks with raven dark hair and spiky tussled bangs, emerald shiny tinted eyes, and a lean long muscular build, but was still seen as average to his family in terms of their standards. But Toji still had a huge share of female admirers from girls to women. He trained for 10 years, working normal odd jobs to get by while he trained watching other trainees debut before him left him bitter and filled with jealousy. Despite his hardships, Toji learned how to pull on his strengths, being born with a lot of strength in his bones and body, he used that ability to hone in on acrobatic skills. This was a skill no one else had which kept him from being cut as a trainee and eventually led to his debut at 25 years old being the oldest member.

Toji was extremely jealous of Gojo Satoru though, even though he had come to like him after training with him for some time, Gojo had trained for 6 months and was chosen to debut so fast. Gojo Satoru was the golden boy, the be-all and do-all, the Ace who could do almost everything well without much effort. Dancing, singing, performing, you name it. Like a Chameleon Gojo could copy, rinse, and repeat anything taught to him. His brain works at an advanced level and his eyes can scan and picture anything he sees just like a camera. Many things about Gojo made everyone fond of him, he dripped charisma and charm without even trying, and his undeniable aura drew whoever was around him to him like a magnet. Guys wanted to be his friend and be him, girls wanted to date him, and old women wanted their daughters to marry him for him to become their son-in-law. At 6 feet 5, with messy silver-white hair undercut, and cerulean crystal orbs of blue eyes that looked like an image of the sky trapped in time, it was very easy to fall for him or be jealous of him.

One look at his baby blue eyes and dreamy lopsided smile was enough for any girl to be under his love spell. Let's just say his rizz is insane. The world was at Gojo’s fingertips and he loved it, he was ready for the fun of the music world, and choosing this life meant he was free from his family’s rules. Like Toji, Gojo was from a wealthy family/clan, but he decided to pursue a music career to gain independence, so getting a shot at living the high life as a celebrity didn’t hurt.

Gojo was hungry for it and would devour every part of the experience.

Nothing would bring him down.

Gojo accidentally got scouted after his best friend Suguru Geto got scouted at the mall for an audition at JJK Records. Geto had told Gojo about being scouted and was convinced by his other best friend Leiri Shoko to do the audition as she saw the huge opportunity Geto had. Geto only agreed after Shoko asked him to do it because he had a huge fat crush on her then. All 3 of them went to Geto’s audition, Geto and Gojo saw it as a fun joke to kill time. But Geto passed his audition with flying colors by singing (never expecting to make it that far), and Gojo was scouted without an audition based on his looks alone. Shoko wasn’t offered anything but was okay with it as she already dreamed of becoming a doctor.

Like Gojo, Geto is exceptional but his strongest traits are singing/songwriting. You see his voice brought liquid gold out of the ears of whoever heard it. His voice is sultry, breathy, and husky in tone, but the control and power over it is strong. Geto could hit high notes like nothing after months of training, his whistles were insane and his voice could go dangerously low to the point that other female trainees could not stand around the guy without falling in love. It didn’t help that he had long long sleek luscious jet-black hair that he loved to tie in a bun or half bun leaving the remaining hair out. Or his attractive androgynous facial features and nose and ear piercings that set the bill. With his lax but sweet charming behavior, Geto was a genuinely nice guy to be around. Geto also trained for six months but truly fell for being a music artist once he saw how his voice moved the room whenever he sang at evaluations/in practice. From then on his dream was to move people with his voice and help others with his songs, he wanted to share his gift with the world. He like Gojo debuted at the age of 23.

Likewise, Kento Nanami shared the same conviction as Geto, using his gifts to help others in the world. Nanami got scouted in a bathroom at a dance competition where he competed and won 1st prize. At the time Nanami was going through an emo B-Boy phase after being tired of dancing at contemporary/ballet competitions and always winning 1st prize. To challenge himself he decided to learn breakdancing for fun in one week and compete, but to his dismay, he was amazing and defeated all the competition. Kento had been dancing ever since he was three years old, he would be what you classify as an abnormal dancer. The art ran through his veins, it was like breathing to him. He mastered tap, jazz, contemporary, ballet, hip-hop, alternative dance, and Afro-fusion, at the age of 13 years old, and mastered breakdancing at 19 where he became a trainee. You see Nanami could have debuted earlier but didn’t because he kept leaving and returning to the company, his training period lasted for 3 years as he took many hiatuses to find his true purpose in life.

Other trainees didn’t have this luxury but Nanami was given the grace because he was simply too good of a dancer to let go. JJK Records even had plans to debut him as a soloist, as he also is an amazing singer but he turned them down because he was still searching to see if dance was his true purpose. Nanami even had a normal job for a while as a stockbroker but found no purpose in that and left. His reason for returning to train at JJK Records was that he danced to cheer up a sad girl at a bakery after she was having a bad day. His dance lifted her mood completely and the light in her eyes returned, that hopeful look she gave was something he drew out with his dancing, and from there on Nanami knew his purpose.

When dancing Nanami’s body flowed like water, moving slowly and smoothly like a pouring stream of water at the riverside. Peaceful and serene. But then he would bring up the tide of the water and go hard with a splash, leaving the audience quenched with thirst for more. Girls couldn’t get enough of him. You could not take your eyes off of him. His hips were a danger zone because the way he could move them was unhuman-like. He was incredible. Nanami's biracial heritage was also another insight that drew him admirers from many female trainees, he is Japanese and Danish and the perfect blend of the two. With a rich champagne blond undercut neatly parted and styled, stunning cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, a tall build and defined long jawline, warm chocolate brown eyes, and creamy beige skin, you’d think he’d be a model on the page of Vogue (he also declined the chance to model for them years ago). The humble, caring, and honest character traits of Nanami are something Yaga couldn’t let go of regarding this group. He cared for other trainees and was often one to help out a trainee if they were stuck, his best friend Haibara was cut and that devastated him but Nanami told Haibara he would debut for him. Nanami debuted at 22.

The last two members Ryomen Sukuna and Choso Kamo debuted under sad circumstances. Sukuna lived the ghetto life, he was born in the slums of Japan and was involved with the Yakuza from the age of 10 years old. He committed crimes like stealing money from stores, participating in drivebys, and selling drugs on the corners of the streets at night. Despite his struggles, Sukuna would rap to escape it and taught himself how to do so by watching old-school rappers such as 50 Cent, Nas, Tupac, and Notorious B.I.G. He even learned English from studying their videos and watching their interviews over and over again. Rapping and MCing were something that Sukuna could do to express himself and the hardships he was facing, he was a lyricist who could play on words well and could rap extremely fast.

JJK Records came across Sukuna after hearing a mix tape of his on an underground radio station, as soon as the company was aware of him they searched to find his whereabouts and asked him to train with the offer of being in the company's boyband. His position was already secured, and Sukuna accepted with the hopes of becoming a rapper/MC who could be respected internationally. He was scouted at 20 years old and trained for 4 years. The company needed someone who had a gruff, hard exterior, someone who could bring the smoke, and Sukuna had that. He’s crazy, unpredictable, and deadly you never know what he’s thinking and will bring the fire. His hot pink hair, face tattoos, bulky body, handsome face, and somewhat sadistic character brought a darker edge to the group. He had many female admirers too like the others because of the list mentioned before, and he would often flirt with them despite not being allowed to. Sukuna debuted at 24.

Choso Kamo is the boy lolita type, a little dim-witted, shy, and innocent and he is the youngest of the bunch. Choso trained for 2 years and was scouted at the age of 16 years old. Before becoming a trainee he was living in a foster home with his other friends who he took as siblings. When it came to talent Choso could sing well, his voice was great for harmonies and blending with other voices. His talent lay in his voice being used as an instrument to amplify and invoke a feeling/vibe. He was the only member who knew of JJK Records before auditioning and attended an audition of his own free will. Choso barely passed his audition due to his huge stage fright but spent 2 years overcoming that. However, he still comes off as shy and unsure of himself but tries his best. Yaga decided to debut Choso because he believed his talent for harmonies with any other voice/vocal was needed for the group. In addition, Choso also carries a cute, meek relatable persona which would be easy for the audience to relate to and crush over. Choso was adorkable, he wore sweaters and jeans that were too big for him and tied his black spiky hair with two puffs. His talking voice was sweet and earnest, and his pale shiny skin, toothy smile, luminous violet eyes, and purple eye shadow made him look like a cute luscious vampire. He is too cute for his good but when he gets serious another mature sexy side of him comes out.

Choso won the popular junior trainee award after 1 month of training, and most of the votes were from junior trainee fangirls.

All six members had spent time training together and forming a genuine bond despite fighting at times. They had hoped to debut together because they all got along. Despite Toji’s secret jealousy of Gojo, he did respect his talent and drive to show up and work. Everyone loved Nanami’s leadership Geto’s support, and Sukuna’s will to stick up for others especially when it came to Choso who got bullied by other trainees. But from now on the group's relationship would be truly tested. Once they debuted there was no going back.

‘’Yes, Yaga. We’ve all talked it through since we got the news. We’ve taken a little time to look at the contracts but we trust we are in good hands.’’ Nanami spoke kindly, Gojo brushed past the group and went up to Yaga leaning his hands on the table before the contracts. Gojo groaned like a kid in the candy store, his patience was running thin.

‘’We’ve gotten all of the formalities out of the way now. Let’s sign and move on to the good stuff.’’ Gojo groaned now bouncing up and down like a manchild. Geto shook his head and Nanami laughed in agreement. They both knew Gojo couldn’t contain his excitement.

‘’What I wanna know is what our group name is gonna be, it better not be cringy or some crap like that.’’ Sukuna deadpanned shoving his hands in the pockets of his camo pants.

‘’It’s not gonna be cringy, if so we’ll just force them to change it.’’ Toji chimed now stretching his arms and legs as all the other members laughed, before he and the other members went to sign their contracts.

Choso signed his contract slowly with a small smile on his face, ‘’I can finally get my siblings and me out, we can have a better life.’’ he whispered sadly, Geto placed a warm hand on Choso’s shoulder as a sign of comfort.

‘’You should be proud of yourself Choso. And don’t worry you and your siblings will be fine.’’ Geto reassured Choso

‘’You did good kid,’’ Sukuna says giving Choso a small punch on the arm, before Gojo whines and groans again loudly slouching down his body for dramatic effect. ‘’Stop with the waterworks already, we should be celebrating we just got signed,’’ he whines

All the contracts are signed and Yaga takes them off the table as Gakuganji stands up to leave the room bidding the group a small wave on his way out. Yaga then turns his back towards the group with his hands behind a serious feel to the atmosphere.

‘’Congratulations to you all. You’ve worked hard. Celebrate if you must, but that will only be for a short while. All 6 of you have a lot of work ahead of you. Once you debut everything will change, but you must stay grounded’’ Yaga started ‘’But first things first. I will reveal to you the group name.’’

Finally, Gojo thought to himself as he could see his friends look up in anticipation to hear what it was, the name of this group would be its trademark to the world. It had to be catchy and work well with the public. If not the group won’t hit well with the public and Gojo would have to kiss goodbye to his independence and chance at the high life.

‘’So what is it Yaga we don’t have all day?’’ Gojo yelled

‘’Watch it Satoru…Anyway…All six of you will debut next year. The name of your group will be…..’’

—-

Late 2020

Lori Utahime sat in her bedroom faced with an old Mac laptop in front of her, the room was very small and cramped, there was only enough space for a bed and mini wardrobe. Plain and bland were the words to explain how the room looked, it was grey and beige with minimal decoration or color. That’s the kind of person Lori was, she didn’t care about the vanities of the world, what mattered to her was the important things, the little things.

The only thing she cared about was her little dream. The dream wasn’t much but she just wanted to play baseball as an official athlete in the women's league. At age 11 she fell in love with the sport after watching a group of teens play baseball at her school, how they all worked as a team and achieved victory as a unit. Lori was often alone and isolated from others as a child, her interests often didn’t align with the other girls her age. She was into baseball, rock climbing, cartoons cosplay, and geeky stuff, while every other girl was growing up, being in love, and starting their life as a young woman. Boys saw her as weird for not being girly enough, they also judged her for the huge scar she has on the bridge of her nose, calling her names.

She wasn’t an attractive girl in her eyes, just a bland one.

That was okay with her, she was content with that.

Lori’s dream to compete in baseball professional was on the verge of a breakthrough, she worked hard at practicing in the batter position and was good enough to eventually be scouted by the women's Tokyo team for training. However, due to financial issues, Lori couldn’t afford to pay the fees and had to help out her family with the bills. She came from a poor family and times had gotten much harder since her dad got ill, therefore more financial burden fell on her. To help with the burden Lori left her baseball training behind to get a normal office job, it paid okay but it was a temporary role and now she desperately needed a new job.

The laptop screen was on the Indeed job search website, numerous jobs had been applied to but Lori just kept scrolling applying for any job she felt suitable for.

A buzzing sound came from Lori’s jeans pocket, it was her phone ringing, and in quick haste, she answered.

‘’Hello, this is Lori Utahime. May I know who’s speaking?’’ Lori spoke in a professional relaxed tone

The call was from the Human Resources & Administration Team of JJK Records, Lori had interviewed for a position as a Personal Assistant and had not heard anything in 3 weeks. The interview went well so she was hoping she’d get the job.

‘’Thank you Lori Utahime for taking the time to attend the interview for this position. We are truly amazed at your credentials and skills. Congratulations, we would like to offer you the role of Personal Assitant. Please let us know if you’d accept this offer.’’ said the voice from the other side of the phone.

Lori stood up slowly, gave herself a small congratulatory pat on the back, and gave a small smile before answering.

‘’Thank you, Nitta, I’d be delighted to take the offer.’’

——

I have uploaded this on my A03 account (my username there is different-Mint Bunniez)

You can find it here

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theschizotypalsolilquy · 10 months ago

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I've been meaning to ask....

Do any of my followers read anything other than fanfic?

Cuz I'm a dark romance/reverse harem/monster fucker reader and I can recommend some if yall have a Kindle account.

Lemme know! Otherwise I'll just stick with jikook and dramione/Dreomione/tomione/sirimione recs. Huzzah!!!

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d3athtr4psworld · 2 years ago

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Welcome to my dark happy place.

Name’s Jessica. Thirty. I’m obsessed with all things dark, dark romance & COD fanfics/AU. I am a huge bookworm & have been since I was very young. I’m exploring the writing world & working on my debut romance book. Expect some wild random shit from me & send me ALL of your creative COD headcanons, fanfics, au, etc. I’ll try my best to make them your “reality”. Johnny MacTavish, König, & Ghost are my boys in my reverse harem dreams.

This is an 18+ blog only!!! MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED due to the content I like to write. Minors please DNI!!!

#cod mw2 #cod #mw2022 #mw2 fanfic #first post #soap call of duty #ghost x soap x konig

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devotedlypinkpeanut · 1 month ago

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Love us as much as we love you — part 2

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, trauma, revenge, mental torture, physical constraints, extortion, abuse of power, degradation, erotic pain, double penetration, anal sex, cigarette consumption, oral sex, role-playing, exhibitionism, voyeurism, BDSM, fetishism, vaginal penetration, submission practices, non-consensual acts, acts in public places, mental domination, sexual humiliation.

Number of words : ~ 50k

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⤑ Main Masterlist — Series Masterlist | ⇠ Previous Chapter

Every breath is torture. Your sweaty body is stuck in sticky sheets, their weight making you feel like you’re suffocating. Every attempt to move tears a searing pain from your muscles and joints, as if your own skeleton were rebelling against you. The acidity that scrapes your throat still burns, ravaging the insides of your body, although your nausea has long since had nothing to expel. Your stomach is empty, hollow like a bottomless pit, and what you vomit with each spasm is your malaise: sickening, bitter, a persistent poison that refuses to release you.

When the doorbell first rings, it’s like someone is hammering directly into your skull. A whimper escapes your dry lips, unable to find the strength to protest. But the noise returns, insistent, cruel, coming at you with the precision of a blade. Each ring crushes you a little more, as if the person on the other end knows exactly how much they’re torturing you. Trembling, you swing your legs out of bed. The icy contact of the floor makes you shudder, but you have no choice but to move forward, staggering, like wounded prey.

Every step is a struggle. Your legs wobble, unable to support your weight. You barely catch yourself on the wall, your breath coming in short, painful gasps. Sweat trickles between your shoulder blades and slides down your neck, making your own body unbearable to inhabit. The suffocating grip of your weakness envelops you, but you continue, your gaze unfocused, until you finally reach the door. Your clammy fingers slide over the handle, hesitate for a moment, then you open it, praying that this nightmare will end.

And there they are. Jake and Sunghoon, standing in the doorway like untouchable specters, their presence weighing heavily on you. Their posture is nonchalant, but every fiber of their being oozes arrogance and control, crushing you under the authority they exude without even needing to speak. Jake smirks—a smile that already announces your defeat. Sunghoon is silent for a moment, his eyes slowly roaming your body with icy attention, as if he takes pleasure in dissecting every detail of your pitiful state. Their perfume, powerful and expensive, hits you full force, seeping under your skin, a heady scent that reminds you of how much they belong to a world you can only touch with your fingertips.

In your faded SpongeBob pajamas, stuck to your damp skin, you feel miserable, reduced to an empty shell under their inquisitive gazes. Sunghoon narrows his eyes slightly, a fleeting smirk stretching his lips as he takes in the measure of your decline. Jake, for his part, lets out a light laugh, almost amused, but loaded with an unbearable condescension.

“I thought you were running away from us, Professor,” Jake breathes, crossing the threshold without waiting for your permission. His voice, soft and velvety, vibrates with cruel irony. He walks around your apartment as if he were its rightful owner, letting his fingers trail over your things with a morbid curiosity. “But I see you were just… sick.” He says the word with studied slowness, and his gaze lingers on you, his laughing eyes piercing your thin defense.

Sunghoon follows behind him, closing the door with disconcerting calm. His piercing gaze sweeps every corner of the room as if searching for evidence of your insignificance. “Your place is as pitiful as you are,” he murmurs, almost absently, but each word hits you with an implacable coldness. Your jaw clenches, but you don’t even have the energy to retort.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is hoarse and broken, each word ripped from a body too exhausted to fight. Your balance wavers, and Sunghoon is on you in an instant, his fingers firmly closing around your wrist. His grip is cold, methodical, a silent promise of absolute control. He effortlessly pulls you towards the couch and forces you to sit down, his fingers grazing your skin in a way that is both possessive and clinical.

“Like Jake said, bunny, we thought you were avoiding us,” he murmurs, crouching down in front of you, his gaze searching every inch of your exhausted face. There’s a troubled glint in his eyes, an unhealthy obsession that makes you want to disappear into the ground. “But now you don’t have to hide. We’re here. Let us handle everything.” It’s not a proposition. It’s an order. His voice is low, soft, but oozing with dominance.

Jake approaches slowly, positioning himself right above you. His eyes shine with perverse satisfaction, as if he’s relishing every second of your discomfort. “We’re going to take care of you,” he murmurs, his voice rough and drawling. “You can finally let go, Mom.” The nickname smacks like a disguised insult, and you feel your stomach churn again.

A wave of violent nausea washes over you, and you clumsily leap towards the bathroom, your body shaking and fragile. But before you can close the door, they're already behind you. Jake grabs a handful of your hair, gently tugging back to keep your face clear, a perverse smile playing on his lips.

Your body bends over the toilet, and you vomit with a violence that tears you apart from the inside. The acidity burns your throat and your eyes mist with uncontrollable tears. As you gasp, Sunghoon runs a slow hand over your back, his caresses strangely soothing, as if he finds a deranged pleasure in seeing you in this state.

When the spasms finally subside, you lift your head weakly, your face drenched in cold sweat. Your wobbly limbs betray you, every muscle screaming with exhaustion. Jake releases your hair with calculated slowness, his fingers sliding along your damp locks, as if he’s savoring the contact for a little too long. A gesture too precise, too intimate not to be disturbing.

The bitter taste of bile remains in your throat, and the suffocating weight of their presence crushes you a little more. They are there, omnipresent, and you already know that they are not done playing with you.

Sunghoon holds you firmly, his large, possessive hand pressed against your back in an embrace that leaves no room for ambiguity. His fingers skim your skin through the damp fabric of your pajamas, their deliberate movements marking every inch of your body like a silent takeover. He doesn’t need to speak to impose his hold on you—the way he exerts this subtle pressure, slipping effortlessly beneath the surface of your skin, is enough to make you understand that you belong to him, here and now. “Easy,” he murmurs near your ear, his voice low and gravelly, vibrating with ambiguous promises. The warm breath of his words brushes the line of your jaw, a caress as unsettling as it is unalterable.

The palm of his hand slides slowly down your back to your waist, and his grip tightens insidiously, holding you back just enough for you to understand that it is not help, but a silent warning. Your legs wobble under the weight of his control, and despite yourself, you lean further against him, your body seeking an unstable balance in this forced proximity. Each step towards the sink is a fight—not only against the physical weakness that eats away at you, but also against the strange nausea that tightens your chest, fueled by this thick atmosphere loaded with unspoken words.

When you reach the sink, your trembling fingers manage to turn the tap. The icy water spurts out brutally and hits your face in a sharp wave, but the shock doesn't erase the bitter burn in your throat or the oppressive weight that continues to weigh on you. You feel like you're suffocating, but the air saturated with their presence prevents you from breathing fully. Jake is there, just a few steps away, his gaze scrutinizing you with a perverse intensity, as if he's drinking in your weakness. His clear eyes shine with an unhealthy fascination, capturing every shudder of your body with a clinical, almost predatory attention.

He holds out a towel in a slow gesture, almost insulting in its nonchalance. The air around you is so thick that the simple act of grabbing the towel becomes an act charged with palpable tension. The fabric is rough against your overly sensitive skin, but you continue to wipe your face in silence, aware that every movement is being watched, analyzed, memorized. Your every move seems to fuel a latent desire in them, a twisted satisfaction in seeing you in this state of vulnerability.

Sunghoon stays behind you, his heavy, imposing presence reminding you that there is no escape. “Let’s get you back to bed, bunny,” he murmurs, his voice soft, almost caressing, but so full of control that it makes your blood run cold. Before you can protest, he lifts you up with disconcerting ease, as if your weight is nothing to him. Your damp pajamas cling to your skin, and you feel every fiber of Sunghoon’s clothes, as luxurious as they are cold, pressing against you. His arms around you are not a protection, but a cage. Each step he takes is slow, calculated, as if he wants to fully savor every second of your helplessness in his arms.

Jake opens the door to your room with an almost theatrical nonchalance. He lifts the covers with a deliberate gesture, revealing the bed with a slowness that borders on provocation. The mattress, cold under your feverish body, tears an uncontrollable shiver from you. Sunghoon places you with disturbing precision, his gaze fixed on yours. He doesn't need words to make you understand that this room is no longer a refuge for you. You are here at their mercy.

The sheet slides over your trembling skin, tugged by expert, confident hands. Each gesture is a subtly intrusive caress, a silent promise of what they can do with you, whenever they want. The way they lock you under this blanket is almost ceremonial, as if they are marking their territory with perverse meticulousness.

Sunghoon leans down, his large hand brushing your cheek with unsettling slowness. The caress is seemingly gentle, but each movement is measured, controlled, as if he were pressing an invisible button inside you. “Rest. We’ll be here when you wake up,” he murmurs, his voice so low that each word seems to slip under your skin. His lips brush your forehead, but this kiss is anything but innocent—it’s a mark, a veiled promise that leaves an invisible burn on your skin.

Jake, however, doesn’t just watch. He leans closer, and his fingers find yours under the sheet. He brings them to his lips, placing slow, pressing kisses on your skin. Each one is a promise disguised as tenderness, an intimate gesture distorted by the intensity of his gaze. “Sleep well, Mom,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, almost hypnotic. His fingers slowly trace circles on the back of your hand, a gesture that is both soothing and insidiously possessive.

The silence that follows is heavy, almost oppressive. They stay there for a moment, motionless, as if savoring the moment. The air is saturated with their presence, with that latent tension that sticks to your skin. Then, slowly, they leave the room, each of their steps resonating like a promise to return. The door remains ajar, a deliberate opening, as if to remind you that they could come back at any moment.

Even when their silhouettes disappear, their presence continues to permeate the atmosphere. Every fiber of your being is marked by them, like an indelible imprint. You close your eyes, but their control remains there, chained to you, anchored deep in your mind. You still feel the weight of their gaze on your body, the burn of their caresses on your skin. Even in your sleep, you know they are still there, ready to interfere in the slightest crack.

You slowly emerge from sleep, your muscles numb with a fatigue you can't explain. Your body is still heavy and painful, as if it were still carrying the weight of an opaque dream, a mixture of shadows and sensations that escapes you. However, reality imposes itself brutally on you, through the intoxicating smell of food that invades the room. It slips into your nostrils, hot, spicy, almost indecent. Each breath is an intrusive caress, stirring a primitive hunger that awakens in the pit of your belly. Your stomach gurgles with brutal intensity, a guttural noise that echoes in the silence, like an imperious reminder of your body's needs.

You straighten up with difficulty, your bare feet meeting the cold of the ground. The sensation passes through you like an icy shock, tearing a shiver that runs down your spine. Your legs wobble, still marked by a dull fatigue, the exhaustion of an effort that you have no memory of having made. But something pushes you forward, an irresistible force, almost animal. Attracted by the heady smell, you advance slowly into the corridor, the weight of each step reinforcing the impression of sinking deeper into an invisible trap.

As you approach the kitchen, the sounds become clearer: deep voices, interspersed with stifled laughter and knowing murmurs. The atmosphere is heavy, saturated with a dull tension, like a promise left hanging. A strange excitement simmers beneath the surface, a latent threat that mixes with your hunger, making each step harder, each breath heavier.

As you cross the threshold of the kitchen, their voices abruptly stop, and their gazes turn to you as if they were waiting for you. The silence that follows is oppressive, almost suffocating. Your stomach gurgles again, a vulgar and inappropriate sound that seems to resonate throughout the room. Their conversation stops, and their eyes lock on yours with a disturbing, almost predatory intensity. Their gazes scrutinize you, slide over your body with a calculated slowness, as if they take pleasure in observing every detail, every shiver that you cannot contain.

Feeling exposed under this burning attention, you instinctively wrap an arm around your stomach, hoping to erase the obvious vulnerability your body betrays. But this paltry gesture of protection only intrigues them more. Their gazes become more insistent, more heavy, lingering on the curve of your shoulders, the tension in your jaw, the slightest hesitation in your breath. The air around you seems to thicken, like an invisible spider's web slowly tightening around you.

Sunghoon, still in front of the stove, looks up at you. “I hope you don’t mind that we used your kitchen, bunny,” he murmurs, his voice low and drawling, like a dangerous promise whispered in your ear. The seemingly innocuous nickname sounds different in his mouth—intimate, possessive, like a chain he’s gently pulling to draw you to him. He stirs the pan with an almost provocative slowness, a barely perceptible smile floating on his lips. His gaze remains anchored to yours, heavy with innuendo, letting you understand that this isn’t just about cooking.

“Jay usually does it,” he adds, his tone deceptively light contrasting with the palpable tension in the room. “I’m not the best, but I hope you’ll enjoy it anyway.” His words are measured, each syllable a subtle test of how far he can take this game. He smiles, and the slight crinkle at the corner of his eyes lets you know he’s already savoring the effect he’s having on you.

Jake, leaning casually against the counter, bursts out laughing, his deep, raspy laugh resonating like an abrasive caress on your skin. He straightens slightly, his gaze locked on yours with an unsettling intensity. “Hoon, a good cook? Damn, we’ve known for a long time that he’s not.” His smile widens, revealing a hint of provocation in his clear eyes. “Jay spends his time yelling at him as soon as he touches a pot. Seriously, that guy can set fire to water.”

He lets out a small, amused snort, his lips stretching into a mocking grin. But behind this apparent lightness, you perceive something else: a sly malice, a calculated provocation, as if he takes pleasure in destabilizing you. Every word he says, every gesture he makes, is a disguised invitation, a trap set under a casual appearance.

Then, as if his joke was just an excuse, Jake slowly slides his gaze from Sunghoon to you. His smile widens, revealing a glint of cheeky defiance. “Honestly, honey, I suggest you don’t touch that thing if you don’t want to be stuck in bed all day…” He trails off, a calculated silence stretching out, and when he continues, his voice is lower, slipping like an intimate whisper against your ear. “Although… maybe being stuck in bed with us wouldn’t be such a bad idea, right?”

The suggestion hits you right in the heart, a burning wave of discomfort and excitement mingling together rising within you. The weight of his words seeps under your skin, insidious, and you struggle to hide the heat that intrudes despite yourself. But it’s no use. They’ve seen that fleeting glint in your eyes—a fragility you thought was hidden, a desire you refuse to admit. They still see it. Their ability to read you with unnerving precision makes you vulnerable. Your soft laugh escapes your lips, clumsy, trying to break the tension. But the sound echoes through the kitchen like a false note, amplifying instead of soothing. Their gazes grow heavy, sharper, as if your laughter has just given them exactly what they’ve been waiting for.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” you say softly, almost in a desperate attempt to assert a control you can already feel slipping through your fingers. But your whisper lacks confidence. It hangs in the air between you, fragile, like a futile attempt to push back an inescapable tide. And that uncertainty only fuels the intensity in their eyes. Sunghoon looks away briefly, and you catch a glimpse of the faint blush that colors his cheeks. He coughs awkwardly, but you note the tension in his shoulders and the nervous way his fingers clench around the handle of the pan.

His movements, slow and calculated, take on an almost intimate dimension. He stirs the contents of the pan with exaggerated attention, as if he were trying to prolong this moment suspended in the heavy air of the kitchen. Each movement of his wrists is too precise, too controlled, as if he wanted to transform this simple gesture into something more suggestive. You feel an unpleasant shiver brush the back of your neck.

“It was well-intentioned, after all…” you murmur, your own words wavering between an apology and an attempt to minimize what’s happening before your eyes. But that sentence, far from lightening the atmosphere, seems to make it more oppressive. Jake lets out a low chuckle, that vibrating, insidious sound that grips your chest like an invisible chain. He straightens up with calculated slowness, his movements imbued with that dangerous nonchalance that is his own, and takes a step toward you.

Each step sounds like a veiled promise, a bittersweet threat. He stops just close enough for you to feel the warmth of his body against yours, but not quite touching. His proximity envelops you, and you feel that magnetic tension between your bodies, heavy with unspoken expectations. “Good intentions, huh?” he repeats, tilting his head slightly, his eyes lingering over your face with a devouring insistence. His breath brushes your skin, and the sensation is soft enough to be pleasant, but intrusive enough to shake you. An uncontrollable shiver runs down your spine, and you know he’s noticed. “That’s cute of you to think that.”

His tone is a velvety whisper, but his words are sharp, like a blade gently grazing your skin without piercing it. You are trapped, unable to move, between Jake’s casual arrogance and Sunghoon’s silent but overwhelming presence. One toys with you, skillfully pulling the invisible strings of your discomfort, while the other watches you with a latent intensity, waiting for his moment to intervene.

You understand then, with a frightening clarity, that they are not simply there to make you taste a dubious dish. Their gestures, their looks, their words are imbued with a hunger much deeper, much darker. A hunger that exceeds the one your stomach demands. What they want from you is not innocent. They feed on your reactions, delighting in each shiver, each blush, like predators savoring the moment before pouncing on their prey.

And you, motionless in this cramped kitchen, you already feel the noose tightening.

Your stomach rumbles again, and an insatiable heat invades your body, spreading from your head to your toes. The intensity of Jake’s gaze almost makes you swoon, and you look away, unable to withstand his hypnotic power. But he doesn’t let you escape. With a firm movement, he grabs you by the jaw, forcing you to meet his piercing gaze, his dark eyes burning with a desire you can’t ignore. The connection between you is palpable, an electric tension that seems to vibrate in the air.

“I see you’re hungry, Mom,” he murmurs, his deep, smooth voice making you shiver. His words sound like an invitation to succumb to temptation. He slides his fingers over your jaw, caressing your skin with an almost painful delicacy. The attention makes you shudder, and the embarrassment ignites into an irresistible desire. “Get on your knees, I’ll feed you my seed, since you can’t wait any longer.” His words, tinged with an undeniable impetuosity, resonate in you like an indecent promise, and you are immediately invaded by a wave of heat that surges through your body.

Without resistance, you drop to your knees in front of him, a burning submission of arousal flooding through you. You're aware of your vulnerability, but the feeling is strangely exhilarating. The position makes you feel both desirable and exposed, and you shudder in anticipation, your gaze fixed on his crotch.

“Jake…” you call out shyly, your voice trembling betraying your excitement. Your eyes search for Sunghoon, who stands there, unfazed, leaning against the stove. He watches the scene with a smirk, his eyes shining with a pernicious amusement that only increases your discomfort. You wonder what he thinks of this situation, but the anxiety is quickly chased away by a stronger urge.

“Oh… honey, you’re so cute,” Jake says, his mocking tone making you blush. He’s noticed your concern and turns it to his advantage. “You’re worried about what Hoon thinks? But he loves this, watching you get fucked by his fucking best friend, doesn’t he, Hoon?” His voice, drawling and mocking, makes you shudder as he strokes your hair, tugging on it with rough tenderness. Each pull makes you let out small moans, and you hear Sunghoon hum softly, nodding to what’s playing out in front of him, as if he’s taking perverse pleasure in watching your downfall.

“How about we put on a little show for him to jerk off to?” Jake whispers, leaning down towards you, his hot breath brushing your skin. His dirty words, like fireworks in your mind, make you gasp, each syllable amplifying the intense desire that makes your heart beat faster. You feel a dull wetness between your thighs, the promise of unspoken pleasure. Your face heats up as he chuckles, his lips brushing your skin with disconcerting sensuality. “Hmm… I knew you were a good girl for us,” he whispers, a smirk on his lips. “Now open wide for me.”

He stands up, towering over the room, a burning gaze fixed on your mouth that slowly opens for him, like a silent invitation full of obscene promises. Every movement of his body is charged with power and desire, and you feel your heart racing. In a gesture imbued with confidence, he undoes his pants, letting the fabric slide down his hips with delicious slowness, before lowering his boxers. His cock springs out, already oozing pre-cum, an indecent offering that gently smacks against your face. The impact makes you gasp, a delicious surprise that sends a wave of heat rising through you, as you shiver at the feeling of that heat, both sticky and cold, spreading across your skin.

The musky, intoxicating scent that rises in the air catches you by the throat, enveloping you in an almost unreal state of arousal. Your senses are alert, vibrating, and a part of you is eager to taste every bit of it, every drop. Your fingers, trembling with anticipation, instinctively go to your face, dragging over the slippery texture before being gently pressed against your parted lips.

You start sucking on your fingers, licking them thoroughly, savoring the salty taste that fills your mouth and makes an irrepressible urge rise within you. Your eyes, shining with desire and defiance, remain fixed on him, observing every reaction on his face as he watches you, visibly intoxicated by the scene. The moans you let out around your fingers are like a sensual melody that draws him in even more, pushing him to lose control.

Continuing to suck on your fingers, you push yourself up slightly on your knees, edging closer to him, your body throbbing with anticipation. Your tongue finds its way between your lips, sliding gently to lick up the last drops of pre-cum that bead at the tip of his member. The touch of your tongue on his warm, smooth skin sends shivers of pleasure down his spine, and you see his muscles tense under your touch. He lets out a guttural sigh, a note of desire that resonates in the air. You can see the tension in his muscles, the impatience building as he stares at you, eagerly wanting.

“Fuck… I didn’t know you were such a slut, bunny.” Sunghoon lets out the words with a mix of frustration and raw desire, his heated gaze settling on you as you turn your head to Jake, his enthusiasm palpable. Jealousy seizes Sunghoon, washing over him like a rising tide. His body reacts with a burning intensity, an irresistible drive that urges him to possess you right then and there.

He watches every detail, every movement of your body. When you slowly remove your wet fingers from your lips, the soft, wet sound that escapes them resonates in the air, sending a shiver down his spine. You open your mouth, a raw and bold invitation, exposing your gaping, dilated throat to their hungry gazes. The expression of your submission, mixed with a wild audacity, excites Sunghoon beyond control.

Fuck, he would give anything to be the one fucking your throat, to be the one you remember in your darkest dreams. The image of you, head tilted back, mouth wide open and ready to receive him, is imprinted on his mind like an obsession. He already imagines his hips thrusting forward hard, his member sinking deep inside you, filling you completely, until you are completely his.

He can almost hear your moans, mingling with the hot sounds of his flesh against your throat as you face him with a consuming submission. The thought of being the one dominating you, of having you crack under his weight, sets him aflame with desire. He wants to feel your throat contract around him, to hear you call his name as you succumb to the madness of the pleasure he gives you.

Jake, for his part, seems to be savoring this moment, his gaze fixed on you, and it only adds to Sunghoon’s frustration. “You know what I would do if I were him?” he whispers, his voice a mix of challenge and promise, a dark invitation to debauchery. “I would grab you by the hair, I would take you roughly, filling you with everything you desire, until you lose your mind.”

Those words echo through you like a devastating echo, making you wetter as you rub your thighs together, an insatiable heat flooding through you. The wetness between them becomes almost unbearable, a tide of desire engulfing you. You know full well that these are not just empty words. Sunghoon will eventually act on it, you are convinced of it, because he is a man of his word. The wait is a delicious poison that excites you even more.

Suddenly, Jake catches your attention, his hand grabbing your jaw to turn your head towards him, breaking the eye contact that bound you to Sunghoon. The moment is electric, and you feel a palpable tension in the air, a power struggle between the two men. As you are forced to look at him, he gives you an intense, almost possessive look. Before you can react, he roughly shoves his cock down your throat, causing a moan of surprise and pleasure to rise from your chest.

“I want you to focus on me, not him,” he says, his voice thick with jealousy and desire. Each word is a command, a demand that resonates deep within you. Tears well up in your eyes as he forces you to take him all the way, your body reacting against your will. You can feel his hot, hard member slide into your throat, a brutal intrusion that makes you shudder with pleasure and pain.

He begins to move slowly in your mouth, his hips moving with calculated sensuality, each movement charged with an almost palpable intensity. His eyes, filled with unquenchable desire, scrutinize you with an almost possessive attention. He groans with pleasure, a throaty, guttural sound that resonates in the air, awakening in you a burning desire, an irrepressible urge to satisfy him. The heat of your mouth envelops him, soft and wet, and you feel his cock pulse against your tongue, an irresistible invitation to submit completely to his desires. Every movement he makes bewitches you, your saliva flowing around him, making every friction even more pleasurable, every pressure an exquisite delight.

Tightening your lips around him, you slide your tongue along his smooth skin, exploring every prominent vein, every perfect curve. You linger on the head, playing with the musky taste of his flesh, a mix of sweat and desire that intoxicates all your senses. With each in and out of your tongue, you feel his breath grow shorter, more panting, while his moans of pleasure, guttural sounds, encourage you to intensify your game. You want him to feel as good as he makes you feel, as if he's burning you from the inside out.

Your hands move to his thighs, caressing them gently, brushing his skin with addictive softness, all the while coaxing him deeper into your throat. The sensation is both unsettling and delicious, your esophagus dilating as you swallow him completely, his warmth mixing with your saliva. Each thrust is a struggle between the desire to let him do it and the need to catch your breath, an erotic dance where you gradually lose control. His cock invades your being, and each movement makes him sink even deeper into you, pushing the limits of your own submission.

He grips your hair tightly, tugging slightly, forcing you to take him even more. You feel the pressure growing in your throat, and a shiver of pleasure washes over you, mixed with a slight choking that makes you want him even more. You are at his mercy, completely his, savoring every moment of this delicious humiliation. His hip thrusts become deeper and faster, and you feel tears leak from your eyes, a mixture of pleasure and pain as you struggle to stay focused on the task at hand.

“Fuck… Hoon, come see how perfectly her throat fits my cock.” Jake’s voice echoes through the kitchen, deep and husky, each syllable vibrating with perverse pleasure. His ragged breaths betray his arousal as he continues to thrust into your mouth roughly, a frenzied and merciless pace. Each thrust propels him inside you, tearing out gasps from you, a symphony of pain and pleasure mixed together. Your hands, trapped in his muscular thighs, claw desperately at his flesh, searching for a way to breathe, a temporary escape from this suffocating embrace. But he gives you no chance. Each thrust is deeper than the last, each movement more violent, as if he seeks to possess you entirely.

“Look at that, Hoon… She swallows it like a pro.” His smirk stretches on his lips, a mix of pride and desire as his cock briefly pops out of your mouth, covered in thick drool, leaving slimy trails on your chin. Sunghoon, intrigued, approaches with an aroused expression, his eyes scanning your throat that swells with each penetration. You can feel the heat of his body, his aura of adrenaline and power sucking you into a vortex of desire.

“Fuck… Did you see how his windpipe moves with your cock?” he says, his voice almost hypnotic. He runs a finger down your throat, caressing the obscene outline that forms with each thrust. The feel of his finger on your delicate skin intensifies your desire, a dull heat spreading through you. Each of Jake’s movements becomes painfully precise, merciless, increasing your insatiable need to be taken. Tears begin to shine in your eyes, a testament to the struggle between pain and pleasure as your throat contracts around his flesh. Jake laughs softly, a guttural sound that resonates in the air, the echo of the pleasure he draws from your suffering.

“You like it, don’t you, bunny?” Sunghoon whispers, his voice soft and sweet mixing with the brutality of the moment. You nod, an unconscious gesture that pushes Jake’s cock even further inside, and you let out a cry of surprise, an almost animalistic sound, which only heightens their arousal. Sunghoon then grabs your throat, squeezing slowly, his penetrating gaze never leaving you, observing the expressions of pain mixed with ecstasy on your face. Your breathing becomes chaotic, tremors shaking your body under the increasing pressure.

Sunghoon’s grip tightens you around Jake’s cock, intensifying the friction, causing a wave of heat to run through your body. Jake groans, that primal sound echoing through the room, resonating like a promise of pleasure and debauchery. “Yeah, squeeze his throat again, whore.” His fingers dig into your hair, forcing you to keep him deep inside you, an uncompromising domination. You gasp, wet gurgles escaping your filled mouth, mixed with muffled moans, testifying to your inability to breathe. The pain becomes a backdrop of pleasure, a mixture of sensations that takes you into a spiral of despair and pleasure.

Each thrust becomes rougher, deeper, reducing your breath to short, uncontrollable gasps. Jake picks up the pace, pounding into your mouth with an animalistic intensity, like a hunter feasting on his prey. His hips thrust with an irresistible frenzy, each movement emphasizing his power over you, each assault making you lose more of your lucidity. Tears flood your face, tracing bright lines across your hot, swollen cheeks, your gaze losing its shine as pain mixes with ecstasy, creating a vivid tableau of your defeat.

“Look at her, Hoon… Look how beautiful she is when she’s dying for my cock,” Jake hisses, his pleasure growing as your face twists with the effort. Sunghoon chuckles softly, his thumb sliding over your parted lips, opening them a little more, as if to make the spectacle even more obscene and disturbing. Every movement becomes a statement of possession, a brutal reminder of their power over you, as if your pain were a trophy.

Jake leans forward, his veins bulging, his guttural groans growing raspier. “You feel it, huh? The way she squeezes even tighter with your hand around her throat…” Sunghoon doesn’t let up, intensifying each violent thrust, the heat of his body against yours creating an atmosphere thick with desire. Jake pushes in all the way to the hilt, holding your breath completely for endless seconds, leaving you gasping for air, before pulling out just enough to let you breathe. The first breath is painful, a mixture of relief and suffocation that makes your heart race.

Your face is a painting of tears, drool, and desire, every line revealing how hungry your body is for more. Jake’s perverse ecstasy only grows, like a devastating storm that breaks over your consciousness. He speeds up again, fucking your mouth with desperate violence, each movement leaving its mark on your body, while Sunghoon keeps his grip tight around your throat, controlling your spasms, your tremors, like a puppeteer pulling the strings of his toy.

“Fuck, you’re perfect like this,” Jake groans, his thrusts becoming erratic, close to orgasm. You let out a final strangled gurgle, your throat unable to handle the final assault. Sunghoon loosens his grip slightly to grant you a short reprieve, but it’s only so Jake can thrust deeper into you, reducing you to a state of total submission.

Jake pushes your head down with palpable authority, his manhood sliding deep into your mouth, forcing you to devour him. You feel the heat and musky scent of his body intensify as he pushes you to take him all the way. Anxiety mixes with excitement, your heart racing as you feel trapped between humiliation and unmatched pleasure. Every pulse of his cock against your tongue sends shivers down your spine, immersing you in delicious ecstasy.

As he keeps his hold on your hair, he leaves you there, struggling to breathe. The salty taste of his skin mixes with your saliva, and you're completely lost, numb to the mixture of sensations flooding your mind. Tears start to pool in the corners of your eyes again, but it's not the pain that worries you. It's the overwhelming urge for more, to take it all in. The pressure in your throat reminds you of your place, and every second you spend taking him turns you into a little more of a pleasure doll.

Jake growls in need, his raspy sounds filling the air with erotic tension. “Fuck… I’m gonna cum,” he whispers, his words wrapping around you like a promise. His thrusts become harder, messier, each thrust driving him deeper, pushing you deeper into the whirlpool of desire.

Sunghoon releases your neck completely, a lustful glint burning in his eyes. “Fill her, Jake,” he orders, and the way he says it makes your heart pound uncontrollably. His authority resonates through you, reminding you how much you’re at their mercy. You feel a wave of heat wash over you at the thought, and you know you’re caught in a dangerous game, but it turns you on even more.

Jake resumes his thrusts with an unbridled frenzy, pushing you to the brink of suffocation. Each press of his cock against your tongue makes your body vibrate, and as he pushes your head one last time into his pubic bone, you know you're about to cross a limit. The pleasure explodes inside him, a torrent of pleasure pouring down your throat, overwhelming you with the heat of his orgasm.

You're forced to swallow, and you do your best to take it all in, fighting the urge to spit, but drops escape, falling onto the kitchen floor, wetting your pajamas. The sounds of your swallowing and the moans you can't hold back create an obscene melody, filling the space with raw, wild energy.

Sunghoon moves closer, his eyes never leaving your face, watching every move with an intensity that makes you shudder. He knows you’re at their mercy, and this power grab drives him crazy with desire. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his smooth voice enveloping your skin, and you’re surprised by the excitement that rises within you at his words.

Jake finally releases you, but the warmth of his body remains etched in your memory. The room is hot, almost stifling, and every breath you take seems to be a mixture of pleasure and pain. Sunghoon leans down to you, his eyes searching your face with a consuming fascination.

“I thought you were starving, bunny, but what’s all this waste?” Sunghoon asks, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he scans the floor, stained with Jake’s cum. His gaze is penetrating, almost devouring, making you shiver with unwelcome arousal. He leans down slightly, his eyes glinting with sadistic amusement, every movement emphasizing his dominance.

“Clean.” His voice, cold and mocking, echoes through the room, a command that vibrates something deep within you. Your mind, still hazy from pleasure, struggles to comprehend the gravity of the situation. Part of you disagrees, but another is drawn to this power, to this submission.

"Hoon—"

“Shh…” He cuts you off, a commanding, icy glare that pins you to the spot. The deceptive softness of his voice terrifies you as much as it excites you. “Now do as I say before I make you.” His words are simple, but they carry a crushing weight, a challenge you know you can’t resist. You feel the blood pulsing through your veins, a dull heat rising to your head.

“Don’t be naughty, Mom.” Jake steps in then, his hand sliding gently over your head, caressing you in a way that, against all odds, feels good. A small moan escapes your lips, an involuntary response to his touch. Each caress is a reminder of the degrading situation you’re in, but paradoxically, it makes something primal vibrate within you.

Your face burns with shame as you feel your fingers approach Jake’s seed, hot and sticky on the floor. Sunghoon slaps your hand, making you let out a small hiss. The mixture of pain and humiliation makes your heart beat wildly. “With your tongue, I want you to lick.” His voice is soft, almost sensual, but his gaze leaves no doubt as to his intention. A wave of heat invades you, and you know you can’t refuse.

Looking at Sunghoon, you know his challenge is more than just a game. With palpable hesitation, you stick your tongue out, the heat of humiliation mixing with a disturbing arousal. You lick Jake’s seed, the warm, slimy texture mixing with the saliva on your tongue. Each movement is an act of submission, an acceptance of their dominance over you. You drag your tongue out, savoring the wetness of your humiliation, and swallow, the acrid taste imprinting itself on your palate.

“You’re a good girl for us, Professor,” Jake says, his voice laced with a mixture of mockery and approval. Looking up, you’re aware of the burning in your cheeks, your entire body trembling with a mixture of shame and excitement. Every glance they give you makes you feel like an object, something to be devoured. You can’t help but look down, avoiding their gaze, eager to escape the intensity of their attention.

“Look at me, Y/n.” Jake orders you, taking your chin in a firm grip. He forces your gaze to meet his, but your eyes are shifty, trying to avoid his hold. Every second that passes under his gaze makes you feel more and more vulnerable, like your soul is exposed.

“Fuck, I said look at me.” He shouts, his voice filled with frustration as he tightens his grip on your chin. A shiver runs through you, and you’re forced to look at him, fear wrapping itself around you like a hug. “Never be ashamed in front of us, and never run away from my gaze, ever.” His anger and burning desire consume you, forcing you to feel the intensity of his dominance.

“I’m sorry…” You whisper, tears of shame streaming down your cheeks, your heart racing under his merciless gaze. You feel small, exposed, like you’re entirely at their mercy.

“Hey, bunny, it’s okay.” Sunghoon tells you in a tone that’s meant to be reassuring, but you know that even he hides a form of cruelty beneath his gentleness. He pulls you away from Jake and turns you towards him, placing your head against his chest. His body is warm and reassuring, but you can’t ignore the shiver of anxiety that invades you.

He begins to gently caress your shaking back as the tears continue to fall. His touch is both tender and possessive, as if he wants to protect you while keeping you at his mercy. “Jake isn’t mad at you, you know that, right?” He whispers in your ear, his voice smooth as velvet, but you can sense the threat lurking beneath his words.

You nod, seeking refuge in his arms, but you're still aware of Jake's shadow, ever-present. The air is thick with tension, and you know this isn't over. What they want from you goes far beyond physical humiliation. They want to break you, but they also want to build you up to their dark desires.

Sunghoon gently pushes you away, his piercing gaze locked on yours as you remain frozen in his comforting embrace. The warmth of his body, combined with the anguish that invades you, creates a confusing mix of emotions. He wipes away the tears that run down your cheeks with his thumbs, his gestures filled with tenderness, as if he wants to make all the pain you have felt disappear. After wiping away your tears, he leans towards you, his lips delicately touching your forehead before settling on your nose. The simple gesture evokes an almost childish sweetness, drawing a light laugh from you that resonates in the air heavy with tension.

But that laugh is soon replaced by a thrill of excitement as his smile widens, revealing his white, shiny teeth, almost predatory. He steps closer, his lips landing on yours with a devouring fervor that makes your heart beat erratically. The passion he gives off envelops you like a cocoon, and you feel your mind fog up in a torrid heat. The moment is charged with electricity, every movement a promise, an invitation to lose yourself in this dark moment, beyond your limits.

He doesn’t give a damn that you still have Jake’s taste in your mouth, a bitter taste that lingers like an unpleasant shadow. Sunghoon pushes his tongue into your mouth, exploring every corner with a wild intensity. The exchange is raw, almost possessive, and you feel his hot breath mix with yours. He plays with your tongue, drawing you into a whirlwind of sensations. Each caress of his tongue electrifies you, and you begin to remember all the delicious sensations he arouses in you. The salty aftertaste of Jake’s cum mixes with your flavor, the combination making him shudder with excitement.

It’s like a game, a challenge between the two men, each seeking to claim your body, your heart, your soul. As his tongue moves with disconcerting expertise, he kisses you so deeply that you feel like you’re losing yourself completely. Sunghoon sucks you in, leaving you panting, wanting more. His hands grip your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh, as if he wants to mark his territory.

“I’m starving,” he whispers, his raspy voice full of unfulfilled desire. He finally releases you, but just enough to kiss you quickly before standing up. His strong arms lift you effortlessly, carrying you to the dining table. The cold surface of the wood surprises you, a stark contrast to the warmth of his body. The sensation makes you shiver, a mixture of anticipation and nervousness.

“I thought we were going to eat?” you ask softly, your tone betraying your shock at this new situation, your voice trembling slightly as you look at him with feigned innocence.

“I'm going to eat your pussy,” he states bluntly, his heated gaze letting you know he's not joking. His fingers slide over the fabric of your pajamas, running over your delicate skin, and he begins to tug the garment down. The sound of the fabric ruffling mixes with your panting breaths as the room seems to fill with palpable tension.

He discovers your soaked panties, and his smile widens, revealing a sick satisfaction. With calculated delicacy, he also pulls your panties down, revealing your femininity to his insistent gaze. The air becomes hot around you, charged with an erotic tension that makes your heart beat wildly. The feeling of the cool air on your exposed skin makes you shiver, and you feel a surge of desire with each passing second.

Sunghoon slowly crouches down, his eyes never leaving yours. He admires the sight you offer him, your soft, vulnerable skin, and the moisture that gathers there. His hands slide along your thighs, lingering on every inch of your skin, and his fingers get lost in the contours of your body. Each caress is a promise, each movement is a warning. He knows exactly what he's doing, and he loves the power he has over you.

His lips brush your thigh, sending waves of pleasure through your body. He runs his tongue along the inside of your thigh, tasting your warmth, his hot breath making the adrenaline rush through your veins. His movements are slow, almost agonizing, as he slowly approaches your heat. Each brush of his tongue against your skin is a whiplash that sets you on fire. You want to grab him, to beg him not to stop, but some deep instinct pushes you to submit to his pace.

Sunghoon finally stops in front of your pussy, swollen and dripping, shamelessly exposed on the cold surface of the kitchen table. His dark gaze is fixed on your throbbing intimacy, and he slowly runs his tongue over his lips, like a predator ready to devour its prey. Without a word, he violently squeezes your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin with a brutal grip, leaving red marks in their wake. Then, with a sudden movement, he pulls you roughly towards the edge of the table, your pelvis sliding dangerously until your sex is within immediate reach of his mouth.

Without warning, he dives between your thighs with bestial voracity. His lips press against your flesh, hot and eager, brushing your clit with cruel slowness. His tongue ventures in light strokes, teasing just enough to send a shiver down your spine, but never enough to quell your need. You instinctively grip the edge of the table with one hand, nails digging into the wood, while small moans escape you despite yourself, muffled awkwardly behind your free, trembling hand.

“You think I’m going to let you hide like this?” he hisses, his voice low and menacing, tinged with contempt. His gaze burns with fierce impatience, and before you can even answer, his teeth clamp down on your clit. The shock hits you, the pain ripping through you, tearing a strangled cry from your lips. A violent burn radiates through your lower abdomen, blurring the line between agony and pleasure.

Sunghoon slowly releases his bite, letting your skin pulse between his lips as his eyes pierce you, full of cruel satisfaction. “I want to hear every little whimper, bunny. No filter, no control.” His fingers tighten on your thigh with such force that you’re sure he’ll leave you with bruises. “Don’t hide them from me, or I’ll make you regret it.”

His tone is sharp, and a dull fear grips you, mixed with an arousal as irrational as it is uncontrollable. Trembling, you remove your hand from your mouth, abandoning any pretense of restraint. Every moan, every breath escapes you with a raw, uncontrollable honesty. Sunghoon sketches a satisfied smile at your surrender. “Good girl…” he murmurs with perverse satisfaction.

Without wasting a second, he plunges back between your thighs, but this time with a merciless intensity. His tongue wraps around your clitoris, torturing it with calculated and precise movements, alternating between languid strokes and brutal pressures. Each slide of his tongue is a delicious torture that brings you a little closer to the edge, playing with your body as if you belong entirely to him. His lips suck your flesh with an obscene fervor, leaving behind a trail of hot saliva that drips down your thighs.

He thrusts two fingers inside you without warning, forcing the passage with controlled brutality. Your body arches violently under the assault, and a mixture of pain and intense pleasure makes you lose all sense of control. The wet smack of his movements echoes in the silent room, an echo of the obscenity of the moment. Each thrust of his fingers is punctuated by the muffled sound of his tongue on your clit, pushing you further into a spiral of destructive desire.

“Look at you… You’re mine, aren’t you?” he growls against your skin, his words vibrating with possessiveness. His tongue lashes at you, his fingers digging deeper, and your body writhes beneath him, unable to resist the brutal ecstasy he’s forcing upon you. Pleasure surges through you, consuming you from the inside out, until every nerve in your body is on fire.

“Yes… I belong to you, Hoon,” you whisper between breathless moans, your voice betraying the mixture of ecstasy and desperation that consumes you as your body becomes prey to his relentless assaults. Each movement of his fingers awakens a raw sensitivity in you that seems to exceed the limits of your resistance, making each caress more unbearable and delicious at the same time.

“Yes, bunny… fuck,” he growls, his raspy voice echoing in the lust-laden air. He abruptly removes his fingers from your pussy, which clenches desperately around the void, leaving you in an unbearable state of need. A feeling of frustration washes over you, almost painful, as you let out a pitiful whimper, your breathing ragged.

Sunghoon brings his lips back to your pussy, his hot breath enveloping your intimacy, causing a wave of heat to run through you. He sniffs the sweet scent of your desire, an intoxicating scent that excites him, and a guttural moan escapes his throat, a bestial sound that makes you shudder. Your body reacts instinctively, wriggling on the table, trying to free yourself from his hold. But he grips your thighs tightly, his fingers digging into your tender flesh, crushing you against the cold surface of the wood.

“Don’t you even dare run away from me, fucking,” he growls, his voice husky, tinged with a delicious menace that makes you tingle with anticipation. His eyes shine with a dark glow, a mix of desire and dominance. Before you can protest, he lowers himself, his lips finding their way to your clit. His mouth opens, his teeth gently nibbling at the sensitive flesh, and a cry of pleasure escapes your lips, inescapable.

He releases his hold, his hands slowly sliding down your thighs, caressing your soft, warm skin as you lie on the table. His fingers explore every inch, delicately brushing your flesh before stopping just above your pussy, where anticipation is skyrocketing. His hands tremble slightly, betraying the palpable arousal emanating from him, as he wraps his lips around your sex. The taste of your skin, mixed with your arousal, nearly drives him mad with desire.

His mouth opens, and you can feel his hot breath on your intimate part, like a delicious prelude to what he is about to do. Sunghoon begins to devour you with an insatiable hunger, his movements languid and deliberate. Each pressure of his lips and tongue makes you shudder with pleasure, as if each caress is a promise of what is to come.

His gaze is hungry, an animalistic glint in his eyes, like a predator about to devour its prey. You feel his nose brush gently against your clit, each touch causing an electric shiver that runs through you from head to toe. He drinks in you, his tongue acting like an agile snake, sliding between your lips, exploring every corner of your sex, delighting in your arousal without any restraint. The warmth of his tongue, soft and firm, combined with the pressure of his lips, creates an almost surreal sensation, a sensory experience that you can't do without.

Moans escape your lips, an involuntary, uncontrollable sound, echoing the intensity of the pleasure that invades you. Each movement of his tongue seems to ignite the nerves of your body, each lick causing waves of heat that envelop you like a blanket of pleasure. You feel the tension rising inside you, a wave of intense desire pulsing between your thighs. Tears begin to flow from your eyes, salty drops mixed with ecstasy, while your mouth, wide open in pleasure, lets out drool, proof of your total surrender to the sensation.

Suddenly, he thrusts his tongue deep into your pussy, which tightens around him, welcoming that hot member with desperate greed. Each movement is a wild dance, his tongue exploring the wet walls of your sex, tracing circles, diving into you with voracious determination. The delicious friction he creates with his tongue, moving with mastered expertise, makes your pleasure rise to an almost unbearable level. His movements are rhythmic, like a melody that vibrates every fiber of your being, an intoxicating mix of desire and ecstasy.

Sunghoon swirls his tongue against your walls, his heat and wetness consuming you as he seeks to penetrate you not only physically, but emotionally as well. The intensity of his tongue, coupled with the pressure of his lips, makes you cry out in pleasure, a cry that resonates in the room, an echo of your surrender. His lips are pressed firmly against your flesh, and he begins to suck, drinking in every drop of your arousal. The sound of his mouth working on your sex, a mixture of sucking and moans, becomes a haunting melody that resonates in the hot air around you.

The moans of pleasure he lets out vibrate in your pussy, resonating like a dark and seductive melody that makes you lose your mind. This primal noise, similar to that of an animal on the hunt, takes you even further into ecstasy. You are so absorbed in what he is doing to you that everything else disappears, leaving only the adrenaline and the feeling of his body against yours. Each lick is like a promise, a declaration of his unquenchable desire for you.

You're completely at his mercy, your body reacting to every movement, every caress of his relentlessly exploring tongue. Your stomach twists in pleasure, the pressure building, pushing you towards a climax you know is imminent. Each pulse of pleasure turns into a dance of bursting sensations, preparing you for the final explosion.

He continues to play with your body, his movements becoming more frantic as he senses you are close to the end. The way he devours you is both rough and delicate, as if he is trying to break you and rebuild you at the same time. Each lick seems to take you higher, a mixture of pain and pleasure that makes you cry out his name, a desperate chant echoing through the room.

“Harder,” you manage to whisper, your voice cracking with ecstasy, but he doesn’t just obey. He intensifies his efforts, his tongue delving deeper into your intimacy, while his fingers, now skilled, come to strike your clitoris with disconcerting precision. The combination of his movements, the heat of his tongue and the pressure of his fingers makes you teeter on the edge. The overstimulation becomes almost unbearable. You try to push his head back from between your thighs, but he clings to you with a savage determination, diving even deeper into your flesh.

Your screams escape your lips, strangled, inarticulate, as you lose all control. Your eyes roll back, and the sensation is so strong that you feel like you're floating above your body, about to explode into a thousand pieces. His pace becomes frantic, each movement of his tongue and lips taking you further into an ocean of pleasure.

Finally, he pulls away, but not without one last lick that makes you shiver. He has that mischievous smile on his lips, a mix of conquest and insatiable desire. He drinks in the sight of your exhausted body on the table, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you try to catch your breath. His fingers slide along your skin, caressing your curves with an almost brutal delicacy, as if he’s savoring the way you’re completely his, vulnerable and exposed.

Jake, who had been watching the spectacle unfold before him, approaches you with a seductive presence, his movements fluid and calculated. He lifts you into his arms, holding you against him with a reassuring strength, as if he possesses you entirely. The heat of his body warms you as you let yourself go, your head resting on his chest. You can feel the rhythm of his heart, beating like a drum in the heavy silence of the room. A palpable feeling of excitement takes hold of you.

“You did so well, darling,” he murmurs softly, his breath warm against your skin, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. He leads you to your room, the air heavy with desire wrapping around you like a thick blanket. With each step, you already feel the weight of your body relax, as if sleep were insistently claiming you. A sweet torpor settles in as he lays you down on the bed, and you feel yourself slowly slipping into a dreamlike state, on the border between reality and illusion.

“So, are you taking her ass or her pussy?” Sunghoon asks, his voice laced with provocation, like a venomous snake. His fingers explore the supple flesh of your thigh, brushing against your skin with a calculated delicacy that sets you ablaze. His eyes lock on Jake, a silent challenge weaving between them, an electric tension that makes the air vibrate around you.

“Her pussy, I want her full of me,” Jake replies, his smile widening, revealing a mix of possessiveness and insatiable desire. He licks his lips, an animalistic glint in his eyes, like a predator ready to devour its prey. “You can have her pussy after, if you want. After all, we have a whole life with her,” he says, his words sounding like a perverse promise, watching your face, already drenched in sweat, your heartbeat quickening under his gaze.

Sunghoon sneers, a note of teasing in his tone, but his voice hides an underlying threat. He cups your face in his hand, and you slowly open your eyes, emerging from your semi-conscious state. “Rabbit, this is not the time to sleep. We’re not done with you yet,” he says, his voice sweet as poisoned honey, but there’s a brutal determination underneath, holding you captive to their desire.

“Hoon… Jake,” you whisper, your voice hoarse betraying the fatigue that’s washing over you. “I’m so tired.” Your voice almost trails off, but the excitement pulses in the air, a wild, unquenchable pulse.

“Mom, let us do everything,” Jake says, gently stroking your sweat-slicked hair. His gaze grows intense as he turns to Sunghoon, a silent exchange of complicity that makes you shiver. Sunghoon lifts your body with unsettling ease, while Jake slides underneath you, resting you delicately on his chest. A small moan escapes your lips at the contact, a wave of pleasure coursing through you like an electric current.

Jake positions his cock at the entrance of your overstimulated pussy, the heat of his body igniting you. Suddenly, he penetrates you deeply. A soft cry escapes your mouth, mixed with a delicious surprise that makes you lose all your bearings. The sensation is both sweet and brutal, a delicate dance between pleasure and pain. You feel a visceral connection, each movement bringing him a little closer to your own loss of control. Jake tenderly caresses your back, his breath hot against your skin, as he stops for a moment, savoring the embrace of your body trembling beneath him.

He lifts your upper body, removing the garment with unsettling ease, revealing your skin to the dim light of the room. Sunghoon, now naked, moves behind you. His cold hands gently spread the cheeks of your ass, causing a shiver that makes you involuntarily pull back, sliding down onto Jake's cock. You both moan at the contact, the heat of your bodies flaring in a mixture of unspoken desires and animalistic urges.

Sunghoon tightens his grip on you, his fingers digging into your flesh with an almost painful intensity, a veiled threat. He can feel the arousal that is invading you, your hole already well prepared by the heat of your pussy. The mixture of your own wetness and the arousal of your previous ejaculation creates a fertile ground for him. In one movement, he enters you with force, and you let out a muffled cry, a combination of pleasure, surprise and a hint of pain that sends you to a dizzying peak.

They both begin to move inside you with calculated slowness, like choreographers of a carefully orchestrated erotic dance. The room is filled with desire, the dim lighting accentuating the shadows of their moving bodies. You are leaning over Jake's body, the heat of his skin against yours reminding you of your vulnerability. Every fiber of your being is at their mercy, making you both feverish and hungry for pleasure, a mixture of anticipation and excitement consuming you.

Your hands grip the bars of the bed, the cold, hard metal contrasting with the burning anxiety that invades you. Your white knuckles bear witness to the excitement and tension that overwhelms you, as you feel Jake's gaze on you, the mix of possessiveness and desire in his eyes electrifying you. Each thrust that Sunghoon sinks into your ass is a dance between pain and pleasure, each movement making you moan in desperation and need, your body bending to their imperious desires.

Jake, with determined strength, lifts his hips, pushing deeper into you, literally breaking you with his relentless assaults. His member hits your inner walls, each impact creating a sweet pain mixed with immeasurable pleasure. You feel his hot, rapid breath on the back of your neck, each exhale caressing you like a promise of what is to come, creating a palpable tension between you. “You are so perfect,” he murmurs, his deep voice resonating in the air heavy with desire and anguish, like a curse enveloping you.

“Fuck… her ass is so tight,” Sunghoon blurts out, his voice laced with palpable greed. He pushes deeper, every movement a declaration of his possession. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, marking your skin with his imprints, holding you captive in this position of surrender. You can feel the pressure of his hands, the mixture of pain and arousal, as your eyes mist over with the intensity of the sensations, tears of pleasure and frustration beading your lashes as you lose your footing in this ocean of delight.

Your body, subjected to this double invasion, demands more, eager to be filled and devastated. The contrast between pain and pleasure becomes intoxicating, enveloping you in a dark veil of desire. Jake, with a mischievous smile, begins to leave burning kisses along the nape of your neck, his soft and warm lips sliding over your skin, each touch awakening shivers of pleasure. Each kiss quickly turns into a bite, his mouth becoming hungrier, more cruel. He sucks your skin fervently, leaving behind red marks, witnesses to his insatiable desire.

“I’m going to anchor myself into your skin,” he breathes in a whisper as his teeth sink into your flesh, a mixture of pain and pleasure resonating through every cell of your body. You let out a shrill cry as his teeth sink into your skin, each bite exacerbating the ecstasy you feel. Adrenaline pulses through your veins, pain combining with pleasure in a symphony of sensations. You are completely at their mercy, a puppet in this obscene game of domination.

Sunghoon kisses your skin with deliberate slowness, his warm lips trailing over your shoulder blade before biting into your flesh, a mixture of pain and pleasure that makes you shudder. Each thrust he gives you is harder than the last, his strength propelling you forward, pushing you deeper onto Jake’s cock, which is just below. You feel a growing tension in your stomach as he thrusts into you, each movement echoing like unfulfilled desires. His hips slam against yours with a brutality that makes you lose all control.

The way Sunghoon thrusts into you, with a bestial insistence, makes a wave of incredible arousal rise in you. And you feel Jake's movements reach your G-spot, and a loud strangled moan escapes your lips, each sound you make resonating in the room like a hymn to pleasure. In that moment, you are overwhelmed by intense sensations, a whirlwind of arousal that consumes you. As you tighten around them, you feel an incredible fusion of bodies, a connection that goes far beyond simple physicality.

Sunghoon grips your hair with a force that makes you blush, tugging firmly to separate you from Jake. He forces you to face him, pressing you against him, his hot, wet breath caressing your ear, adding an extra dimension to the intensity of this moment. “Fuck… you’re incredible,” he growls, his husky voice vibrating with voracious desire as he sucks on your earlobe with such intensity that you feel your heart racing. “I can never walk away from you again, ever.”

His lips slide slowly down your neck, relishing the marks Jake has left on your skin. Each kiss is charged with passion, and he seems to feed off your desire. The heat of his body, mixed with his own and Jake's, completely envelops you, making you vibrate with pleasure. Hearing his breath quicken, you begin to move on Jake, your hips undulating almost instinctively. With each thrust, you push Sunghoon deeper, feeling the ecstasy turn into an explosion of sensations.

Sunghoon attacks the flesh of your unmarked neck, sucking your skin with a passion that leaves you speechless, his tongue sliding over your sweat. He bites without any restraint, and a strangled cry escapes from your mouth, a delicious fusion of pain and pleasure. The brutality of their assaults overwhelms you, leaving you completely lost in this ocean of sensations, your mind evaporating in the heat of the moment. Each movement, each caress, each bite makes you capsize a little more in this indescribable debauchery.

You are completely at their mercy, your senses on high alert, a mixture of wild pleasure and animal instinct. Sunghoon continues to alternate between bites and burning kisses, his gestures becoming more and more greedy. You completely lose your mind, your body reacting without thinking.

Your thoughts fade away, replaced by a visceral need for more, more. Their bodies move together, creating a primal rhythm that pushes you closer to ecstasy. Their breaths mix in the hot, humid air, each moan, each cry intertwining in a melody of desire and satisfaction. The combination of their bodies, their movements, their caresses pushes you to the edge, and you know you're about to explode.

Jake straightens up, a smirk on his lips as he leans down to your breasts, his hot lips settling on your nipple. He sucks, nibbles, and pulls with his teeth, making your body vibrate with intense pleasure. You can feel every movement, every squeeze, like an electric shock running through your skin. Your moans escape, flooding the air with your sensuality as he begins to fondle the other breast with his hand, his fingers roaming and gently pinching the tip. You grip his hair tightly, gasps of pleasure escaping your mouth as your vision blurs, carried away by this wave of arousal.

“Please, Jake… Hoon,” you whisper between sobs, your voice trembling betraying your insatiable desire. Sunghoon’s cold hands explore your ass with perverse delicacy, his nails clawing at your flesh, occasionally digging into your skin with a force that makes you shudder. Each touch makes you writhe in pleasure, a mixture of anxiety and excitement that takes hold of your throat. He spreads your ass cheeks, his gaze shining with animal lust as he watches how your ass swallows his cock, pulling back slightly to gaze at your still spread hole, quivering with anticipation.

“Hoon… please, I need you,” you beg, your pleading voice echoing in the warm air of the room. He chuckles behind you, a sound full of desire, before spitting into your ass, the warm wetness seeping in as your hole begins to close. Saliva drips inside, making you shiver as you feel the warm, lubricating sensation, like a promise of what’s to come.

“Fuck, you need me so bad, bunny,” he growls, slapping your ass so hard that heat seizes your skin, a delicious pain that makes you jump on Jake’s cock. His size distorts your stomach, every movement of his body entering you resonating like a drum, a throbbing heat beating inside you like a racing heart. “You’ve become such a slut for us, Y/n, and I love it,” he continues, grabbing your jaw to turn your face to his. His gaze is wild, fierce, like a predator preparing to seize its prey.

He presses his lips to yours, a hot, possessive kiss as he pushes himself back into your ass, moaning into your mouth. You feel his tongue slide against yours, a mixture of saliva and desire enveloping your bodies. He bites your bottom lip, his hand sliding down your body, exploring every curve with uninhibited expertise. You open your mouth for him, allowing him to slide deeper, letting his tongue infiltrate, exploring your insides as if he were trying to possess you completely.

He tugs on your hair, tilting your head down, forcing you into an uncomfortable position that makes you moan softly. Each tug of his fingers reminds you of how much you are at his mercy. He swallows the sound of your moan without a care, and you begin to suck his tongue like it was his cock, enjoying the incredible sensation. His grunts of pleasure echo in your head, an intoxicating melody that makes you vibrate even more. He loves it, letting you do it, allowing you to lose a little control, as you moan into his mouth.

He releases your hair to grab the back of your neck, pushing his tongue deep into your throat, forcing your mouth open to accommodate what seems like a torrent of pleasure. A gurgle escapes your throat, proof that you are completely at his mercy. He slowly pulls away from your lips, his eyes locked on yours, glassy and filled with an insatiable desire, as if he were ready to do anything to take more of you.

Drool connects your lips, a testament to the intensity of this exchange, this raw passion. Jake thrusts deeper into you, each thrust making you moan at the top of your lungs, your body writhing under his control. The sensation is devastating, a whirlwind of arousal and desire that sweeps you into a wild dance. Each movement becomes a struggle for control, a symphony of pleasure and pain, the sounds of flesh colliding, moans escaping, resonating like an ode to your unbridled passion.

Sunghoon, behind you, holds you tightly, his hands maintaining a grip on your hips, guiding your movements to match Jake’s and his own. He leans close to your ear, whispering words barely audible, but loaded with insatiable desire. “You’re so beautiful when you lose yourself like that,” he says, his husky voice inflaming you even more. You know he’s watching you, attentive to every reaction, every sigh you let out.

The unbearable heat building in your lower abdomen becomes a crushing pressure, making you squirt violently onto Jake’s cock. The orgasm sweeps you away in a wave of indescribable pleasure, a raw drive that surges like a tsunami over every inch of your skin. You feel your muscles contract around him, engulfing his manhood with uncontrollable greed. Yet even in this embrace of ecstasy, he doesn’t slow his pace. On the contrary, he intensifies his assaults, each thrust penetrating deeper into you, sinking with a bestial fervor that vibrates every fiber of your being.

You try to pull away, to run away from this overwhelming feeling that consumes you, but each quick and violent thrust of Sunghoon behind you only pushes you further onto Jake's cock, locking you in a whirlwind of inescapable pleasure. You feel trapped between their bodies, prisoner in a fiery and desperate dance, where each movement makes you lose your mind. Your mind fogs, invaded by an ocean of chaotic sensations, and you start to stammer, drooling with abandon, your will melting under the assault of pleasures.

“It’s… too much, please… a break,” you manage to utter, your shaky voice trailing off into a sob of frustration and desire. Every contraction of your body makes you vibrate, every movement pushing you deeper into this sea of ecstasy that only intensifies. But they don’t stop.

Jake, with fierce determination, grabs you by the hair, maintaining direct contact with your gaze. His eyes, dark and bright with an animal fire, anchor themselves in yours, misted with tears of pleasure and pain, reminding you that you are entirely at his mercy. In this moment, you are aware of your power, but also of your total vulnerability.

“No breaks, baby,” he growls, his voice thick with raw desire. He lifts his hips, slamming harder against yours, each movement resonating inside you like an electric shock. You feel each thrust tearing at the line between pleasure and pain, his cock forcing its way inside you with such force that you feel like your body is going to break. “You’re going to take it all like a good girl,” he whispers, his words echoing in your mind, mingling with the delicious pain of his intrusion. It’s a command, but also a promise, a subtle threat that makes you shudder with anticipation.

He lowers your head, brushing his lips against yours, and you moan in anticipation, aware of what is to come. His eyes, full of unspoken promises, bore into yours, and you feel a shiver of excitement run through your body. When he kisses you, it is with a devouring passion, an animalistic ardor that consumes you entirely. His lips crush against yours, an insistent pressure, as he approaches you with a burning intensity. His saliva mixes with yours, creating a thick and sweet mixture, almost like a nectar that bewitches you.

He presses your lips even closer to his, as if he were trying to merge with you, to absorb you into his voracity. Your body is on fire, a devastating flame that consumes everything in its path. The heat of his tongue tangles with yours, curling, exploring, sinking deeper and deeper, each movement intensifying the ecstasy. The movements of his tongue are brutal and eager, driving the air from your lungs with each caress.

His lips, wet and slippery from your saliva, don’t break the contact. Quite the opposite, it intensifies the urgency of your embrace. He tugs at your hair with desperate need, his fingers digging into your mane as if to keep you close to him. The pain of his tugging electrifies you, making you moan even more, and he takes advantage of it, gently nibbling on your tongue, increasing the heat of your desire. Each bite is a mix of gentleness and dominance, leaving you panting and eager, as if each bite awakens a wild beast within you.

The strength of his grip, the intensity of his kiss, everything about him makes you understand how much he wants to possess you entirely. The beating of your heart echoes in your ears, and you feel a primal urge awakening in you. He explores your mouth with an insatiable voracity, as if it were the last kiss of his life. His movements are more and more ardent, his tongue searching every corner of your mouth, each caress causing waves of pleasure that intensify with each second.

Your moans grow deeper, more desperate, and he meets your need with renewed intensity. His lips move over your face, tracing hot trails, slowly descending your neck as he leaves light bites on your skin, as if to mark his territory. The sensation is both delicious and painful, each tingle fueling the fire that awakens within you.

He returns to your mouth, and this time, he kisses you more wildly, his saliva flowing freely between you, each contact creating a slobbery and intimate mush that reinforces the intensity of your connection. You lose yourself completely in this dance, each beat of your heart, each breath, each moan mixing with him. The exchange becomes more bestial, more unleashed, as he shows you how hungry he is for you.

Behind you, Sunghoon doesn’t hold back. His rhythm becomes more and more wild, each thrust resonating inside your body, gripping you, making you capsize even more in this abyss of pleasure. The thrusts of his cock dig into you with such force that you feel your body bend under the impact, a symphony of contradictory sensations that blinds you. The way he holds you, the force of his hands on your hips, only adds to the electric tension that settles between you. Each thrust of his cock crushes you against Jake’s, creating a whirlwind of pleasure that eclipses everything else.

You feel their thrusts becoming more and more disordered as time passes, the frenzy of their desire reaching an unbearable climax. The room echoes with the sounds of their arousal, a raw echo of panting breaths and bestial moans. Jake, still deep inside you, caresses your clitoris with incredible precision, his agile fingers exploring this sensitive area with a cruel tenderness that makes you lose all notion of time. The intensity of his movements plunges you into an ocean of pleasure, an irresistible wave that carries you away and submerges you, crushing you under the weight of passion and desire.

Every touch of his burning skin makes your body vibrate in a symphony of sensations, a wild melody that you can't ignore. You feel your orgasm looming again on the horizon, inevitable, like a storm ready to break. You are on the edge of the precipice, an unbearable tension rising in you, ready to explode with every movement. The rise of pleasure is exquisite, each caress pulling you a little more towards nothingness.

Suddenly, his body tenses, a guttural groan escaping his lips. His hot, viscous seed spills into you, filling every corner of your being. You feel every drop as it floods through you, a warmth flooding your insides, making you shudder with pleasure. Your body pulsing around him as you cum at the same time as him, you are overwhelmed by an indescribable sensation, an explosion of heat that resonates through every fiber of your being, a surge of ecstasy that sweeps you away.

Your sex clenches around his cock, absorbing every second of this ecstatic pleasure. You are swept away in a whirlwind of sensations, a chaos of pleasure that envelops you entirely. Jake's movements have become frantic, a mixture of raw desire and animal need. His gaze is hungry, almost possessive, as if he is marking you with his imprint.

Soon after, Sunghoon lets out a moan of pleasure, a primal sound that vibrates the air. You feel his body contract behind you as he comes in your ass. The heat of his cum invades your body, each hot drop mixing with Jake's, making you shudder even more as you feel completely filled. A feeling of accomplishment washes over you, a mixture of pleasure and submission that envelops you in a cocoon of ecstasy.

Sunghoon and Jake maneuver you with almost all-consuming attention, their bodies pressing against yours as they gently place you in the middle of them. Sunghoon lies behind you, buried deep inside you, but he remains still, savoring every second of this possession. His strong hands slide down your sweaty back, leaving a trail of heat where his fingers pass. Each touch is a promise, each caress a reminder of his desire for you. He kisses your shoulder tenderly, a gesture both possessive and protective, as if he wants to protect you from anything that could hurt you.

“You’re mine,” he whispers in a husky breath, his words echoing in the air heavy with passion. The intensity of his gaze, burning with desire and adoration, makes you shudder, but at the same time, a shadow hovers in his eyes, a desperate need to keep you close to him, as if you were the only thing that mattered.

Jake, still in front of you, is buried deep inside you. His cock is still, but you know he’s relishing every shiver you feel. He searches your face, his eyes latching onto every expression, every moan you let out. “I want you to feel everything I feel for you,” he says, his voice vibrating with emotion. His fingers brush your face, sliding along your cheeks with an almost frightening delicacy, as if he’s afraid of breaking this perfect moment. The tenderness of his gesture contrasts with the ardor of his desire.

You feel consumed by their attention, by the intensity of their love. They hold you tightly, but there’s a gentleness to their hold, a way of making you feel both vulnerable and incredibly wanted. Sunghoon kisses the back of your neck, his warm breath making you shiver. “I want you to always be here, mine,” he whispers, his tone both tender and desperate. It’s a declaration of obsession, but also a wish for deep connection.

“Never walk away,” Jake adds, his eyes fixed on you, filled with palpable need. His hand finds yours, his fingers intertwining with yours, as if to remind you that he’ll never let you go. Each touch is charged with intense emotion, a mixture of sweetness and possession that consumes you.

A wave of emotion washes over you as you realize the depth of their desire. Every moan, every sigh, every word whispering your name is a declaration of love and obsession. “You’re my everything,” Jake finally says, his voice rising in confession, almost like a prayer. “I can’t live without you.”

Minutes turn into hours, and you’re completely overwhelmed by this connection. Their warmth envelops you, and you feel both safe and captive to their desire. Sunghoon, behind you, begins to move slowly, each thrust a mix of gentle and rough, as if he wants to make you understand how much he wants you, how much he needs you. “I want you to feel what I feel,” he says, his voice trembling with passion. “I want you to be mine, completely.”

The outside world fades away as you’re enveloped in their love. Jake leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, his movements both tender and hungry. It’s a mix of animal desire and sweetness, a perfect fusion that makes you lose track of time. “Never let me go,” you whisper between kisses, and those words seem to seal a pact between you.

The heat of their bodies mixes with yours, creating an unbearable heat that pushes you to completely surrender to this embrace. Sunghoon and Jake melt into you, and you feel like you become an extension of their desire. Every moan, every breath, every whisper of adoration that escapes their lips strengthens this intimate connection that transcends simple pleasure.

Finally, exhausted by this all-consuming passion, you fall asleep in their arms, their bodies intertwined with yours. The night wears on, but you feel incredibly lucky to be at the center of their world, a bond of love and obsession, a promise of eternity that nothing can ever tarnish.

You step into the elevator, your mind still cluttered by your day, just hoping to get home quickly. But as the door begins to close, a large, firm hand suddenly blocks it. You look up, and the door opens to reveal Jay and Heeseung, their knowing gazes scanning you with an intensity that tightens your stomach. You swallow in spite of yourself, the air already becoming more oppressive in the confined space. A sigh escapes you as you step back to give them room.

They climb silently, but you can feel their presence invading you, like a threatening shadow, their dense energy intruding into every corner of the elevator. Their bodies are close, too close, and their gazes don't leave you for a second. They undress you with their gaze, and no matter how stubbornly you stare at the floor sign, your heart beats faster and faster.

Time seems to stretch as you mentally count the remaining floors. Five more… But just before the fourth one appears, Heeseung deliberately presses a stop button. The elevator makes an ominous clicking sound before stopping mid-ascent, stuck between two levels.

“Heeseung! What the hell are you doing?” you spit, frustration marking your voice. The space seems to shrink all at once, crushing you under palpable tension. “Why did you stop that fucking elevator?”

Before you can get away, you find yourself back against the metal wall. The cold of the surface cuts through the fabric of your dress and makes you shiver. Jay and Heeseung stand right in front of you, blocking you completely, their imposing silhouettes leaving no escape. You try to ignore them, but they tower over you, their presence becoming stifling.

Jay approaches slowly, a twisted smile on his lips. “Because you’re avoiding us, and we don’t like it,” he murmurs, his raspy voice chilling and warming you at the same time. “You had a good time with Hoon and Jake, right? Now it’s our turn. And trust me, you owe us that.”

Before you can protest, his hand slides over your chest with calculated slowness, skimming your curves with raw possessiveness. The contact makes you arch your back involuntarily. His warm palm crushes further against your flesh, pressing with obscene firmness. You gasp, your breath breaking into small, uncontrolled gasps.

Jay leans down to you, his nose brushing the line of your neck. He inhales deeply, taking in your scent. “Fuck…” he growls against your skin, his voice vibrating with animalistic desire. “You smell so good… it’s gonna drive me crazy.”

Before you can react, his hands become more greedy, gripping your body without restraint, as if he had waited too long for this moment. He yanks at the fabric of your dress, tearing it effortlessly. The sound of the fabric tearing echoes violently in the silence.

“Jay! My dress!” you protest, your voice shaking, but not with anger. Something else is rising inside you, something more dangerous and unspeakable.

He chuckles, his fingers brushing over your bare skin exposed beneath the torn dress. “We’ll get you more,” Heeseung replies, his voice low and quiet, almost menacing in its softness. He steps forward, grabbing your chin in a firm grip to force your gaze to meet his.

Meanwhile, Jay continues his exploration, his hot mouth crushing against your neck. His teeth bite your skin with raw greed, leaving red marks on your epidermis. You shiver under the assault, unable to mask the reactions your body betrays.

Heeseung stares at you, his dark gaze filled with a silent promise. “More beautiful dresses, more expensive ones… Anything you want, sweetheart.” His lips press against yours, capturing your breath in a rough, demanding kiss.

He nibbles at your bottom lip with calculated precision, just enough to make you moan. Your moan becomes his invitation, and he takes advantage of it to slide his tongue into your mouth, probing with torrid slowness. His fingers close around your jaw, stilling you as he pushes deeper, tasting every corner of your mouth.

His hand slides into your hair, tugging with a firmness that draws another moan from you. Your head tilts back, exposing your neck to Jay, who continues to mark it with bites and kisses. Heeseung increases the pressure on your lips, deepening the kiss, his tongue dancing with yours with brutal precision.

The elevator seems to disappear around you, leaving only the suffocating heat of their bodies pressed against yours. Their caresses are merciless, controlled but imbued with a latent savagery. Jay slides his hands over your thighs, slowly moving up, his fingers tracing insidious circles on your bare skin, as if to test each shiver he provokes.

Heeseung finally pulls away from your mouth, his breath mingling with yours. He looks down at you, his dark eyes searching your face ravaged by desire. “I will give you everything your heart desires. Say it, and it will be yours.” Before you can answer, he places a series of hungry kisses on your already swollen lips.

Jay pulls the fabric of your panties to the side with palpable impatience, revealing your already glistening pussy. His fingers, warm and firm, slide over your swollen lips, spreading them just enough to appreciate how ready you are to be taken. A wicked smile plays on his lips as he watches your reaction. With a quick movement, he rids himself of his pants, his gaze burning with desire consuming you like a flame. His eyes sparkle with an almost animalistic greed, and you can feel his palpable arousal in the tension-laden air, a mixture of anxiety and desire that makes your heart race.

Without a word, he lifts you up with disconcerting ease, placing you against the wall of the elevator. The coldness of the metal against your bare skin creates a stark contrast to the warmth of his body, and your head tilts back slightly, revealing your delicate neck. You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, your heart racing as adrenaline pulses through your veins. His hands are already exploring your body greedily, his fingers tracing paths of fire across your skin, each caress awakening sensations within you like a treasure to be unwrapped.

His cock, hard and throbbing, immediately finds its way to your entrance. With a sharp thrust, he enters you, drawing a muffled moan from you that resonates in the narrow space. The sensation is raw and visceral, a collision of pent-up desires. Your body tenses around him, every inch adjusting to the thick, irreverent intrusion. Jay growls against your neck, his hot breath mingling with your scent as he remains still, buried deep inside you, savoring the tight embrace of your sex that keeps him prisoner. Each second stretches out in delicious torture, ecstasy and pain mingling in a wild dance.

Heeseung slowly approaches to stand behind you, his massive presence making you shiver in anticipation. The musky scent of his body mixes with the sweet scent of arousal, intoxicating your senses. He presses his chest against your back, his heat radiating against you as he grips one of your ass cheeks firmly, spreading it to further expose your already taken intimacy. You know something inevitable is about to happen, and the thought makes you shiver with desire.

“You take it good, huh… But I’m gonna fill you up even more, sweetheart.” His voice is a husky whisper, laden with filthy promises, and you shiver at his words, each syllable vibrating with perverse undertones. You feel him press the tip of his cock against your tight entrance, just above where Jay is buried deep inside you. Your breath hitches, and your body instinctively contracts around Jay, making him squeeze even tighter inside you, like you’re two puzzle pieces that can’t be separated.

Jay lets out a low growl, his cock buried deep inside you. “Fuck, keep squeezing her like that and I won’t last long…” His tone is thick with desire, but his hips remain still, trapped in the promise of an imminent double penetration, a climax you crave.

“It’ll fit.” Heeseung whispers the words into your ear, his hand slowly moving up your stomach, holding you firmly against him. “Don’t worry… Let me do it, I’ll force you to take it all.” His cock presses against you insistently, slowly sinking in. The pressure is unbearable, every movement making you feel like your body is going to give in under the invasion. Your breath catches in your throat, beads of sweat sliding down your skin, making you even more vulnerable, like a ripe fruit waiting to be picked.

He pushes harder this time, and you moan loudly as the head of his cock finally passes, creating a point of no return. A wave of burning heat surges through you, a mixture of pain and pleasure, as Heeseung continues to move forward, slowly but inexorably. His cock rubs against Jay's, trapped in your body too tight for both of them. Each brush tears you with uncontrolled moans, stretching you to the point of no return, your body submitting to their desires without any resistance, like a puppet with its strings cut.

Your body trembles, unable to fully adjust to this double invasion. “Fuck…” Jay breathes as he leans towards you, his lips catching the tears that are starting to flow down your cheeks. The contact is soft, almost tender, in total contrast to the brutality of what they are doing to you. The movement of his mouth against your skin pushes him deeper into you, crushing his cock against Heeseung’s. The grunts of the two men echo in the narrow space of the elevator, synchronized with your strangled moans.

Heeseung, however, doesn’t let up. “Fuck, you’re taking it so well… Look how you’re taking it.” His hand moves down between your thighs, his fingers tracing slow circles on your clitoris, intensifying each sensation already amplified by their domination. Anguish and pleasure intertwine within you, enveloping you in an insatiable whirlwind. Each brush of his hand sends electric waves through your lower abdomen, intensifying the tension you feel, making each beat of your heart even more desperate.

“Shit, Hee… I… I can’t…” you stammer, a note of panic creeping into your voice, but they don’t listen. Heeseung thrusts a little harder, his pelvis slapping against your ass with each thrust, anchoring his presence deeper, filling you with a sensation that’s both beautiful and overwhelming. Jay follows suit, thrusting sharply and calculatedly, synchronizing each thrust with his partner’s, each assault echoing like an erotic melody in the confined space.

Their cocks fill you to the point of obsession, sliding and rubbing against each other in this wet abyss that has become your body. You lose all sense of time, each sensation blurring the lines between what your body can handle and what it craves. Your stomach tightens, and you feel a new wave of tears fall, uncontrollable, but Jay is there, his lips following the furrow of your wet cheeks, swallowing each tear with disconcerting devotion.

“I want you to let go,” Jay whispers between moans, his eyes boring into yours, searching for connection amidst the filth. “Don’t think about anything but us, about what we’re doing to you.”

Heeseung and Jay intensify their thrusts, sinking deeper and deeper into you, your pussy bending to their will, as if it were made to accommodate them. Each penetration makes them sink deeper, and you feel the excitement build, your wetness dirtying Jay's pelvis, marking your wild and shameless union. The guttural grunts and moans that escape your lips mingle with the echo of the elevator, creating a perverse melody, full of desire, need, and pleasure that borders on ecstasy.

Heeseung slides his hand down your stomach, his warmth electrifying you. He bites your earlobe with a gentleness that quickly turns into a possessive bite, before his tongue trails down your neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses. His hand moves down eagerly, his fingers exploring your body, finding your swollen clit. He begins to rub it with delicious insistence, making it blush under his attention. Each movement makes your arousal rise, and you arch your back, pushing yourself further into Jay, who only sinks deeper, his thrusts becoming more intense and deep.

Jay growls, his teeth biting your lips with deliberate brutality, until the taste of blood mixes with the saliva in your mouths. You moan into his mouth, your heart racing as he devours your lips, pain and pleasure intertwining in a chaotic dance. The bite of his teeth on your tongue is both cruel and delicious, a choked cry escaping your throat, suppressed by his voracious kiss. He kisses you like his life depends on it, his tongue movements intensifying, and each caress awakens a burning fire within you, a consuming need that only grows stronger.

Heeseung, for his part, doesn’t just rub your clit; he intensifies his assault, his nimble fingers tracing circles on your delicate skin, while his hips slam into you with relentless regularity. His movements become frantic, each thrust resonating in your belly, a wild rhythm that makes you lose all control. The pressure intensifies, making you lose your mind a little more, and your pussy tenses around them, every inch of you adjusting to this thick intrusion, a mixture of exquisite pain and unmatched pleasure. You are caught between two fires, each movement bringing them a little closer to the climax of your union.

Their moans mingle with your heartbeat, creating a haunting symphony. Sweat runs down your skin, immersing you in this burning atmosphere of unquenchable desire. You feel a wave of heat rise within you, an unbearable pressure, as their bodies synchronize in an animal rhythm, joining forces to break you.

Jay slowly pulls his lips away from you, his dark eyes locked on yours, squinting with the intensity of their shared pleasure. Each moan that escapes your mouth becomes a cry of desperation and desire, echoing in the electrically charged air. Jay and Heeseung’s cocks pound into your pussy with unmatched fervor, each thrust sounding like a promise of tortured pleasure. “Keep screaming for us, babe. I want the whole neighborhood to hear how good we’re making you feel,” Jay growls, his voice husky with desire, a bittersweet melody that makes you shudder.

His lips wrap around your bare chest, kissing your soft skin with an almost carnivorous delight. He sucks on your tip, his agile tongue playing with you, sucking with such intensity that you completely lose track of time and space. Saliva drips from your parted mouth, a mixture of desire and debauchery, as each movement of their penetration makes you lose your footing, awakens burning sensations in you. You feel their cocks hit every corner of your body, and they finally hit your G-spot, triggering a wave of pleasure so intense that it carries you away like a tide.

The heat that invades your body becomes unbearable, almost painful, as you scream in pleasure, your cries echoing in the air. Your body trembles under their hold, letting you be carried away by this storm of sensations. An explosion of pleasure overwhelms you as you squirt violently on them, a hot jet that surprises them, making their cocks come out of your pussy, while your head leans back, resting on Heeseung's muscular shoulder. Your tongue lolling, your eyes squinting, you are completely at their mercy, every fiber of your being vibrating with desire and need.

Heeseung, with a perverse delicacy, leans his head towards you, his eyes shining with desire. His tongue caresses yours, his lips brushing your lower lip, then he plunges his tongue deep into your throat, swallowing your desperate gasps. Your breathing becomes more and more labored, but he does not care; he is captivated by the taste of your blood mixed with that of your saliva, a fusion of debauchery and passion. Your body, still pressed against theirs, is prisoner of their insatiable desire, and each blow, each movement brings them a little closer to your limit.

Finally, he pulls out of your mouth, leaving you panting, out of breath, and your body, exhausted but insatiable, gives in to ecstasy. Your face wears a dreamy expression, lost in a world where only their pleasure matters. Jay then leans towards you, and in an act of brutal domination, he spits in your mouth, the gesture both vulgar and intimate. Far from being reluctant, you swallow his saliva with disturbing obedience, savoring each drop like a gift, indulging in this euphoric and obscene state.

Heeseung, satisfied with your submission, walks away, leaving you in Jay's arms. The latter, still ardent, presses the button to restart the elevator, which resumes its path towards your apartment. The walls vibrate around you, silent witnesses to this unbridled scene. The door opens with a slight ringing, taking you out of your ecstatic trance. Jay, carrying you with disconcerting ease, brings you in front of your door, which Heeseung has opened using the key found in your bag, a palpable tension floating in the air.

Once inside, the dim lighting creates an atmosphere that is both warm and threatening. Jay gently places you on the couch, his hands exploring your skin still burning from their embrace. He leans down, his lips tracing their way along your stomach, lingering on every curve, every contour. Heeseung, standing behind him, watches you with a satisfied smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“We’re not done with you yet, baby,” he whispers as he steps closer, his hand sliding over your thigh, teasing every nerve in your body. Jay, his lips quivering with anticipation, slides his hands over your skin, leaning down to kiss you again, while Heeseung takes the time to devour you with his eyes, savoring every moment of your vulnerability.

Jay meets Heeseung’s gaze, a silent exchange charged with desire and defiance, a gaze that seems to imbue the room with an insidious heat. The atmosphere becomes electric, each breath echoing in the silence, creating a palpable tension that envelops your bodies like a thick mist. Jay leans towards you with disconcerting confidence, a predatory smile on his lips, as he gently pushes you onto the couch, his strong hands acting with an almost palpable determination.

Your back meets the soft cushion, but the softness is a stark contrast to the way he orders you to lie down, forcing you to submit to his desire. You feel a surge of excitement mixed with fear as your head tilts back, exposed and vulnerable, while he grabs your legs, spreading them completely apart with brutal ease. The dim lighting highlights every curve of your womanhood, every detail of your naked body revealing a raw vulnerability.

A shiver runs down your spine as you realize you’re completely at his mercy, your heart pounding. A mixture of fear and excitement washes over you, setting you on fire from the inside, every fiber of your being vibrating with anticipation. Jay wastes no time; with disconcerting brutality, he rips your panties apart, the sound of the ripping fabric echoing through the room like a prelude to what’s to come. A gasp escapes your lips, almost involuntary, as your head fills with a wild desire, awakened by the brutal intrusion.

Jay positions himself between your legs, his hungry and voracious gaze exploring every corner of your intimate parts. He leaves no room for hesitation; his hands become active, his fingers sinking into you with unexpected force, ignoring any form of restraint. A wave of sensations overwhelms you as he begins to finger you, each movement an exquisite mix of gentle and rough. Your moans escape your mouth, uncontrollable, as you remain there, legs spread, shaking under his relentless assault.

He increases his attack, slamming his palm against your pussy, his fingers sliding with unsettling mastery. The sensation is both delicious and overwhelming, leaving you on the edge between pleasure and pain. Ecstasy and pain intertwine, forming an intoxicating mix that leaves you completely addicted to his touch.

“Fuck… Jay,” you manage to utter, tears welling up in your eyes, an instinctive response to the intensity of the arousal that is overflowing inside you like an unstoppable torrent. But he doesn’t stop there. On the contrary, he intensifies his game, withdrawing his fingers and then pushing them back in roughly, slapping you in the process. The viscous sound of your arousal, like a wave crashing against the rocks, makes you shiver with shame mixed with pleasure. He focuses on spreading your arousal on your thighs, making you vulnerable, exposed in this obscene tableau that only a voyeur could appreciate.

Back at it, he pinches your intimate lips between his fingers, his movements becoming deeper, more insistent. The caress of his thumb on your clitoris is precise and disconcerting, each pressure bringing you closer to the edge. Your eyes roll back under the intensity of the approaching orgasm, your moans becoming almost desperate. You bring your fist to your lips to stifle your complaints, but nothing works; they seem to amplify, resonating in the room like a chaotic melody of unquenchable desire.

Jay grips your hair, tilting your head back to force you to look into his eyes. His eyes are dark, burning with desire and control, as he begins to finger you slowly, as if he wants to capture every nuance of your pleasure. He gently spreads your pussy lips with two delicate fingers, letting his saliva flow inside, creating a mixture of wet and hot sensations that makes you shudder with desire. Your eyes lock with his, and you feel more and more vulnerable, exposed to his voracious desire.

He releases your hair, letting your head tilt back, leaving you at the mercy of his caresses, with no possibility of escape. In this position, you catch sight of Heeseung's gaze, who slowly approaches, a predatory smile on his lips, enjoying the spectacle of your delicious humiliation. Your heart races, a mixture of fear and excitement making you lose your train of thought.

“Hee… fuck, I can’t take it anymore,” you let out, your breath coming hard between moans, each word laden with need. You come hard on Jay’s fingers, the waves of pleasure washing over you. But he keeps thrusting his fingers into you, refusing to give you the respite you crave. The pulsing in your body becomes a silent scream, pushing you to the edge where pleasure and pain mix, merging into a whirlwind of emotions.

Jay pulls his fingers out of your pussy, soaked with the mixture of your wetness and your pleasure that continues to flow, a small, glistening stream sliding down your thigh, tracing a slick path that seems almost unreal. With a sudden movement, he slaps your pussy hard, a sharp sound echoing through the room, like a clap of thunder, which draws a groan of surprise and pleasure from you. A shock of electricity runs through your body, causing a wave of heat to invade your insides, leaving you panting and vulnerable.

The sensations mix as your liquid splashes, a few drops finding their way to his face, making him even more desirable in his provocative manner, as if he were a hunter savoring his prey. It’s almost intoxicating to watch him revel in your response, his smirk lighting up his face as he scrutinizes your euphoric state.

He sticks his tongue out to clean the drops of moisture from your pleasure that are on his lips and in the corners of his mouth, licking each drop greedily, delighting in your sweet taste. His eyes are fixed on you, filled with desire and domination, as if he is promising you an unforgettable experience. Then, he puts his fingers back on your pussy, making them dance on your engorged clitoris with incredible precision. His movements are both gentle and firm, playing with your pleasure like an artist with his canvas. The caresses become more and more insistent, each pressure on your clitoris making you vibrate, plunging you into an unprecedented euphoria.

He coats himself in your mixture, his fingers sliding in with disturbing ease, which he then brings to your parted lips, forcing you to taste your own pleasure. The sensation of your own taste on his fingers is both obscene and delicious, and you can't bring yourself to turn away from this reality.

“Suck and tell me what you taste like,” he orders, his husky voice filled with desire, every word turning into an irresistible urge. In that moment, you know you’re completely at his mercy. He pushes his fingers further down your throat, making you gurgle in muffled pleasure, the mixture of sensations sending you into a dizzying euphoria. Your mind goes awry as you begin to suck on his fingers, your tongue playing around them, savoring the musky scent of your own body, like a drug that fogs you up.

The heat intensifies as he plays with your tongue, caressing it, nipping at it with a treacherous softness, his eyes fixed on you with a voracious intensity that makes you shudder. Saliva accumulates on your face, mixing the moisture of your pleasure with the tears that run down your cheeks, creating a tableau that is both obscene and hypnotic. You are both the victim and the goddess of this moment, a mixture of pain and pleasure that makes your head spin.

Finally, he removes his fingers from your mouth, a satisfied smile lighting up his face, his gaze conquering, as if he had just scored a decisive point in a cruel game.

“So, is it good, honey?” Heeseung asks softly, standing right in front of you, his face close to yours, his hot breath caressing your skin. Everything seems blurry and upside down because of your position on the couch, your mind still numb from the pleasure. You hum, unable to speak, as he tenderly caresses your cheek, soaked in saliva and drool. The contact makes you moan in bliss under his scrutinizing gaze, your vulnerability making him even more desirable. His eyes shine with a feral light, each pulse of his gaze on you makes you shiver in anticipation, like prey under the gaze of a predator.

“How about we continue in the bedroom?” He barely finishes speaking when he lifts you into his arms, his warm body enveloping yours, making you feel as if you were safe in this storm. The feeling of his body against yours, powerful and protective, makes you lose all sense of time, every beat of his heart resonating within you. He gently places you on the bed, making sure that your head is suspended in the air, leaving you in a vulnerable and completely exposed position, like an offering to his thirst for power.

Heeseung stands in front of you, his eyes exploring your face completely ruined by desire, a conquering smile on his lips. Your eyes crinkle slightly, and he loves the sight, the apparent submission that makes his heart beat faster. The tension in the air is palpable, each second that passes making you yearn more.

Jay, finding himself between your legs, gently caresses your thighs, his fingers running over your skin with calculated slowness. Each shiver of his caress makes you yearn, the touch of his fingers burning on your sensitive skin. He lingers on your thighs, his fingers slowly sinking into your flesh, exploring every inch of your body, making you want more, drawing you into an abyss of obscene and delicious sensations.

He slowly removes his hand from your thigh, his palm still burning against your skin, creating a trail of heat as he lets his fingers slide gently before gripping his cock firmly. His breathing is raspy, each breath heavy with desire as he looks at you with an almost bestial intensity. His cock, swollen and glistening with pre-cum, approaches your pussy, already soaking wet, and he takes a malicious pleasure in making you languish. He doesn't enter you right away, preferring to make the wait last, rubbing his length against your intimate lips, his warm skin mixing with yours, spreading his pre-cum on your already wet folds. You feel each slow and controlled in and out, each slide, and your body responds instinctively, arching towards him, as if begging him to finally take you.

But Jay smiles, a cruel, dominating smile, knowing full well that you’re at his mercy. “You want more, don’t you?” he murmurs against your skin, his words a mix of taunt and promise. He continues to rub his cock against you, pressing just enough for you to feel the pressure without him actually entering you. The wetness pooling between you is almost obscene, and each slide sends a wave of hot pleasure through your lower belly, leaving you panting.

As you try to focus on what Jay is doing, Heeseung takes possession of your mouth with unexpected brutality. With a quick movement, he forces your mouth wider, and before you can react, he slides the head of his cock between your lips. The taste of his salty, taut skin immediately invades your tongue, forcing you to submit to his presence. You don't have time to adjust to the feeling as he pushes deeper, filling your mouth until the tip of his cock is almost to the back of your throat. Your eyes start to sting, and tears begin to form as you try to breathe between the imposing thrusts of his pelvis.

Your neck tenses, veins visible beneath your thin skin, every movement of your throat betraying your effort to take him all in. Heeseung watches with perverse satisfaction, his gaze fixed on your wet eyes, enjoying every second of your controlled strangulation. “Look at you…” he breathes hoarsely, as he begins to move faster, choking you with each thrust. “A real little slut at my mercy.” His words, loaded with dominance, make you shudder with pleasure despite the discomfort, and you feel your pussy contract in excitement under Jay’s provocations.

Sensing your complete submission, Jay resumes his caresses, his fingers gently brushing your lips before he pulls his cock from your folds, suddenly slamming it against your pussy with a thud. The shock makes you flinch, a muffled moan resonating in your throat already full of Heeseung's cock. Jay repeats the gesture, slamming his cock into your pussy, leaving red marks on your skin, before roughly entering you, in one stroke, without any restraint. His length sinks deep, nearly tearing you apart from the inside as you feel every inch of him, his thickness filling you entirely. You gasp around Heeseung's cock, your breath short and ragged, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

The first blow is sharp, brutal, and your body reacts immediately, arching under the impact, your stomach tightening as you try to accommodate Jay’s size. “Fuck, you’re squeezing so hard…” he grunts, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he holds you in place, preventing you from moving, from fleeing his assault. He begins to move his hips with relentless force, each thrust driving you deeper onto Heeseung’s cock, who controls you with icy firmness.

Heeseung, in response, tightens his grip on your head, wrapping his fingers in your hair to force you to stay in place. “Breathe, if you can…” he whispers to you with a sadistic smile, choking you further with his length.

Jay continues to pound into your pussy, his thrusts brutal and precise, leaving you breathless each time. Your body is sandwiched between the two, used ruthlessly, each thrust of Jay pushing you deeper into Heeseung, who never lets up. The obscene sounds of bodies hitting each other, muffled moans and groans of pleasure fill the room. The dynamic between them is clear: they own you, control you, and you are at their mercy, a prisoner to their relentless desire.

Each of Jay's movements becomes harder, faster, each impact throwing you harder against Heeseung, who groans in satisfaction each time you take him deeper into your throat. Tears run down your cheeks, your breathing ragged, but despite the intensity, a wave of pleasure overwhelms you, your body responding in spite of yourself to this shared domination. Jay increases the pace, caressing your swollen belly with his cock before sliding a finger on your anus, without warning. You contract instinctively, but he doesn't slow down, taking pleasure in feeling your muscles tense under his fingers and his cock tearing you apart.

Heeseung slightly releases the pressure on your head, allowing you to take a breath of air before pushing you back down onto him, making you suffocate again. He watches every reaction, every tremor of your body with a sick pleasure, enjoying seeing you on the verge of breaking. “You’re going to beg us to stop, aren’t you?” His tone is mocking, domineering, knowing full well that you’re already broken in their hands.

The two continue their macabre dance, Jay taking you relentlessly, his cock slapping against you at a frantic pace, leaving you half-conscious from the assault. The room is filled with their moans of pleasure and your muffled moans, each sound a testament to the power dynamic that is taking hold, this dark dominance that keeps you under their total control.

The pace has lost none of its brutality as Heeseung pulls out with a wet smack, leaving your mouth swollen and your lips covered in drool and pre-cum. Jay, still deeply embedded in your pussy, handles you effortlessly, turning you around with a firm hand to place you on all fours on the bed soaked with fluids and sweat. He grabs you roughly by the hips, his fingers digging into your skin with a possessiveness that makes you moan, before diving back into you, his cock thrusting with a precision that takes your breath away.

The bed creaks under your wild movements as Jay increases his pace, his hips slamming hard against your ass, the impacts echoing through the room like a whip. You feel your thighs tremble under the relentless assault, your body buckling, submitting to each thrust. With each movement, his fingers slide from your hips to grip your hair, pulling back violently, forcing you to arch your back even more, exposing every inch of your skin to his voracious appetite. Your tongue hangs between your lips, trembling, unable to keep up as a strangled moan escapes your throat.

Heeseung, standing in front of you, watches with eyes burning with desire and dominance. He grips his cock with a firm hand, slowly sliding it over the tip of your tongue, dragging over the wet surface before pushing it between your swollen lips again. There is no gentleness in his movements. As soon as the tip reaches your mouth, he pushes without waiting, forcing his thick cock to penetrate even further than before, making you gag violently that you try desperately to control. Your eyes fill with tears as you struggle to breathe, but Heeseung holds you tight, his fingers tightening around your jaw to hold your face in place.

Jay continues to thrust into you with merciless regularity, his thrusts making you shake from head to toe. Your ass bounces with each impact of his hips, and you can feel the heat of his breath against your skin, his animalistic grunts mixing with the wet smacks of your bodies colliding over and over again. He abruptly releases your hair, grabbing your breasts with such violence that you scream, but even your screams are muffled by the length of Heeseung filling your mouth, pushing himself deep into your throat, until you're gasping for air.

“Fuck, look at that…” Jay growls, his voice full of twisted desire as he watches you struggle. His fingers wrap around your breasts, kneading them mercilessly, pulling on your nipples with a force that makes you jump in pain. “She likes it, huh… she loves getting fucked like a whore.” His words are like whiplashes to your mind already clouded by pleasure and pain.

Heeseung laughs softly, a throaty, guttural sound that echoes in your skull. “She was born for this,” he whispers, his voice full of contempt and possessiveness. “Look at her… A fucking slut who lives to be taken like this.” His hands move to your nose, fingers pinching your nostrils tightly to keep you from breathing. Oxygen is immediately lacking, and you panic, your body desperate to break free, but Heeseung gives you no escape. He pushes deeper into your throat, his hips pounding into your face as your entire body is caught in the crossfire, suffocating under the weight of their absolute domination.

You feel your vision blurring, black spots dancing in front of your eyes as the lack of air makes your head spin. Jay, for his part, doesn't slow down. He thrusts his cock into you with increasing violence, each thrust shaking your already weakened body, forcing you to accept more, more and more. He finally releases your breasts to slap your ass, a loud smack that makes you jump, your muscles contracting involuntarily around him, which draws a deep groan of satisfaction from him.

“Fuck, she feels so tight, huh?” Jay laughs, his tone mocking and cocky. His hands come down to grip your hips again, and he pulls roughly, forcing you down even further onto his cock. “She’s going crazy with every thrust… Did you see that? She’s begging for more.”

Heeseung, his breath short, releases your nose just in time for you to take a sharp breath, but he doesn’t give you any respite. His fingers slide into your sweat-soaked hair, and he controls the movement of your head, forcing you to take his cock deeper and deeper, choking you with each quick, violent thrust. You’re nothing more than a puppet in their hands, your body responding instinctively to their desires. Your throat contracts painfully around him, and you feel the burn in your lungs, but there’s no way you can escape their control.

Jay, behind you, continues his frantic assaults. His fingers slide over your soaked skin, tracing red marks where he grips you too hard, pulling you against him again and again. You feel his cock fill you completely, each thrust of his hips making you scream internally, your body stretching under the constant impact. But you don't have the luxury of moaning, each sound muffled by Heeseung's length relentlessly pounding against the back of your throat.

The room echoes with the obscene sounds of their bodies hitting yours, a mixture of moans, grunts, and wet smacks that overwhelm you. Your mind is lost in the intensity of the moment, pain and pleasure merging into a maelstrom that leaves you empty of any coherent thought. You no longer know where the pain begins and the pleasure ends, all you know is that you are their plaything, and they intend to break you completely.

With a guttural groan, Heeseung stills deep in your throat, his abundant seed filling you almost to the point of suffocation. Your head is held against his groin, and you feel each pulse of his orgasm, a mixture of heat and power that makes you shudder with desire. The sensation of his ejaculation is overwhelming, each spurt making you vibrate to the core. Your fingers grip his thighs tightly, desperate for support as the spasms of his pleasure overwhelm you. On the other side, Jay, relentless, cums into your pussy, his hot, viscous seed seeping into you, filling every corner of your wet heat, intensifying the sensation of his presence inside you. The pulsing of your pussy around him becomes a hypnotic dance, a call to debauchery and submission.

In this state of ecstasy, Jay doesn’t seem satisfied yet. His powerful fingers move to your asshole, caressing the delicate skin before slowly sinking inside. The resulting pain is almost unbearable, but an unsuspected pleasure begins to awaken in you, a wave of conflicting sensations that makes you lose your footing. You feel a delicious burn pass through you, dilating you as he slowly takes you, forcing you to welcome his presence. Each movement, each pressure on your delicate flesh becomes a symphony of pain and pleasure, a duality that you begin to accept, to embrace. As he continues to fill you, the heat of his body against yours, you explode around him, waves of pleasure crashing over you like a devastating tide. Your body reacts uncontrollably, in the grip of an overstimulation that only intensifies the orgasm.

Heeseung slowly pulls out of your throat, and a cough shakes you, your head falling heavily onto the bed sheet, sweat dripping from your forehead, each drop a testament to the intensity of this moment. “No more… please,” you whisper between gasps, your voice a stray breath as Jay continues to fill you, his cock deep inside you, his fingers now moving inside your tight ass, making you feel the heat of his body with every second.

“Yes, baby, you can, and you will take it all,” Jay growls, his tone commanding and resolute. The excitement in his voice, mixed with the urgency of his need, sends shivers down your spine. He pounds into you with an insatiable fervor, maneuvering you with calculated expertise so that you find yourself sitting on him, facing him, without removing his cock from your insides, making sure his seed stays warm inside. Every movement of his body is a reminder of his deep desire, a need for possession that makes you quiver with excitement and submission. There is no room for waste in this carnal dance; every drop is precious.

Heeseung slowly approaches behind you, his eager fingers sliding over your sweaty back, tracing invisible lines on your burning skin. The bed creaks beneath your bodies, his heavy movements crushing the mattress as Jay, lying beneath you, grips your thighs tightly to keep you stable. He controls you completely, forcing you to stay in this cowgirl position, as your pussy swallows and spits his cock in a rhythm that feels both oppressive and divine. Your body trembles, already overloaded with pleasure, each thrust pushing you a little closer to that edge where everything becomes blurred, where pain and pleasure become one.

Jay’s grunts echo through the room, his fingers digging deep into your flesh as your breasts sway wildly under the relentless assault. His gaze is fixed on them, mesmerized by the way they bounce with each thrust of his hips. He’s mesmerized by the sight, his eyes burning with desire as he watches you lose yourself on his cock. “Fuck… you look so good on that…” he breathes, his husky tone betraying the control he’s trying so desperately to maintain.

Behind you, Heeseung settles in, his warmth immediately overwhelming you. You feel his bare chest against your back, his muscles contracting with every breath he takes. His hot breath caresses the back of your neck, sending another wave of shivers down your spine. His hands slowly move down to your hips, gripping them firmly before moving lower, to your ass. With a rough motion, he spreads your ass cheeks, exposing your anus unceremoniously. A low laugh escapes his throat as he positions himself behind you, pressing his hard cock against your already strained hole.

With a sharp thrust, without warning, Heeseung enters you from behind, shoving his cock into your ass. The sensation is immediate, a brutal mix of pain and pleasure that leaves you breathless. Your body tenses under the double intrusion, your hands desperately gripping the sheets as your legs shake with overstimulation. Jay below you grunts in response, his pleasure amplified by the way your pussy involuntarily contracts around him with each thrust of Heeseung's hips.

Their movements synchronize, taking you together in a relentless rhythm, pulling you into a vortex of sensations that blur your mind. Your body is trapped between them, unable to do anything but submit to their domination, their incessant hip thrusts tearing muffled cries from you. Jay, his hands still gripping your hips, forces you to bounce again and again on his cock, his gaze fixed obsessively on your breasts which continue to swing under the impact. He leans forward abruptly, his mouth capturing one of your swollen nipples which he bites hard. His tongue plays with the hardened tip, sucking it, biting it, as if he were trying to mark you, to remind you that you belong to him.

“Imagine that, huh? Your breasts full, swollen with milk, so heavy they’ll hurt…” he murmurs against your skin, his words hitting you hard. He sucks your nipple harder, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, drawing uncontrollable moans from you. The thought of you pregnant with their child, your belly round, your breasts full of milk, invades your mind. You’re nothing more than a toy to them, a doll meant to carry their offspring, and the thought makes you vibrate with pleasure.

Behind you, Heeseung is not to be outdone. His hands sink deep into the tender flesh of your buttocks, his thrusts becoming harder, more precise as he loses himself in the idea of filling you too. “You’re going to give us children, honey… Your round belly, filled with our kids. Fuck, you’ll be so good with your full breasts, we’ll never leave you alone…” He emphasizes his words by diving deeper into you, his cock tearing you apart with a brutality that you can no longer control. Your cries mix with their grunts, the pain and pleasure merging into one unbearable sensation.

Heeseung's hands slide down your stomach, caressing it possessively, as if he could already feel that belly rounded by their child. His other hand moves up to grab your throat, gripping it tightly, controlling your gasps and moans, reducing your noises to low, muffled sighs. His fingers tighten their grip with each thrust, almost preventing you from breathing, while Jay continues to pound into you from below, his cock hitting your G-spot with devastating precision.

“You’ll look beautiful, with your belly swollen… Your breasts so full that we could make you squirt milk just by touching them…” Jay tightens his grip on your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh, holding you firmly in place as he pushes you harder onto his cock. “I want to see that… You, pregnant, ours… only good enough to carry our children…” he adds, biting your nipple harder, drawing a strangled cry from your throat as your body tenses under the wave of brutal pleasure.

Your mind blurs, overwhelmed by this vision they impose on you, their total control over your body, their desire to see you bear their descendants. Each thrust of Jay's hips shatters this image in your head, each brutal penetration of Heeseung in your ass reinforces this idea. They take you, manipulate you, shape you so that in the end, you are only theirs. Your breathing becomes erratic, your body trembles with fatigue and overstimulation, but you cannot stop. They give you no respite, their pregnancy fantasies overwhelm you, lose you in a spiral of obscenity and pure pleasure.

Heeseung speeds up again, his hand tightening around your throat, controlling your cries, while his other hand moves down between your legs, finding your swollen clit. He pinches it mercilessly, causing an explosion of sensations that makes you scream silently, your body convulsing in shock. Jay groans beneath you, his thrusts becoming frantic as your pussy clenches around him in an uncontrollable reflex. The sensation is too strong, too brutal, and your orgasm erupts violently, leaving you panting, unable to hold back your moans muffled by Heeseung's grip.

“Fuck… you’re perfect…” Jay groans, speeding up again, his pleasure building as he feels you writhe above him. Heeseung continues to pound into you from behind, his fingers playing with your clit, torturing you, pulling you further into overstimulation, giving you no respite.

Jay leans down, crushing his muscular chest against yours, nearly suffocating you under the raw heat of his body as he continues to pound into you without a single ounce of mercy. Each blow is a shock that goes through your entire body, brutal, fast, barely giving you time to breathe. You feel every muscle in his torso contract against your crushed breasts, sweat dripping between you, making each movement slippery and even more intense. Your breath hitches with each thrust he makes, the power of his thrusts lifting you slightly off the bed, your body no longer yours, shaken in every direction by his calculated violence. Your pussy trembles around his cock, too sensitive, unable to get used to the speed and force he imposes.

His blows are relentless, giving you no respite. With each new penetration, it's as if he's hitting you directly in the belly, emptying you of all breath, each blow stealing a part of yourself. You struggle to catch air, but everything is submerged under this sensation of being totally taken, totally submitted to his infernal rhythm. Your pussy is already too sensitive, each blow makes you gasp, makes you tremble, pushing you to the limit of what you can endure. And yet, he continues, completely ignoring your state, as if your pain, your pleasure were only negligible details compared to his need to possess you.

Behind you, Heeseung holds you tight, his fingers sliding mercilessly over your already overly sensitive clit again. His fingers play with you, tormenting that sweet spot until every pinch becomes delicious torture. He’s not gentle, squeezing and twisting your clit with a precision that makes you scream internally, pleasure mixed with pain, mixing into a devastating cocktail. You feel pulled between them, every part of your body pushed to the limit. Heeseung pushes into your ass, his fingers penetrating deeply, each movement making you jump, your muscles contracting around him. He owns you completely, his fingers sliding in and out of your body with relentless precision, as if he knows exactly the spots to touch to push you further into this spiral of unbearable sensations.

Jay continues to pound into your pussy, his cock thrusting in and out, creating unbearable friction against your cervix. Each movement is a shock, a brutal jolt that runs through your body, leaving you unable to focus on anything but the dull pain and brutal pleasure that intertwine. You're on the verge of exploding, each thrust from Jay bringing you closer to that edge, but you can't make it, each thrust pushing you further into that overstimulated zone where your body doesn't know whether to scream in pain or cum.

Jay leans down, roughly shoving his tongue into your mouth, forcing you to welcome him, to swallow his every move as if it were another form of punishment. His tongue searches your mouth, forcing you to respond, to bend to his rhythm. You no longer control anything, every moan, every breath belongs to him. When he finally pulls back, your lips tremble, a thin trickle of saliva still connecting you, but he gives you no respite. Immediately, he leans over your neck, sinking his teeth deep into your flesh. The shock is instantaneous, a mixture of pain and pleasure coursing through you, your body stiffening under the impact of this savage bite. You feel the blood beading, slowly flowing down your neck, while Jay growls against your skin, savoring the pain he causes you. He bites even harder, his teeth sinking almost to the bone, forcing you to endure this pain that mixes with the intensity of his thrusts.

Your back arches, a shiver of pain and pleasure running through you as Heeseung pushes you even harder against Jay, compressing you between their two bodies, depriving you of any possibility of movement. You are stuck, suffocated by the force of their bodies pressing against you, keeping you completely at their mercy. Heeseung slowly withdraws his cock from your ass, the feeling of each centimeter leaving you almost makes you scream, your hyper-sensitive body reacting to the slightest friction. But he doesn't give you time to recover. Before you can catch your breath, he penetrates you again, this time in your pussy, his cock rubbing brutally against Jay's which is still inside you. The sensation is too intense, too violent, you feel every millimeter, every blow, as if your body is going to tear itself apart under this double penetration that gives you no respite.

Their cocks rub against each other inside you, creating an unbearable friction. Your body, already oversaturated with sensations, is unable to handle this intensity. Each thrust is a violent shock, shaking you from the inside, pushing you beyond your physical limits. You feel the heat of their bodies against yours, the sweat, the cum flowing inside you, a mixture of their fluids that fills you again and again. Heeseung pounds your pussy, each thrust going deeper, pushing Jay's cum and his own further into your womb, making sure that nothing is wasted, that every drop is absorbed by your body. The obscene sound of their thrusts echoes in the room, their skin slapping against yours, creating a suffocating symphony of raw desire and total possession.

Your entire body is on fire, too sensitive, too overstimulated to fully grasp what is happening to you. Each penetration is an explosion, a jolt of pleasure mixed with pain, shooting through you from one end to the other. You are unable to catch your breath, choking under the intensity of what they are doing to you. Your moans mix with theirs, but they do not slow down, taking you again and again, leaving you trapped in this unbearable state of overstimulation, pushing you further and further.

When Jay finally stills, buried deep inside your pussy, you think it’s over. But it’s just an illusion. Heeseung keeps going, his cock thrusting in roughly, pushing your limits, draining you of every ounce of resistance. You’re on the edge, unable to take anymore, every sensation becoming torture, but he doesn’t let up. He takes you relentlessly, digging deeper and deeper, each thrust of his hips making you lose your footing. The mixture of their cum begins to leak out of you, as Heeseung empties himself again, filling your pussy with incandescent heat, consuming you from the inside out.

No respite is granted to you. Heeseung remains planted inside you, deeply anchored, his movements slower but still relentless, keeping you in a state of unbearable tension. You are out of breath, completely submitted to their will, spread between their bodies that keep you captive, prisoner of their endless desire. Their ragged breaths resonate against your skin, but their cocks remain firmly buried inside you, as if they refuse to let you go until they are certain that you are completely theirs, imbued with their essence, marked forever.

You have nothing left. Every fiber of your being is drained, yet they continue to possess you, to hold you between them like their plaything, their slut, full of their seed. Your thighs are stained with their fluids, your skin bruised by their bites and brutality. You are theirs, all of them. They will not let go until you are broken, filled to the point of ecstasy, unable to move or think, reduced to their mercy, their object, marked by their hold.

Heeseung, still buried deep inside you, rolls you gently onto your side, trapping you between their two hot bodies. The heat is stifling, enveloping you completely as your hypersensitive body reacts to every movement. You are there, at the center of everything, unable to escape, the two of them holding you prisoner. You feel their cocks still inside you, filling you again and again, and the weight of their presence weighs heavily on your exhausted insides. Your mind is in pieces, drowning in an ocean of too intense sensations, unable to comprehend the magnitude of what they have just done to you. Your breath is short, ragged, as waves of painful pleasure pass through you again and again.

“Please…” you gasp, your voice hoarse and broken with exhaustion. “I can’t take it anymore… it’s too much…” Your plea dies in the air, ignored. Jay’s fingers slide gently along your body, shaking with your involuntary contractions, shivering with every little ripple of your pussy as it continues to clench around them.

“No, baby,” Jay whispers against your skin, his lips brushing your neck with venomous tenderness. “You still take us… you still want us, I can feel it.” His voice is soft, but his obsession is palpable, his hands exploring every curve of your body, as if they can never get enough.

Your lips part, letting out a muffled moan, a mixture of pain and intense pleasure. "No... I... I beg you... I'm at the end of my rope..." you whisper, desperately searching for an anchor to reality. But their caresses, their whispers push you even further into this whirlwind of unbearable sensations. Your body, exhausted, over-sensitized, continues to respond to every touch, every movement, unable to escape this prison of flesh, of burning desire.

Heeseung, sensing your futile struggle, tightens his grip on your hips, pressing you even closer to him. “Look at you,” he growls, his voice vibrating with animalistic, possessive desire. “Even now, you continue to take us. You were made for this… for us… you belong to us.”

Your head shakes weakly, your eyes half-closed, but your body betrays you. A violent heat rises in you, consuming you from the inside, and once again, this wave of painful pleasure hits you, bringing you back to this unbearable overstimulation. Your hands, weakly gripping the sheets, seek an anchor point, but their caresses prevent you from doing so, keeping you in this state of uncontrollable desire.

“Fuck… I… I belong to you…” you gasp, unable to hold back the words that spill from your trembling lips. “But… this is too much… I can’t take it anymore…” Your breath hitches under the intensity, your body too sensitive to endure another minute. Yet even as you protest weakly, a part of you is hopelessly captivated, unable to resist this feeling of total possession, of loss of control.

Jay smiles against your skin, his fingers lazily playing with your hardened nipples. “Of course you’re ours. You could never be anyone else’s, not after this.” His words are soft, but tinged with a consuming obsession that roots itself deeper and deeper into you. “We’ll mark you over and over again, until you can’t think of anything but us, our cocks deep inside you.”

You close your eyes, your head falling back against Heeseung’s chest, still holding you tightly against him. His fingers wrap around your throat with silent possessiveness, holding you in place, as if to remind you that there’s no escape. “Look at her,” he whispers with twisted adoration. “Look at how perfect she is, completely ours… you know you’ll still beg us, even after all this, right?”

A low moan escapes your trembling lips. “I… I just want…” Your sentence trails off, lost in the inability to articulate what you truly feel. Part of you is broken, exhausted, but the other is trapped with them, chained to this insatiable desire for their warmth.

“That’s it, keep clenching around us…” Heeseung breathes, his raspy voice filled with dark satisfaction. “You’re holding us, even now, like you don’t want to let go. You still want us…” His fingers slide slowly over the back of your neck, trailing down your spine with calculated slowness, adding an extra layer of stimulation to your already overly sensitive body.

You try to protest again, but the words die in your throat as their hands, their whispers, and that unbearable feeling of their cocks still inside you overwhelm you. Your thoughts fall apart, reduced to this struggle to survive through this painful pleasure, every tense muscle responding to their desires.

In front of your bedroom mirror, you stood there, mesmerized by the provocative image you projected. The room was bathed in dim lighting, creating an atmosphere that was both intimate and exciting. Tonight, you would embody a vision of desire and debauchery, the Halloween costume you had chosen for the Feast of the 4 Black Apollos was not simply a disguise, but a bold statement, a rallying cry for those who dared to venture into dark pleasures.

Your jumpsuit, made of a white satin fabric, hugged your body like a second skin, hugging every curve with an almost suffocating intensity. It was so short that it barely covered the bottom of your buttocks, revealing the soft curve of your skin, ready to be touched, caressed. The zipper, pulled halfway up your neckline, gave a glimpse of your chest, quivering with anticipation, as if waiting for exploring hands to come and completely bare it. Every movement you made made the fabric sparkle under the light, a promise of lust just waiting to be fulfilled.

Your bunny ears, one erect and the other slightly curled, were not just an accessory; they were a symbol of your mischievous and provocative nature. Tonight, you would embody the perfect blend of innocence and debauchery, an allegory of temptation. You had chosen to wear fishnet tights, their bold and transparent texture adding an extra dimension to your allure. The black mesh wrapped around your legs like a delicate caress, each mesh tracing the curve of your thigh, making you quiver with excitement with each movement.

For your makeup, you had opted for a palette that was as bright as it was seductive. Your eyebrows, painted white, formed a striking contrast with the warmth of your skin. The white mascara, applied in thick layers, brought out the sparkle in your eyes, giving them a mysterious appearance, as if you had just come out of a torrid dream. On your cheeks, a vibrant, sensual and deep red echoed the heat that burned within you. And the shiny black, tending towards purple, that you had applied to the tip of your nose, added a touch of mischief to your face. Your eyelids sparkled under the shine of the bright shadows that you had chosen, capturing the light in a way that would hypnotize anyone who would meet your gaze.

But what really caught the eye, what made hearts flutter and awakened the darkest desires, were your lips. They were voluptuous, slightly bitten, as if someone had already tasted their sweetness, a promise of unfulfilled pleasure. The red shade you had applied, bold and captivating, gave your lips a juicy appearance, ready to be devoured. You had added a thick gloss that made them sparkle, like a ripe fruit under the sun, inviting temptation and promising unexplored delights.

Every detail of your look, every touch of makeup and every accessory, was an invitation to escape, to explore the limits of desire. As you moved in front of the mirror, the little bunny tail delicately attached to the back of your jumpsuit swayed gently, drawing attention to your ass and adding a touch of playfulness to your sensuality. This seemingly innocent detail was in reality a symbol of your depraved nature, a nod to the obscene pleasures you were about to experience.

Darkness swallows up almost everything as you walk down the driveway to the manor. The air is so frigid it seems to bite your flesh, each breath emitting white wisps that slowly rise in front of your face before disappearing into shadow. You press into yourself, wrapping your arms around your waist, but no warmth comes to comfort you. The leafless trees loom on either side like gaunt specters, their gnarled branches reaching above you, casting grotesque and menacing shadows on the stony ground. Every creak beneath your feet, every rustle of dead leaves seems to amplify the deafening silence of the night.

The Halloween decorations that dot the driveway aren’t mere party favors; they’re warnings. Human skulls, their empty eye sockets fixed on you, grin in the darkness from rusty spikes. The remaining flesh, half-decayed, still hangs limply from some of the bones, as if death has not yet completed its work. Their mouths twisted into morbid grins seem to mock you, as if they already know what awaits you inside.

Carved pumpkins, grotesquely deformed, spew molten wax from their gaping mouths. Their triangular eyes stare at you with a sickening insistence, their glowing inner light flickering as if inhabited by malevolent spirits. Garlands of human and animal bones hang above you, creaking softly in the night wind, the sound echoing the irregular beating of your heart. Between the dead branches, thick, sticky cobwebs stretch like death traps, sheltering spiders whose bodies seem swollen with fresh blood. They crawl slowly, each of their legs clicking against the branches, their black eyes reflecting the dim light of the candles scattered along the path.

As you approach the imposing gate of the manor, the landscape grows darker, more sinister. The stones of the path are littered with rubble and fragments of bone, and you realize with horror that some of these bones are human. Crows perched on makeshift tombstones stare at you with empty eyes, their beaks emitting little rasping cries, as if they are impatiently waiting for the moment when they can feast on your flesh. An unpleasant smell rises in the air, a mixture of mold, damp earth, and something sweeter and fouler—the stench of decay.

Before you, the massive door of the manor stands, black as coal, its rusty hinges creaking slightly in the wind. Large black candles stand at each corner, their flickering light casting shadows on the stone walls, creating the illusion that the manor's façade is moving slowly, as if breathing. The wood of the door is stained with blood, violent splatters that still drip, red and sticky, mixed with scratches deep in the wood. Above the door, an inscription in red letters glows faintly, a message in Latin that you can't quite read, but it gives off an aura of doom.

Your trembling hand brushes the icy doorknob. The metal makes you shiver, as if something deeply evil lurks within, ready to seize you. You ring the bell, and a low growl echoes through the bowels of the manor, reverberating off the walls like a mournful lament. The door slowly creaks open, letting out a breath of putrid air, cold and dense. You hesitate for a second before stepping inside, your instincts screaming at you to turn back, but something deeper—a macabre curiosity or an unseen force—pushes you forward.

Inside, the sight is even more terrifying. The first room you enter is vast, yet oppressive. The ceiling seems infinitely high, but the shadows cast by the dim chandeliers hang heavily, as if they might collapse on you. Black, torn draperies hang from the walls, covered in dark stains that resemble dried blood. The marble floor is cracked in several places, and pools of dirty water collect in the crevices, making an incessant dripping sound that echoes in the silence.

Along the walls, stone statues of angels, but disfigured, stare at you blankly. Their wings are broken, their faces twisted in expressions of infinite pain, and their hands, outstretched in gestures of imploration, are covered in something that looks like dried human flesh. Their eyes, deep black, seem to follow your every move, scrutinizing you with an unhealthy intensity. Their shadows stretched on the distorted walls form grotesque silhouettes, as if they would detach themselves at any moment to seize you.

Along the main hallway, gilded frames, now rusted, hold portraits of the manor's former owners. But these painted faces are not ordinary: each gaze is full of madness, pain, or terror, as if each soul depicted has been condemned to an eternity of suffering. Some of the portraits are scratched, lacerated as if something, or someone, has tried to free itself from within the frames. Their eyes seem to stare at you, their lips moving imperceptibly, whispering curses that you cannot hear but feel deep within your being.

In the corner of the room, an old pendulum clock ticks slowly, its ticking regular like the beating of a monstrous heart. With each passing second, the weight of the atmosphere grows heavier, and the air becomes harder and harder to breathe. Time seems to warp here, trapping you in a hellish loop.

Along the stairs leading upstairs, candlesticks in the shape of human arms hold candles whose wax drips like blood, forming red puddles at the foot of the steps.

A cold shiver runs through you as you continue to gaze at the Halloween decorations in the mansion, every breath of cool air that touches you reminding you of the vulnerability of your situation. You instinctively tighten your arms around your body, but this attempt to protect yourself is shattered in an instant when you feel a strong arm encircle your waist. Before your back hits a firm chest, a scream of terror escapes your lips. You try to struggle, but his grip is strong, relentless. His hot, humid breath caresses your neck, and despite the fear, a wave of desire passes through you, as strong as the anxiety.

“It’s me, baby,” Jay whispers, his voice soft but filled with an irresistible authority. He slowly slides his fingers along your thigh, digging into the fishnet tights that surround you like a second skin. Each touch is a thrill of pleasure and danger. You slowly calm down in his arms, a shaky sigh escaping your lips as you relax your body against his, letting yourself be carried away by the warmth he gives off.

“Fuck… you scared me,” you say, your voice soft, almost a moan, full of delicious confusion. You try to catch your breath, but the beat of your heart, jerky and rapid, betrays your growing arousal. The tension between you is electric, and you feel his heart pounding against your back, each pulse resonating with yours, drawing you further into this whirlwind of sensations.

“Sorry about that,” he replies, a smirk playing on his lips. His gaze searches every inch of your skin, and he revels in your reaction, your dread slowly turning into desire. His fingers travel up your stomach, gliding over your skin like a feather, until they reach the top of your suit. With calculated gentleness, he grasps the already slightly open zipper and pulls it open further, revealing the softness of your skin in contact with the cool air. A shiver of excitement runs through you, and you know you’re about to cross a boundary from which you can never return.

His expression changes then, his gaze becomes more intense, more possessive. His eyes shine with a light that sets you ablaze, a promise of what is to come. He slides his hand under the fabric, his fingers gripping your chest with brutal firmness. His caresses are slow but resolute, each squeeze on your breasts sending waves of electricity throughout your body. “Fuck, you’re so sexy, Professor.” He says, his voice thick with desire, as if he’s already claimed you. His words hang in the air like a filthy promise, each syllable making you shudder more.

Your breath hitches as his hand begins to explore lower, his fingers playing unrestrainedly with your nipples, already hard under his touch. He pinches them, tugs them lightly, forcing you to moan, and each sound that escapes your mouth reminds you of how much you are at his mercy. Each squeeze he puts on your breasts seems to invade your entire body with an insatiable heat. His lips land on your neck, tracing a line of wet, possessive kisses, his hot breath making you shiver under each burning touch. The tension in the air is palpable, as if the world around you is fading away, leaving only the two of you in this sensual and dangerous dance.

“Jay…” you whisper his name, your head falling back against his chest, lost in a whirlwind of sensations. The tension is palpable, almost unbearable. You feel his muscular chest heaving against you, his heartbeat speeding up in time with yours. “I’m still sensitive,” you admit in a shaky voice, aware of how weak you are. But he revels in it, the knowledge seems to excite him even more, and he leans in slightly, struggling to catch your gaze.

As soon as you say your words, his fingers move a little lower, brushing the edge of your suit. He knows exactly how to play with your body, how to build up the desire just enough to make you writhe slightly against him. His eyes, darkened by an almost demonic intensity, scrutinize you, impatient, eager to see you give in. You are trapped in this mixture of fear and desire, every fiber of your being demanding more.

“Do I look like I care?” He says in a harsh voice, pressing himself against you, forcing you to feel the hardness of his body against yours. Your already tense body arches slightly, your chest swelling further under his hold. His hands continue their exploration, playing with the zipper, pulling it down a little more before letting one hand venture under your fabric, caressing the bare skin of your stomach, leaving you panting.

“Jay…” you begin, but he interrupts you with burning impatience. He doesn’t give you time to finish your sentence, his fingers venturing lower, sliding along your body, leaving you speechless. The tension is unbearable, each second seeming to stretch as his warm touch electrifies your skin.

“You’re lucky I have to take you to the party,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin, making you shiver even more. His dark eyes travel down your body with a possessiveness that leaves you naked, even in your white jumpsuit. He trails his fingers over the line of your cleavage, his caresses teasing, but laden with lewd promises, as if every movement he makes is a declaration of his dominance.

He releases you for a moment, turns you back to him, and you revel in his disguise: a tattered white tuxedo, blackened wings on his back, the undersides of his eyes lightly painted black to create a ringed effect that accentuates his menacing look. His expression is icy and dark, making you shiver with pleasure as he slides his hand up to zip up your top all the way, trapping you further in his grip.

“Fuck, Y/n, how could you go out like that, huh? You sound like a fucking slut begging to be fucked.” The words escape his lips like a whiplash, each syllable resonating with an intensity that takes your breath away. His eyes darken as he savors every curve of you behind that skimpy suit, which seems to hide nothing. Heat rises to your cheeks, a mixture of shame and unquenchable desire.

“You’re not walking away from me, or any of us tonight, especially when you’re dressed like that,” he says through his teeth, his grip around your wrist tightening with a possessive force that sends shivers of excitement through your body. He pulls you with him through the mansion, each step echoing on the cold flagstones, an echo of his dominance. You’re his, and every movement takes you further into this world of debauchery.

As you get closer to the backyard, the sounds of the party get louder. As soon as you step outside, the scene around the pool is a chaos of lust and excess. Half-naked students thrash around in the water, their bodies glistening with moisture as they touch each other unabashedly. Laughter and screams mix with moans, creating a symphony of pleasure that makes your heart beat wildly, like an intoxicating melody that awakens your senses.

In one corner, you see a group snorting cocaine, their slow, disordered movements betraying the effect of the drug. The more you observe, the more the reality of what is happening around you hits you. The obscene scenes unfold without any discretion. Here, an orgy breaks out without restraint, bodies intertwining, moans rising in the hot night air. Each scream, each moan of pleasure resonates in your head, awakening in you an insatiable desire, a need to immerse yourself in this chaotic and torrid atmosphere.

Jay guides you through this decadence, his cold and distant gaze showing that he is not impressed by this spectacle. He seems to revel in it, holding you tightly, as if to remind you that you are his, under his control. His fingers caress your skin, reminding you that at any moment, he can make you give in again, drag you into this whirlwind of excess and debauchery. Each contact between you is charged with a promise of pleasure, an obscene pact that you seal together in this diabolical night.

“Do you like it, doll?” he asks in a low voice, almost a breath. His gaze becomes provocative as he scans your face, trying to guess your thoughts, your hidden desires. The very idea of joining these feverish bodies excites you, and you are torn between fear and desire, your body demanding a release that only Jay seems capable of offering you.

“Maybe,” you answer, your voice trembling betraying your desire, excitement pulsing in your stomach. He lets out a dark laugh, a promise of what’s to come.

Before Jay can even say a word, Jake appears, seemingly emerging from the shadows like a mythical creature. His torn jacket hugs his muscular body, revealing scars marked on his torso, while a silver necklace hangs around his neck, accentuating his wild and bestial look. His eyes, highlighted by dark makeup, shine with an animalistic glow, revealing his predatory nature. The contrast between his brute strength and his irresistible charm immediately attracts attention, and several students can't help but stare at him, which makes you feel a pang of jealousy in your stomach. When he meets your gaze, a playful smile lights up his face, provocative, as he advances towards you, filled with a confidence that makes you shudder.

He steps so close that you can feel his warm breath against your skin. With a confident gesture, he cups your face in his hands, his fingers trailing over your cheek with a surprising softness, almost tenderness. “Hey, Mom, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips crashing to yours in a daring kiss. The contact, though brief, is electrifying; it leaves you panting, wanting more. Whispers of jealousy and envy rise around you, but he seems oblivious to what anyone thinks, revelling in your palpable need.

His lips barely part, just enough for him to look you in the eye, a provocative smile still on his lips. His hand slides insistently along the back of your neck, caressing your delicate skin, as he turns his gaze to Jay. “What do we do tonight?” he asks, his smooth voice tinged with a challenge.

Jay, who is watching the scene with a cold intensity, lets out an amused but protective smile. “As usual, nothing changes,” he replies, his tone sharp as a razor. He gives off an aura of dominance, a quiet strength that makes you shudder. His fingers tighten around your waist, making you shiver under the pressure of his grip. “We have fun, we fuck, and if there are any troublemakers, we’ll take care of them as usual.”

The words resonate in the air, heavy with obscene promises. He presses you a little closer to him, making you feel every muscle of his torso against your body. This proximity unsettles you, but at the same time, it gives you a pleasant warmth that warms you from the inside. The atmosphere is charged with an electric tension; you are caught between the two men, each giving off a magnetic power that attracts you inexorably.

“Nothing changes,” Jay repeats, his voice now a little lower, more insistent, as if he wants to make sure you understand the dynamic that’s taking hold. His dark eyes fix on you, burning with a possessiveness that makes you swoon. You feel like a toy in their hands, and you like the idea. Jake, though detached, doesn’t pass up an opportunity to assert his own power. He lets go of your hair, but his gaze remains on you, a provocative glint in his eyes.

“Okay, this will be fun,” Jake says, a flirtatious smile on his lips, his tongue sliding over his lips as if he’s already tasting the pleasure that awaits you. “I’ll pass the message on to Hee and Hoon, if I see them before you,” he adds, his tone deliberately light, but he knows that each word carries weight. The disappointed pout on your face doesn’t escape his notice, and he seems to take some pleasure in it.

“You know, I really like your costume,” Jake says, stepping a little closer, his eyes scanning your figure. “It looks amazing on you. You look like a real little bunny, ready to be devoured.” His gaze becomes more intense, almost animalistic, as he leans forward slightly, as if he really wants to taste what you have to offer.

“But you know who’ll appreciate this even more,” Jake murmurs, his hot breath caressing your cheek. His voice is a mix of teasing and sensuality, and each word resonates with you like a promise. He watches you closely, his dark eyes lingering on the way you bite your lip to stifle a moan. “It’s Hoon. He always calls you his bunny. And when he sees you in this outfit, he’s going to go crazy.”

The thrill of his words runs through you, a delicious, unsettling anticipation. You know he’s toying with you, drawing you into a whirlwind of desire and tension. Jake takes a step forward, moving so close you can feel the warmth of his body against yours, a dominant, electrifying presence. “I bet he won’t be able to resist touching you. Maybe he’ll even fuck you right here, in front of everyone, just to show how much his bunny needs him. He’ll make you scream with pleasure, until you pass out from exhaustion. You want that, don’t you? I’m sure that’s why you dressed up as a bunny slut.”

Every word Jake says pushes you deeper into a state of arousal. His hand slides over your jaw, caressing your skin with cruel delicacy. He forces you to raise your head, to meet his gaze, and you feel vulnerable but at the same time irresistibly drawn. His gaze is a promise of obscene pleasure, and you know he intends to make you fall under his spell.

“Jake…” you whisper, your voice trembling, almost pleading. The intensity of his gaze, loaded with desire, leaves you speechless. You are lost in his gaze, unable to look away as Jay’s fingers, behind you, begin to wander from your waist to your stomach. He caresses the fabric of your jumpsuit, his gestures becoming more and more provocative. You feel his arousal, and the tension between the three of you rises palpably.

Without warning, Jay's hand moves lower, his fingers slipping between your legs, finding your pussy, already wet with anticipation. "Fuck, he's gonna lose his mind for sure," Jay sneers, his voice laced with mischievous pleasure. He rubs the fabric of the suit against your sex, and each movement sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You start to squirm, seeking that delicious feeling, desperately drawn to the hands of the two men surrounding you. "Fuck, she's not even wearing panties. You've already gotten yourself ready for us, baby. She's a good girl."

You feel trapped between their desire and their power, a thrill of excitement and fear mixing as you cling to Jake’s jacket, realizing how much you are at their mercy. His presence is overwhelming, but at the same time, he makes you vibrate with a need you’ve never truly acknowledged. You know you’re crossing a dangerous line, but the excitement consumes you.

Jake slides his fingers over your lips, forcing you to release the grip you have on yourself. His fingers are sticky with your lip gloss, and he smiles, a predatory smile, as he hears the small sounds of pleasure that escape your mouth. “That’s it, Mom, let us hear it all,” he says, his voice husky and full of promise. He begins to squeeze your chest under your suit, and you feel the pressure intensify, making your breathing harder, but also more exciting. Every movement of his hands becomes a challenge to your will.

Jay’s fingers tighten around your waist, forcing you to arch your back further, your back arching under the pressure of his touch. “You’re so beautiful,” Jake whispers in your ear, his voice a whisper of desire. Each word makes your heart beat faster, and you know you’re about to lose control. Jay’s movements become bolder, his fingers sliding beneath the fabric, reaching your burning flesh, and you want to lose yourself in the mixture of pain and pleasure.

“Let yourself go, baby,” Jay continues, his voice husky and full of filthy intent. Every movement of his fingers on your body makes you vibrate, and you feel like you’re crossing a limit you never dared to consider. The heat between your thighs is unbearable, and you need more, desperately clinging to the reality of this moment.

The tension is palpable. You know what’s happening here isn’t just a game. It’s a dangerous dance, a ball of unfulfilled desires and raw passions. The whispers of the other students echo through the room, a melody of disinhibition, while your body reacts instinctively to every caress, every pressure. The atmosphere is charged with obscene promises and unspoken fantasies.

“You’re mine,” Jake whispers, his gaze boring into yours with an intensity that makes every fiber of your being quiver. His words, heavy with promise, resonate like a declaration of war, asserting his possession with disconcerting confidence. As he leans towards you, his lips brush yours, a caress that is both gentle and provocative. He stops just before the contact is fully made, a delicious power play that leaves you panting, your eyes fixed on him, searching for what he promised.

His hand slides along your waist, exploring each curve with calculated delicacy, as if he were sculpting your body into his own work of art. His fingers, cold against your burning skin, run over the fabric of your suit, tracing imaginary lines on your flesh. You shudder under his touch, breathless, an irresistible heat rising within you as he gets closer, almost too close. You can feel his palpable desire, a fire burning between you, ready to ignite the moment.

“You’re mine,” Jake whispers, his gaze intense and possessive fixed on yours. His hot breath brushes your lips, creating an electric tension that makes your heart race. “This is all ours.” His words, laden with obscene promises, hang in the air like a declaration of war against anything that might interfere with your moment.

He leans closer, his lips brushing against yours without ever quite touching, leaving you suspended in an unbearable state of anticipation. Each caress of his fingers explores the curves of your body with brutal delicacy, his hands running down your waist, then slowly sliding down to your hips, where he can feel the warmth of your skin. His intentions are clear, and you feel his desire pulsing with each touch.

Behind you, Jay, with his haunting gaze, intensifies the game. His nimble fingers work hard on your pussy, exploring every nook and cranny with disconcerting mastery. The sensation of his touch makes you shiver, each movement of his fingers on your sensitive skin plunging you into a sea of pleasure. His thumb finds your clit, sliding gently, then rubbing with precision. Each pressure and caress makes you gasp, eliciting moans that escape your lips without you being able to hold them back.

“Fuck, you’re so receptive,” Jay murmurs, his voice low and thick with desire, as if he’s entranced by your response to his touch. He picks up the pace, playing with the wetness of your pussy, driving you completely crazy with pleasure. Your body arches, seeking more contact, more friction. The heat that invades you becomes unbearable, and you bite your lip to keep from screaming.

Jake, seeing your state, can't help but smile. "Look at her," he says to Jay, his voice tinged with a sick satisfaction. "She can't even control herself anymore. That's exactly what I want." His hand slides slowly along your thigh, and you feel his ardent gaze on you, as if he could already undress you with the power of his mind alone. Every movement he makes reminds you of how much you are at his mercy.

Jay slowly removes his fingers from your pussy, leaving you on the edge of desire, frustrated and panting. The orgasm that was so close fades, and a small moan of confusion and disappointment escapes your lips. He smooths the fabric of your slip back with deliberate nonchalance, his hand sliding over your body like a reminder of what was taken from you. His gaze, full of mischief, scrutinizes your reaction, savoring every moment of your dismay. Then, in a languid movement, he brings his fingers to his lips, licking the mixture of your arousal, his smile widening as he soaks in your sweetness.

“You won’t come until we’re all gathered and inside you,” he whispers, his voice soft as velvet, but laced with an authority that electrifies you. His fingers gently stroke the back of your neck, and you shiver, pouting.

“Come on, don’t pout, Mom,” Jake says, his lips coming closer to yours, before placing a light, almost playful kiss on them. A soft laugh escapes him, and you feel carried away by the feeling of his lips against yours.

As you bite his lip softly, trying to chastise him for his playfulness, Jake pulls back slightly, sliding his lips to your cheek. His voice is a whisper laden with lewd promises: “You’re going to cum so much for us that you’ll beg us to stop.” It’s not a threat, but a promise, a challenge that makes you shudder. You know he’s serious, that all four of them intend to make you lose control. His bright gaze scans you intensely before he pulls away, giving you a small, playful wink as he leaves you with Jay.

Jay, still behind you, steps back and turns you around slowly, caressing the tip of your nose tenderly. A shiver runs through you, caused by the contrast between the gentleness of this gesture and the brutal way he previously handled you. "If you sulk, you won't be allowed to cum at all," he says, an amused sneer in his voice. His tone is both light and domineering, making you understand that he's not joking. Seeing your forced little smile, he allows himself to mock you: "There, that's much better. See you later, doll." A kiss on the tip of your nose, then he walks away, leaving you alone with your troubled thoughts.

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to be left alone,” you yell, the irony of the situation not lost on you. You glare disapprovingly at his retreating back. Suddenly, muscular arms wrap around you. The heat of his body washes over you, and you gasp softly, a wave of arousal coursing through you as you’re pressed against him.

“Hey, beautiful, by any chance, have you seen my bunny?” Sunghoon’s voice insinuates itself into your ear like a delicious caress, but his tone is loaded with provocation. His fingers slide slowly over your stomach, digging into your flesh, awakening shivers with each touch. An intense heat spreads through you, like a surging wave that overwhelms you and electrifies you.

“No… but I could very well be, if you really want me to.” Your voice is soft, tinged with a palpable sensuality, your provocation wrapped in a burning desire. You press your buttocks against his crotch, feeling the hardness of his erection rub against your skin. His soft moan in your ear vibrates through your entire being, a call to debauchery that makes you lose all control.

“She’s unique, you know. I’m not sure you can compete with her… But you could always try.” His tone is soft, almost hypnotic, as he pulls you even closer to him. He turns you around with a confidence that captivates you, his eyes shining with a bold mischief devouring every detail of your face, every nuance of your makeup that accentuates your charm. You are forbidden fruit, irresistible and dangerous at the same time.

“Look at me, Hoon. It’s me.” You breathe, your arms wrapping around his neck, your heart racing. Your entire body is vibrating with desire. You scrutinize his outfit hungrily. The long black velvet coat envelops him like a seductive shadow, while the leather details betray a dark elegance. The night light dances on the fabric, revealing ominous reflections that highlight his allure. His white shirt, slightly wrinkled, lets out sleeves that add a touch of casualness to his captivating image. The black leather gloves he wears accentuate his menacing nature, his high boots pounding the ground with a deliciously intimidating confidence.

Your gaze is drawn to the delicately ornate metal mask that partially hides his face, adding an aura of mystery to his charisma. The black shadows around his eyes give him a captivating and hypnotic look, and the black cane adorned with occult symbols that he holds in his hand only accentuates his dark charm.

“I’m your bunny, Hoon.” Your voice trembles slightly as you devour him with your eyes, feeling an intense heat spread through your pussy. Your breathing becomes faster, each beat of your heart resounding like an invitation to ecstasy.

“That’s right, my dear, you’re my precious bunny.” He nods, tightening his grip on his cane and your waist, his gaze fixed on your lips, consuming you with desire. “You need me so much, don’t you?” His gloved fingers slide down your back, exploring every curve, every fold of your flesh with delicious slowness. He moves down to your ass, kneading gently, each movement awakening a growing desire, an urgent need for him.

Suddenly, without warning, he gives you a sharp slap on the buttocks. The sound resonates like a clap of thunder, making you moan in surprise and pleasure. You lean slightly towards him, your mouth half open, eager for a kiss, but he waits, a mischievous smile on his lips. The game is his, and he won't give in easily.

“Please… Hoon—” your plea escapes your lips, filled with an urgency that’s both desperate and delicious. You barely finish your sentence when he pushes you against him, forcing you onto your tiptoes. His lips press against yours, hot and possessive, and you feel his body press against yours, his manhood hard against your thigh.

He kisses you with a devouring fervor, his hands taking hold of your ass, his grip tightening, pulling you closer. His tongue infiltrates your mouth, conquering, playing with yours, enveloping it with an insatiable desire. You moan against him, your heart beating wildly.

Then, he suddenly releases his grip, pulling your hair back to better explore your face. He scrutinizes your eyes dilated by the ardor, nibbling on your lower lip before sucking it between his teeth. He releases with a last bite, leaving you panting, before pulling a little harder on your hair, forcing your lips apart.

“Look at me,” he whispers, his voice husky like a rumble of thunder as he leans down, spitting into your mouth. The warmth of his saliva slides down your throat, and instinctively, you swallow, feeling your body clench around the raw sensation, the mixture of disgust and pleasure that awakens an even greater thirst in you.

“You’re the only one for me, my precious bunny, and I’m the only one for you.” His voice almost trails off, like a whisper in the dark, as you nod slightly, inviting him to kiss you again.

When your lips meet again, the kiss becomes fierce, wild. You tug on his hair from time to time, offering him a sweetness mixed with pain, and he responds with an intensity that makes you shudder. His tongue sinks deep into your throat, and you clench your flesh around it, your breathing quickening in time with his insatiable desire.

“Hey! Get a room.” Heeseung chuckles as he approaches you, sticking to your back, his hot breath caressing the nape of your neck. Sunghoon, meanwhile, shows no signs of letting go; his tongue is still deeply embedded in your mouth, exploring every nook and cranny with insatiable greed. You feel the cool leather of his glove slide along your ass, his fingers expertly playing with the small tail of your suit, caressing your skin in a way that is both delicate and provocative. The excitement quickly turns into a burning desire, and despite your efforts to pull away, he holds you firmly against him, forcing you to grind against his muscular body.

“Is that a way of telling me to fuck off?” Heeseung asks with a slight chuckle, but the shadow of jealousy permeates his voice, resonating in the already tense atmosphere. His fingers slide gently along your back, a caress both tender and possessive, as he boldly ventures forward, his cold hands meeting the warmth of your skin. He caresses your chest, his palms exploring your body with an almost devouring sensuality. In one fluid gesture, he pulls down the zipper of your suit, the cool air hitting you like a wave of arousal, as his hands linger on the sensitive skin of your breasts.

“At least it’s said nicely,” Sunghoon replies, pulling his lips from yours. His breath is short, thick with desire, as his eyes, dark and full of passion, stare at you. The tension between them is palpable, a play of power and dominance that makes your heart beat faster. Heeseung begins to explore your chest, his hands kneading your flesh with an intensity that makes you moan. The sound resonates in the air, and you feel trapped between them, your head pressed against Sunghoon’s muscular neck, every movement of his body against yours intensifying the desire.

“She doesn’t belong to you alone,” Heeseung declares, glaring at Sunghoon, his voice vibrating with silent defiance. Heeseung’s hands continue to torture your chest, his fingers digging into your delicate flesh, and you can’t help but moan, ecstasy mixing with pain. It’s a delicious dance, a struggle for possession, and every caress, every tug of his fingers leaves you panting.

“I know,” Sunghoon retorts with a slight chuckle, his voice husky, like a rumble of thunder. He pulls your head back with possessive delicacy, forcing you to look him in the eye. “It feels like someone’s jealous, bunny. Show him you belong to him too, that you belong to us.” His lips brush yours, a promise of dark pleasure, and you feel a wave of heat rising inside you. He pulls back just enough for you to come face to face with Heeseung, who curses under his breath, releasing your breasts, but his gaze is heavy with desire, as if he’s fighting a wave of possessiveness.

Heeseung is a tableau of unfulfilled desires, his black shirt partially unbuttoned revealing a muscular torso adorned with red markings symbolizing flames. The horns on his head, both elegant and menacing, add a dimension of danger to his allure. His hair, tinged with red and orange, falls over his forehead, accentuating his fierce gaze. As you watch him, you feel an irresistible urge to touch those markings, to explore them with your tongue, but you restrain yourself, knowing that every gesture must be measured, every interaction carefully calibrated.

“You’re so beautiful, Hee,” you whisper, clinging to his leather jacket, your fingers sliding over the cool leather. Heat rises in your cheeks as you look into his eyes, seeking validation for your desire. “And I belong to you,” you add, your voice soft but laden with an insidious promise, before leaning down to him, crushing your chest against his chest, leaving hot kisses on his skin, each touch awakening a new wave of pleasure.

“Fuck, honey, you want to kill me before it’s time?” he asks, his soft, husky voice echoing in your ear as he zips up your suit. He sees the shivers running down your spine, and in a protective gesture, he presses your body against his. His warmth consumes you, and you feel your heart racing, the tension between you reaching a fever pitch.

Heeseung can still feel you shivering in the cool evening wind, and with a thoughtfulness mixed with desire, he steps away for a moment to hand you his leather jacket. As he wraps it around you, he takes care to make sure you’re well protected, almost as if he wants to protect you from all the unpleasantness of the outside world. The texture of the leather against your skin is both comforting and electrifying, like a soft hug enveloping you. The musky scent of his rich, warm perfume embraces you, reminding you of how much he cares for you. It’s not just a gesture of care, but a silent promise that he’s here to watch over you.

“Hey, that wasn’t necessary, I can handle it,” you say, laughing softly, but a smile betrays the warmth that floods you at the thoughtful gesture. Your heart races as you see the determined expression on his face, a mix of pride and worry in his eyes. It touches you deeply. It’s that attention to detail, that willingness to make sure you’re okay, that melts you. You realize that this isn’t just a physical gesture; it’s a manifestation of his feelings for you, a way to show that he cares about your well-being.

“It’s worth it if it’s you, Y/n, always,” he replies, his voice soft but filled with a comforting insistence. His eyes scan every detail of your face, trying to detect all the emotions that are mixed there. The way he leans slightly, as if to make sure you’re comfortable, makes a soft warmth rise in your chest. Each gesture, each word, strengthens this invisible bond between you, making the atmosphere palpable with tenderness.

He then slides a hand under his jacket, his fingers delicately brushing the underside of your buttocks, barely covered by your jumpsuit, playing with your fishnet tights. This delicate contact makes you shiver with desire, a wave of anticipation taking hold of your body. A slight shiver runs down your spine, and a moan escapes your lips without you being able to hold back. The proximity between you creates a bubble of intimacy, cutting you off from the rest of the world. In this embrace, time seems to stop; there is only him, you, and this intoxicating heat that unites you, reinforcing each beat of your hearts in harmony.

“Thank you,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around him to snuggle against his chest. The warmth of his body against yours is so comforting that you feel like you’re losing yourself in the embrace. His arms squeeze you gently, shielding you from the shadows of the night, and you feel his heart beat in time with yours. It’s an intimate melody that seems to resonate around you, a shared rhythm that strengthens your connection.

Heeseung looks into your eyes, trying to read all your thoughts, and you feel your heart warm under his attentive gaze. “You are so precious to me,” he finally says, his voice a soft whisper that envelops you like a warm blanket. Each word resonates within you, touching you deeply. In this suspended moment, you realize how much he means to you. His presence is comforting, like a beacon in the night, and you know you are safe here, with him.

“You’re my everything,” you answer, your eyes shining with emotion. In that moment, you understand that what you feel for each other is something rare and precious. It’s not just a physical attraction, but a soul-to-soul connection, an instinctive understanding of what the other feels.

Heeseung leans down slightly, his lips brushing your forehead in a tender gesture. It’s a touch so gentle that it makes you shiver, enveloping you in a feeling of peace. His hand slides gently into your hair, tenderly caressing your head, and you let yourself go, closing your eyes for a moment to savor this moment of sweetness. It’s a mixture of passion and tenderness, a perfect balance that transports you to a state of fullness.

“Let’s stay here, just the two of us,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. He nods softly, his eyes shining with understanding and love. In this bubble of intimacy, everything else disappears. There is no more noise, no more movement, just the two of you, entwined, lost in this world that belongs to you. Every second is precious, and you know you want this to last forever.

The softness of his caresses, the warmth of his body, the sound of his heart… all this envelops you like a sweet melody, a symphony of emotions that unites you even more. You feel light, almost ethereal, as if you were floating above reality, outside of time and space. It is a transcendent experience, where each shared moment is a celebration of the love you have built together.

Heeseung finally leans down to kiss you softly on the lips, a light and tender kiss, full of promises. It’s not a kiss of devouring passion, but rather a gentle caress, an affirmation of your connection. The taste of his lips is familiar, and you’re intoxicated by this intimacy, by this bond that unites you.

After that kiss, he looks into your eyes, and you can see the burning love that resides there. “You are my treasure,” he whispers, his words wrapped in tenderness. The statement resonates within you, and you know you are exactly where you need to be. In that suspended moment, you feel complete, filled with pure happiness.

Heeseung then begins to play with the strands of your hair, his fingers delicately wrapping around them, and you feel a gentle warmth take hold of your heart. His caress is so light that it seems almost unreal, and each passage of his fingers envelops you in infinite tenderness. It's as if he's trying to root you in this moment, to remind you how much you are loved.

You don't know how it happened, but here you are, alone by the pool, lost in a sea of drunken bodies swaying to the rhythm of the deafening music. The air is saturated with uncontrolled laughter and the smell of sweat mixed with cheap perfumes. The twinkling lights above you dance like inaccessible stars, reflecting on the surface of the dark water, creating moving shadows that seem to haunt you, like mocking ghosts of a party you never really belonged to. You desperately search for one of the four boys who have managed to conquer your heart, but anxiety grips you like a vice.

You are alone, so terribly alone, lost in this lively crowd that laughs and dances, indifferent to your growing discomfort.

The music pulses in your ears, each beat resonating in your skull as you walk along the edge of the pool, trying to keep your balance. The alcohol you ingested has left you dizzy, disoriented, as if the world is spinning around you, a whirlwind of colors and sounds. Each sip of that sugary drink has blurred your memory, enveloping you in a euphoric haze, but at what cost?

Suddenly, the slippery ground betrays you. Your feet slip on the wet edge, and before you can comprehend what's happening, a hand closes around your wrist with brutal force. The pain flares, sharp, and a cold shiver runs through you.

“You should be more careful,” a cold voice says, echoing like thunder in the tumult of the party. It’s Mark, one of Jaehyun’s friends. His dark, pitch-black gaze pierces you, freezing you in place. His grip on your wrist tightens, snapping you out of your stupor, and you instantly feel vulnerable, exposed to his cruelty. You give him a shy smile, but it’s tinged with gratitude and shame. Jaehyun is still in the hospital, and every moment you spend here enjoying yourself reminds you of the pain he’s going through. It’s been a month now, and guilt is choking you, a snake slithering around your neck. How can you allow yourself to smile, to laugh, to live, while he fights for his life, cloistered in a hospital bed, his body broken by circumstances you can’t understand?

“Thank you,” you whisper, trying to pull your hand out of his grip, but he grips it even tighter, causing a whimper of pain to escape your lips. Panic sets in as you glance around desperately, but the others are too drunk, too lost in their own worlds to realize what’s happening right next to them. Their laughter rings out like a mockery, ignoring your distress as you’re torn between the urge to run and the desire to be saved.

“I see you managed to bend all four of the fucking Black Apollos,” he says, a sharp mockery laced with rage in his voice. He pulls you towards him, his face so close to yours that you can feel his hot, fetid breath, thick with alcohol and contempt. His gaze is a sea of hatred. “Meanwhile, Jaehyun, one of your students, is stuck in a hospital bed like a piece of trash. He can’t even open his mouth anymore. And you continue to wallow in this shitty life as if nothing is happening. Do you really have any decency?” Every word he says is like a stab, driving the blades of your guilt deeper into your heart. The anger he releases fills the air with suffocating tension, and he yanks your arm roughly, causing hot tears to run down your cheeks, forcing you to remember the pain of another, through your own suffering.

“Mark… please,” you plead, your voice shaking, but he doesn’t give you time to finish. He tugs at your hair, the pain radiating through your head like wildfire, each strand pulled out seeming to remind you of your vulnerability. A scream escapes your lips, but it’s lost in the din of the party, and no one sees you, no one hears you. The laughter and music drown out your despair, leaving you alone with your fear.

His fingers dig into your flesh, tearing out strands as he leans closer, his face set in a cruel smile, a rictus of sadistic satisfaction.

“You don’t deserve to be a teacher,” he growls, his voice full of contempt, poison sliding off his tongue. “You whore.” His words are arrows, each aimed at a sensitive spot, sending you reeling between rage and humiliation. He doesn’t release his grip on your hair, and he leans down, his hand gripping your throat, squeezing with all his might. You feel the world around you blur as anxiety and terror mix, wrapping you in a veil of despair. Your heart races, beating so hard you fear it will explode. Each beat echoes in your ears like a war drum, a prelude to your imminent downfall.

“I didn’t want to kill you right away,” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin, a barely veiled threat. “I wanted to see what was so special about your pussy that they were all so addicted to you. But I can still do it… once you’re dead.” He laughs, a dark, heartbreaking sound, like a predator savoring the moment before the killing blow. He presses even harder on your throat, slowly choking you, and you start to gasp, the blackness of terror slowly swallowing you up.

Your limbs weaken, and you struggle frantically, clawing at his hand until your nails are covered in blood, but his grip tightens even more. The veins in your forehead pulse, swollen with fear, and you feel a sharp pain in your throat, as if your life is slipping away from you. The world becomes a colorful blur, the faces of others blending into a grotesque dance, a macabre farce in which you are the sacrificial victim.

You feel yourself losing control, your body beginning to relax as your vision darkens, the black slowly swallowing you up. Each second seems to stretch, time twisting around you like a coiled snake. Your mind spirals into a spiral of terror, one thought assailing you: you are ready to give up, to let yourself be carried away by the darkness that calls to you. In that final moment, one thought crosses your mind: what you wanted, what you could have been, now engulfed in despair.

Mark, still there, smiling as if his victory was already assured, a predator savoring the moment before the fatal blow. His eyes shine with a sick pleasure, a glint of sadism in his gaze. The world around you becomes a distant echo, every sound distorting into an unbearable cacophony. And you, reduced to prey, struggle, but every movement seems more and more futile, like a fly trapped in a spider's web.

Anguish and terror envelop you like a second skin, leaving you with only one terrifying truth: you are at his mercy, a plaything in the hands of a madman. As your mind reels, a final silent scream echoes in your head, a desperate plea for someone, anyone, to save you from this hell. But in this party, this carnival of debauchery, no one notices your ordeal. You are invisible, a shadow among many others, and in that moment, you understand that the real fear is not that of dying, but that of being forgotten, lost in the darkness.

Mark is so absorbed in his act of violence that he doesn't notice the stealthy approach of Sunghoon, Jay, Jake, and Heeseung. Focused on his desire to destroy your life, he doesn't see the storm of anger brewing behind him. It's only when the ground cracks beneath their feet that Mark turns around, and his gaze meets that of the four boys. Fury and determination shine in their eyes, a fire that contrasts with the darkness of his soul. The palpable tension envelops them, a shiver of danger in the air.

When Mark releases you, your body collapses into the pool, a puppet whose strings have been cut. The sound of water splashes around you, and in an instant, everything goes silent. His cocky smile freezes, as Jake, with determined precision, dives into the water. The surface chugs, and he struggles to find you in the tumult. Every second that passes feels like an eternity, every beat of his heart echoing like a war drum in his head.

When Jake finally grabs you, time seems to freeze. Your body floats, inert, the water dripping off you as if it’s carrying away the last fragments of your life. The icy coldness of your skin hits him hard, like a brutal punch that knocks the breath out of him. His once-hot anger dissipates, replaced by a visceral fear, a fear he’s never felt before, a primal terror that grips his heart. He hugs you with frantic gentleness, pulling you out of the water, his heart beating so hard it hurts. He barely hears the sound of the others attacking Mark—all he sees, all there is to him in this moment, is you.

When he finally reaches the edge, he sets you down on the ground, adrenaline pumping through his body. The sounds of the party fade away, and only the heavy silence of anguish remains. He grabs your arm, desperately searching for a pulse, but he finds nothing. A cold terror washes over him, freezing him in place. It feels like the whole world is collapsing around him.

“No… please, wake up,” he whispers, his voice shaking, a silent cry of anguish. He begins to give you CPR, his trembling hands settling on your chest. Each pressure is a mixture of hope and despair, each second that passes brings him closer to the abyss. He feels the absence of life, and with it, the fear he’s always had of losing you comes to fruition, materializing like a dark shadow above him.

“Wake up, damn it!” His voice grows louder, full of desperation, but the sound is lost in the tumult of the party. All he sees is your limp body, and his heart breaks. Tears start to fall down his cheeks, burning like acid, each drop a fragment of his soul. Anguish washes over him, seeping into every corner of his mind. He remembers your smile, the warmth of your laughter, and those memories become daggers stuck in his heart.

His determination turns to desperation as he continues to apply pressure, hoping that his love can bring you back.

“I can’t lose you! Not now, not like this!” he screams, his voice torn, but even that seems futile. He leans closer, his face turned toward the night sky, as if the stars could offer him an answer, a solution. Each beat of his heart echoes in his ears like a countdown. He presses again, each squeeze on your chest a desperate cry for life, but each time it’s like he’s driving a dagger into his own heart. The lack of response from your body is unbearable torture.

He begins to imagine a future without you, and it destroys him even more. The images of you two together, of your laughter and your dreams, turn into shadows on a black wall. The pain is so intense that he feels like his heart is going to burst. “Wake up, I beg you!” It’s a plea, a cry of desperation, a silent promise that he’ll never let you go.

Time seems to slow down, each second expanding into eternal agony. There is only anguish pulsing around him, a black tide of despair. His hands grow heavy, tired from the effort, but he refuses to give up. He is trapped in this moment, between life and death, between hope and despair.

With every movement, every squeeze, he hopes to see a reaction, a shudder of life. He cries harder, his tears mixing with the water of the pool, a silent prayer above you. “I won’t let you go, I can’t live without you!” It’s a declaration of war against the inevitable, a cry into the void that echoes in his heart. He feels lost, as if he’s drowning in his own despair, and the darkness that surrounds him seems to swallow him up little by little.

Jake, in his desperate struggle, realizes that the only thing he has left is hope. Hope that you will come back, that you will breathe again. But as the seconds stretch by, a devastating truth sets in: he could lose you. And that thought, that horror, is more than he can bear. He vows to do anything to bring you back, to make you come back to life, no matter the cost. The tears flow freely, a mixture of desperation and love, a silent prayer for you to come back to him, so that he can hold you in his arms once more.

He leans closer, his tears falling on your face. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice a lost breath, thick with pain. “I love you, and I can’t imagine a world without you.” His words are a mix of promise and desperation, a cry from his soul. Each syllable echoes in the air, a poignant confession that may very well be his last. He closes his eyes for a moment, imagining a future where he could find you again, where you could smile again.

“Please, come back to me,” he pleads, his voice breaking. He keeps pushing, hoping, crying. In the oppressive darkness, he finds an unexpected strength, a determination not to let the darkness win. Every squeeze of your chest is a declaration of his love, a promise that he won’t let you go without a fight.

Anguish mixes with hope, a tragic dance that envelops him, and he knows that as long as he has breath, he will fight for you. “I love you so much,” he repeats, like a mantra, a desperate litany. He doesn’t know if you can hear him, but he hopes with all his heart that somewhere, deep within you, you feel his love, that flame that refuses to die.

Jake's hands are red, sore, shaking with the effort. He can feel his muscles clenching, burning with the strain, but he can't stop. He pounds your chest with fierce desperation, each blow echoing in the night like a cry of pain, as if he's trying to bring you back through sheer force of will. "I love you..." he breathes in a rasp, his voice broken, almost unrecognizable under the magnitude of his pain.

His heart is pounding, his chest tight with fear and terror. He feels like he’s being eaten alive from the inside by this fear, this horrible certainty that you might not come back, that you might leave forever, leaving him alone in a world that’s become unbearably empty. He’s never felt such pain, a gaping hole opening in his chest, an emotional wound that refuses to close. Every second you lie still under his hands, your body refusing to respond, is agony.

He continues, his movements becoming more disordered, more desperate. He hits your chest as if trying to break an invisible barrier between you and him, his breath short, tears blinding his eyes. The whole world fades away around him, all that exists is you, lying before him, and this visceral fear of losing you.

So when you suddenly cough, forcing a stream of water out of your mouth, his mind takes a moment to process what just happened. A raspy sound escapes your lips, followed by convulsive spasms, and he immediately turns you onto your side, heart pounding, his hands still shaking as he supports you. The relief is brutal, almost painful, as he watches you expel the water from your lungs, slowly regaining consciousness. He watches you with wide eyes, his breath short, unable to say a word, so overwhelming is the emotion.

But that relief is instantly replaced by a residual fear, still too intense to fade away. He turns you over gently, almost in a trance, his frantic gestures giving way to infinite tenderness. He places you on your back and collapses against you, his body trembling from all the effort he has just deployed. His head rests gently on your chest, his ear pressed against your beating heart, and he closes his eyes, as if he needs to feel this rhythm to believe that all this is not a dream, that you are really here, alive.

The steady beat of your heart against his ear is the only sound he wants to hear, each beat bringing him closer to reality. His tears continue to fall, but this time, they are no longer filled with fear. It is a brutal relief, a painful release, a burden finally fading. It is the only anchor he clings to keep from sinking completely. He listens, letting the beats erase the memories of anguish that nearly broke him. His tears, hot and uncontrolled, mix with the wetness that covers your body, but they no longer carry the weight of fear.

“God, you’re alive…” He sobs, his voice cracking with emotion. He tightens his hold around you, refusing to let go, refusing to let you move away even a little. His arms close around you, protective, desperate, and he holds you against him as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away from him again.

You're alive. The idea seems unreal to him. He squeezes you a little tighter, as if he's afraid you'll fade away again, slip through his fingers. He clings to you desperately, his body trembling from head to toe, emotions mixing inside him, too strong, too powerful for him to comprehend. A mixture of fear, relief, sadness, and intense love overwhelms him, a wave of emotions so violent that he feels like he's drowning.

“I love you…” he whispers, barely audible, his voice trembling. It’s no longer a cry of despair, but a raw, visceral declaration, born from the depths of his soul. It’s a truth he can no longer keep quiet, that he no longer has the strength to hold back. These words are all he has left to express the storm raging inside him. “I love you, I love you so much…”

He stays like that, motionless, his head still against your chest, listening to the beating of your heart as if to convince himself that it is real. His tears continue to flow, silently, and he doesn't even try to stop them anymore. Tired and exhausted, his body drained of all energy, he lets himself go, seeking comfort in the warmth of your body.

You gently slide your fingers through his hair, your movements slow, still clumsy, but full of gentleness. Even though you are still weak, your breath ragged, you find the strength to murmur a few reassuring words. "I'm here..." you say in a weak, almost inaudible voice, but to him, these words are everything. They are a balm on his broken heart, a promise that you have returned, that you have not left him.

He clings to you with an almost desperate intensity, his face buried in your neck, his sobs becoming quieter, but just as heartbreaking. He almost lost you. The thought continues to swirl through his mind, refusing to fade. He can't imagine what it would have been like. That black hole he was about to sink into, that endless void, is still there, but it's slowly moving away, pushed back by your presence.

Your heart beats against his cheek, and that's all that matters.

Jay stared at Mark with a terrifying coldness, his eyes reduced to icy slits that showed no mercy. Mark's smirk, even with his lips split and blood trickling at the corners of his mouth, made Jay want to vomit. The man standing before them wasn't just an enemy; he was the embodiment of everything rotten, corrupt, and sick in this world. And today, they were going to eradicate him in the most brutal way possible.

Jay exhaled slowly, the air filling his lungs like a breath of poison. A half-smoldering cigarette hung between his fingers, the red-hot tip casting hellish reflections in the dim light. He hoped the smoke, thick and acrid, could soothe the trembling in his hands, but it was no use. Nothing could calm the storm of violence rumbling inside him. Rage, pure and visceral, pulsed beneath his skin like a lurking beast, waiting for its moment to strike.

Mark stood there, tied tightly to that chair. His wrists red from the rope, his protruding knuckles white from the futile effort to free himself. He laughed. The son of a bitch was still laughing, his hoarse voice echoing through the room like a cruel mockery, each sneer a knife to Jay's mind. How could he dare smile again after what he'd tried to do?

He had almost killed her. Their wife. Their reason for existing.

Jay threw his cigarette to the ground, crushing it with an angry kick of his heel. His whole body was tense, his muscles ready to explode, to make this bastard pay for every second of pain he had inflicted on you. Sunghoon and Heeseung were no better. They were also consumed by this implacable anger, this devouring desire for revenge that bound them all together in this stifling room. The atmosphere was heavy, charged with electricity, like the wait before a storm.

Heeseung, seemingly calmer, approached Mark. His silhouette stood out in the darkness, a menacing shadow. He still held his glass of bourbon in his hand, his fingers caressing the crystal as if he were still thinking about how best to break this man. But Jay could see in his eyes that there was no room for reflection here. This was the moment for action. Pure vengeance.

“So that’s it…” Heeseung murmured, his voice soft but sharp as a blade, a threat hidden beneath an icy calm. “You really had the balls to go after what doesn’t belong to you.”

Mark slowly raised his head, his predatory grin still plastered on his lips. His face was already covered in sweat, pain beginning to creep through his veins, but it only fueled his contempt. “I should have fucked her in front of you…” he blurted out, his words oozing with poison. He spat blood onto the ground, before licking his lips in an obscene gesture. “Make her scream until her voice cracks. Then kill her slowly.” He sneered, relishing the shock he hoped to see in their eyes. “And if she’s still alive, I’ll finish the job. I’ll send you her head as a gift.”

Jay felt something snap inside him. Mark’s words weren’t just words anymore; they were blades, fangs digging into his flesh, into his soul. Mark’s laughter echoed through the room, amplified by the echo. A black, unfathomable rage seized him, but he forced himself to stay still, his hands clenched at his sides, shaking with the effort.

Sunghoon, who had been hanging back until then, stepped forward slowly. His movements were almost methodical, deliberately measured. First he removed the cufflinks from his shirt, letting the buttons fall with a soft thud. Then he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, revealing his muscular forearms, each movement calculated, a ritual before the slaughter. He said nothing. He didn’t need to. His mere presence was a silent threat, an omen of pain to come. He picked up a metal baseball bat that had been lying in the corner of the room, his fingers tightening around the handle with frightening familiarity.

The metal scraped against the ground with a dull, metallic sound, a deadly rumble that echoed through the heavy air. Sunghoon stepped closer to Mark, his eyes as cold as stone, and twirled the bat between his fingers, the head of the weapon resting mere inches from Mark's left hand. He pressed gently, just enough to feel the pressure without causing immediate pain.

“Choose,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice cold as death. “Head, legs, or belly.”

Mark didn't lose his composure. He sneered again, blood mingling with his sneers, and spat out one last taunt. "I choose your fucking bitch."

It was instantaneous. The metal bat rose through the air with disconcerting speed, slicing through space with a terrifying hiss. Then it came down on Mark’s face with inhuman brutality. The crack that followed was vile. The sound of bone breaking, flesh tearing. Mark’s nose exploded on impact, sending blood and teeth flying across the dirty floor. He screamed, but the sound was muffled by the pain, his dislocated jaw making his cries almost unintelligible.

Blood spurted out in abundance, a red cascade that spread across his chest, soaking his clothes. His head fell back, hanging, as he fought not to lose consciousness. But the pain was too raw, too absolute. The metal had left its mark on him, not only on his face, but in his soul.

Jay stepped closer, watching the spectacle with cold satisfaction. The sight of Mark, writhing in pain, his face unrecognizable from the blows, filled Jay with a certain unhealthy calm. It was as if, finally, things were falling into place again.

“Good shot, Hoon,” Jay said, his voice devoid of any warmth, his gaze fixed on Mark who was panting, trying to spit out the blood that was filling his mouth. But that was just the beginning. Jay wasn’t done with him yet. None of them were done.

Heeseung snorted, a low, menacing sound that seemed to vibrate through the thick air of the room. He reached into his pants pocket and slowly pulled out a Swiss Army knife, playing the blade between his fingers with eerie fluidity. The metallic click sounded cold and sharp as the dim light of the basement reflected off the gleaming steel. Heeseung moved forward, each step a dull echo on the bare concrete floor, until he stood right next to Mark, the man tied to the chair, his face swollen and bloodied but still defiant. That smirk on his chapped lips hadn’t faded yet. He thought he could still play.

Heeseung stared at him for a moment, his dark eyes betraying a world of inner chaos. Mark had tried to push you away from him. Worse yet, he had hurt you, and every thought that brought Heeseung back to that reality made a cold, almost uncontrollable rage swell within him. His fingers clenched around the handle of the knife as he fought the urge to immediately plunge the blade into this man’s throat. No. He couldn’t kill him right now. Not yet. It would have been too easy, too quick. Mark had to understand. He had to suffer.

Heeseung stopped in front of him, right next to Sunghoon, who was leaning nonchalantly on the bat now covered in blood and his closed face betrayed the same contained anger. Silence had settled between them, a heavy, oppressive silence, which seemed to seep into every corner of the room. The only thing that could be heard was Mark's erratic breathing, a mixture of fear and pain. Heeseung slowly slid the blade of his knife over the man's collarbone, a cold caress, almost sensual, but terrifying in its promise. Mark shuddered under the threat, his body reacting instinctively to the presence of the weapon against his bare skin.

“Where did the strong man you claimed to be go?” Heeseung whispered, his voice soft, almost whispered, but with a hint of icy irony. His fingers pressed the knife a little harder against Mark’s collarbone, without piercing the skin. He wanted the man to feel the imminence of the pain, to dread it before it even arrived. Time seemed suspended in this anticipation.

Mark, despite the situation, managed to maintain his smile, a smirk twisted by pain, but still arrogant. "Fuck... yourself," he spat with difficulty, hatred oozing from each word. But behind his bloodshot eyes, fear was beginning to pierce. He knew that what he felt now was only a prelude.

Heeseung smiled back, a smile devoid of humanity, before suddenly and brutally plunging the blade into Mark’s thigh. A scream pierced the air, a cry of pure agony, echoing off the walls like a gunshot. The knife sank deep into flesh, tearing muscle, severing nerves. Heeseung didn’t just stab it in—he moved the weapon inside, slowly torturing every fiber, every tendon. Blood gushed out in abundance, trickling down Mark’s thigh, forming a dark pool beneath the chair. The veins in his neck bulged as he tried to hold back his screams, but he couldn’t. The pain was too intense, too devastating to contain.

Tears quickly blurred his vision, mixing with the sweat and blood that streamed down his face in uninterrupted streams. His moans, his gasps, resonated like torture. But Heeseung did not let himself be softened by these sounds. No, this was exactly what he wanted to hear. Each cry was a note in the symphony of vengeance he was conducting. He yanked the knife away, sending a spray of blood onto his own face. He did not even care, his predatory smile stretching as he looked down at his trembling victim, Mark's muscles contracting involuntarily because of the pain.

Without a word, Heeseung stabbed the knife again, this time into Mark's right hand. The sound of the blade piercing flesh and bone was drowned out by Mark's scream, much louder, much more desperate. His entire body convulsed as he tried to wrench his hand free, but the restraints held him firmly in place, denying him any escape. Heeseung twisted the knife, slowly, making the bones crack under the pressure, savoring every moan that escaped Mark's lips.

“Funny, you’re much louder now,” Heeseung commented with icy coldness, watching Mark writhe in pain, his eyes wide open, filled with an almost animal terror. But for Heeseung, it still wasn’t enough. Every blow landed, every scream torn out, couldn’t extinguish the burning guilt that consumed him. Nothing could erase the fact that he had failed to protect you. Every drop of blood spilled was an insufficient offering to the hatred he felt towards himself.

Sunghoon, who had been hanging back until then, stepped forward in silence, observing the scene with a calm and icy intensity. He leaned forward slightly, his hands playing with the blood-dripping metal bat he held carelessly. "Did you really think this was going to be okay for you?" he whispered in a low, menacing voice, his black eyes fixed on Mark's, unable to answer, too overwhelmed by the pain.

Sunghoon slowly lifted the metal bat, dragging it along the ground with a dull, terrifying squeak. Mark, despite his pain, tried to straighten up, as if anticipating the blow, but it was useless. Sunghoon brought the bat down with brutal force on his knee. The sound of the impact was excruciating, a loud crack that resonated like a dry branch breaking under the weight of winter. Mark screamed at the top of his lungs, his body bucking forward from the wrenching pain that radiated from his shattered knee. The impact sent him over the edge, and he nearly collapsed on his side, but the ropes holding him prevented him from escaping his hell.

Sunghoon, unperturbed, brought the bat down a second time, then a third. Each blow resounded like an irrevocable sentence, each cry torn from Mark seemed to be lost in nothingness. His legs were now masses of deformed flesh and blood. His body no longer responded, only his mind, prisoner of immeasurable suffering, continued to resist, weakly, the horror that was playing out around him.

Jay moved forward, the chains in his hand rattling in an ominous rhythm that echoed through the heavy, oppressive air. Each sound of metal seemed to amplify the palpable fear in Mark's eyes as he struggled to back away. His hands were bound, and the sharp pain of his dislocated jaw now had him screaming silently, his inaudible pleas mingling with his desperation. He was trapped, locked in a dark room where the only escape seemed to be death.

Jay stopped a few feet away from him, surrounded by Heeseung and Sunghoon, who shared the same devilish grin. His gaze fixed on Mark, a glint of delight in his eyes, as he tightened the chains, the echo of the metal resonating like a promise of pain.

“You’re not getting out of here alive… Mark,” Jay whispered, his voice low and icy, each word dripping with menace. He wrapped the chain around his hand, anticipation making his muscles quiver. With a sudden movement, he slammed the chain against Mark’s skin, the impact echoing through the air like a clap of thunder.

Mark's scream cut through the air, a howl of pain and terror that echoed off the walls of the room. His eyes widened as he realized the magnitude of what was coming his way. "No! Please! Don't do this!" he stammered, but his voice was choked with fear. Jay, however, showed no mercy.

With a ferocious rage, he continued his attack, the chain lashing at Mark's flesh. The blows piled up, leaving deeper and deeper marks, tearing skin and drawing blood. Jay watched in insane satisfaction, the hatred burning inside him spilling over every bit of flesh. The blood spatters burst onto his clothes like shards of macabre paint, staining him a dark red, each drop bringing a thrill of excitement through him.

Heeseung, watching with a predatory grin, took a step forward. “You know, Mark, they always said that pain was an art,” he said mockingly, his sugary voice contrasting with the brutality of the scene. He cleaned his Swiss Army knife, the blade gleaming in the dim light. “And we’re here to create our masterpiece.”

Mark, tears in his eyes, felt the pain invade every fiber of his being. Jay's gaze, mad and unleashed, focused on him. "Remember what you did," he whispered before striking again. The chain fell on his chest, tearing a cry of despair, while blood dripped, mixing with the sweat and anguish that permeated the air.

Each blow was a statement, an assertion of power over his life. “You dared to betray us,” Jay continued, his voice vibrating with dull anger. “You think you can get away with this?” He raised the chain, making it flash in the light before bringing it down with redoubled force, the sound of metal against flesh like a battle cry.

The blows came one after another, relentless. Mark could feel his flesh tearing, each impact sending waves of searing pain through his body. The taste of iron, of his own blood, invaded his mouth, but he was helpless. The anguish and the pain intertwined, creating a whirlwind of horror in his mind, a reality he could no longer bear.

“This is so much fun,” Heeseung whispered, reaching out with the knife. He slid the blade across Mark’s skin, creating a red line that quickly turned into a stream of blood. “Look at how much pain he’s in. It’s almost beautiful.” His smile was sinister, each word charged with perverse euphoria.

Mark squirmed, struggling against his bonds, but every movement only made the pain worse. He could feel his body weakening, the warmth of his blood pooling around him. “I… I’m not…” he stammered, but the words choked in his throat. The pain was taking over everything, and he knew he was at the mercy of these monsters.

Jay continued to rage at him, each blow harder than the last, Mark's face twisting under the impact. "We're going to make an example of you," Jay yelled, his voice echoing in the enclosed space. "A warning to anyone who dares come near us!"

Sunghoon's laughter rang through the room, a haughty and cruel sound. "We're not going to kill you right away. No, we have other plans for you." He stepped closer, taking malicious pleasure in observing Mark's pain, his suffering becoming their entertainment.

Jay lifted the chain one last time, the movement slow and thick with menace. “You see, Mark, the pain you feel is nothing compared to what we felt because of you,” he said in a dark, almost contemplative tone. Then he brought the chain down with titanic force, the impact causing an eerie crack, the sound of flesh breaking under the weight of hatred.

Mark, lost in an ocean of pain, closed his eyes for a moment, hoping that this was all just a nightmare. But reality hit him with renewed force, every drop of blood that flowed, every pain inflicted, bringing him back to the cruelty of his existence.

Heeseung, still with his knife, leaned close to him, almost tenderly. “We’ll make sure you remember this night… even in death,” he whispered. The touch of the blade on his skin was icy, causing a new wave of shivers.

“You hurt our family,” Jay added, a burning intensity in his gaze. “And we’re going to make sure you regret it, until your dying breath.”

Mark's tears and snot flowed relentlessly, a desperate stream mixing with the blood that bathed his wounds. Darkness surrounded his mind, and the pain continued to increase, each blow bringing him closer to the inevitable. But deep within him, something still resided—a spark of resistance that refused to be extinguished.

Jake held you so tightly against him that you could feel every rapid beat of his heart, every sigh he let out. Lying on top of you, his body wrapped around yours like a protective shield. You were unable to move under his embrace, but you didn't want to. Everything about the way he touched you, the way he held you, spoke of fear and relief. A deep, almost primal fear, as if he had feared losing you forever, and an equally intense relief to know you were still there, alive, breathing beneath him.

The hours had passed without you realizing it. Darkness had slowly engulfed the room, but neither of you who were there had moved, not even to turn on a light. You didn't need to. The only thing that mattered was the slow rhythm of your synchronized breaths, the soothing caresses of your fingers in his hair, and the way his tears silently slid down your skin, leaving salty traces that you sometimes felt mixing with yours.

You had tried several times to reassure him, to whisper to him that you were there, that you weren’t going anywhere, but nothing seemed to be enough. Jake didn’t answer you. He stayed there, clinging to you like a dream he was afraid would fade away. His head was nestled against your chest, his hot, irregular breath gently tickling your skin through the thin fabric of your top. He clung to you, his fingers gripping your waist with a silent urgency, as if he was squeezing you with all his might to keep you with him.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, his voice came out, weak and shaky. “You know…” he began, his throat tight with emotion. He trailed off, as if searching for words, fighting the lump in his throat that threatened to choke him. You felt his body tense slightly against yours, and you knew he was about to tell you something that had been weighing heavily on his heart for a long time.

His voice shook again as he spoke again, almost inaudible. “If you hadn’t woken up… I would have joined you.” His words, so simple yet so full of despair, hit you like a punch. They hung in the air between you, and you felt your heart clench painfully at the confession. He couldn’t live without you, and the brutal sincerity of that reality left you speechless.

You wanted to answer him, to tell him that everything was okay now, but before you could even say his name, Jake cut you off. “I know what you’re going to say, Y/n.” His voice, even broken, was soft, filled with that infinite tenderness he always had for you. He buried his head a little more against your chest, as if he needed to hear the reassuring beat of your heart again and again. “But that’s how much I love you…” His fingers gently caressed your stomach, slow and nervous movements that only strengthened the lump in your throat. “I can’t live without you.”

He looked up, his tear-swollen eyes finally meeting yours, and what you saw there shocked you. His pupils shone with a mixture of love and fear, a fear so deep that it seemed etched into his features. His lips trembled slightly, and you could almost feel his palpable distress in the air. He was trying to etch you into his memory, to reassure himself that you were really there, that you weren't a mirage.

“I… I love you too, Jake,” you finally answered in a weak voice, your words thick with emotion. Your fingers slid gently over his damp cheek, carefully wiping away the tears that continued to fall silently. You didn’t want him to cry. Seeing Jake, such a strong and protective man, break like this in front of you was tearing you apart inside. You wanted to be his strength, his anchor. “Why are you crying, did I say something wrong?” you whispered worriedly, trying to lighten the mood, but your own heart was beating too fast, trapped in its emotions.

Jake shook his head, a weak, fragile smile brushing his lips. He sniffled softly, his eyes closing for a moment as if he was savoring this closeness with you. “No, sweetheart.” His voice was a mixture of sweetness and pain, his words filled with immeasurable tenderness. Slowly, he sat up to lie beside you, but never breaking contact with you. He wrapped his arm around your waist, tugging lightly on you so that your bodies were even closer.

He took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers with a delicacy that made you melt. He slowly brought your fingers to his lips, placing a kiss on each knuckle, his gestures filled with infinite tenderness. He lingered on your ring finger, his lips brushing against it as if he already saw it as a symbol of something greater. “I’m just so happy… happy that you finally love me the way I love you,” he whispered, his voice broken with emotion.

His eyes were searching you, as if he wanted to pierce your soul, to make sure that you really felt the same way, that this bond between you was real and indestructible. You felt his love, this palpable force that emanated from him, and it warmed you from the inside. There was nothing purer, more beautiful than this moment shared with him, this unconditional, unrestrained love.

“I’m sure I love you as much as you love me,” you whispered, your gaze locked with his, a small smile lighting up your features. You let a small laugh escape as you stole a kiss from him, light and tender, barely brushing his lips before shyly turning away. But Jake didn’t let you go. He immediately pulled you against him, pulling you even closer, his hand slipping behind your neck to keep you from pulling away again.

“Then love me as much as I love you.” His words were a whisper against your lips, barely audible, but so full of desire and need. He captured your lips in a slow, soft kiss, filled with infinite tenderness. He didn’t seek more, he didn’t want burning passion or fiery gestures. All he wanted was this moment of pure sweetness, of connection. His lips moved gently against yours, savoring every moment, every movement, as if he was trying to prolong this moment for eternity.

Time seemed to stretch as you stood there, lost in each other, your bodies in perfect harmony, your souls touching in a way that only those who love each other deeply can understand.

You finally emerge from a deep sleep, groaning softly under the delicate caresses of a hand that brushes your face. The sensations of warmth and softness envelop you, but the instinct to stay in the cozy cocoon of your dreams urges you to push this hand away. However, the caress becomes more insistent, softer, like a murmur of affection that slowly pulls you from your sleep. You groan once more, but the excess of softness pushes you to open your eyes.

Abruptly, you raise your head, and the unexpected shock of your forehead hitting Heeseung's nose makes you flinch. He lets out a small groan of surprise, his face contorting into a comical expression. Pulling back slightly, he touches his nose with a mock-hurt expression. "Ouch! Sorry, I'm sorry!" escapes your lips, a guilty glint in your eyes as you take his chin in your hand to inspect his nose.

“No bleeding,” you announce with relief, your heart relaxing a little as you fall back onto the pillow, trying to calm the frantic beating of your heart.

“I think you’re really trying to kill me, honey,” he says with a teasing smile, but you sense the underlying sadness in his voice, a tone you’ve learned to recognize over time. He tries to mask his worry, but his eyes betray his inner state.

You straighten up slightly, your eyes searching his. “What’s bothering you?” you ask, your voice soft as a caress, full of tenderness. He opens his mouth to answer, but you interrupt him gently before he can let his thoughts escape. “And don’t tell me anything,” you tell him, feigning a stern look as you point your finger at him. His small smile melts you, but you know that this is not the time to let his emotions pass.

“I failed you, Y/n…” He whispers the words, his voice soft, but the weight of guilt chokes him. “I didn’t protect you like I should have.” Lowering his head, he avoids your gaze, afraid that you’ll see the shame that eats away at his heart. Each word weighs heavily in the air, and you feel a dull ache gnawing at you from the inside.

“Hee… you never let me down,” you say with infinite tenderness, wanting to reassure him. “None of you did, and if something happened, it was for a reason.” You try to make him smile, to chase away the shadow that haunts him. You laugh softly, an attempt at lightness to ease the tense atmosphere. But he pulls away a little before you can reach him, and the sight of his clenched fists breaks your heart. You know he’s struggling with his emotions, and it saddens you deeply.

“Yell at me, tell me it’s my fault, but don’t lie to me… I couldn’t take it,” he whispers, his voice shaking and thick with pain. His tears start to fall, and he kneels before you, a broken man at the mercy of his own demons. Each word resonates like a clap of thunder in your chest. “I was always told to protect the woman I love… but I failed you. I failed miserably. Do I even deserve to live after this, Y/n?”

Tears slide down his cheeks, and you are overcome by a wave of emotion. Without hesitation, you stand up and fall to your knees in front of him, hugging him with all your strength. “Hee… please don’t say that,” you plead, your voice broken with sobs. “You’ve never failed anywhere, okay?” Your arms tighten around him, caressing his back tenderly to comfort him. “You’ve always protected me, I promise. And if you die, how will I survive losing you? How will I survive losing the man I love?”

Your cries intensify, a torrent of pain and despair as you hold him even tighter against you, trying to hold back the rising anguish. The thought of losing him seems unbearable, and you feel like every tear shed is a piece of your heart breaking.

Heeseung sniffles as he looks up at you, his eyes glistening with tears, still so full of sorrow. “You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart,” he says softly, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs gently sliding over your damp cheeks. “My wife never apologizes for anything in front of me, because she’s never wrong.” His gaze grows intense, searching for comforting truth in your misty eyes.

“I love you, Hee,” you whisper, a sincere affirmation filled with warmth. You nod slowly, hanging on every word he says. His small smile lights up his face, a glimmer of hope even through his tears. Holding you close, he breathes in your scent, and you can feel the tension between you ease, like a breath of serenity enveloping you.

“I love you too… I love you so much,” he whispers, his voice vibrating with emotion. His hands tenderly caress your hair, sliding gently through your locks, as if he wants to etch you into his memory. He keeps you firmly anchored against him, and in this embrace, you know that this is where you should be.

The beats of your hearts match, creating a soothing melody. In this fragile moment, enveloped by the warmth of your love, you know that you are together, united in this delicate dance where each tear shed becomes a step towards healing. Each smile exchanged, a promise of a better future.

You hear his heart, beating in unison with yours, and the soft harmony soothes you. He leans towards you then, his eyes shining with a tender light. “Promise me you’ll never leave me,” he says, his voice quivering with palpable worry.

“I promise,” you answer without hesitation, the sincerity of your words echoing like a sweet melody in the warm air between you.

He leans down gently, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, an exchange of love and silent promises. It’s a soft kiss, filled with warmth and sweetness, a moment suspended in time where everything seems perfect. Your lips melt to his, and you feel a wave of warmth invade your heart, each shiver running down your spine a testament to the love between you.

In that moment, the outside world becomes a blur, worries fade away, and you realize that as long as you're together, you can weather any storm. He hugs you tighter, as if to keep you close, and you know that in his arms, you're safe.

After a long moment, he breaks the kiss, his eyes boring into yours, trying to read every nuance of your thoughts. “Stay with me,” he murmurs, and you nod, knowing that’s what you want more than anything.

“I will always stay with you,” you promise, and in his eyes you see the determination of love, a love that has overcome so many trials, that is stronger than all fears.

Together, you snuggle, wrapped in a comforting embrace, the outside world no longer mattering. In this bubble of warmth and love, every shared sigh becomes a promise, every heartbeat a hymn to your unwavering connection.

Your stomach rumbles softly, interrupting the soothing calm that had settled between you. Heeseung, sitting in front of you, continues to caress your back with a slow and reassuring gesture, a slight amused smile playing on his lips. His fingers brush your skin with that usual delicacy, as if he were weaving an invisible thread between you through each contact. The warmth of his hand warms you, envelops you in a bubble of security that makes you want to stay there for eternity.

“Jay’s in the kitchen,” he murmurs softly, his voice low and gentle, like an extra caress to your senses. “If you go now, I think he’ll be almost done already.” He speaks with that quiet nonchalance, but every word is laced with that subtle affection you feel in every move he makes.

Heeseung then leans slightly towards you, placing a kiss on your forehead, a gesture so tender that it makes you close your eyes, savoring this simple contact. His lips are soft, and this kiss, although short, leaves a lasting imprint on you, a trace of heat that persists long after he has moved away from you. You let out a small moan, almost involuntary, when his body detaches from yours, and you open an eye, disappointed to see him already moving away. This distance already seems too great to you.

Your gaze scans the room for Jake, but his absence is quickly noticed. The bed he was lying in is empty, and a feeling of emptiness briefly overwhelms you. But Heeseung, attentive as always, seems to guess the question floating on your lips before you even formulate it.

“He went for his morning jog,” he explains soothingly, his soft eyes settling on you. “He’ll be back around ten or eleven, don’t worry, honey.” His smile widens slightly, a teasing glint in his eyes. “He was absolutely glowing this morning.”

A small laugh escapes his lips, a sound that fills the room with a welcome lightness, and you can't help but smile back. This moment is so simple, so natural, but at the same time, it is filled with infinite tenderness. You let yourself be lulled by this atmosphere, by the softness of his voice and the reassuring warmth of his presence.

After a moment, you slowly straighten up, your muscles still heavy from sleep, and you lean towards Heeseung to place a light kiss on the tip of his nose, a playful gesture that makes him smile. He closes his eyes under this soft touch, his eyelashes lightly tickling your skin. When he opens his eyes again, his gaze is even more tender than before, filled with a silent but palpable affection. It's one of those looks that melts you, that makes you feel loved unconditionally.

“I’ll see you later,” you whisper softly, reluctantly pulling away, but with the promise of finding him again soon. Just knowing that you’re expected, that this love and warmth surrounds you, gives you a certain serenity.

You walk with legs still slightly numb, and you head towards the kitchen where Jay must be preparing something. However, lost in the grandeur of the mansion, you find yourself taking the wrong path, and, at the turn of a corridor, you land by chance in the bathroom.

In front of you stands Sunghoon, a simple towel wrapped around his waist, his body still wet from his recent shower. Small drops of water slowly slide down his torso, drawing winding paths on his lightly tanned skin. The soft light of the room highlights every curve of his body, and your breath catches briefly at the sight.

“Rabbit,” he says in a low voice, almost a whisper, as a tender smile touches his lips. Yet, something in his posture unsettles you. Usually so sure of himself, you see him hesitant today, almost uncomfortable. He looks away slightly, as if trying to avoid your eyes.

You stare at him, intrigued. His movements are clumsy, as if he doesn't know what to do with his hands anymore, his things almost falling from his fingers without him paying attention. This unusual clumsiness in him makes you frown.

“I… I’ll leave the place to you,” he finally says, his voice hesitant, almost evasive. He steps aside, trying to sneak away, but you quickly step in front of him, blocking his exit from your body. Something is wrong, and you refuse to let him go without understanding what’s bothering him.

“Since when have you been so clumsy, Mr. Perfection?” you whisper softly, your voice tinged with a slight mockery of affection. But beneath that light tone, you seek to understand what is truly troubling him. He still avoids your gaze, backing away again, but you move forward, closing the distance between you until his back gently meets the tiled wall.

“And since when are you so nervous around me? This is new, I must say.” Your hands come to rest delicately on his chest, feeling the warmth of his still damp skin under your fingers. The contact is tender, comforting, as if you were trying to soothe the tensions you feel in him.

“Y/n!” he growls softly, but his voice lacks strength. His gaze, usually so piercing, seems today clouded, full of confusion and restraint. He tries to move away, but there is no more space between you. His hands, always so sure, remain still, as if paralyzed by emotion.

“You don’t call me bunny anymore?” you continue lightly, your fingers gently tracing a line on his abs, following the path of the water drops sliding down his skin. “Have you found someone else?” you joke, but beneath your words lies genuine concern.

Your hand moves down further, but before you can go any further, Sunghoon grabs your wrist firmly, his gaze finally locked with yours.

“Stop playing with me, and you know damn well it’s just you, bunny.” His voice, initially hoarse, softens as he tries to pull away a little, but instead of pushing you away completely, he slides his arms around you to keep you from going too far. His breathing is heavy, as if he’s trying to control himself, his eyes staring at you with a disconcerting intensity. Yet, you see past his facade, you perceive this tenderness that he tries to hide behind his seriousness.

In one fluid motion, he slowly turns you around, leading you against the cool tiles of the bathroom. But he doesn't pin you down, he guides you, his hand sliding down your back, almost protective. The contact with the cool tiles contrasts with the warmth of his body against yours, which makes you gasp slightly. You look at him, searching for an answer in his eyes, but instead of speaking, he just devours you with his gaze, as if he's trying to understand what's happening between you, as if this moment is too precious to be rushed.

“But if you keep this up… there might be baby bunnies,” he murmurs, a soft, tender smile playing on his lips, softening his remark. There’s no trace of stiffness or restraint in his voice anymore. His words are filled with warmth and affection, as if he wants to combine humor with the intensity of this moment. He places a hand on your stomach, not to hold you, but to feel you, to keep a physical connection between you.

You shiver under the softness of his touch, but something deep inside you tells you there’s more. Something deeper than this game, something more vulnerable. You can feel it, in the way he watches you, in the hesitant way he touches you, almost as if he’s afraid of breaking something between you. So you decide to push him to reveal himself, to confront him, not with harsh words, but with the gentleness that will disarm him.

“Park…” your voice is soft, almost a whisper. You raise a trembling hand to him, your fingers delicately brushing his arms. His skin shivers under your touch, and you press yourself a little closer to him, your body seeking the comforting warmth of his. He doesn’t move, his muscles tense under your fingers, as if he’s holding something back, as if he’s afraid of what this moment might reveal. Your hands slide gently along his biceps, and you sense a hesitation in him, a vulnerability he tries to hide behind a facade of strength.

But you know him too well. You know he's not just this mask of perfection he puts on. There's more, much more beneath the surface. So, without letting go, you pull him against you, wrapping your arms tightly around him, refusing to give him the space he tries to maintain. Your tears, which you've been holding back for a long time, start to fall, slowly, silently. They betray the intensity of your emotions, your need to show him that you're there, that you don't want him to hide his truths from you, even the ones that make him more fragile.

Beneath you, he freezes, surprised by the intensity of your tears. But as you cling to him, his arms instinctively close around you. His hands slide into your hair, gently caressing your locks soaked with your own tears. He holds you against him, rocking you gently, as if to soothe your pain. His breath becomes shorter, and you can feel his throat tighten against your cheek.

“I’m sorry I worried you,” you whisper through your tears, your voice breaking under the weight of emotion. You pull back slightly, enough to gaze into his eyes. Your eyes, reddened by tears, desperately search for an answer in his gaze, a mutual understanding of what you’re going through together. He looks at you with infinite tenderness, a pain he can no longer hide. His jaw is clenched, as if he’s fighting the urge to cry with you.

“I love you,” you finally say, in a barely audible breath, but with such sincerity that the words seem to weigh on your lips. You feel him tremble slightly under your body, and he closes his eyes for a moment, as if the words are overwhelming him. He lets them sink in, welcomes them like a wave that sweeps away everything in its path.

He pulls back slightly, opening his eyes, and you can see confusion in his gaze, a sort of disbelief. “You… you love me?” His voice is a mix of surprise and fear. He doesn’t move anymore, as if he’s afraid that reality will shatter if he dares to hope that your words are true. His eyes roam your face, searching for confirmation, for a truth to hold on to.

You nod slowly, tears still flowing freely down your cheeks. “Yes,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion. “I am completely in love with you.” Your words are fragile, but carried by a certainty that you can no longer ignore. Your heart beats so hard in your chest that you wonder if he can hear it. Slowly, you lean down to place your lips on his forehead, kissing every mole, every patch of skin with infinite tenderness. Each kiss is a promise, a silent declaration of love, a way for you to show him how much you care.

Under your kisses, he lets out a shaky sigh, his warm breath caressing your skin. His hands slide over your hips, pulling you even closer to him, as if he were afraid of losing you at this moment. His eyes close slowly under the intensity of your attention, and he lets a solitary tear run down his cheek. This vulnerability that you see in him touches you deeply, and you finally understand that he never wanted to hide his emotions from you, but that he was simply afraid to give in to them.

You find each other, your faces close, your breaths mingling, and your lips brush in a soft, almost shy kiss. It's a kiss full of promise, of all those things you haven't said yet, but already know. There's no rush, no burning passion in this gesture. Just an infinite tenderness, a gentle warmth that envelops each of you. The salty taste of your tears mixes with the softness of your lips, and this kiss becomes a refuge, a place where you can finally be completely yourselves.

When he pulls away slightly, he whispers against your lips, his voice filled with an emotion he no longer tries to hide. "I love you too, bunny." His words are so sweet, so full of love, that you feel your heart swell with happiness. He places a hand on your stomach, gently caressing your skin, as if he wanted to engrave this moment in his memory. Then, with infinite tenderness, he in turn places kisses on your face, following the path you had traced on his. Each kiss is a silent promise, a testimony of everything he feels for you.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he whispers under his breath. “My heart couldn’t take it.” His voice is soft, tinged with a slight tremor, and you can feel how sincere his statement is. His fingers slide down your face, skimming your skin with infinite delicacy, gently wiping away the last of the tears that are pearling on your cheeks.

You smile softly, caressing his face in return. “I promise I won’t do it again, old man,” you joke, your voice soft, full of love and newfound lightness. You run your hands over his body, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours, before pulling away slowly, a mischievous smile on your lips. “Come on, go get dressed before you get all wrinkled and crumpled.” Your voice is teasing, but filled with deep affection.

He looks at you, a disbelieving smile playing on his lips, before letting out a soft, light laugh. “What? Rabbit, seriously, who’s the old man here?” he calls out jokingly, as you walk away, laughing softly, your heart still pounding in your chest.

You stand there, in front of the kitchen door, as if you were frozen in time. Your hand rests gently on the handle, but you don't dare to open it immediately. Behind that door, you know he's there. You can almost feel his presence, like a heavy shadow that seems to invade the air of the house. A wave of inexplicable sadness invades you. Your heart beats faster and faster, and you close your eyes for a moment, trying to calm the flood of emotions that threatens to overwhelm you. It takes you a few seconds before you finally let out a small sigh and decide to enter.

When the door opens, a soft light bathes the kitchen in a soft, almost soothing atmosphere. But the atmosphere is heavy, and there he is, sitting at the table, completely still. Jay looks exhausted, as if he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. His apron is tied carelessly around his waist, and his shirt, slightly open, reveals a sweat-damp torso, proof that he has probably spent hours trying to forget, to occupy his mind with mechanical gestures. His fingers are wrapped around a half-smoked cigarette, which he holds between his lips, the smoke rising lazily towards the ceiling.

You stop for a moment, your gaze fixed on him. He is magnificent, despite the aura of fatigue and sadness that surrounds him. His hair, a little messy, falls carelessly on his forehead, and you notice the droplets of sweat that still bead on his skin. He seems lost in his thoughts, his eyes closed, his head slightly tilted forward. He hasn't seen you yet.

Your gaze briefly slides to the ashtray on the table, and your heart tightens a little more. The ashtray is filled with cigarette butts, all barely consumed. He must have spent a long time here, alone, smoking nervously. Each cigarette, half abandoned, seems like an attempt to calm a storm he can't control. A dull ache seizes you in the chest as you realize how bad he must be, and you find yourself feeling this almost desperate urge to comfort him.

You approach him slowly, your heart pounding in your chest. The closer you get, the more you can feel the tension in his shoulders, the tightness that betrays how close he is to collapse. Without a word, you whisper his name, barely a breath, as if you were afraid of breaking him further. “Jay…”

At your call, he slowly opens his eyes, his eyelids heavy with fatigue, as if he were struggling against an invisible weight. When he looks at you, there is a sparkle in his eyes that squeezes your heart. It is not a sparkle of joy or surprise, but something deeper, darker. It is a mixture of sadness, fear, and maybe even a pain that he tries to hide. He cracks a smile, but you see right away that it is forced, that it cannot reach his eyes. "Hey, you," he whispers hoarsely.

You don't hesitate a second longer. You step closer, your instinct pushing you to be close to him, to make sure he knows you're there, with him, for him. You lean down slightly, and without saying anything, you gently run your hand through his hair. His locks are slightly damp with sweat, and your fingers slide slowly through them, caressing his forehead in a gesture as tender as possible. He closes his eyes under your touch, as if he were trying to abandon himself to this moment, to this sweetness that you offer him without reserve.

“Jay,” you repeat softly, your heart clenching a little more with each passing moment. He opens his eyes again and looks at you with an intensity that catches you off guard. He seems about to say something, but you sense that he is too exhausted, too lost to find the words.

You sit gently on his lap, settling against him with an almost instinctive familiarity. Your legs on either side of his, you move a little closer, making sure that your body against his brings him silent comfort. You wrap your arms around his neck, your fingers delicately caressing the base of his neck. He then places his free hand on your thigh, his palm warm against your skin, as if he needs to feel you there, against him, as if he is afraid that you will disappear if you are not close enough.

He looks up at you, his fingers trembling slightly against your skin. “Did you cry?” he whispers, his voice barely a breath. His eyes are full of worry, but he’s so tired, so upset, that he has a hard time keeping his gaze on you.

You nod slowly, cracking a small smile, even though your heart is heavy with sadness for him. “Just a little,” you admit under your breath, trying to minimize the impact of your own emotions so as not to burden him further. “But it’s okay.” Your voice is meant to be reassuring, soothing, and you let out a soft, almost shy laugh, hoping that it will lighten his load, even just a little.

You continue to run your fingers through his hair, gently caressing each strand, and you feel his body slowly relax beneath you. His shoulders, once tense, begin to sag, and his breathing becomes more regular. You finally feel him release some of the tension he's been accumulating for so long.

“I think you’re the one who’s sad,” you finally whisper, breaking the silence delicately. You place a soft kiss on the tip of his nose, a simple gesture but filled with affection, tenderness. He frowns slightly, surprised, and a very light pink colors his cheeks. It’s almost imperceptible, but you see it, and it warms your heart to know that you can still elicit this kind of reaction from him, even in his darkest moments.

He shakes his head gently, but his smile fades almost immediately. "I'm not sad," he says, but his voice lacks conviction. "Baby, I'm fine." He slowly brings the cigarette to his lips, but you can see from the look in his eyes that he doesn't even believe it himself. You give him a look full of softness and understanding, and he sighs heavily before placing the cigarette back in the ashtray.

“I’m just angry,” he finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper. He places his hand back on your thigh, and this time, his grip is a little tighter, a little more desperate, like he needs to hold on to you to keep from falling apart.

“And…fuck, I’m so scared.” Jay’s voice trembles, each word seeming to escape him like a painful confession. His eyes, usually shining with trust, are now clouded with palpable fear, a vulnerability you’ve never seen in him. He’s not just scared; he’s terrified. The hand that’s firmly gripping your thigh trembles slightly, betraying the anxiety that’s taking over him.

You feel your heart clench. “Jay—” you start, but he cuts you off, his quivering voice taking on a more desperate tone.

“No, let me finish.” His eyes lock onto yours with a desperate intensity, as if he’s searching for an anchor in the storm raging inside him. You nod, understanding that this is a crucial moment for him. Your hand slides gently down his back, caressing him tenderly, an instinctive gesture to comfort him. His breathing becomes a little more regular under your touch, but you can feel the tension in his muscles, a mixture of fear and resignation.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life…” He takes a deep breath, his gaze wandering into space for a moment, as if reliving a traumatic experience. “And I don’t want it to happen again. I don’t know if I could survive without you…” Each word rings like a distress bell, and you feel a shiver run through your body, the reality of his words sinking deep into your heart.

You know what he feels is a mix of fear and love. It’s a vulnerable confession, and in that moment, you realize how much he needs you. “I love you too much, Y/n, for shit like this to happen to you,” he continues, his voice cracking, each syllable a silent cry for your safety. He bites his bottom lip, and you can see the tears glistening in his eyes, ready to spill over. His fragility touches you in ways you never imagined. He’s usually so strong, so protective, and seeing him like this, helpless and exposed, breaks your heart.

“You won’t lose me,” you say, each word a promise, a declaration of your commitment. “I’m yours, remember?” You feel like those words are the most powerful you can give him. You’re here, and you always will be. He nods slowly, his gaze betraying an inner struggle. You see his face tighten slightly, and you know he’s trying to hold back tears, not show you how broken he is.

He buries his face in your chest, seeking refuge. Your arms instinctively wrap around him, and you pull him closer, holding him against you as if you can protect him from all the pain in the world. “Y/n…” he whispers, and it’s a cry for help, a desperate need for connection. You can feel his tears seeping through your top, soaking the fabric with his pain, and it hurts to know how vulnerable he feels.

You continue your caresses on his back, tracing soothing circles, each movement slow and delicate. It’s a gesture of tenderness, a way to show him that he’s not alone. “I love you and I’ll never… never… never let you go,” you promise, each word heavy with meaning. You place soft kisses on the top of his head, each touch a point of light in the darkness he feels. His cries intensify as you surround him with warmth, and you know he’s releasing everything he’s kept buried.

“I… I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he finally admits, his voice choked with sobs. He hates himself for being exposed like this, but you can also see the gratitude in his misty eyes, a recognition that you’re there for him, that you’re the only one who can see this side of him. “I’m supposed to be strong… but…” His voice trails off, leaving a raw vulnerability that breaks your heart.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time, Jay,” you say softly, your fingers still playing with his hair, trying to give him some comfort. “It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to cry.” The words seem to hang in the air, a soothing truth, and you see a slight shift in his gaze, a mixture of surprise and relief. For him, this must be a revelation. He’s always thought he had to be the pillar, but now you’re giving him permission to be human, to be vulnerable.

His hands find your waist, fingers wrapping around your body like a vine seeking support. “I’ve never had someone make me feel so safe,” he says with heartbreaking sincerity, his eyes searching yours to confirm that you’re here, that you’re real. In that moment, you see the weight of his fear lift slightly, replaced by a comforting warmth.

“Then let me be the one to hold you,” you whisper, your eyes locked with his. “I want to be there for all your fears, all your joys. Together.” His gaze softens, a glimmer of hope shining through the lingering tears. He straightens slightly, his face inches from yours, and you see the conflict in his eyes, the desire to believe your words, but also the fear of reality.

“I don’t want to see you suffer because of me,” he whispers, and it’s like a sword sticking into your heart. Every word he says is a weight, a burden he carries alone. You know he feels guilty for his condition, for his fears, but you’re there to remind him that he doesn’t have to carry this burden alone.

“You’re not hurting me,” you say, your voice firm but gentle. “I want you to be open with me, to share all of this. That’s how we move forward together.” You know it will take time, that the road will be strewn with obstacles, but you’re willing to travel it with him.

“I’ve never had anyone understand me like you do,” he finally says, his words floating between you like a promise. He leans closer, seeking a reassuring closeness, and you can feel the warmth of his body blending with yours. The contact becomes a bubble of protection, a cocoon where you can hide from the realities outside.

“I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere,” you assure him fervently, your hand caressing his face once more, touching him tenderly. “No matter what happens, I’m by your side.” His tears continue to fall, but now they’re a mixture of sadness and relief, and you know he’s starting to find comfort in this connection.

“Y/n…” He whispers your name, and it’s like a song, a sweet word filled with all the promises and hopes you share. He straightens up slightly, your faces so close you can feel his breath on your skin. His heartbeat resonates in his chest, and you know he feels the same intensity of emotion you do.

You lean forward, your lips almost brushing, and in that space, you know you could lose him, but you could also save him. “I love you, Jay,” you say, your voice filled with sweetness. “I’ll always be here, for you, with you.”

“I love you too,” he whispers against your lips, his voice barely audible, but each word echoes like a soft melody in the air. His words slip delicately between you, creating an intimate space where the outside world disappears. Then, he moves a little closer, closing the distance between you.

His lips touch yours with infinite tenderness, as if each kiss were a silent promise. Their movements are slow, almost hesitant at first, but charged with an overflowing love that only asks to be expressed. There is a softness in the touch of his lips, a quiver of emotions that makes your heart beat even faster. He moves his lips delicately against yours, caressing every millimeter with meticulous attention, as if he were trying to engrave this moment in his memory.

You can taste the slightly bitter taste of cigarettes on his lips, a mixture of his world and the intimacy you share. It’s a familiar taste, but what touches you most is the love that expresses itself through each movement, each press of his lips against yours. He gently teases your tongue with his, playing a soft game of back and forth that envelops you in a comforting warmth. It’s a moment suspended in time, where everything around you seems to fade away.

When he finally pulls away, he doesn’t quite pull away. Instead, he rests his forehead against yours, his eyes boring into yours, searching for an even deeper connection. There’s something so vulnerable and beautiful about that gesture, a desire to get closer beyond words. His eyes shine with an intensity that makes you smile, a glow full of promise and shared desire.

He holds you a little tighter against him, his arms wrapping around your body in protective softness. You can feel his heart beating in time with yours, a soft melody that resonates in this peaceful moment.

Epilogue

“I’m so glad you love us as much as we love you, Professor,” Heeseung murmurs softly, his soft voice floating in the air like a delicate melody. His lips brush your neck, trailing light kisses along your pulse, where life beats. Each touch of his skin against yours seems to cause a wave of heat, a shiver of affection that runs through your entire being. He keeps you seated on him, his arms protecting you like a cocoon of tenderness, and you can’t help but get lost in the intensity of his gaze.

“You know you’re our reason for living, right?” he adds, his eyes shining with an almost childlike sincerity. In that moment, you realize how much love surrounds you, a bubble of happiness that envelops you. You nod slowly, moved by the depth of his feelings, as you feel Jake tighten his grip on your thigh. His thumb slides delicately over your skin, creating a soft friction that makes you moan softly, a sound that resonates like a sweet melody in the air.

“You can never leave us again,” Jake whispers, his voice low and husky blending with the intensity of the moment. His eyes, dark and deep, bore into yours, captivating you. “Every inch of you is etched with our love, and I can’t even imagine a moment where you wouldn’t be by our side.” He pauses, his breathing intensifying, and you can feel the passion in his words. “You are our light, our star in the night. You understand that, don’t you, darling?” The softness of his question touches you deeply, and you can only nod, overwhelmed by the emotion that overwhelms you.

Sunghoon, watching this scene with palpable tenderness, takes your hand delicately. He brings it to his lips, placing kisses on it that seem to carry all his affection. His eyes sink into yours, and you feel an unwavering connection forming between you. “You are so precious to us,” he says, his voice trembling slightly under the weight of his emotions. “I could never imagine a world without you. Your presence lights up our lives in ways you can’t even understand.”

Tears begin to well up in your eyes, and you’re aware of the wave of emotion that’s washing over you. “You’re my everything…” he continues, his voice growing more intense, almost desperate. “I don’t want that to change. I want every day to be a celebration of who we are together.” He traces invisible words into your palm, promises whispered in the privacy of this moment. “I love you deeply, and it only grows with each moment we share.”

As the intensity of the moment builds, Jay, unable to stay away, stands up and kneels in front of you, his hands sliding delicately up and down your legs. “Listen to me, sweet doll,” he begins, his voice filled with tenderness and determination. “I don’t just want you to be mine. I want you to be a part of me. I want you to carry my name and for us to build something beautiful together.” His eyes shine with an untamed passion, and you can almost feel the weight of his dreams and desires.

“Without you, I would be lost,” he continues, his voice growing more intense. “I imagine you in my life, in my arms, and it fills me with indescribable joy. I want to see your smile every day, hear your laugh, and share every moment with you. I couldn’t live a single day without you.” The intensity of his words touches you deeply, and you feel tears of joy running down your cheeks as you realize how connected you are.

Tears slowly fall down your cheeks as you sniffle, overwhelmed by the beauty of this unique bond. “I love you too, all four of you…” your voice trembles as you manage to articulate the words, loaded with immense meaning. “I’m so happy that my story ends with you.” The feeling of belonging is almost palpable, a warm, soft sensation that envelops you. “I would never have wanted it any other way. It’s you and me, forever.” Your smile emerges shyly, but it’s genuine, radiating pure happiness.

Jake, touched by your words, leans down to place a soft kiss on your lips. “You and me, hand in hand, until the end of time,” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice soft and reassuring. Pulling back slightly, a tear slips from his eye, but his radiant smile lights up the room, a light of hope and love.

Sunghoon turns your face to his, and in that suspended moment, he presses his lips against yours. The softness of that kiss makes you shiver, and you know that every gesture, every caress, is loaded with promise and affection. “The end of our story ends with you,” he murmurs, his voice soft but determined. “I’m ready to do anything to make you happy. Every day, I want to prove to you how much you mean to us.” He rests his head against yours, and the light touch fills you with a comforting warmth.

Laughter and soft whispers float through the air, each glance you share strengthening your connection. You feel incredibly lucky to be surrounded by these loving souls, knowing that you are bound by a love that transcends time and space. Each shared moment becomes a promise of a bright future, and you know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, you will overcome them together.

In the embrace of your emotions, you understand that your story is just beginning. The laughter, tears and love you share are the foundations of a life full of promises, dreams and memories to build together. In this bubble of happiness, you eagerly anticipate the future that awaits you, each moment being a new adventure to live together.

“No matter what happens, I’ll be there for you,” you promise, your heart overflowing with emotion. “We’re a team, and nothing can tear us apart.” The boys draw closer, forming a circle of love and support around you, and you know that this is the beginning of a beautiful adventure, that of a shared life, filled with tenderness and happiness.

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

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readyforthegarden · 2 years ago

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Eternal

Masterlist

A vampire!gvf multi-part AU (Josh Kiszka x reader, Jake Kiszka x reader, Sam Kiszka x reader, Danny Wagner x reader)

Warnings: 18+ Only Minors DNI. Mentions of blood, death, vampirism. There will be smut and slight blood play

“I’d be very, very careful about who you insult, love.” he warned, his voice stern as his hand took your waist and pulled your body flush to his once again. He ran his tongue over the tips of his teeth as he gave a wicked, malevolent smile as two points appeared on his top incisors. “Some may not be as forgiving as I am.” his other hand was now free of the book, and slid behind your neck, moving your hair behind your back and cradling the back of your head so your neck was exposed to him.

“A-are you going to kill me now?” you whimpered softly. The fear that now bubbled inside you made your blood run cold through your veins and set your body to start shaking. The corner of his mouth twisted into a smirk as he bent his head down, letting his warm breath cascade over your goose-pimpled skin.

“Is that what you want?”

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

Part Eleven

Part Twelve

Taglist: @lunaindigoraven @lvnterninthenight @allieisacrybaby @xserenax-13 @sarakay-gvf @shutupdevvie @myownparadise96 @watchingovergvf @gretavanfleetposts @josiee-gvf @ascendingtostardust @joshkiszkatoothgap @andeejoness @gardensgatedaisy @kkdarling @demonrat444 @teddiie @writingcold @dannyandthekiszkas @gretavanslut @gretavanbitches @tearsofbri @paleshadow-ofadragon

#josh kiszka #josh kiszka x reader #greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet x reader #danny wagner #danny wagner x reader #jake kiszka #jake kiszka x reader #sam kiszka #sam kiszka x reader #eternal fic #reverse harem dark romance fanfic

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nikethestatue · 2 years ago

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The Kings’ Wife

Chapter 10

The Queen of the House

25K words

Warnings: Explicit, language, mentions of child abuse

so I wait for you like a lonely house

till you will see me again and live in me.

Fenrys stood still, observing the scene in front of him. Elain and his two brothers were in bed together, naked and asleep. Well, Elain was asleep–unperturbed by the two massive males who were groping her naked body. Azriel’s arm was thrown over her breasts, his palm squeezing one hard, possessively. Ruhn’s hand rested on her soft bottom, fingers buried between her thighs, digging pretty deep.

Fenrys sighed and then grabbed Elain’s ankle and pulled her to him, dislodging her from the two males. Her eyes fluttered open and he caught her in his arms and murmured “come here, baby,” and as he scooped the soft, warm body of his wife, he pushed a pillow in her place, for the two men to hug.

Neither one of them moved or reacted, except for grabbing the pillow and then immediately extending their middle fingers to him. He snorted. He knew that they were both acutely aware of him as soon as he entered the house. Even if they looked like they were sleeping, those two woke up if a feather fell outside. They were true predators–never relaxed enough to be unaware of their surroundings.

He wrapped Elain’s thigh over his hip and she draped her arms around his neck, nuzzling into his neck sleepily. He kissed her head, her cheek and walked out of the bedroom, slowly making his way to his own room.

“How are you, babygirl?” he murmured, stroking her bare behind, his fingertips skimming over the damp folds and making her wince.

“Good,” she growled, still half asleep. Fenrys smiled and kissed the corner of her mouth, watching her big eyes flutter open. She yawned and murmured, “I am tired…”

“Why are you tired, sweetheart?”

It’s not like he didn’t know, but he wanted to hear it from her.

She sighed dramatically, and then announced, “Because Az put his cock in me!”

Fenrys grinned at her declaration, and stroked her soft, wet pussy again, while she pouted.

“And how was it?” he inquired.

“Goo-ood,” she drawled.

“Well, that’s good!”

“But it hurt, Fen!” she threw her hands up, frowning.

He kissed her lips and smiled widely.

“I am sorry, my darling, but did you enjoy it?”

She nodded, threading her fingers through his thick, blond curls, “Yes, I did. Even if it hurt, I got a bunch of orgasms. And I read that you don’t even get orgasms the first time, and I got like five!”

“Five?” he gasped theatrically, while she was nodding. “That’s very nice, my girl. So, now you are a woman?”

She waved her hand and shook her head no.

“Naw…that was just defoliation!” she explained. “I am not a woman yet.”

“No?”

“No. I did it with Az and with Ruhn, but I don’t think I am a woman yet.”

“You took two cocks your first time?” he marvelled, though he was very well aware that that was the plan. Ruhn would not have it otherwise, and everyone was a little surprised that he even waited for Azriel to close the deal. “You are my hero!”

She puffed her chest proudly.

“Yeah, it was the conservation of marriage.”

“Consummation,” he whispered, kissing her soft lips. He didn’t even bother with the ‘defoliation’.

She wrapped her legs around him and asked, while rubbing against him,

“I have to do it with you now?”

Fenrys pushed the door open with his foot and entered his rooms.

Like everything else in his life, his bedroom was kitschy, but elegant. It was a microcosm of his Britishness, everything in here an homage to his homeland, which he was forced to leave behind through such unfathomably violent circumstances.

There was a faded Union Jack in a glass frame above the bed, vintage band posters on the walls leading to the bathroom, more band memorabilia on the shelves–Freddie Mercury’s leather gloves, Mick Jagger’s torn t-shirt, a guitar signed by Jimmy Page, John Bonham’s drumsticks, and many other awesome shit that Elain liked to go through and touch. There were also sentimental items, like a photo of Fen’s parents with the Queen, little Fenrys and his brother Connall in his arms, and even a proper tea set, with flowery porcelain cups and saucers, and a beautiful teapot, on a round antique table. In Elain, Fenrys finally found a tea-drinking companion, and they often had their little tea time at 4:30 pm, with mini sandwiches, scones and clotted cream, and pastries. The other two brothers weren’t invited, because they had ‘no appreciation’ for the finer things in life, according to Fenrys. Furthermore, downstairs, in the pantry, he had boxes of crisps and biscuits that were shipped from England. ‘Prawn cocktail’ flavour, as well as ‘Chardonnay and Salt’ were ‘vile’ according to Ruhn, while Elain helped herself to ‘Cheese and Onion’ pretty well and often.

Fenrys deposited Elain on the bed and sat down next to her, cupping her cheek.

“No, darlin’,” he kissed her softly. “You don’t have to do it with me. Or anyone. Not with Az, or Ruhn, or me. Not unless you want to…”

Elain smiled at him and wrapped her fingers around his wrist, holding his hand to her face.

“You are my love, Fen,” she murmured.

He smiled tenderly at her, and said, “And you are mine, Elain Moonbeam King. Always. I am glad that you’ve enjoyed your first few times–I would expect no less from Az–and if he didn’t make it fantastic for you, I would’ve beat his face in,”

She laughed.

“But remember that you don’t owe us anything. You are our wife, and we love you. But you own us, baby. We are putty in your little hand,”

“You wanna go potty?” she frowned and Fenrys burst out laughing, throwing his head back, the sound joyful and gay. “I love you, Elain Moonbeam,” he moaned, wiping his tears.

“I feel like you are making fun of me,” she noted with a pout.

“Never. I am just happy with you. Now,” he stood up and looked down at her beautiful naked body. His brothers definitely went to town on her last night–her thighs were bruised, there were marks and bites and little scratches and fingerprints all over her immaculate flesh. The rosy tips of her full breasts were swollen, as were her lips. When he flicked a lock of her messy hair off her shoulder, he noticed a brutal imprint of teeth marks on the back of her neck.

“He marked you,” he grunted through clenched teeth.

She touched the mark with her fingers and nodded, “Ruhnnie did it,”

“Fucking Ruhnnie.”

Rubbing his thumb over his lower lip, Fenrys asked,

“Did those two circus animals even offer you any aftercare?”

She puffed her cheeks and then said, “What’s aftercare? We showered–they washed me, because there was blood…and their…stuff,”

“Cum, baby,” he said roughly. “Call it what it is. Cum.”

“Okay, cum.”

“So, no aftercare?”

She shrugged and muttered, “I dunno.”

“Figures,” he grunted and ordered her to stay still and went to the bathroom.

Elain sunk into his comfortable bed, gingerly touching her naked body, her eyes closed, her lips smiling. She felt so exhausted. But also so, so good. And she’d never been more in love with the three of them than she was now.

Fenrys returned to the bedroom and just stood there, watching her.

She threw her arm over her eyes and squinted at him.

“What?” she laughed.

“Just admiring my beautiful wife,” he shrugged and Elain blushed from the sweet compliment. He stooped over her and kissed her puffy nipple, wrapping his tongue over it and making her gasp with pleasure. “My beautiful, wanton wife,” he reiterated, kissing the other nipple.

“Like soup?” she questioned, stroking the back of his neck and keeping his face close to her breast.

He licked her nipple again, and his warm breath fanned over her breast, because he was laughing.

“I love wonton soup,” Elain opined, mostly to herself, while he sat down and gently pulled her legs apart. “Also matzo ball…do you like it, Fenny? Oh, that feels good! What is it?” she glanced down between her thighs, where he was carefully smearing something between her pink folds and when his fingers slipped into her, she gasped with enjoyment and surprise.

“That’s a little bit of aftercare, sweet pea,” he explained.

“It feels so good, Fen!” she vowed, her fingers tracing the tattoos on his forearm.

“That’s what I am aiming for here, baby. What other soups do you like, Ellie? Minestrone?”

She made a face and shook her head, “Oh, no! Yuck. I don’t like it at all!”

He smiled. His girl never shied away from an opinion.

Fenrys loved Elain’s ramblings. She met him head on with her own madness and it made him feel not so alone in the world. He loved not knowing where their conversation would go, and what odd twists and turns it would take, simply because Elain misunderstood a word, or let her mind wander somewhere neither one of them expected.

Elain’s hips moved and she thrust herself onto his fingers, her eyes flashing with lust, as she peered into his unbelievably handsome face, and wrapped her leg around his legs, pulling him closer. She reached for him, brushing her fingers over his lips, his eyelids, before reaching up and kissing him softly.

“I like aftercare,” she murmured into his mouth. “I also want you…”

He smiled at her and rubbed his nose against hers, carefully pulling his fingers out of her. She winced a bit.

“Not right now, baby,” he refused gently and pulled away.

She frowned and pushed herself up on her elbows,

“Why not? Don’t you want me?”

He chuckled and said,

“Come, we’ll take a bath–another important step in aftercare.”

Elain baulked and didn’t move, watching him, biting her lip.

He made a move to lift her from the bed, but she pressed her hand to his chest, stopping him.

“Why not?” she asked bluntly, and Fenrys immediately sensed a change in her demeanour. He lowered himself on his hunches in front of her and took her foot in his hands, lightly stroking her calf, while admiring her perfect toes. They were lovely, beautifully straight, manicured with a light shade of pearl. He pressed them to his lips and then said simply,

“My dick is huge.”

“So what?” she snapped.

“So I am gonna hurt you, Ellie. And I don’t care to do that,”

“You don’t care that the other two got there first?” she demanded. “You don’t want to have sex with me? Because I am bad at it?”

He cocked his brow, amused by her vehemence and shrugged nonchalantly,

“Do I care about having the dubious honour of breaching your precious seal? Not particularly.”

He kissed her foot again and then pulled her closer, dragging his palm over her breast, her stomach, before cupping her boldly and squeezing her pussy in his hand. She shivered, panting slightly in front of him, while he smiled hungrily and murmured,

“I want you. I want to undress you. Touch you. I want you to be mine. I want to ruin you, Elain. In the best possible, dirtiest, most inelegant, deranged way. I want to own your body. I want to fuck you. I want to teach you things. Pull you on my cock, until you shake and tremble and scream your pleasure into my lungs.”

Her eyes darkened with desire and he felt her gush hot and wet in his palm, while he continued,

“When I fuck you, which will be soon…sooner than you think…my aim is to fuck the memory of everyone else out of you. So that it’s only my cock that you remember when we are finished. Only my cock that you feel inside of you, for hours…days afterwards. Leave the defloration to Azriel–it’s his kink. He wanted to be your first one. Mate with you. Sentimental and all, and perhaps admirable, but that’s not me, babygirl.”

He finally managed to get her off the bed and carried her to the bathroom.

“I have enough self-control, Ellie, not to batter your freshly breached pussy. I can wait.”

She was still pouting a bit, but he’d diffused the temper bomb successfully.

Fenrys had a cosy, smallish bathroom, with a copper tub, and many features that were left untouched and that retained the charm of the firehouse that their house once was. There were wooden beams and brick and a bit of old marble, and every time Elain stepped in here, she felt like she was in some old English cottage.

The tub was already filled with steaming water and Fenrys slowly lowered her inside, though she screeched and yelled, “It’s burning my butt!”

Fen laughed, though she settled down in about 10 seconds, and he pulled his sweatpants down and then stepped into the tub as well.

Upon glancing at his mega dick, Elain blanched and swallowed, while he smirked and nodded slowly, like he knew what she was thinking.

“That’s right, babygirl. Not so eager now, are we?” he laughed and lowered himself into the tub, across from her.

“Where are the bubbles?” she asked immediately.

“No bubbles,” Fenrys shook his head. “I want to see you naked in front of me.”

She side-eyed him, but didn’t argue. Instead, she sunk deeper into the scalding hot water, letting out a breathy moan of satisfaction.

He gathered her feet in his hands and put them on his chest.

After a pause while their bodies acclimated to the hot water, he asked,

“Okay, let it out. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she shrugged.

“Bullshit, baby. Talk to me, or I will start pinching body parts until you do!”

“You can’t threaten me!” she exclaimed.

“Pff, sure can,” he argued lazily. And then pinched her ass under the water, making her yelp. “What’s happening with you? Did you not like the sex?”

She didn’t look directly at him and then murmured, “No, I liked it.”

“Then why are you so glum? Are you in pain?” he worried, his voice softening and concern pouring out of his whole body. He reached for her, and stroked her shoulder and her cheek. She kissed the inside of his palm and admitted, “It’s all good, Fen. Really.”

“Why don’t I believe you, baby? Did you not consent?” he then prodded sternly.

“Yeah, right…” Elain drawled. “Like Az would do it without consent!”

“Okay,” Fenrys couldn’t argue. Azriel was always the ‘king of consent’. He had to be. He was often a ruthless lover, and consent was a must to him. “Did you not want Ruhn to be there?”

Elain never voiced any concerns or displeasure about any group interactions–they all had her with them together, sometimes in pairs, sometimes one on one, but she was always comfortable with any and all of them. She knew that they adored her, loved her, wanted her, and there was no false modesty or shyness from her. However, losing one’s virginity was a personal, intimate thing, and perhaps, Elain didn’t want anyone else to witness it.

“No it was all good,” she sighed. “Very good. Really, Fen. Don’t worry about it.”

“But I do, Ellie. I worry about you. We all do. We want you to be happy,”

“And I want you to be happy too! With me!” she almost shouted, sitting up suddenly and sloshing water over the lip of the tub.

“We are happy with you,”

“No,” she cut him off, “you don’t understand…”

He reached for her hand and threaded his fingers with hers, urging her to speak up. She blushed deeply and then mumbled,

“I am scared, Fen,”

“Of what, my darling?” he sounded serious and his look was thoughtful.

“That you…Az and Ruhn won’t find me,” she gulped in air, before exhaling, “satisfactory…I don’t know how to do anything. In sex. And I feel like eventually, all of you will be disappointed in me and I won’t live up to anyone’s expectations. I am already strange and mouthy, and,”

He raised his hand to her, effectively shutting her up.

She stopped talking, watching him, biting her lower lip.

“May I tell you something?” Fenrys asked, though he wasn’t exactly asking for permission.

“What? Don’t try to tell me that everything will be fine and everyone will,”

Fenrys interrupted her verbal assault and with unusual calm, said,

“The Ruhn that you know now isn’t the same Ruhn that we all know. Up until 2-3 months ago, Ruhn was…a ghost.”

Elain’s brow furrowed but she listened quietly.

Fenrys rubbed his face, smearing the steam from the water over his hair and his cheeks and continued,

“He was–is–known as the Shadow King. Why? It’s not just because he was brutal and violent and operated within the shadows, never seen, but always felt. It was mostly because he was merely a shadow of a man.

“All Ruhn did was he drank, he smoked, he fucked, he killed, and sometimes, he tattooed. I think he went for days without eating…Sleeping…Ruhn existed,” Fenrys sighed sadly. “Even Az, his brother and the one person who is closest to him, feared him,”

“What would he do to Az?” Elain murmured worriedly.

“He didn’t fear what he’d do to him, but to himself. Ruhn was self-destructive. Unhappy. Miserable.”

Fenrys rubbed his face again, clearly uncomfortable about the conversation, but he pressed on,

“It might not be my place to speak of any of this, or to speak about him, but you should know…you are his wife, and you should know,”

“Know what?”

“Their father is not a good man.”

“Well, he is a mafia don,”

“No. He is a savage monster who brutalised his sons constantly and endlessly. Did you know that he has sixteen children?”

Her eyes popped open in shock and she cried, “Sixteen??

“That we know of. There are more, but he won’t acknowledge them. He only acknowledged those that he deemed ‘worthy’. And Ruhn and Az were worthy apparently, mostly because Az is brilliant and tenacious and a financial wizard, while Ruhn was selected early on to be the enforcer.

“But it all came at a terrible cost to them, to their mental and physical state…”

“What did he do to them?” she whispered, her fingers squeezing his almost painfully.

Fenrys bit the inside of his cheek and leaned back, closing his eyes.

She waited, and then snapped, “Fen. Fenrys. Tell me.”

He exhaled, and then explained, his voice low, almost breaking,

“Every tattoo on Ruhn–and he has sleeves and,”

“What?” she cried, “what is it?”

“Scars.”

“What?!”

“His tattoos cover his scars.”

She recoiled, shuddering, eyes wild. Her hand flew to her mouth, and Fenrys could almost see her tallying all the tattoos on Ruhn’s body.

“The little pink rose that he has tattooed on his heart–that’s the only thing that’s not a scar. That’s for you. You never brought him pain, Elain, and he put you over his heart.”

“Did he get the scars from all the fights he’s been in?”

He was shaking his head.

“Not fights. Burns mostly. His father burned him.”

Elain stared at him with incomprehension.

“Why?”

“Punishments, mostly. Sometimes, ‘lessons’ as he called them.”

“Azriel?” she murmured, horrified. “Azriel’s hands?”

Fenrys nodded slowly.

“Not the father–two older sons. On behest of the father…Az was only eight. They doused his hands with,”

She clamped her hands over her ears and shook her head wildly.

“I don’t want to know…I don’t want to know,” she muttered feverishly, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Fenrys, for once, didn’t attempt to console her. He looked at her, his face sad and sombre.

“I won’t tell you anymore,” he promised. “The rest, you can ask them yourself, if you want to,”

“They hurt my husbands,” she chanted to herself, rocking and trembling. “He hurt my Ruhn…they hurt my husbands…they burned them,”

“El…Elain,”

“They burned my husbands!” she bellowed, tears pouring down her face. “They took my Az’s little hands and they set him on fire…”

“A lot happened to those men,” Fenrys said gravely. “Horrible things…Az was kidnapped once–to get the Old King to do someone’s bidding…the usual bullshit. But,”

“Oh god,” she rasped.

“They tried to rape him,” Fenrys said ruthlessly. “He was twelve. The Old King was dragging his feet, refusing to do whatever they were fighting about, and they wanted to film it and send it to him–what his son was going through and what they’d continue doing to him, if he didn’t submit to the demands,”

“Did they…”

“In order to escape, he had to break his own wrist, to get his handcuffs off,” Fenrys sounded detached. “And then he ran…it was fucking January and he was only in his underwear. And he ran. For hours. With a broken wrist,”

Even though the water was hot, Elain couldn’t stop shivering, her teeth chattering, as she wrapped her arms around her knees.

“Come here,” he tried to pull her in his arms, but she resisted and muttered, “I don’t want to.”

He didn’t insist, but reached for the bench, grabbed a bottle and then poured some bubbles into the water. For all his craziness, Fenrys was acutely aware of people’s emotional and psychological tells, and when he was feeling kind, he took care of them. Right now, he sensed that Elain probably wanted to be covered. Hidden. And he offered it to her.

“I don’t know how to feel, Fen,” Elain whispered miserably. “I knew…I mean, I could tell that they were wounded men, but this,”

He gently stroked her hand and said,

“I know it hurts, baby. I know. See, despite how my family was murdered and how fucking traumatic it was, I had a normal, happy childhood. My parents loved each other. My father was deeply, passionately in love with my mother and she loved him just as much. When they had me, they were young–my Da was only 22–but they were good parents! Fantastic even. Da was in the Firm of course, but he always had time for me, and for Ma. He’d take me to Arsenal games since I was 4 or 5. My Da loved London and we’d always do something interesting in the city. His knowledge of it was remarkable and yeah, I know that people make fun of me for my Englishness and how much I love my country, but there is a reason for it. I was happy in England. My family was there, my mates, my life. It was good. My Italian Ma would make a Sunday roast every Sunday, like a proper Englishwoman and that’s what I remember. Christmas and riding our bikes and being with my Da and then when we had Connall, I just fell in love with him. And then when I came here, I realised that I had what neither Az nor Ruhn ever had–family, and love. Even their mothers abandoned them, because of their father.”

“Why was he like that to them? Why would he burn his boys? Hit them?” Elain whispered miserably.

“I think he has a sadistic streak and unfortunately, his children bore the brunt of it.”

He scrubbed his face and then dipped entirely in the water, holding his breath for a while, before finally emerging and looking at his sad wife with a frown.

“I don’t want you to be sad, Ellie,” he whispered.

Elain sighed and wondered, “How can I not be sad? My boys were abused…My father-in-law, whom I barely even know, is a monster. And,”

“And Ruhn loves you,” Fenrys said quickly, his expression serious. “That’s the thing, baby,” he continued, “you don’t need to worry about any of this–being somehow unsatisfactory to Ruhn, to Az…to me. Ruhn fucking adores you. He is literally, not even kidding, obsessed with you. From the moment he saw you. I thought that he might fight Az for you,”

Elain smiled a weak, but amused smile.

Fenrys reached and drew his knuckles over her cheek, his touch soft and loving.

“You gave all of us what we all didn’t have, Elain King,”

“And what’s that?”

“A home.”

She glanced at him, biting her cheek, her eyes moist with tears.

“Have I?”

He nodded.

“You really have. See, I have my Uncle Benny–my Da’s brother–who is my closest family. But he is in London,”

“Do you like him?”

Fen’s face broke into a wide smile.

“Oh yeah! Uncle Benny is a fucking amazing man. He is only about twelve years older than me, so he is more of a friend than an uncle. When my parents were murdered, he was only twenty, and he couldn’t take me on, but since then, we’ve grown close. I’ll introduce him to you. You’ll love him too. He and his wife–they live in the same arrangement as us,” Fenrys winked at her.

“Really?”

“Yeah. We ain’t the only ones like that. Benny and his two mates all live together with Benny’s wife.”

“Oh,”

“Uh-uh. They got a bunch of children too. And when I was looking at him, at his family, which is fantastic, I always dreamt that I’d have something similar. That I’d have a wife who’d love me like Anna loves Ben. That I’d be in this business with my brothers and we’d be…a family. I don’t know. I didn’t think I’d be so lucky, but here you are, Elain, and we are all so happy.

“You are it. For all of us. There ain’t ever going to be any other women. Az is mad for you, and Ruhn would rip the world to shreds if someone dared to separate you from him. And me–well, you and I are soulmates, babygirl,” he said confidently.

Elain threaded her fingers with his and nodded,

“We are!”

“That’s right. Whatever awaits us, we’ll be together. No one is gonna tire of you, or think you ain’t good at sex or some shit,” he chuckled. “That virgin pussy of yours is everything they’ve ever dreamed of!”

Elain chuckled.

“Not a virgin anymore,” she reminded him and Fen nodded with a laugh.

“Yeah, those two bastards took care of that,” he sighed. “But fear not, baby, they might have taken your virginity, but I’ll make you a woman!”

He reached for her and pulled her by the hand, until she landed on top of him, the soft, wet tits splaying over his chest.

“If anyone can and should do it, it would be you,” she agreed, kissing his lips softly. His hands squeezed her sleek, bare ass and he stroked it with a generous swipe of his hand. “Speaking of making someone a woman,”

Fenrys’s eyes flew wide open and he exclaimed dramatically,

“There are more of you!?! I thought you were the last American virgin?! Also, I am not de-virginising anyone. I am married.”

Elain was kissing him softly throughout his rant, laughing against his lips.

“Sorry, baby, but your other virgin friends would have to find another well-hung–though not-as-well-as-me–man to do the honours.”

She brushed her nose against him and flicked him on the forehead.

“No! Don’t even think about it. You are mine and this cock is mine too!” she cupped him brazenly and Fenrys choked a bit in surprise.

“No argument here, sweetheart.”

He squeezed her hand on his shaft and she stroked him, while he wrapped his hand over her fingers and pressed firmly.

“Like this?” she murmured breathily.

“Yes, perfect,” Fen groaned. Elain rose from the water, her breasts half-covered in foamy bubbles, as she straddled his upper thighs and rubbed his dick with steady, practised strokes, moving her hand up and down, even though she was unable to wrap it around him fully. Her pull was stong, just like he liked it, and she grasped him hard, flicking her thumb over the thick head of his cock. She looked down at him and sucked her breath in lightly. She’s seen him and she’s been with him plenty of times, but boy, oh boy was he big.

“Harder, baby,” he requested. “I’ve been hard for like two days straight!”

Elain chuckled at his dramatics and squeezed him harder, making his back arch, as his hips thrust towards her and her capable hand.

“You were losing virginities, sleeping with two men, giving out blowies like they are going out of style…and I was huddled in some penthouse,”

“Ohhh, poor you! Huddled in a penthouse. However did you survive it?” she teased, and then squeezed him harder and snarled, “I wasn’t too crazy about you shacking up with your ex girlfriends, Fen,”

“She wasn’t even there!” he protested, his breathing heavy, as he gripped the sides of the tub, his hips gyrating beneath the water.

“I don’t care,” she said severely. “You are my husband. I don't want you being with any exes.”

“I am sorry, baby. It was pretty serious there for a second,”

Elain leaned over him and kissed his lips, brushing her tongue over his, whispering, “I know…I love you,”

“I love you too, Elain,” he groaned.

“Never leave me,” she warned.

“Never.”

He came with a loud pleasure-filled groan, spilling all over her breasts, watching his seed mix with the bath foam, and Elain shuddered next to him, watching him cup her breast tightly and rub his cum into her skin. She kissed him again, and he pulled her to him, wrapping his arm around her, while she snuggled atop of him.

“So, who are we deflowering?” he inquired at last, once his breathing came back to normal.

She pressed her chin into his broad chest and said,

“I want you to help me.”

“With?”

“I want to set up Cassian and Nesta.”

Fenrys choked and gasped.

“Why do you hate Cass so much?!”

“Ahhh!” she snapped in outrage and slapped his shoulder. “Shut up! She is my sister!”

“I know,” Fenrys managed. “And he is my cousin. And I love him,”

“Well, he really likes her,” Elain said, while Fenrys sat up and then hauled her out of the tub. He held her to him, wrapping her in a thick towel around her body. So far, Elain has been carried around the whole morning.

Fenrys was correct.

For whatever weird reason, Cassian liked Nesta. They’d met a few times over the years, and Nesta, true to form, treated him with her usual disdain, acting disinterested and aloof. Fenrys knew her well enough, and Nesta never changed. Her attitude was pretty much the same towards everyone–cool restraint, bordering on rudeness, and at times, a snappy retort, or a sharp comment. The only person who could deal with her on any meaningful level was Azriel, whose own natural aloofness and calmness seemingly sobered Nesta up. He always regarded her with a detached eye, never speaking ill of her, even before Elain had entered their lives, and always offering her the appropriate respect as a fellow head of a Family. He did not disparage her like the others did, and did not comment on her gender, for she was the only official female heir to a Family. Immacolata Vanserra and a few others were only wives, without any official powers and voices. Nesta was the only one who actually made decisions among the eight major Families.

“Did you know,” Fenrys said, as he wrapped a towel around his trim waist, “that she called me Az’s ‘English butler’?”

Elain started and paused drying her hair, looking at him in shock.

“What?”

Fenrys was laughing, as he nodded.

“We were in a meeting,” he recalled. “And I said something, and she turned to Az and said, ‘Please tell your Downton Abbey English butler that it’s not his place to speak unless we ask for his opinion’.”

Elain slapped her hand over her mouth and he kept laughing and nodding.

“She is a charmer, that Nesta,” he concluded.

Elain was chewing the inside of her cheek guiltily, though Fenrys was mostly amused, as he picked her up and carried her back to his room.

There was breakfast waiting for them and Elain exclaimed, “oh yum!” while Fen sat her down in the chair.

There was tea and toast, jelly and cheese and croissants and a whole array of other carbs. Before Elain could tuck into it, Fenrys lifted her face and kissed her ravenously, his hand holding the back of her head, as he consumed her lips with his, his hand sliding under the towel to grasp her breast tightly.

“I fucking love you, Elain,” he confessed.

“I love you too, Fenrys,” she smiled at him.

He sat down and buttered his toast, which he then placed on her plate.

He always served her, if they were at the table. One of the men always did, even if she cooked the meal. It was a thing between them, which Elain never really noticed or understood, but it made her feel…cared for.

“So, why do you want my cousin to end up with your sharp-tongued sister?”

“I think that she could benefit from someone like Cassian,” Elain admitted, and poured Fenrys a cup of strong black tea.

“You do know that she’s rejected every man she’s ever been out with, right?” Fenrys put liberal amounts of sugar in his cup and took a sip. “Every one. Az–no. Lorcan–no. Me, well, I am the English butler, which is an automatic no. Ruhn–she refused outright. That Scottish fella, who works for the Firm,”

“Tamlin?”

“Yes, him. Also a no. The Irish–all no. Now, who is left? The fucking Vanserras? Hope that romance doesn’t take root, because god help us all,” he groaned.

“That’s why I think Cassian would be good for her!” Elain insisted. “She rejected everyone because she is,”

“Crazy,”

“Picky,”

“New word for crazy,” he insisted and she pushed him with her foot under the table.

“Fen!”

“Baby,”

“Don’t. She is afraid of relinquishing her status…her station. She is the only female heir to a Family,”

“So that makes her the asshole that she chooses to be?”

“That puts her in a difficult position. She can only, realistically, marry someone who isn’t a head or an heir of another family. Otherwise, the Archeron family gets absorbed into another clan,”

“Okay, there is such a thing as love, you know,” he reminded her, “you rejected others, before agreeing to Az. Well, and me, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Elain bit into her almond croissant, and explained,

“There was a guy, named Tomas, whom she dated on and off for about a year. He wasn’t nice to her,”

Fenrys glanced at her over his cup and frowned.

“What did he do?”

Elain shrugged, but answered quietly,

“I think he tried to assault her,”

“What?”

“One evening, she came home late–rushed past me, and her dress was torn…the shoulder strap was torn–and she was very upset. But she wouldn’t talk to me about what happened,”

Icily, Fenrys demanded,

“What is his name?”

“What, what are you gonna do?” she huffed. “Go on some warpath over Nesta,”

Fenrys reached out and grabbed Elain’s chin, saying,

“Nesta is family. I might not get tickled pink when I am in her company, but she is still family. Families are complicated and fucked up, but regardless, she is my sister-in-law and that’s the deal. I’ll find Tomas, and pay him a visit,”

Elain cleared her throat,

“You don’t know his last name,”

“I am a resourceful man. Also, I fucking hate rapists, or wannabe rapists, so he deserves a visit.”

Elain would have argued, but she didn’t.

Let the chips fall where they may, she decided.

“I think Cassian would be a good option for Nesta. He genuinely likes her,” Elain said, smiling, “even if he is attempting–and failing–to be secretive about it. And Nesta,”

“Now you are going to tell me that she likes him too?”

“Well, she doesn’t want to order a hit on him. So that’s something. And he is not and never will be the head of any family, so there is that,”

Fenrys gave his wife an assessing look, but didn’t say anything further.

People underestimated her. Elain was acutely aware of everything that was going on around her, and knew everyone’s weak points, quickly understanding what insecurities and failings all of them suffered from. Including Nesta. Elain was no loyal dog, who’d follow her sister’s orders no matter what they were. Fenrys guessed that even though Nesta didn’t understand it, Elain was the one who cared the most for Nesta’s own well-being and security.

“And how do you propose we do this?” he asked at last.

Elain didn't get the chance to answer.

The door flew open violently, and in stepped Ruhn.

He threw both of them a dark look, Elain’s croissant stopping half-way to her mouth and Fen cocking his brow at his furious brother. The Stones’ ‘Emotional Rescue’ was playing in the background.

Wordlessly, Ruhn marched to the table and without any preamble, lifted Elain out of the chair and flipped her over his shoulder. She started, dropping the pastry on the floor and crying mournfully, “my croissant!”

“Fuck you, Fenrys Moonbeam!” Ruhn roared at the smirking Fen, pointing his finger at him. “If you ever, and I mean, ever, take my wife and have her eat breakfast with you, in your fucking British dungeon,” he made a wide gesture with his arms, “or whatever the hell you call this place,”

Fenrys was laughing soundlessly at the rage that was pouring out of his brother. Elain was flailing helplessly, while Ruhn smacked her bare ass, and then bit it for good measure as well.

“Aww!” she yelled.

Ruhn ignored her and glared at Fenrys and threatened, “I will rip your sternum out of your nose and then jam it up your ass!”

“I don’t think that it’s possible,” Fen protested, laughing maniacally. “Physically.”

“Do you want to test me, Brit boy?” Ruhn snarled.

“My Britishness has nothing to do with the current situation,” Fenrys argued. “Just because my wife wants to spend time with me more,”

“Fuck you! She doesn’t. She is my wife and she will be eating breakfast with all of us. Azriel. Ruhn. And even you.”

“She wanted to eat with me,” Fenrys argued, feigning innocence.

“You stole her from our bed!” Ruhn bellowed, “dragged her here, dressed her in your t-shirt and locked her so she could eat with you!”

Shrugging, Fenrys declared,

“I can’t help that she likes me more than you. She and I are friends. You are just a possessive, obsessive alpha male who is literally flipping her over the shoulder like a damn Neanderthal,” Fenrys was chuckling. “Ladies like to be adored and cared for. You didn’t even bathe her last night–after fucking her virginity out of her,”

“We got her tacos for dinner!” Ruhn threw, sounding kind of defensive.

“Smooth…”

Without saying another word, Ruhn turned around, with Elain hanging over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and smoothed his hand over her round buttock, as he headed out into the hallway.

She dangled docily, watching the backs of his inked calves, while he kissed that smooth, soft butt of hers, and then pinched it in retaliation for her leaving.

“I dropped my croissant,” she complained and then slapped his ass.

“I’ll get you another one,” he retorted crisply. “And,”

“Yeah? Two croissants?” she asked eagerly.

“No, not two croissants,” he argued harshly, “but if you ever hop off to your favourite boy there, and leave us, I will bend you over the counter and fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk for a week!”

Her long hair swept over his legs, while she drummed on his behind like it was a pair of bongos, slapping his ass with every step he took. He chuckled.

“I don’t love Fen more than you,” she said at last.

“Hmmmm,”

“I love you and Fen and Az. Also,”

“What?”

“That second part–it doesn’t sound like punishment,” she popped her lips and Ruhn barked a laugh.

“No?”

“I can get on board with that,” she said innocently.

He kissed her hip and rubbed his face in the soft flesh.

“Do you love me?” she asked suddenly.

“Yeah, I love you,” he admitted gruffly.

“Hmmm…how much?”

“Too much,” Ruhn grunted.

But of course Elain wouldn’t just leave it at that.

“How much is too much?” she inquired seriously.

He sighed and offered,

“Okay, how about I love you infinity times infinity plus one?”

“Why not plus two?”

“Fine, plus two. Plus infinity. And you can’t go any higher!” he added quickly.

“Okay,” Elain seemed to be placated by the exact maths calculation. “That’s a lot of love.”

He smiled against her hip and kissed it gently.

“You deserve it, beautiful.”

The tips of his fingers brushed against her folds and she exclaimed,

“I am not wearing any underwear! Put me down.”

“No,” he said simply. “You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen. You do remember that I was inside of you? Last night.”

“Ugh, I don’t like it when you say it like that,” she slapped his ass hard.

“How am I supposed to say it? I fucked it?”

“Noooo!” she protested dramatically. “That’s rude!”

“Guide me here, beautiful,” he offered, laughing at her.

“We made love!”

“Fine, I madelovedit…Better?”

“Better. But still put me down, before Az sees it!”

“I think Az would love to see your pretty pussy first thing. He also madelovedit, so I think you can trust him.”

They finally reached the vast expanse of their first floor, and Elain heard some shuffling coming from the kitchen and Ruhn announced loudly, “Look what I found!”

Azriel whistled and Ruhn grabbed her butt cheek and squeezed it harshly, slapping it playfully.

“Where was my flower?” Azriel’s voice was amused. “Riding Fen’s gargantuan dick?”

“No, I wasn’t riding anything!” she protested, wiggling over Ruhn’s shoulder. “Put me down, Ruhnnie!”

“No, sweetheart, I don’t think that Az wants me to put you down,” Ruhn smirked.

“Why?”

“Az looks hungry,”

“So I’ll feed him!” she exclaimed.

“Oh he is hungry, but for this pink pussy,” Azriel was suddenly next to her, biting her ear gently, and then he was gone before she could respond and the next thing she was doing was squealing with surprise and pleasure.

“Damn, you are hot,” Azriel groaned into her ass, his rough, scarred palms gliding down her thighs, as he parted them further, making her accessible while she hung over Ruhn’s shoulder.

“Brother, I am seriously concerned for you and that you may come before you are even in the vicinity of that pussy,” Ruhn mocked.

“Fuck off,”

“If you need any help, I am here,” Ruhn stroked Elain’s behind, laughing into it.

She cried out, when Azriel’s thumbs parted the pretty folds of her pussy and his hot breath fanned over her wetness. Gods, this was embarrassing, even for them! She was still leaking cum from last night, and she was so obviously wet all because of Fen…well, and Ruhn…okay, and Azriel’s fucking midnight voice and his nearness. But, whatever she was fretting about, clearly didn’t matter to the brothers, because Ruhn hooked his hand over her upper thigh and opened her up even further for Azriel’s exploration.

“Put your fingers in her,” Ruhn ordered hoarsely, “she is still fucking dripping from both of us,”

Elain was feeling light headed from his filthy words and from dangling upside down for so long, but when Azriel’s thick, long fingers slid into her, she moaned loudly and pathetically. Ruhn kissed her butt cheek soothingly, while Azriel began to pump her slowly and deliberately, his fingers unhurried, but steady and firm, pushing deep.

“How does it feel, flower?” he asked, managing to lick her as well, his talented tongue pressing on her clit and lapping on it.

Elain shuddered against Ruhn’s body, clutching at his back, his shoulders, as if trying to escape the delicious invasion of Az’s fingers, while rolling her hips along his thrusts, moaning softly under her breath. Azriel kept the rhythm slow and steady, knowing that she was still bruised and sensitive from last night, but his fingers penetrated her deeply and his tongue and lips, wrapped around her clit and sucking softly, were delivering the pleasure that she was craving.

Elain couldn’t even answer the question, panting and shaking between the two of them, those fingers…the glorious fingers…

“Does she taste like a woman?” Ruhn murmured tensely, holding her across the back, stroking her bare skin wherever he could reach.

“You tell me,” Azriel offered and thrust his fingers into Ruhn’s mouth. Ruhn licked the slick off appreciatively, smacking his lips, while his own fingers replaced Azriel’s, so that Elain never missed a moment of penetration and the pleasure wouldn’t be interrupted for her.

“Mmm, I am not sure,” Ruhn pondered out loud, licking his lips. “She tastes divine,”

“But like a woman?” Azriel teased.

“Tastes like she is ready for more D,” Ruhn chuckled.

“Boys,” Elain grunted, overwhelmed and feeling the men fighting the restraint of not fucking her rough and deep with their dicks. But she knew that they wouldn’t. Not until she permitted it. Not until she felt ready.

So, she unabashedly enjoyed the fingering and the licking, until she saw Fenrys’s feet appear in her vision and he lifted her head and winked, before pressing his lips to her.

“What are they doing to you, babygirl?” he laughed and casually pinched her nipple through the t-shirt.

“I don’t know,” she groaned, then pleaded, “but it feels amazing…”

Fen clicked his tongue and then skirted around the trio, observing for a minute, before Ruhn commanded once again, “Put your fingers in her.”

Elain didn’t even know how she could possibly hold more fingers inside of her, but, the next moment, she tensed and gasped in surprise, because Ruhn pulled her buttock in an invitation and then…yes, there were more fingers in her drenched pussy, which she assumed were Fen’s and the next moment, an inexorable push of his digits into her tight little hole made her grunt unbecomingly. A purely animalistic snarl escaped her lips, the tightness in her body building and building, and before she knew it, she was coming undone.

She cried out so loudly, she felt her throat spasm and hurt, and the power of her orgasm washed over her, making her stupid and not even minding that Fenrys, or someone, spit in her ass and forced their fingers even further in. She was losing her mind, unable to even keep track of who was inside of her, assuming that both Ruhn and Azriel were in her hungry, vibrating passage, and their fingers almost touched Fen’s, who was pushing and pushing into her ass.

“Steady there, sweetheart,” Fenrys murmured, kissing her face, cupping her breast with his free hand and squeezing gently. “Come for us…”

Elain bit his lower lip, kissing him violently, viciously, uncaring whether she was drawing blood. Fenrys cared even less. He kissed her back, his tongue stroking hers, his hand working inside of her so hard, she felt like she was losing her mind from overstimulation. It was too much. Like it was too much last night. She still definitely felt the ache from last night in both of her holes, and truth be told, her jaw also felt kind of raw…like it’s been a bit dislocated. It hasn’t been, but she’d certainly been through the wringer, and her body bore all the markings inside and out. But the pleasure…oh, she really couldn’t get enough. Whatever the three of them did, and however they did it, she was ravenous for it. She probably shouldn’t have appreciated all of their extensive experience with the ladies, and the hundreds of bodies that they had ploughed through in their past, but boy, oh boy, did that teach them things.

“Boys…boys,” she moaned, buckling over Ruhn’s shoulder, clawing at his back, clutching at Fen’s solid abs, trying to reach whatever she could, as her body tensed yet again, with Azriel’s soft, patient tongue licking on her clit. She felt ripe and bursting, like an exotic fruit that leaked juices when squeezed and pressed.

“Does anyone else think that it’s the hottest thing ever when our girl says ‘boys, boys’?” Ruhn wondered with a smile, half-breathless himself. His dick was aching, and he has been holding a fully grown, somewhat plump female, over his shoulder for the past fifteen minutes, while she’s been shuddering with orgasms against him. He had the right to be breathless.

“Music to my ears,” Fenrys admitted.

Completely unexpectedly, there was a sound of the doorbell ringing.

Elain stiffened in Ruhn’s arms and Azriel finally tore his face from between her legs and roared, “What the fuck?!”

They never had visitors.

It was just the four of them, and sometimes servants, who were discrete and unseen. They had their own entrance and a strict schedule when their fobs worked and allowed them to enter the house. The only time anyone was allowed inside was for the weekend games and cocktails. Once a month, there was a card night too. But no one, but their very trusted inner circle knew about the house. Ruhn and Azriel were security obsessed and everything about their whereabouts was always shrouded in secrecy.

“Give me her,” Azriel whispered and gently took Elain off Ruhn’s shoulder, perching her on his hip, like she was a toddler. She was still panting heavily, and he kissed her lips, taking care to cradle her head, so that she didn’t get dizzy once the blood rushed back down.

“How are you, my flower?” he worried, kissing her again.

The bell rang again and he rolled his eyes.

“I am good,” she smiled at him, stroking his cheek.

“Fen, can you go and see who it is?” Ruhn requested, and Fenrys grabbed a cup of tea and made his way to the front door.

Meanwhile, Ruhn squeezed Elain’s full, soft tit and chuckled,

“You are like that weird baby from Twilight…”

Her brow furrowed and she asked,

“Weird baby?”

“Yeah, the CGI baby.”

“Renesmee?”

He nodded, “yep”.

Azriel looked at both of them in utter confusion and then wondered,

“How do you know about Twilight?”

Elain exclaimed excitedly, “Ruhnnie, you read Twilight?!”

Azriel was smirking, nuzzling into Elain’s cheek, watching his squirming brother with amusement. It was too late to back out of this though, so Ruhn shrugged and said, somewhat defensively,

“So what? So what if I did?”

Azriel smirked and announced, “No judgement, brother!”

“I feel like there is plenty of judgement coming off of you right now,”

“I just wasn't aware that that’s what you dabbled in,”

“Team Jacob or Team Edward?” Elain demanded, interrupting them.

“Team Edward all the way!” Ruhn vowed and she threw her head back, yelling ‘yaaasssss!”

“Is this a thing?” Azriel asked.

“Don’t pretend like you haven’t watched Twilight,” she ordered sternly.

“I haven’t!”

“Bullshit,” Ruhn waved him off.

“Okay, if I did, it was a long time ago,” Azriel said dismissively.

“What about Renesmee?” Elain reminded him, while Ruhn teased her nipple with his thumb through the t-shirt.

She slumped on Azriel’s hip, as he held her up by her bare butt, and wrapped her legs around his thighs.

“Well, she was a vamp baby right?”

Elain nodded.

Azriel was both fascinated and horrified that Ruhn knew so much about Twilight. But he listened in silence.

“So,” Ruhn continued, “she is always in someone’s arms, because she doesn’t sleep. So someone is cradling her at all times,”

“That sounds like a nightmare,” Az muttered under his breath, and Elain elbowed him.

“That's cute and sweet!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah, for five minutes! After that, you want that baby to sleep!” he insisted ruthlessly.

Ruhn pondered for a moment and then said, “He does have a point. You don't really want to have a perpetually awake baby!”

Elain pouted and protested, “I still think it’s adorable,”

“What’s adorable,” Ruhn said, “is you,” he pinched her nipple and she gasped, “always being in someone’s arms! Have you stepped on the floor today?”

Elain wrinkled her nose, thinking back and then murmured, “I don’t think so,”

“You are Reneesme!” Azriel laughed and Ruhn nodded.

“Someone is always hauling you about,”

“Elain!” Nesta's voice was both hissing and shrill at once, which was an amazing accomplishment.

“Nesta!” Elain choked out, eyes wild.

Nesta

It’s been a month.

A month of not seeing Elain. The moment she married, it seemed like Azriel King kidnapped her, since she only responded to texts.

Not one invite to hang out–Elain always being the one to go out for drinks and meals, as if she really needed another meal. But she was always the instigator.

Not an invite to her house. She didn’t even say where she lived. Nesta heard ‘a hotel’--what did that mean? They lived in a hotel? Every weekend Nesta went to the bars that Elain had frequented, and where she watched soccer (or as Elain insisted on calling it ‘football’), but did not find Elain though, so she got to talk to way too many weird men who screamed at the TVs, wore jerseys and asked where Elain was because they ‘missed her’. Nesta could only sneer at them. A couple of them even dared to proposition her!! Disgusting. She should’ve monitored Elain closely when she’d gone to those bars. They were filled with horny Italians or rowdy Englishmen. She couldn’t even imagine how Elain handled it. Elain was innocent and not very bright and too trusting.

Was Nesta surprised that Azriel chose Elain as his wife? Yes. If she were honest, yes. Also, not that she’d ever admit this to anyone, including herself, but it kind of…hurt her feelings that Azriel had politely, but firmly rejected her once they’d gone on a date. She liked Azriel. He was intelligent, powerful, wealthy, capable, steadfast. But he was the heir of his family, and ultimately, maybe it was for the best that they didn’t end up together. At least she liked telling herself that.

Yet, Elain, he liked right away. He offered for Elain the same night he’d met her–as if it was love at first sight for him. Elain, who’d rejected everyone prior to Azriel, also agreed, the same night, to marry him. Nesta was shocked–positively shocked–as to what her father was able to negotiate with Azriel King as the bride price. And Azriel did not even argue. Did not so much as flinch when they ended the bargaining at 20 million. Paid it, even though his brother Ruhn looked like he was about to have a heart attack. Azriel insisted that the wedding be celebrated in a month, rushing into it as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. And so it was that Elain Archeron married for love and beauty, while Nesta stood back, knowing that she’d marry for power.

Today, when she woke up, she’s had enough. She’s had enough this whole week, but she would not be ignored any longer. So she dressed, drank a quick cup of coffee and had her driver deliver her to the headquarters of King Enterprises. She’s been here before, but only now she realised that there was indeed a hotel attached to the other side of the office building, and there was yet another building, which apparently housed Ruhn’s Tattoo Studio.

Thinking of Ruhn, Nesta shuddered. That man freaked her the fuck out. It was as if he leaked madness and brutality from his very pores. She’s heard stories and put the reports aside when they were delivered to her. She’d rather not know. But Elain, stupid Elain, danced with him at the wedding and they acted as if they were the best of friends. They even had their own dance, together, similar to a bride and groom. To others, it would’ve looked like they were marrying each other. He chose a tender song for her. The same man, who, if rumour was to be believed, had mallets and knives and bats to kill with. Weapons that he named. It was said that once you were in his clutches, there was no escape–there would never be an escape from Ruhn Danaan King, who killed and enjoyed it, if the occasion called for it.

Nesta went to the main building and requested to see Cassian from a receptionist who looked like a supermodel. In most office buildings, the reception was minded by security guards. Here, everything was expensive, chic and elegant as soon as one stepped into the light-filled building. Cassian was someone she knew, and someone who was close to Azriel, and the 6 foot tall, 100 lb woman with cheekbones that could cut glass and a tight chignon did not ask any questions.

“Mr. Rossi,” she called, “Miss Nesta Archeron wishes an audience.”

Wishes an audience? What the fuck.

Nesta barely contained herself from snapping at the receptionist, but she held back. She was an Archeron, and she was going to be admired for her power and her behaviour.

Cassian Rossi was the most beautiful man that Nesta’s ever seen. Not that he’d ever know that. She wouldn’t allow herself to ever utter such nonsense to him, or anyone. It’s not that it mattered that this huge mountain of muscles somehow managed to dazzle her from the first time they’d met. He was part of Azriel’s entourage for some meeting that she was attending. He was obnoxious and had an awful sense of humour, he was loud, and he walked with a sexual swagger that grated on Nesta’s nerves. He irritated Nesta with his keen watchful look, as if all the secrets of her heart were laid bare in front of him. He was annoying because he was so blunt and spoke his mind, and never backed off from a fight. At the same time he was discreet, unfailingly loyal to the Kings, obviously intelligent…

“Nesta, what brings you here?”

Cassian’s rough, deep voice jolted her out of her reverie and she turned her head to him. Her stupid eyes couldn’t stop in time and she checked him out from head to toe–something he certainly noticed, judging by the obnoxious smirk that played on his full lips. He wore a nicely tailored gray suit, which didn’t manage to take away from his innate wildness. It was obvious that all these modern trappings were just a camouflage, to hide the ruthless, brave warrior underneath. That’s what he was. A warrior. A knight, who fought on battlefields and seduced willing maidens.

“I wish to see Elain,” she said firmly.

“Mr. Rossi, would you like me to book a room for you?” the receptionist asked.

“Won’t be necessary, Cerridwen,” he said. “Where is the regular girl?”

“Alis is out sick. I am covering for her here.”

“You are better utilised upstairs,” he argued. “Next time, let us know, and we’ll find someone else to cover. I’d rather have you up in security.”

Shit, it was Cerridwen!

Nesta was so used to ignoring receptionists, secretaries and general help, that she didn’t even realise that it was Cerridwen! Well, now it was awkward. Cerridwen and Nuala–Elain’s best friends. She hasn't realised that Cerridwen worked here. Now, glancing at the beautiful woman, Nesta knew that Cerridwen recognized her and it was even more awkward and damn Cassian did nothing to ease the situation. He just stood and watched them, that dumb smirk still tugging on his mouth.

“Hello Nesta,” Cerridwen offered a cool smile. “Nice to see you here. Say hi to Elain. She brought us wonderful cookies the other day, they were delicious and the guys polished them in seconds.”

Naturally…Elain would bring cookies. Elain was friends with everyone. With Cerridwen. With the ‘guys’--Nesta assumed Azriel’s guards or something–with Nuala, with the whole world. She was always popular. Always liked. Elain was the rose, while Nesta was the thorn.

“I’ll be sure to tell her,” Nesta bit out. “You look good, Cer. Did you do something to your hair?”

“No. Same as I’ve worn it for the past five years,” Cerridwen said tartly, touching her glossy hair.

“Must be the makeup then.”

Turning back to Cassian, who watched the exchange with amusement, which he didn't try to hide, Nesta repeated herself,

“Elain?”

Cassian sighed, regarded her for a moment and then said,

“Fine. Follow me.”

Surprisingly, Cassian did not take Nesta outside, but she followed him deeper into the building, away from the glittering reception with its sculptures and soft lighting and sparkling floors, and into the basement, while Cassian kept swiping some fancy badge next to each door. Nesta figured that the White House was more penetrable than this place.

“I thought that they lived in the hotel,” she said, attempting to keep up with his wide stride.

Cassian stopped at an elevator, and then reached into his pocket and produced some kind of a black cloth.

“Put this on,” he handed it to her, and Nesta bristled, as she unwrapped a freakin’ blindfold! A blindfold!!

“What is this?” she exclaimed. “No.”

Cassian shrugged and said, “Then we are not going. I will let Elain know to call you.”

Nesta gritted her teeth and stared at him. He beheld her gaze with unflinching frankiness. His bronze, rough-hewn face, framed by long, jet black curls remained blank and the gorgeous amber eyes stared her down just as ably.

She put the blindfold on, and then he tightened it in the back, the asshole.

“I can’t see anything!” she groaned roughly.

“Good.”

And then a very large, very calloused, very firm, warm palm wrapped around her cold hand and he pulled her after him. Gosh his fingers were big. Long too. Why was she thinking about this?

“You look good, Nes,” he said suddenly, and she felt sweat break over her body, her face, and to her horror she knew that she was blushing. And not one to ever make it easy for her, he added, “You blush prettily. Like Elain. She blushes at everything, though she is not exactly shy.”

“Don’t call me Nes,” she snapped, feeling even hotter and turning even redder.

“Why not?”

“I don’t do nicknames.”

“You don’t do nicknames?” he repeated in amusement, leading her god knows where. It seems like they’ve taken at least 3 elevator rides, walked up and down some hallways, went outside, went inside. It was ridiculous.

“Are you leading me in circles?” she demanded.

He chuckled and said,

“Yeah, it’s my secret plan to spend time with you. Because I love nothing more than listening to you sniping and snarling at me, Nessie.”

Nessie?

NESSIE?

Before Nesta had the chance to kick him in the dick, he tugged on her hand, stopping her and said, “We are here.”

She moved to tear the blindfold off, but his strong hand shut out and stopped her.

“Not yet,” he grunted.

He rang the door, but she was impatient, and began to bang on it.

“Real mature,” Cassian muttered and she whipped her head at him, forgetting for a minute that she couldn’t see him.

“Calm down, firecracker,” he sighed dramatically.

“I am going to punch you in the face,” she warned.

“Well, many tried, few succeeded, sweetheart.”

“I’ll succeed.”

“We’ll see about that.”

She heard the door open and then a man with an English accent–Fenrys–greeted them,

“Well, well, this is unexpected. Hello Nesta. Cass.”

“Nesta wishes to see Elain,” Cassian reported dully. Like he didn’t want to be responsible for bringing her here.

“Come on in then,” Fenrys sang.

Cassian helped Nesta over the threshold, though she jerked her hand out of his, and hissed, “Don’t touch me!”

“Okay. Fall on your face then.”

Nesta finally took the blindfold off. Fenrys stood there, wearing only jeans, which were hanging precariously on his narrow hips, the top button open. He was otherwise naked, barefoot, and holding a cup of what looked like strong tea near his smirking lips. He was unfairly, deliriously dazzling. Wild, just like Cassian, he was full of life and vitality, and while Cassian was rough, Fenrys was elegant, un-American, classic, Old School. Whatever it was, he was a chiselled-faced Englishman, whose golden skin was the stuff of dreams, and contrasted beautifully with his golden mane.

Nesta flushed. His sheer presence was oozing sexuality, and he was well aware of it. He knew how he was, the body that he had, the shoulders that could break down a door, and the height that made girls swoon.

“Can you take me to my sister?” Nesta said.

“Hello to you too, dear sister-in-law,” he chuckled arrogantly. “Follow the English butler, madame.”

“Aren’t you the butler?” she sniped.

“Sure am!” he gave her a fake smile.

The house surprised Nesta.

It was obvious they were not in any hotel, but at a private home. And it was not at all what she expected. It wasn’t a soulless, ultra modern place where nothing was amiss and it felt like the American Psycho inhabited it. Even though all of them were, in fact, American Psychos, the place was, in fact, pleasantly lived-in. There was a surprising number of art pieces on the walls and Nesta couldn’t think for the life of her, who was an art enthusiast. It wasn’t a house of a Russian oligarch or a Chinese billionaire, where everything was about gilded excess and lack of knowledge of art or culture, and simply a showcase of absurd wealth. It wasn’t a frat house, where there were piles of beer bottles, red Solo cups and video games everywhere. Nope. There were large bookshelves filled with books of every kind. The furniture was stylish and expensive, but comfortable. No massive TVs in sight.

Whoever decorated this place–though it didn’t seem to Nesta like it was done purposefully–had good taste. The building was old, but completely refurbished. The floors were dark wood, there were exposed brick walls here and there, honey brown leather, industrial elements that mixed freely and successfully with old marble and antique mirrors. The windows were enormous and allowed the house to be flooded with light. Outside, Nesta spotted a garden, which, she was sure, Elain was already working on.

She was trying to keep her eyes on the decor and the spacious room, which flowed into each other, not quite the ultra modern ‘open concept’, but open enough to allow for a wide field of vision, without feeling like a giant football stadium. Eyes on the decor, and not Fenrys’s spectacular ass and incredible back. That back was…stunning. And Nesta was sweating, because with the barely dressed Fenrys in front of her and the silent hulking glory that was Cassian behind her, it was more than she could handle with dignity. She wanted to fan herself.

“Elain!”

Nesta stopped dead in her tracks.

For a variety of reasons.

The three males who occupied this house shared three things: their ungodly height, their blindingly good looks and now, various states of undress.

There was Fenrys, in his jeans, and the next thing that Nesta saw was Ruhn, who only wore a pair of black basketball shorts. His body was brutally carved and lavishly decorated with ink, which covered a good portion of his entire torso, his arms, and even his legs. Nesta heard that he was a tattoo artist, when he wasn’t killing and torturing, so she supposed that he advertised his own work on his skin. God he was weird. Pierced and half-shaved and inked everywhere–it’s like he was trying to make himself ugly. Nesta did not care for tattoos, though she was fairly used to them, since everyone in her vicinity was covered in them.

Lastly, there was Azriel, whom Nesta never even saw without a full suit on.

Now, here he was, in only black boxers. That’s all.

He was her brother-in-law and she didn’t know where to look. When he glanced at Cassian, who had his eyes on her, she noticed a smirk on his face. He could totally read her discomfort and she prayed that he couldn’t read beyond that. Because yes, Nesta did not have experience with men. Especially almost naked men .

Unlike her sister, apparently.

Azriel was holding Elain in his arms, his grotesquely scarred hands grasping her bare butt, which peeked from under the t-shirt that she wore. That’s the only thing she wore, because Nesta noticed that there was no underwear or a bra to be found.

Cassian, to his credit, averted his eyes immediately, and did not look at Elain even for a second.

“Nesta!” Elain’s hair was a mess of curls and Nesta found herself blushing again, as she noticed her sister’s swollen lips and a prominent bruise on her delicate neck. A hickie. Azriel silently inclined his head in greeting, and Ruhn stepped out of the way, though Nesta also caught the movement of his hand. She could’ve sworn that he was touching Elain’s breast right before she and Cassian entered the kitchen space. Elain jumped out of Azriel’s embrace and rushed to Nesta with outstretched arms.

“You came!” she cried out happily, pulling Nesta into a hug.

Nesta didn’t respond to the embrace and noted coolly,

“Yes. I had to resort to asking Cassian for help to get to you.”

Elain pulled away and looked at her guiltily.

“I am sorry, Nesta. I’ve just been busy. It’s been,”

Nesta interrupted Elain’s babbling with a curt, “Why are you naked?”

Elain looked down and then pulled the hem of her t-shirt down, squirming under Nesta’s scrutiny.

Good.

“Go get dressed,” Nesta ordered.

Elain swallowed and ducked her head, murmuring, “oh, okay’.

Ruhn’s bright blue eyes sized Nesta up and down, his gaze both brazen and icy, and as he folded his arms on his chest, he said,

“What do you want for brekkie, beautiful?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Elain mumbled. “I’ll make something. Nesta, will you stay for breakfast?” she asked hopefully. “Cass, you too,”

“He doesn’t have to stay,” Nesta cut in.

Azriel cleared his throat and despite his near-nakedness, his voice and stature carried their usual authority,

“Welcome to our home, Nesta. Make yourself comfortable. Obviously per my wife’s request, Cassian will stay for breakfast.”

The order was clear. The authority that he immediately bestowed upon Elain was unquestionable. Nesta pursed her lips and then said,

“I’ll come with you, Elain,”

Elain beamed and nodded.

Nesta could see that her sister was genuinely excited to see her, and she felt almost bad for being as short as she was with her. Elain was soft and silly and forgiving. The three men though…Nesta felt the dark gaze of Azriel King on her at all times. As usual, he said little, but he watched her with his wife, and there was a silent threat in his posture that should she step out of line, there would be repercussions. Ruhn had a similar look about him, even less friendly. His head was cocked to the side, the long silky black hair streaming down his form, making it look like he was swathed in shadows.

“Do you like our house?” Elain threaded her arm with Nesta’s and spoke excitedly. “I love it! We have a pool too and a garden. I planted tomatoes when I moved in, and zucchini and cucumbers,”

“I’ll get us some tomatoes for breakfast, sweetheart,” Ruhn said casually, and Elain smiled and nodded, looking at him with love and pride. He in turn, looked at her like she was the only thing in the world–the one thing that mattered to him. And as shocked as Nesta was by the raw hunger and adoration that she saw on Ruhn’s face, when she glanced at both Azriel and Fenrys, she saw something similar. Protectiveness and caution, and ravenous desire. It was sexual. But not only. It was the look of love.

Fenrys mosied over, and draped his arm over Elain’s shoulders, pulling her to him.

So, the three little kings weren’t going to leave their pretty princess alone with the viper. Nesta understood the silent threat.

Fenrys pressed his lips to Elain’s head and she looked up at him, looking completely besotted.

What the hell was going on?

Just as they reached the stairs which led to the landing and the vast semi-open second floor, Elain was suddenly whirled and pulled out from between Nesta and Fenrys. Azriel, looking like some dark ancient god, stood there, his naked body rippling with strange, impatient energy. Without sparing anyone a glance, his eyes firmly on Elain, he cupped her face between his mangled hands and smashed their lips together. Elain whimpered and fell into the kiss, clutching at his massive arms, her body melding into his. Nesta knew that she was currently making the ‘surprised Pikachu face’ at the uncontrolled desire that the normally placid Azriel was displaying towards her sister. He was famously impossible to read and at meetings, no one knew what he was thinking. But here he was, lapping at Elain’s tongue like a starving man, mashing their mouths together, holding her so close to him, it must have been suffocating her. Elain didn’t care. She clutched and ran her fingers over his skin, and when he pushed her ever closer, her t-shirt rose up and Nesta could see everything…her bare ass, oh god…even the wetness between her thighs and a tattoo! A tattoo! On Elain. In a very intimate spot, right under her butt cheek. Who tattooed her there??

Fenrys was smirking at the kissing couple, rubbing his thumb over his lower lip, admiring Elain’s nakedness, her long legs, her bare butt, and absolutely everything else that was on display. Azriel kissed like his life depended on it, and Nesta was left standing in scandalised horror at everything she was seeing.

“She ain’t going off to war, brother,” Fenrys laughed. “Just upstairs to put on a pair of knickers.”

Azriel ignored him, continuing to kiss his wife with lips and teeth and tongue, licking and sucking and laving on her.

“Imagine living here full time,” Fenrys complained dramatically and loudly to Nesta, in futile hope of forcing a smile out of her. She just crossed her arms on her chest and stood still and ramrod straight, waiting.

“If you want to have a cup of coffee with Cass,” Fenrys began, but she cut him off and snapped,

“I’d rather not.”

At last, Azriel and Elain tore away from each other, though he still held her in his arms, his other hand squeezing her jaw.

“That’s my girl,” he breathed. “What are you?”

“Yours,” she panted.

“Mine.”

He stroked her face and kissed her again.

“Wear something of mine, flower,” he requested.

“Yes. And Ruhn’s,” she nodded.

Then, he whispered something in her ear, which Nesta couldn’t hear.

But Elain blushed and squirmed, while he smiled and pecked her lips again.

You waddle today.

Upstairs, Nesta found a large open library and there was a grand piano in there as well.

“Who plays?” she asked, even if she didn’t mean to.

“Az plays very well,” Fenrys said, his tone serious. “Ruhn plays as well.”

Nesta couldn’t hide her surprise, “They play the piano?”

“We don’t just blow shit up,” Fenrys said. “Az plays,”

Elain opened the door to one of the bedrooms and before she could say anything, Nesta barged inside. Surprisingly, Fenrys stayed behind and didn’t follow.

It was a large, but not too large room with soothing grays and blues and beiges, and a very big unmade bed. In the middle, between rumpled sheets, Nesta spotted Mwah-Mwah. She couldn’t believe that Elain dragged her weirdo toy with her and made her husband sleep with it in their marital bed. But what gave her pause was the three distinct impressions on the bed. Three. Side by side. Not two.

“I am so happy you came,” Elain skipped about, pleased and happy with life, smiling. “What do you think,”

“What is going on, Elain?” Nesta demanded.

Elain stopped rummaging in a dresser and pulled out a pair of man’s undershorts.

“What’s going on?” she shrugged, as she put them on.

“You tell me?” Nesta ordered. “You parade in front of all those men naked!”

“I wasn’t naked!” Elain argued, blushing.

“Yes you are. I could see your naked ass. So could Ruhn and Fenrys. And Ruhn was touching you–inappropriately!” Nesta was almost shouting, her normally pale skin turning red. “You have a freakin’ tattoo on your butt! You are…” she swallowed her horror and then hissed, “leaking!”

Elain gasped and took an involuntary step backwards, while Nesta gathered more steam and moved at her. Elain stood there, clutching a bra in her hands, and Nesta continued,

“You are acting like a whore! Do you think a husband would like that? You showing off in front of other men, displaying your body? What is wrong with you?”

“Shut up,” Elain hissed, and Nesta noticed tears brimming in her eyes. Whenever Elain became frustrated and embarrassed, she always cried angry tears. She couldn’t help it. Nesta knew it, and pushed again.

“Your job is to be a quiet wife to Azriel, and give him sons. Not strut around like a hooker,”

“I am in my house!” Elained cried out.

“No, you are in his house,” Nesta laughed coldly. “He bought you and you are in his house,”

“He didn’t buy me!”

“Certainly did,” Nesta shrugged and glanced around, while Elain swallowed silent tears.

“He loves me,”

“You are so stupid,” shaking her head, Nesta noticed a genuine Renoir on the wall. The chunky woman on the canvas looked like Elain. “Men like Azriel don’t love stupid girls. Dumb, naive girls who think that he is a prince Charming who came to rescue them.”

Nesta was laughing, rolling her eyes dramatically.

“He does love me,” Elain insisted, her voice so soft, Nesta barely heard her.

“No, Elain. Men like Azriel don’t love anyone. He’ll use you for sex–as he should–he’ll make you a baby and you’ll be a good wife to him. Don’t make him angry with your silly behaviour,” Nesta snapped her fingers. “Put some nice clothes on and don’t let him see you like this,” she wrinkled her nose. “You look unkempt! Why are you wearing this huge t-shirt and his underwear?”

“I am in my home, Nesta!” Elain’s voice got harder as she repeated herself and she whirled around. “And screw you!”

It was Nesta’s turn to step back. Elain never said anything of the sort to her.

Grabbing a brush, Elain angrily ran it through her tangled hair and then continued,

“I am in my house and I will dress the way I want to. Besides, I just took a bath and haven’t even gotten a chance to brush my hair. You think that I am stupid and naive–well, I am not!”

Nesta smirked coldly and raised her brow,

“You are,”

“No, I am not!” Elain threw back, her brown eyes gleaming with anger. “Unlike you, Nesta, I managed to not only get married to the most powerful don in New York, but I have my own business, which is successful enough for me to start considering expansion,”

“Don’t you dare!”

“You are not the one to tell me what to do anymore,” Elain pointed the brush at her, “you are not the one to tell me what I can and can’t do!

“And yeah, I know you are jealous, because I not only married before you, but he fucking loves me. Blah, blah–Azriel doesn’t love. Bullshit! He does. And he loves me. He, in fact, adores me, because I am his wife and what he always wanted.

“Sorry you haven’t been able to find anyone who feels the same about you,”

“Fuck you, Elain,”

“No, you just turn everyone away. You turned him away too,”

Nesta chewed the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.

“I didn’t want Azriel!” she tossed indifferently.

“You are lying,” Elain braided her hair, “because I know that when you went on a date with him, you were enchanted. Hopeful. But your disgusting attitude is your biggest enemy. There are good men out there–Lorcan, Cassian–,”

“Fuck Cassian!”

“No, Cassian is a good man. But you are too proud to admit it, because you think you are better than everyone. You are miserable because you don’t allow yourself to love anyone, and no one is accepted by you. Even those who try to love you are rejected and discarded,”

“What do you know?!” Nesta cried out, her hand itching for a slap.

“I know everything about you. And I know where you hurt. And how you ache. I know you want to be loved, just like everyone else. And it kills you to see that Az fell in love with me,”

“He did not,”

“He did,” Elain nodded thoughtfully. “From the first glance too. He saw me and I saw him and we both knew. Yeah, and the reason I am leaking, as you put it so delicately, is because I had sex!”

Nesta pursed her lips and said, “I don't need details.”

“Seems like you do. Guess what, I have sex with my handsome, powerful, wealthy husband. Who loves me. With whom I share my house, my body and my life. Oh, and I don’t have to ask him for permission to expand my business. I’ll do it and he’ll believe in me and will support me. Can you say the same about anyone in your life?”

Elain marched back to the door and threw over her shoulder,

“And this is our house. Where he and I and our boys live,”

“Your boys?”

“Yes, indeed. And we’ll fill this house with children and happiness,”

“I told you you were dumb and naive,” Nesta snorted.

“No. I just make my life what I want it to be.”

Fenrys was standing propped against the wall in the hallway, arms crossed on his chest. At least he put on a t-shirt. Otherwise, Nesta wasn’t sure if she could handle any more of this nudity.

“Hi babygirl,” he winked at her, but his dark eyes skimmed Elain over, clearly searching for signs of distress. “All good?”

“Oh look, the princess needs her bodyguard,” Nesta rolled her eyes. “Checking on me? Making sure that I didn’t upset the precious princess?”

“Elain is a queen,” Fenrys corrected coldly. And then handed over a piece of cloth, which was dangling off his finger.

“Oh, that’s Ruhnnie’s,” Elain muttered excitedly and pulled on a sleeveless shirt with deep armholes over her current t-shirt. She took a deep whiff and murmured, “smells so good.”

Fenrys smiled, but didn’t comment, and then gave her a leather belt, helping her style her ridiculous outfit. Nesta watched them silently. Elain wore Azriel’s shorts, Fen’s t-shirt and Ruhn’s shirt, and with a belt, it actually didn’t look bad–kind of an 80’s vibe, a la Flashdance. Not that Nesta would tell her that.

Fenrys wrapped his arm around Elain possessively, and it dawned on Nesta that so far, Elain hasn’t been left alone for any period of time, other than when they were in the bedroom. One of the men was always on top of her, touching her, watching her, stroking her, hugging her, kissing her. How Azriel permitted this bullshit and how he could stand it, Nesta had no idea.

“What the hell are you wearing?” she finally couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

Elain looked down at herself and then said,

“The boys’ stuff,”

“You look insane!” Nesta threw her hands up. “Why?”

Fenrys moved to stand between the two sisters, just a discrete step, but he half-shielded Elain with his body.

“Because I like the smell,” Elain said blankly.

“You like the smell?”

“Yes,” Elain nodded. “I like the way my husbands’ smell,”

Nesta’s breath caught in her throat and she sputtered,

“Husbands? What husbands? What is happening!”

Elain blushed and quickly corrected,

“I said ‘husband’...the way my husband smells,”

“You said ‘husbands’!” Nesta yelled.

“No I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did!”

“Leave me alone. I said husband. I like the way my men smell. Sue me.”

“They are not your men!”

Fen huffed and laughed, but pulled Elain after him, refusing to interfere.

They made it downstairs in sullen silence, and back in the kitchen, which was very beautiful, with gorgeous classic cabinets and lots of glass and stunning lighting, where the three men were busy cooking.

Nesta stopped mid-step, when she beheld Cassian, who was wearing an apron and had his white shirt sleeves rolled up over his muscular, tattooed forearms. It didn’t hurt that he had the shirt open on his bronze chest, and there was a lock of his lustrous, jet-black hair that stubbornly fell over his forehead. If she could, she would help him with that. She would tuck it behind his ear, or retie it with his worn leather strap–yes, she noticed the leather strap a long time ago–but she couldn’t do any of those things.

“Girls, you ready to eat?” Cassian grinned at them, while he sliced fresh bread that was delivered to them every morning. Elain liked to bake her own bread, but she didn’t always have the time and the Italian bakery that the brothers owned provided them with incredible bread.

“Cass, you know how to cook?” Elain asked, sliding onto the stool, while Nesta sat next to her, silent and straight, her hands on her lap.

“I do!” he nodded, “learned when I was in the Navy,” and then offered, “coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Elain nodded, while he chuckled and looked at Nesta,

“Nes?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Hmm,” he poured both of them coffee and set the cup in front of Nesta, murmuring seductively, “a little cream with your cup of darkness?”

“No thank you,” she growled at him, and then said with a saccharine smile, “I prefer green tea.”

“Hmmm,” he drawled again, while Azriel and Ruhn were watching and listening, trying to cover up their amusement. Ruhn was feeding Elain juicy tomato slices, which she gobbled up, while his fingers dripped with olive oil and he had her lick them.

Nesta gave them a side glance and groaned, “Gross. Stop.”

Cassian meanwhile reached over and grabbed a muffin from a basket in front of Nesta, deliberately reaching over her, while asking,

“Are you a top or a bottom, Nesta?”

She glared at him, while Elain smiled, knowing that Cassian was taunting her sister on purpose. He, for some reason, liked the sharp words and the snapping that Nesta doled out to him feely and eagerly.

He twisted the muffin and inhaled the whole top in one bite.

“I am a top,” he announced.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Nesta said flatly. Then she added, “I don’t eat muffins.”

“Green tea, no coffee and no muffins,” Cassian whistled, as he slid a plump frittata onto a platter and the rest of the men piled around the counter, taking their seats. “Aren’t you a bundle of laughs!”

“Are all those bulging muscles compensating for something?” Nesta asked tartly.

He raised his brow and said,

“Everything is bulging on me, sweetheart.”

“You should get that checked out,” she recommended.

Fenrys snorted a laugh and Cassian chuckled, as he sat down and made himself comfortable.

Meanwhile, Azriel took a plate and loaded it with a generous piece of the frittata, tomato slices, as well as two fat, glistening mozzarella balls, which he drizzled with olive oil and then tore some basil over the whole plate. He set the plate in front of Elain, and smiled at her, and only then did the rest of them begin to pile their plates with the food.

Nesta noted that the men definitely took care of Elain. They were attentive to her, and whenever she wanted something, she didn’t even need to say the words, and someone was already moving a sugar dish in front of her, or passing her the creamer, or the bread basket.

Nesta hardly ate, but she watched them–the friendly jabs and bickering between the four of them, and Cassian was also definitely part of the group. He called Elain by her name, and sometimes ‘petal’ and he teased her, and she took it well. He wasn’t the same with Elain as he was with her. There was a deference in him towards her sister, which Nesta found somehow bizarre. This huge muscular man, who was a former Navy Seal, or, as he once corrected her and told her that he was a ‘vet’ and not an ‘ex-Marine’, spoke to her silly sister kindly, but respectfully. When he joked, the jokes weren’t grating. Elain laughed openly.

The whole thing was kind of strange. A choreographed dance of sorts. Cassian talked, but never touched. He was not refilling Elain’s plate, and if he offered her something, it went through one of the other men. They however touched Elain constantly, and catered to her like servants. Oblivious, as usual, Elain didn't notice anything. Nesta did. Nesta watched and saw everything. She saw Ruhn’s fingers skim over Elain’s neck, her shoulder, her own fingers. Nesta noticed how Azriel kept his hand on Elain’s thigh, and when she wasn’t actively eating, he took her hand and gently stroked the inside of her palm with his thumb. Fenrys tucked her hair, kissed her cheek, cuddled her like a dog, like a friendly wolf.

“What the fuck is happening here?”

Nesta’s voice was even, but loud and her pale blue eyes moved from one person to another around the counter.

Elain dropped her fork and looked at her.

“I repeat, what are you doing to my sister?” Nesta demanded. “Are you all fucking her?”

Cassian choked on his drink and kept his mouth shut.

“And you know!” she hissed at him, her eyes boring into his.

Azriel sipped his espresso slowly, unlike his usual way of just chugging it. Then, he brought Elain’s hand to his lips and kissed it.

“Nesta, please remember that you are in my wife’s house,” he said casually, but sternly. There wasn’t a threat in his tone, but a hint of warning. “And she will be respected in her own home. Regardless of your personal feelings on the matter.”

“The agreement was–she marries you, provides you with an heir, and your family unites with ours,” Nesta reminded him.

“And I do believe that at least two of those things have happened–we married and united our families. We’ll have a child when we are ready.”

“You should be ready now.”

He sighed and stroked Elain’s hand, while she squirmed in her seat.

“Nesta, you speak boldly for someone who isn’t even dating,” Azriel reminded her in turn.

Nesta flushed,

“That’s none of your business.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But neither is your sister’s marriage your business,”

“She is my sister,”

“And she is my wife,”

“This was a political arrangement,”

“Which turned into a happy union,” Azriel stated flatly. “I love Elain. So do my brothers. That’s all you need to know.”

“You love her? After a month?” Nesta laughed dryly.

“Why can’t he love me?” Elain murmured, but Nesta waved her off dismissively.

It was then that she caught Cassian’s dark gaze. He wasn’t eating, but watching her.

“What are you looking at?” she snarled.

He cocked his brow, as if surprised that she dared to challenge him, and then said calmly, but fiercely,

“I am looking at someone who is in her sister’s house and still doesn’t know her place. Someone who thinks that she can command the situation, when she has no power here. Someone who treats her sister like dirt. Your sister is a smart woman, Nesta. Something you fail to recognise in your attempt to belittle her and continue to oppress her with your presence and your influence. Elain is smart and thoughtful. She is kind, she loves my cousins more than anything, and cares for them and for all of us. Elain is our family. I’ll be damned if I allow you to speak to her like she doesn’t have a voice of her own.

“It’s none of your business if and when she is going to have a kid. You certainly ain’t going to tell Azriel King when he ought to have one and whether his marriage and the alliance between the families are legit.

“It also, frankly, isn’t your business what happens in this family. Elain can make those decisions herself,”

Nesta did not avert her eyes from the man across from her and then moved her head slowly and looked at Azriel. Dismissal. Pure dismissal.

“I appreciate that you give this much leeway to your security guards and to your butlers,” she said calmly, “and they speak freely on your behalf,”

At that, it was Elain who snarled at last,

“Nesta. Fenrys is my brother-in-law. You will treat him as such. He isn’t a fucking butler! And you know it. Cassian is the head of security operations for the King Enterprises–he is a Navy Seal, a veteran, and you will show him respect, as he’s shown you. He is also my family, as I am married to his cousin. He is also your family, albeit indirectly. You may dislike Rhys, but you do not speak to him in this manner. You will not speak like this to Cassian either. If you are unable to control yourself and your emotions, there is nothing else to talk about.”

Ruhn and Fenrys exchanged wild glances between each other, and Cassian’s mouth quivered in a smile. The flower girl could be fierce when she wanted to be.

“Perhaps it’s time for me to go,” Nesta rose from her stool.

Elain followed her and in the same cold, unyielding tone said, “Perhaps. If you wish to visit again, let me know in advance.”

Cassian got up and said,

“I’ll walk you back.”

“Don’t bother,” Nesta threw.

Yet again, Elain stopped her and said firmly,

“Nesta, we have security protocols in place. You cannot leave unescorted.”

“I am your sister! What do you think,”

“It’s irrelevant,” Elain shrugged. “Cassian will take you back. Also, you wouldn’t be able to leave without him. He has to open the doors for you.”

The three Kings got up and Azriel politely inclined his head and said,

“It was nice seeing you, Nesta.”

“Yeah, thanks for coming!” Ruhn’s smirk was chilly. He barely said anything at all this morning.

Cassian approached, and then removed the blindfold from him pocket,

“You know the drill, Nes. Hope you like it kinky.”

“Idiot,” Nesta ripped the blindfold from his hand–noticing how warm and large his palm was against her fingers–and then put it on.

Elain, who would’ve usually gone in for a hug, did not this time and just said,

“Thank you for visiting. If you need to talk, let me know.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Cassian threaded Nesta’s arm through his and said,

“Thank you for breakfast, Elain. It was…unforgettable.”

Nesta wanted to tell him that he was a dick, but she remained silent.

They’d gone back the same long and convoluted way as before, though Cassian remained quiet. When, at last, they were inside an air conditioned space, he said, “you can take the blindfold off”. She tore it off her face and thrust it back in his hand, while pulling away from him aggressively.

Ready to stomp away, she was stopped, when that heavy warm hand lay on her shoulder and he pressed on her to stay in place.

“What?” she cried. “What do you want?”

His beautiful face was sombre and he said seriously,

“Your feelings for me are your own, Nesta. It’s fine. I can’t make you like me. But I wanted you to know–yes, I am Az’s cousin and work for him–but I work for Elain too. And if I ever thought for a moment that she was mistreated in some manner, that she was being taken advantage of, or unhappy, I need you to know that I would pull her out. No matter what, I am loyal to her too. Rowan and I would never allow her to be in harm’s way–even from them. I hope that offers you peace of mind.”

Nesta bit her lip and looked up at him. He towered over her–big and gorgeous and powerful–his face sincere and open. Him, Nesta trusted. Maybe not the wiley Azriel, or the psychotic Ruhn, or the wild Fenrys. But Cassian…Cassian she trusted.

“Thank you,” was all she said.

Elain liked t-shirts.

Her men’s t-shirt to be exact. She didn't wear them outside and didn’t like them all that much prior to marrying Azriel, but now…oh, there was something so special and desirable about them. The guys wore nice, high quality stuff, which wasn’t surprising–cotton that was as soft as a cloud, nicely cut, and putting them on was akin to biting into a freshly made doughnut–all pillowy softness and pleasure.

She collected them (or, as Fen said ‘stole’), and had a neat pile in her closet, pillorying them once one of the men wore it and saturated the material with his scent.

Once Nesta left, Elain found herself in a bad mood, and the men realised it quickly. Therefore, no one attempted to stop her when she locked herself in her bedroom for a while, sorting through her t-shirts and being silent. Her stomach hurt and she felt her insides, as if they had been rearranged. Which of course they were, by Azriel’s massive dick. It ached and hurt, and her mood soured even further.

Yeah, she was never going to have sex again, she decided.

She also craved pizza and when she looked at her phone, it wasn’t even 10AM yet. The thought of cheesy, saucy, sizzling goodness, that bubbled and dripped off perfectly thin, soft crust made her teary eyed, and soon, she found herself weeping in her closet, as she sorted through stuff aimlessly, knowing that Nesta would never change and never find happiness, and also, what if she was right, and Azriel was just playing and didn’t even love her.

The door to her bedroom opened and she heard footsteps. She wiped her face angrily and next thing she knew, Azriel, fully dressed in his usual Italian suit was sliding on the floor next to her. He wrapped his arm around her carefully and then gently kissed the top of her head.

“Flower, why are you crying?” he asked gently.

Elain offered a small sad sob in response.

“Did Nesta say something mean to you?”

She nodded.

“What?”

“She said that you didn’t love me,” she whispered miserably. “That I was stupid to believe it. That men like you didn’t love anyone.”

He sighed, and lightly stroked the side of her neck with his thumb.

“Nesta is right, you know,”

Elain whipped her face to him and glared at him in shock.

She gasped, “What!?”

“She is correct,” he nodded. “Men like me don’t love anyone. But, you broke the mould. You made me fall in love with you. Ardently and irreversibly.”

He cupped her cheek and looked at her.

“I love you. I am in love with you. In every manner you want me to, I would love you.”

Elain was weeping openly, her big brown doe eyes wet and glistening with tears, which fell off her long black lashes.

“It’s true?” she breathed.

“As true as I could be about anything,” he admitted with a smile. “Now, be my good girl and wipe your tears. Tell me, is it PMS time?”

Elain stared at him dumbly, and then it dawned on her.

It’s been a month. She had her wedding right after her last period, making sure to plan it so that if she needed to sleep with Azriel on her wedding night, she wouldn’t be bleeding. Azriel, as it turned out, was even more unbelievable, kind, thoughtful and attentive than she could’ve ever imagined. Azriel wasn’t the one to rush her. He wasn’t the one to force her or pressure her. Azriel was freakin’ amazing and she thought that she never gave him the credit that he deserved.

She threw her arms around his neck and began to cry loudly and dramatically into his cheek, drooling and slobbering all over his pressed shirt. She didn’t care. She couldn’t stop.

He held her to him, smiling into her hair, rocking her against him.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he said again. “But why are you crying like that? Calm down, my love,”

“I don’t want to calm down!” she exclaimed ferociously.

Azriel knew that telling an Italian woman to calm down was guaranteed to be as successful as baptising a cat. Therefore, he didn’t insist.

He held her, kissing her softly, lamenting the fact that he wasn’t going to have any sex for at least another week, which sucked, because last night…

He didn’t want to come off as a horny prick who only cared about sex, but he was a horny prick who cared about sex. Very much. He very, very, very much wanted to have sex with Elain. Lots of sex. All the time. That’s all he was thinking about–sex with Elain. Because, as he found out, sex with Elain was just about as close to a religious experience as he’d ever had. While Fenrys scoffed at ‘virgin sex’ and called it a ‘big blah’ and compared it to performing delicate surgery, Azriel found virgin sex to be fucking amazing! Maybe because it was sex with Elain, but it destroyed him. Emotionally and physically, it rendered him barely coherent. Her tight, slick pussy was indescribable, and yes, technically, a hole was a hole, and he’d been in numerous, but he would insist until his dying breath that Elain’s was different. Everything about Elain was different. Because it was his. Elain was his.

“Are you going to go to work today, darling?” he asked at last, slowly wiping her tears with his thumbs. “Or do you want to stay home?”

She hiccuped and whispered,

“I am going to work.”

He kissed her lips and tipped her chin.

“Do you want Fen to take you? He is running a job, and it’s on the way.”

“I want to run a job with him!” she demanded immediately.

Azriel smiled and said,

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“No, why?”

Azriel got up and pulled her with him.

“Because he is not even running a job,” he corrected, and she raised her arms, so he could take her t-shirts off. “He is just scouting locations.”

Azriel’s eyes dipped down at Elain’s nearly nude body. She’d put on a bra, but when he pulled his shorts down her thighs, he found her naked underneath. There was an imprint of someone’s teeth on her thigh, and her soft, bare folds were still slightly swollen and very pink. The sight of her luscious body ignited both lust and regret in him, since he knew that she was battered last night, and yet took it all like a trooper.

He kissed her again, and fighting everything inside himself not to touch her and kiss her and spread her out right there, on the carpet in the closet and fuck her brutally, he rummaged in the drawers and took out a pair of undies for her.

“Put these on, flower. Before I wreck this pussy and you wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while,” he ordered savagely, his eyes smouldering. Elain swallowed hard, and he watched her nippled harden beneath the lace of her bra. Her arousal drifted up to him and he inhaled deeply, scenting her absurdly delectable smell. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who was affected by pheromones?

She did as he told her, wordlessly dressing, while he folded the t-shirts, knowing that they would be going into her private pile.

“Why the t-shirts, Laney?” he asked curiously, but without judgement.

Elain slipped on a pink flowery dress and said,

“I like the way they smell. I need your scents near me at all times,”

“Curious,” he muttered. He was the one who wanted Elain’s scent on him, the scent of her perfume, her hair, her delicious pussy.

She shrugged, and then took his hand and led him out of the closet.

“It’s because we are mates!” she declared with conviction.

“Is that it?

“Yeah. I think with Fen, we are soulmates. With Ruhn we are heartmates. And with you we are bound mates. We can never be separated.”

She was saying all of this with great sincerity and understanding, as if these were truths obvious to everyone.

“And who bound us as mates?” Azriel queried, sort of fascinated by the strange conversation and Elain’s thought process.

“I dunno,” she shrugged. “God? The Goddess? The Forces that Be?”

“The Forces that Be?”

“Yeah…like the Universe. I think that when the stars are born, they explode and bits of that celestial fire floats in the Universe, looking to find another ember from the same star. And if they are very lucky, after a long, long time, they find each other…in creatures such as us. Because what are we, if not stardust and fire and spirit? And they burn together, with love and familiarity, because they came from the same source and never ceased to look for one another.”

She sighed and added,

“At least that’s what I believe.”

“That’s very beautiful, Elain,” Azriel said seriously.

“So you are my ember, Azriel. My star.”

As soon as they descended the stairs, ‘Good Days’ by Nappy Roots blasted from the speakers and suddenly, there was Ruhn and Fenrys, both dressed for the day, dancing a choreographed dance, huge grins on their faces.

Elain stopped abruptly, glaring at them wide-eyed.

“Oh lord,” Azriel moaned behind her, laughing and shaking his head, while his brothers stepped in perfect unison. He whipped out his phone and began filming.

“I will never let them live this one down,” he muttered.

“It’s for you, babygirl,” Fenrys announced loudly. “We wanted to cheer you up!”

“Are you guys on TikTok?” she gasped in awe.

Ruhn, who performed his dance routine with a lit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, smirked and said,

“Not on TikTok, but for you, we’ll make fools of ourselves.”

Well, that caused another flood of tears, as Elain leapt into their arms and they squished her between their bodies, while promising to teach her their dance, which she already decided was going to be their ‘family dance’ and Azriel was required to learn it too.

“What are we gonna do? Dance this at weddings and bar-mitzvahs?” he pondered in confusion.

“Yes! This will be known as the Kings’ Dance!”

Somehow, Fenrys was able to fit his 6”5 frame into a Mini Cooper, his preferred vehicle in the city, and he looked quite comfortable, switching gears quickly and driving fast. The upholstery was some kind of version of the Union Jack–as expected–and there were Arsenal-related stickers and stuff clipped to the dashboard. He’d named the car ‘Winston’.

“When we have a son, we’ll name him Winston,” he informed Elain.

“No.”

“Why not? It’s a good name!” to somehow prove his point, he showed Elain his forearm, where he had a tattoo, which she was well familiar with.

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal, it is the courage to continue that counts.”

“We are not naming our son Winston,” she repeated.

“But we are having a son?” he pushed happily.

“I am guessing we are. But we can have Winston as the second name,” she allowed.

Fenrys grinned happily and nodded.

“I can work with that, baby. And speaking of babymaking–are we still setting up Nes and Cass?”

Elain shuddered and grimaced.

“Oh…”

He teased, “what, not so eager now? Come on, they are like two peas in a pond…a very poisonous, dangerous pod,”

Elain rubbed her hand over her face.

“Today was a disaster…”

“Oh, I don’t know. Seemed pretty normal for when Nesta is involved. Good thing Cass is a teflon don–nothing penetrates that thick hide of his. He can take it. And he loves it.”

“I worry about her,”

“Yeah, but she needs to find herself and her path in life on her own. You won’t be able to help her. Neither will Cassian. She ain’t gonna be ready till she is ready.”

“And when is that going to be?”

“I don’t know. All I know is: keep reaching out to her. That’s all we can do.”

Elain sighed deeply and sorrowfully.

For a few minutes they drove in silence, and whole Fenrys thought that she might start discussing Nesta further, instead, Elain perked up.

“Are we going on the job?” she asked impatiently, and he barked a loud laugh.

“Why are you like that, babygirl?” he questioned, “always tempting me into doing naughty things? You don't feel bad that Az would beat the shit out of me if I took you on a job without permission?”

She huffed with indignation and reminded him,

“I am a free woman and I can go on jobs if I want to. He can’t stop me.”

Fenrys was laughing and she pushed him angrily.

“What’s the job anyway?”

“That’s the thing,” he sighed, as he took a swift turn and Elain almost face planted on the window. “It’s not a job yet. It’s me playing a game of where-the-fuck-is-Eris? Do you know who he is?”

“Yeah, Eris Vanserra–Beron’s and Immacolata’s son. Their heir.”

“Yep,” Fenrys was dodging cars like nobody’s business, stealing Elain’s breath every time he made a wild turn, “and from what we gathered, Eris pissed off Lorcan Salvaterre. Seems like Lorcan put a price on Eris’s head and Eris went into hiding. What we are trying to do is find where he is hiding,”

“Why do you care?”

Fenrys parked next to Elain’s shop and pulled the car break.

He turned and explained,

“Have you read Sherlock Holmes?”

Elain scratched her head and then nodded.

“Yes.”

“Do you remember Sherlock’s main adversary?”

“Professor Moriarty?” she stated immediately and earned a proud smile from Fenrys.

“Indeed! You know how he was described?”

Before he could say anything further, Elain said quickly,

“Like a spider, sitting in the middle of the web, observing and pulling multiple strings,” she continued, watching Fen’s face light up in amazement.

“You’ll never cease to surprise me, Elain Moonbeam King,” he murmured proudly and then pulled her into a hot, adoring kiss.

Once he let her go, he said,

“Basically, you are married to Professor Moriarty. Congratulations!”

“Am I?”

“Azriel is the spider that sits in the heart of the web that he’s weaved–observing silently, making no moves until he is sure and ready, pulling all the strings.

“Now, he wants to see who he can use–Eris or Lorcan–and how it would be advantageous to us. But first, I have to find Eris and see what’s what.”

“The Vanserras are not to be trusted,” Elain warned. “My father’s dealt with them before, and it wasn’t pretty. Lorcan though…I think he is okay.”

“Is it because you went on dates with him?” Fenrys drawled, his tone acidic.

“Oh god, you are not going to be jealous of Lorcan now?!” Elain took her bag, as she rolled her eyes, and opened the door.

He grabbed her hand and asked,

“Did he kiss you?

“Fenrys!”

“It’s not a hard fucking question, baby,”

“Yes! Yes he kissed me. Happy now?”

“No. Not at all. Not even fucking a little bit. I can’t believe you let that broody monster kiss you!”

“Ugh, excuse me?! Don’t even start with me, Fen. You’ve probably fucked hundreds of women. And as a reminder, I married another broody monster. Suppose I have a type?”

“I can’t believe that Lorcan is your type.”

He was huffing and snorting, as he was muttering,

“Now I am going to drive all angry, thinking of that huge fella’s tongue in your mouth.”

“Eww, you are gross. And you owe me a job!”

“Didn’t you lose the dance off?” he goaded her annoyingly, and then laughed out loudly when she was about to unleash a wave or rage at him, and curse Enalius in terrible ways, since she blamed him for voting against her in the dance off. “Oops, can’t stay, babe! Gotta go. Gotta find Eris the Red. Boom. Boom. See ya later, sweet cheeks.”

Elain stomped into the shop, which was thankfully empty right this minute and exclaimed,

“I hate them all!”

Behind the counter, Nuala was laughing at her.

“I heard Nesta visited. Seems like you had a fine morning.”

It was Saturday and there was no football. A tragedy, for the season was over.

On the plus side, Elain could sleep a little longer. On the minus side, there was no football.

When he woke up, she was alone in the bed. All night she was pressed between Azriel and Fenrys, and waking up without being surrounded by their powerful, firm bodies was…weird. Unsettling.

She reached for the phone and gasped, because it was almost eleven in the morning. She must have been very tired, because she never slept that late. There were three texts waiting for her, all with the same message ‘at the gym’. Elain smiled, amused by how they all felt the need to ‘report’ to her, and make sure that she didn't worry about them. So she played on her phone a little bit and then went to take shower.

By the time she was done, she heard noises from downstairs, and assumed that the guys were back. In her closet, she dressed in her underwear, settling on a practical set and not the lacy scandalous La Perla sets that Azriel kept gifting her.

Opening the drawers, Elain stopped, looking inside. Heart beating a million miles a second, horror washing over her. Azriel’s t-shirts! The t-shirts that she wore…the ones with his scent on them…and Ruhn’s! And Fen’s! What the fuck?!?! Where were the t-shirts that smelled like her men?

They were in the drawer. Neatly folded. Laundered. Smelling like fucking baby powder, or lavender, or a pink bear, or whatever the hell they were smelling like, but Elain let out a sorrowful wail and burst into tears. She gathered the t-shirts to her chest, sobbing at the loss of the familiar scents, barely noticing the stampede that shook the house, as Fenrys burst into the bedroom like a charging rhino.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he shouted, making his way into the closet.

She couldn’t speak, sobbing and only showing him the ruined t-shirts, displaying them like some pagan sacrifice.

“What’s wrong, honey? What is it?” he grabbed her face between his hands and peered down, trying to ascertain what got her so upset.

Ruhn was next–running into the closet and almost swiping the two of them off their feet.

“Beautiful! What is going on? Why the fuck are you crying…” he demanded, throwing a furious glance at Fenrys. “What did he do?!?”

“I didn’t do shit!” Fenrys snapped at him.

“I…I…” she hiccupped, “I wan–nn–t my t-shirts…”

Both men’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“What t-shirts, sweetness?” Ruhn asked gently, stroking her head.

“My…my…the t-shirts…yours…” she babbled incoherently.

They crowded her, stroking her, and purring softly, like they usually did when she was upset.

None noticed Azriel, who walked in silently and watched the scene in front of him for a few seconds, before pulling his black t-shirt over his head and handing it to Elain.

“Here, flower, is this good?” he asked, while the two men exchanged confused glances.

Elain grabbed the shirt from his hands and immediately pulled it on.

“Yes,” she nodded, her lower lip trembling.

“Give her your shirts,” he ordered immediately. Neither Ruhn nor Fenrys questioned the odd directive and just about tore off their shirts, handing them to Elain.

“I want more,” she demanded, grabbing them and pulling them one on top of the other.

“Okay, love, we’ll get you more,” Az promised calmly.

“Okay, I am tired,” she sighed, her tears disappearing at once, as if the shirts had a magic calming effect on her and she bypassed the three men and left them behind like nothing’s happened.

“What the heck?” Fen blew out a heavy breath.

“She is comforted by our scents,” Azriel shrugged, like this was totally normal.

“Well, it’s weird, she is not a wolf or a tigress,”

“Well, she might be a tigress,” Ruhn argued under his breath.

Azriel chuckled.

“I think it’s PMS. Welcome to the world of married life, gents. I think this is just the beginning. Give her whatever the fuck she wants, and don’t argue. If it’s shirts that she needs, she is getting some shirts!”

“You don’t think that this is strange?” Ruhn cocked his brow, while he took one of Az’s t-shirts.

“It is what it is. If you guys haven’t figured it out yet, our El is a little different…We are a little different too. Our wife is made for us, and if she needs our scents, then so be it. It’s not like this is a normal situation, brothers.”

They went downstairs, where Elain was folded around a pillow on the sofa, still wearing the t-shirts, and nothing else but her underwear.

“I want muffins,” she muttered, playing with the remote. “And soup,”

“What kind of soup?” Ruhn asked.

“Matzo ball,” she informed him immediately. “And cheese fries. And a cutlet,”

“A cutlet?”

“Yes, a CUTLET!!” she hissed viciously.

Ruhn fell silent, before mouthing to Azriel, “what the fuck is a cutlet?”

“It’s like a meat thing,” Azriel offered unhelpfully.

“It’s a cutlet!” Elain yelled from the sofa angrily.

“Yes, yes, I know cutlet,” Ruhn assured her quickly.

“And I want a meat pie…” she glanced at Fenrys and added, “the English kind.”

“Okay baby, I’ll run to the chippy and get you a meat pie,” Fenrys told her easily.

“I love you,” she breathed, looking adoringly at him.

Ruhn threw him an envious, but angry look. Fucking Fenrys.

Ruhn immediately asked,

“Anything else you want, beautiful?”

She was still seething over the cutlet question, but finally, she relented and said, “maybe I want a creme brulee doughnut…no, I want meatloaf,”

“A doughnut and meatloaf then?” Ruhn was writing stuff down.

“No! I don’t want a doughnut! I am already chunky. You want me to be more chunky?”

Without missing a beat, or even looking up from the list, Ruhn said, “You are perfect, beautiful. You can never be too chunky or not too chunky,”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” she pouted.

“Makes perfect sense to me. Anything else?”

“I want gelato and a cannoli and maybe pizza…I wanna watch a movie,” she concluded.

Azriel then rubbed his hands together and said,

“You get the British stuff,” he looked at Fen. “You get the Jewish/Italian stuff,”

“What about meatloaf?” Ruhn muttered, sounding almost scared. “And cutlet?”

“I am sure you can figure something out,” Azriel said lightly. “What movie do you want to watch, love?”

“The romantic one…” she sighed with a smile. “You know the one…where the classy doctor and the FBI lady meet and fall in love…” she cooed softly.

Azriel sat on the sofa next to her and put her feet on his lap, gently massaging them.

“Ohhh, that feels good,” she approved. “What about the movie, Az? You wanna watch it?”

“Of course, flower. Let’s watch ‘Silence of the Lambs’.”

“Yes!” she clapped excitedly. “I love it so! Isn’t it romantic?”

He nodded, agreeing. “It really is romantic. They have a unique relationship,”

“Yes, yes,” she nodded, “it is unique!”

Then she thought for a second and added, her voice stern, “also, no one can touch my t-shirts. EVER.”

“Never, sweetheart,” Ruhn promised. “We’ll let the maids know.”

…When Ruhn returned home, laden with food packages–he managed to get a veal cutlet, creme brulee doughnuts, chocolate, beer and wine, and a dozen of cannoli, as well as a scalding hot tub of chicken matzo ball soup–he found the other three in various sprawling poses, in front of the TV, watching Twilight. Fenrys was using Elain’s ass as a comfy pillow, his cheek smooshed against it, as he was yelling at the screen, arguing about something with Azriel.

“This is intense! New Moon Bella is too depressing,” Azriel complained.

“She is not coping well and using bad mechanisms to deal with the breakup,” Fenrys declared sagely.

“Did she already go to Volterra?” Ruhn called out as he brought the packages into the kitchen.

“Ruhnnie! You brought food!” Elain squealed happily.

“Anything for you, my love.”

It was Monday morning and the rain had been pouring all night long. It was muggy and warm, and the French doors in the kitchen were open to the garden. Rain rolled over the lush greenery, Elain’s roses, petunias, the beds of forget-me-nots and splattered over tomato vines, ripening zucchini, while saturating the herb garden where rosemary bushes resembled Christmas trees in size and the basil perfumed the air and wafted all the way into the house.

Elain and Azriel were at the breakfast table, Elain enjoying her big cappuccino and Azriel drinking an espresso, as he peered into the newspaper. They both heard the door open and Fenrys ran in, sweaty and sporting a tiny pair of shorts.

Azriel glanced at him and snorted.

“Make sure the tip is contained, Fen.”

Elain laughed, while Fenrys made a beeline towards her and she didn’t mind feasting her eyes on his beautiful flesh, which was glistening with sweat and bulging with tense sinew in all the right places.

“Oh, don’t drip all over the fucking table!” Azriel–a known neat freak–yelled, while Fenrys ignored him and came to stoop over Elain, grabbed the back of her head and kissed her stupid.

“Morning fam!” Ruhn entered the kitchen space as well, and then cocked his head, watching Elain and Fenrys.

“I thought you had your period, beautiful,” he noted, grabbing a handful of bacon and a cup of coffee.

“It doesn’t stop me from kissing!” she protested breathlessly, once she finally pulled away from Fenrys.

“No, it clearly doesn’t,” Ruhn agreed, while he grabbed the sports pages of Azriel’s paper.

“You look cute in glasses,” Elain smiled softly at him.

“Gorgeous, you know that this is a fucking secret from the world,” he warned, “and it doesn’t leave this house.”

She reached for him and rubbed her nose against his, kissing him and whispering,

“Never. Your weird little secret is safe with me. But you do look adorable in glasses!”

Ruhn fed her a strip of bacon and kissed her.

His fingers moved her long hair from her neck and he peeked at the back of her neck. There, he found his mark. His mark on Elain’s flesh, imprinted on her beautiful golden skin forever. Yesterday, they went to his studio and he tattooed the imprint of his teeth that he’d left on her during the defloration (which she insisted on calling ‘defoliation’). He chose a very pale, almost skin-tone colour to fill the tiny indents. Around the mark, he tattooed a sword–his sword–around which a rose vine wrapped tightly. His Elain, forever wrapped and intertwined with him and his fate.

He kissed the tattoo tenderly, knowing that it was still sore.

Fenrys gave him a look. Only his mark was missing.

Not yet, English boy.

At once, their phones pinged with texts. Not Elain’s, but the three men’s.

They looked at the messages and the atmosphere in the kitchen dropped by 20 degrees.

“Fuck.”

“Motherfucker.”

She straightened and looked between the three of her, her insides doing somersaults of worry and apprehension. These men rarely reacted like this to anything. But the tension in Ruhn’s shoulder, the frown on Fen’s face, and the twitching jowl in Azriel’s jaw were indicative enough of something being terribly amiss.

“I thought he wouldn't be back so soon,” Ruhn scrubbed his hand over his face.

“Who?” Elain demanded, “What is happening? Who is back?”

Fenrys sat down, forgetting to wipe himself, and sighed a deep, unhappy sigh.

“Az?” Elain repeated impatiently.

It was Fenrys who answered,

“The Old King,”

“What?”

“Our…father,” Azriel explained at last. “He is back. From Miami.”

Elain didn’t mean to, but her eyes fell in Ruhn’s tattooed arms at once. Now that she knew, she couldn’t unsee the scars beneath the colorful ink.

“So what?”

“He wants to see us,” Azriel said, his voice lifeless.

It didn’t take a therapist to know that the trauma that these men had suffered from the hands of their father was profound and probably, everlasting.

“Do you have to see him?”

“It’s better that we do,” Fenrys said, and even though he almost never smoked, he reached for one of Ruhn’s cigarettes.

“Otherwise, he’ll come here,” Ruhn said. “And that’s not something we want. Not with you here.”

Elain had only met the Old King twice before–at the engagement and at the wedding.

He was a handsome, imposing man, tall like his sons, trim, with a dark, tanned face and black eyes. He certainly didn’t look like a monster who relished in abusing his children. But monsters rarely looked monstrous.

“I’ll go,” Ruhn decided.

“You don’t have to,” Azriel interjected immediately.

“It’s alright,” Ruhn’s voice was steely, but also gentle, when he looked at Azriel. “I’ll be fine.”

“Ruhn, let’s go together.”

“I don’t think we should. That fucked up cunt is unpredictable. Seeing the two of us together might give him ideas…”

Elain’s heart clenched in fear.

She didn’t want to keep pestering them with questions, seeing that this wasn’t a topic they wanted to discuss. She remained quiet, her appetite lost, as worry strangled her. Fear for Ruhn and what might be done to him was a thing that she didn’t think she’d feel so acutely, especially not about their father. But Ruhn’s scar-covered arms and Azriel’s mangled hands told another story entirely.

“Beautiful, you look like a little frightened doe,” Ruhn attempted to lighten the mood and kiss her, but she moved her head, and he landed on her cheek.

“You are being too cavalier, Ruhn King,” she snapped at him. “This isn’t a joke.”

“It’s not,” he agreed. “But we live until we live no more. And this is what we have to live with now.”

Mondays at the shop were quiet and tedious.

It was Nuala’s day off, since she usually worked one of the weekend days. Deliveries weren’t scheduled until Tuesday, and no one bought flowers on Mondays. It would’ve been logical to just close on Monday, but Elain usually found the day kind of calming, because she worked on recipes and on her plans for expansion into her pastry shop.

For her wedding, Nesta actually bought Elain an adjacent storefront, which was zoned for food production. It used to be a deli, which has been closed for a while, and currently, it didn’t have much of anything, other than an antique marble counter with brass decorations and an old (antique was a stretch) display shelf. The counter Elain was definitely going to keep–it was gorgeous. The rest of it needed a lot of work, including the installation of a commercial-grade kitchen in the back. The plans excited her, and the fact that no one’s told her ‘no’ was just as exciting. Azriel didn’t really interfere in her business, or her plans, and for that, she was grateful. She knew that he was supportive of her doing something that was hers, and wasn’t keen on her stopping. He confessed once that he wasn’t looking for a housewife, or for a MWAG–a Mob Wife and/or Girlfriend. He actually did not mind having a wife who did something independently of him and made her own money.

In the past month, a wide glass door was installed between the shop and the future bakery. It was an elegant door, which Elain had found in France and which was painstakingly taken apart, shipped here and reassembled, and now looked stunning. Yeah, there was nothing on the other side but an empty classic deli, but Elain was kind of in love with the door. However, today, nothing gave her joy–not the door, not the flowers, and not the plans. She’s had all of three customers, and when she was done with them, she just kept checking her phone. She readjusted the volume five or six times, worrying that maybe it was on mute, but it wasn’t, and there simply were no texts or calls. Not from Ruhn.

The current customer, a nervous, lanky young man, who was buying a bouquet for a first date kept inquiring what was ‘too much’ or ‘too little’--as if Elain knew! Her only good, meaningful, enjoyable dates were with Lorcan Salvaterre–but she doubted that this twitchy fella was going to invite his date to a penthouse and make her pasta from scratch. So she suggested that he not worry, be ‘himself’, buy a good bottle of wine and put everyone at ease.

The doorbell chimed, alerting her to a new customer, just as she was wrapping the flowers in paper. She glanced over her shoulder and her heart leapt in her chest. Standing there, amidst the flowers and pastels, was Ruhn.

Her customer took one look at the tattooed, muscled man, with all the piercings and the long shaved undercut of black hair, and blanched. He even made some kind of protective stance before Elain, shielding her from this new visitor, as if he stood a chance against someone like Ruhn. Elain was positive that Ruhn could just rip the man’s head from his shoulders–literally. So she took pity on her customer and said lightly,

“Ahhh, it’s my husband!”

“Hu-has–hasband?”

Clearly, the man couldn’t put two and two together, and kept looking between the two polar opposites who now occupied the shop.

Elain deftly wrapped the flowers and rang up the purchase, while watching Ruhn, who was leaning against the glass tiredly. She immediately noticed his scuffed hands, the bleeding knuckles, a fresh bruise on his neck. He was definitely hurt–she wasn’t sure if someone had hurt him, or if he was forced to hurt somebody.

The man finally grabbed his bouquet and rushed out of the shop, with barely a ‘thank you’ on his lips.

Elain hurried to Ruhn, but before she could start looking at his wounds, his cuts and bruises, he opened his arms and she stumbled right into his embrace. Every inch of him was taut and filled with nervous, or maybe murderous, energy. As her arms wrapped around his lean torso he became tense and clearly affected by their closeness.

“Are you alright?” she asked softly, kissing his shoulder.

He pressed her head to his chest and held her there.

“I want my wife,” he confessed, his voice hoarse and needy, his arms tightening around her and tucking her closer. They stood there, the noise of New York traffic just beyond the threshold of the shop the only interruption.

“Did he hurt you?” Elain cupped his face between her hands and looked intently at his uniquely handsome face, the luminous blue eyes not quite as bright as always, but muddy and shadowed in internal pain. She traced his powerful, but delicate jaw with her finger and he dipped his head to kiss it.

“It’s alright, beautiful,”

“It’s not,” she argued stubbornly. “It’s not okay for you to be in this pain,”

“My dad is a violent, ruthless cunt,” Ruhn said bluntly. “It is what it is,”

“It doesn’t have to be,” she insisted. Ruhn didn’t say anything further, and only pressed his forehead to hers. Elain inhaled the familiar scent of cigarettes and leather, and Ruhn’s eyes closed, as he pulled her deep into his lungs as well, and she felt his cock stirring inside his expensive jeans, pressing into her belly.

“Ruhn,” she breathed, as her breasts filled in and became heavy and tight from their proximity.

“I know you are bleeding,”

“I am,” she nodded.

“And we are in the middle of the city,”

“We are,”

“Inside a shop that’s open for business,”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself of something?” she pondered.

He struggled to breathe, panting against her face, and as he pulled her even closer, she keened into the solid strength of his body, craving the heat of him that was emanating through his shirt.

Those amethyst-blue eyes lit up, the shadows finally lifting and he whispered again, as he took a step inside the shop, pulling her against him, “I want my wife. Just for myself. For a little bit…”

“You have me,” she offered openly, her full lips parting with anticipation and an invitation. Ruhn’s thumb traced her indent of Cupid’s bow, and the sensual arch of her lower lip, as he watched her mouth with palatable hunger. “I am your wife,” she continued, “and when you need me, when you want me–I am yours.”

He finally pushed both of them to one of the side counters, where there were buckets full of flowers, and rolls of ribbons. The plush pastel ridiculousness of the place finally dawned on Ruhn and he laughed softly, looking around.

“I recall deciding that I’d never step foot into this Princess Palace of Flowers and Cake and Bullshit,”

“Looks like you changed your mind.”

She stood against the counter, and he parted her legs with his knee, pressing into her, his hips strong and eager, and the great bulk of his dick pushed against the softness of her nether lips, as he grew to full, heavy thickness. Elain wrapped her arms around his neck and he dug his fingers into her thigh, positioning her so that he was flush against her and she felt every growing inch of him. She tucked his long hair behind his ear and opened her lips for him, allowing his tongue to slide into her mouth in a hot, needy kiss. Ruhn was not a gentle man, and his kisses were thrilling and dirty, almost gruesome in their lascivious sensuality.

He kissed and kissed her, like a man possessed, like he needed her mouth, her breath, the caress of her tongue, the violent mash of their lips together. He needed his wife. Elain’s hands slipped under his shirt, as she lifted the soft cotton over the strong, cobbled lines of his stomach, her fingertips running over the ink on his skin, dipping into old scars and dents of his muscles.

“You are my world, Elain,” he groaned, when breathing finally became a necessity and he pulled away from her for a moment. She caressed the prominent cut of his Adonis Belt with an open palm, gently threading her fingers through a dusting of hair below his navel, falling back into his kiss, her mouth taking him on and sucking on his tongue, until he shivered against her. He lifted the hem of her dark navy silk skirt, rolling his hips wantonly and slowly between her silken thighs, allowing the ridge of his cock to rub against the material of her panties, pushing deeper and firmer into her clit.

Elain shuddered from the pressure, moaning into his mouth, her teeth closing over his lip ring.

He lifted her with one arm, holding her around the waist, settling her firmly over his erection and murmured,

“No one in the other room?”

She chuckled and said, “I hope not!” and then licked on his lip ring playfully. “Where might you be taking me?”

“To your future bakery thingy,” he said, walking slowly, while she nibbled on his lips, his chin and his tongue, and he exhaled with a heavy, masculine moan, which led to her pussy contracting against his shaft. “Where I plan to fuck you deep and hard,” he promised ferociously. His free hands squeezed her thigh and then travelled upwards, until he reached the maddeningly silky, full breast and squeezed it mercilessly.

“While the rational part of me says that we shouldn’t be doing this,” he continued, while his large palm cupped and teased her tit, as he also managed to unbutton the pearl buttons of her sleeveless shirt and part it on her chest. “That we will be seen…that we shouldn’t be fucking in the open, in the middle of the day, inside your shop,”

“What does the irrational part of you say?” she demanded with a breathless pant.

“It says that being inside of you is worth it!”

He slanted his hips against her, his cock just about bursting through his fitted jeans.

At last, they ended up in the dimly lit deli, the windows barely covered with old blinds, half of the slats missing. Ruhn didn’t care.

His hands were busy massaging her breasts, pulling the cups of her bra down, exposing her pale flesh to his ravenous gaze. Then he gripped her ass and hauled her up and onto the cold marble counter, sucking one of her nipples into his mouth, biting painfully. He parted her long, slender legs and pushed the knees far apart, dragging the silk skirt over her belly, until she was splayed in front of him in a wanton spread. He squeezed her breasts in his hands again, leaning over her, his erection sliding against her panties, and kissed her headily.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you, beautiful,” he growled loudly, kneading her breasts, pinching her nipples tightly, rolling them between his fingers. Then he tore his shirt off his body and crumpled it so she’d have something to rest her head on. The cold hard marble couldn't have been comfortable, but Elain didn’t seem to care. She fastened her lips on his neck, near the collarbone and sucked, kissing and licking the sensitive spot, feeling his large, hot hand slide between her thighs, and his thumb pushed between her folds, through the material of her underwear. He rubbed the thumb along the seam of her pussy, finding the swollen bulb of her clit and she jerked up, squealing with pleasure. Grabbing his muscled arm, she whispered, “I’ve missed you too, my darling…”

Both of them looked down between her legs and Ruhn moved her panties aside, baring her plump, pink pussy and his finger pushed at the tampon, and Elain blushed.

“Is this okay?” she wondered. “To do this?”

He cocked his brow at her and asked,

“Are you uncomfortable?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I never considered doing this…I don’t know if you’ll like it. Don’t men find it disgusting?”

His finger stroked between her warm, wet lips, from the tampon and up to the clit, cupping her possessively.

“I don’t find anything about you disgusting, pretty girl,” he chuckled. “Especially not your period! I’ll be living with your periods for the next 30 years,” he laughed. “They are hardly a bother.”

“But it’s messy,”

“Laney, I don't think it will be a surprise to you, but I am not exactly averse to blood. Kind of comes with the fucking territory!”

“I guess,” she said, still a little unsure.

“I love everything,” he repeated again, his thumb circling the bud, his breath thick and his circling steady, but firm. The pad of his thumb pressing and pinching expertly, and Elain’s nails dug into his hand, while her back arched over the slab of marble. “I love the sounds that you make,” he whispered, “ the way you clutch at me. How your gorgeous pussy clings to my dick. How you cry out when you come…I love it all…”

His forefinger caught the string of the tampon and he pulled on it a little, loosening it inside of her.

“Besides, you know that I like it when you bleed all over my dick!”

“You are such a savage,” she moaned.

“That I am,” he nodded, “but you, beautiful, like the D.”

“Oh god,” Elain cried out, while that wicked thumb kept working over her clit, massaging it roughly and just as Elain began to tremble and pant loudly, he pulled the tampon out and tossed it on a piece of cardboard that littered the floor. Without pausing, he thrust two fingers inside of her, the sound of blood and her slick wetness making an obscene squelching sound, but Elain couldn't bother caring, for he reached the sensitive, secret spot inside of her and she swell and burst for him, shaking with a violent orgasm that slammed into her.

“Oh god, Ruhn, more, more,” she begged, the tight walls of her pussy squeezing his hand, while he didn’t stop and sucked her heavy tit, sinking his teeth deep into the satiny flesh, rolling his tongue over her nipple.

Ruhn pumped harder and harder, eliciting desperate moans from the depths of Elain’s convulsing body.

“I fucking love watching you come,” he whispered into her ear, while she tugged on his long hair which flowed like a black river over her shoulders and her chest. “Love hearing you beg for it…You are a fucking bombshell, babe...So hot,” he rubbed and pushed and pumped, and even though his hand looked freakin’ gruesome, it didn’t matter to either of them.

It wasn’t enough though.

The fingers were skilled, and thick and long, but even if they made her cry in pleasure and had thighs shaking, it wasn’t enough.

Ruhn smirked because he knew it too.

Unzipping his jeans impatiently, he finally freed his massive dick and leaned to kiss her, squeezing her neck with his other hand–the one that wasn’t covered in blood. It was a lavish kiss, dripping with desire and impatience and Elain watched the pierced head of his shaft press back into her clit, as he rubbed it firmly, not caring about how sensitive her orgasm had made her feel and that she was still vibrating from the aftershocks. He squeezed her neck lightly, just like he liked to and looked into her eyes, pressing soft kisses on her lips.

“Please, Ruhn,” she moaned pathetically, but she didn’t care.

The thought of that thick, hot cock filling her, stretching her to the brim made saliva pool in her mouth and she almost choked with need. Spreading her legs wider, and resting them on his hips, she allowed him better access to her pussy, while he wetted the tip of his dick with her blood. He circled the entrance over and over again, coaxing her pussy into getting even wetter for him, because even though he was always rough, Ruhn also remembered that this would be her second time having sex.

“Come here, beautiful,” he gripped her hips in his hands, leaving bloody marks on her pale skin and then sunk his cock in her in one smooth, sure motion.

Elain screamed softly, shocked into utter submission by the sensation of having him inside of her.

It was still surprisingly uncomfortable, but the stretch felt beyond sublime.

Ruhn ground deeper into her, feeling the swollen walls of her passage cling to his shaft, fluttering with nervous, tight squeezes over him and he released a moan of complete masculine pleasure. Elain was perfect beneath him–warm and smooth and so fucking sensual he fought the need to come inside of her immediately. His dick pulsed wildly inside of her, the blood making everything warmer and even wetter and sticker, and he couldn't say that he hated the feeling. He certainly didn’t hate the look of bliss on Elain’s face as she sunk deeper and deeper upon his rigid cock.

“How are you still so fucking tight,” he demanded, kissing her little scrunched nose. His hips had a mind of their own and twisted impatiently against Elain’s parted thighs, pushing into her over and over again. Elain’s gaze grew heavy-lidded and she was tense beneath him, the blood producing a new kind of slippery, smooth friction inside of her.

Ruhn cradled her head in the crook of his arm, his other hand holding her neck, as he kissed her with blissfully dirty passion, and muttered, “If I could bottle these sounds up…”

“Ride me,” Elain ordered impatiently, digging the blunt heel of her shoe into his ass, pressing him closer. Every perfect, delicious inch of him was now hidden within her and a warm, sexual heat pooled inside her core, as her pussy finally stretched wholly over the shaft.

She was vaguely aware that they were fucking out in the open, and that anyone who bothered glancing through the dirty windows and the broken blinds could clearly see the two of them. Could see Ruhn lifting her leg onto his shoulder and stroking her thigh, as he began to fuck her like he promised–deep and hard. His powerful body with dripping with raw, masculine energy, the muscles contracting, every ribbon of sinew perfectly on display all the while he pumped his dick in and out of her, growling,

“That’s my girl…you are fucking perfect. Made for my cock…Fuck…that’s it, beautiful. Take it all.”

“Ruhn, Ruhn,” Elain babbled, that magnificent cock buried so deep inside of her, that every thrust hit her G spot and the dusting of coarse pubic hair rubbed blissfully over her clit. Her tits bounced against his chest, the nipples rubbing over the firmness of his pecs and she noticed a bead of sweat sliding down his strong neck, which she caught with the tip of her tongue.

The sounds that she was making were barely human–grunting and moaning filthily, cursing under her breath, while Ruhn upped his dirty talk as usual, muttering “this sweet pussy is fucking unbelievable. Tight like a drum–it’s milking me like nothing else,”

Elain was pretty sure she’d just die if he withdrew from her right now.

“Good girl,” he encouraged, “moan for me, beautiful. Show me how much you love it,”

“I love it, I love it,” she chanted, her head lifting off the counter, her body feeling impossibly sweaty, the heaviness of his dick inside of her becoming almost intolerable.

“My good baby, such a good girl, taking my cock so well,” he praised, his voice deep and rumbling. His thumb found her clit and he rubbed it firmly, igniting a fire of pleasure inside her core, in her belly. Everything ached pleasantly and yearned for more.

“Come on my cock, baby, fuck, fuck, gorgeous, look how you are bleeding all over me,”

Frankly, Elain was afraid to look down, knowing that it would look like a murder scene. But the blood didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would’ve. It was hot and sticky, and leaked out of her with every brutal roll of his hips.

Momentarily, she noticed another pair of eyes, peering through the window at them. So they were caught after all…

Elain didn’t give a shit and didn’t alert Ruhn either. She just prayed that no one entered the shop at this moment, because there was no way that either of them would be stopping. Ruhn would probably just murder the intruder and continue having sex with her on their corpse.

But he didn’t kill anyone–only came inside of her with a deep, guttural moan of pleasure, just as her pussy just about exploded all over his cock, pulsing and twitching and tugging on him desperately.

It was an overwhelming orgasm–a new kind of pleasure, which wasn’t tinged with pain or uncertainty. The squeeze of Ruhn’s fingers on her throat made everything seem stronger, more powerful, more acutely wondrous. The slight restriction of airflow caused Elain to gulp in more air and had her orgasm roll over her in endless waves. She grabbed Ruhn’s throat in her hand and squeezed too. He grinned at her, still pumping steadily, and the harder she squeezed the more he thrust, his eyes rolling back in his head with pleasure.

Certainly the Elain of three months ago didn’t think that she’d be having period sex in public, as she and Ruhn King were choking each other for orgasms, but what did she know?

When he finally pulled out, his cock was covered in blood and the scene was pure gore. Erotic gore, of his cum and her blood mixing together, but gore nevertheless.

“Oh god,” Elain moaned loudly, feeling the emptiness inside of her and missing him instantly.

“Thank you, Elain,” he said seriously. “Thank you for the gift that you are. You are amazing, my love. My wife. The best wife. I needed you today.”

“I know,” she said gently, and stroked his cheek. “You never have to fight alone, Ruhnnie. I am your partner for life. I’ll fight with you.”

Ruhn surveyed the scene with a smirk, but a sort of detachment which told of numerous previous times where he was faced with a bloody mess before him. He pulled out his phone from his back pocket and began texting.

“Oh my god!! I thought you killed Elain!”

Fenrys strolled into the shop, with two large paper bags in his arms, which he set on the floor and then wisely locked the lock.

“I haven’t killed Elain, but I am not so sure about you,” Ruhn grunted.

Looking over the premises, Fenrys was shaking his head, muttering under his breath, in a full-on mother hen mode.

“You, lass,” he pointed a stern finger at Elain, who was literally wrapped in a large sheet of flower paper, “need to have some self-control. We all know he doesn’t,” and he jabbed his thumb in Ruhn’s direction, “but you!”

Elain’s hair was a mess, she was clutching her makeshift ‘dress’ to her chest, her legs bare and cum and blood still smeared on her inner thighs.

“I can’t believe you called him!” she groused.

“Who is he gonna call? Nesta?!” Fen snapped at her.

In the two paper bags, there were three huge tubs of wet-wipes, a package of tampons, a package of pads, three large bottles of water,

“We have water, this is a flower shop,” she mumbled.

“Are you giving me lip?” Fenrys demanded.

“No.”

“Good.”

For some reason, sanitiser, paper towels, an ‘I Love New York’ t-shirt and a pair of shorts from the Dollar Store.

While Ruhn and Elain went to clean up in the back room, Fenrys found the discarded tampon on the floor and threw it away, lamenting that he ‘doesn't get paid enough for this shit!’, as he began to clean and sanitise the counter.

Azriel had just come home from work, when Elain, Ruhn and Fenrys all piled into the house together. How they all met up, and why, he wasn’t sure.

“That wasn’t what you were wearing before,” he noted, seeing Elain’s cheap outfit, though the tiny booty shorts weren’t exactly hurting his eyes.

He added blandly, “stop having sex in public, you weirdos.”

Then, he produced a fancy looking envelope, with a handwritten invitation inside.

“Dust off your tuxes, gents. We are going to a ball.”

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