#topic: pillar of darkness

[shiroi---kumo]

Valkoinen Pilvi, youngest son of the Eclipse, is second born to Lord Aurinko and Lady Kuu. He is Misterica's prophesied savior and The Child of White. Pilvi is the only Misterican in their history to ever be born of the color White and as such that makes him the one destined to inherit the Holy Blade, The Maken, in which Lady Tiamat, The Celestial Mother's soul resides.

Misterican religion dictates that The Child of White shall be the Child of Salvation and lead Misterica into an age of prosperity and growth, because of this Pivli was seen as not just the second son of the Royal Family but also a Religious Icon - even a Religious Artifact to the Religious Council themselves.

The Ritual to obtain the Holy Blade was performed on Pilvi's 13th birthday and in it he was to offer himself as a sacrifice to the Celestial Mother, so she may be born anew. No one knew what was going to happen during this ritual, and thanks to Usva's teasing and Kuu and Aurinko's tension - Pilvi came to the belief that once performed he would die during the ceremony.

Lady Tiamat accepted him as her vessel however and their souls mixed. Now they are both contained with the Maken and Pilvi shares his body with the Celestial Mother - truly becoming her proper vessel.

When he was 15, he had to engage in what is known as the Rites Ceremony to decide which sibling will obtain the right to ascend the throne. Being so close to his older brother, Punainen Usva, this was devastating news for him as he did not want to ascend the throne nor did he want to fight his brother but his brother made him promise to give it everything he had and not to throw the match. Pilvi agreed and in turn ended up winning the match and the right to ascend the throne.

Everything went to hell however when Pilvi turned 17 and the Pillar of Darkness that had sat on Misterican since he was only a baby activated and smothered the world in darkness. Misterica was destroyed despite their best efforts to save their home and Misterica was plunged into Wonderland. Pilvi died that day only to revive on the enemy world of Windaria where we was found by a young girl named Aura.

She took him back to her home, and that was when he met the man of Black Wind -Fekete Szél- his fated counterpart. His Other. Pilvi was given the name Holdfény by the pair as to not draw attention to him while living there. He lived with them for three years until Windaria was soon plunged into darkness in the same way Misterica had been. Pilvi and Szél engaged the darkness known as Chaos head on but ultimately even Windaria fell to it's might.

The two of them were killed in battle and both of them were plunged into Wonderland along with what remained of Windaria.....

[teaboot]

One of the best parts about working at a sex shop is the employee discount, and yeah that means excellent deals on sex supplies but that's not the big brain part.

You come to my house. Something is cooking in the kitchen- it smells wonderful. What is it? It's novelty dick-shaped pasta. I've set up a sensual sexy Italian dinner. There are candles set up on the table. They're melting too fast, dripping everywhere- they're low temp waxplay pillar candles. For dessert, I serve you a delicious ice cream topped in penis-shaped rainbow confetti sprinkles and strawberry body paint drizzle, and afterwards, serve coffee with roasted hazelnut warming lube.

We play a board game while we drink. It's sexy monopoly. It's your turn. You roll the dice. They come up as 'whisper into' and 'butt'. I lost the original dice. We're using the sexy dice. You move four spaces.

After dinner, I run you a bath. A bubble bath. The bubble gel? Sensual ocean breeze. There are candles lined up around the tub. The scent is overpowering. Why? They're three-in-one fruit flavored massage oil candles. I'm using so much. It's so wasteful. Do you want to shave? I have conditioning shave cream that smells like limes. And an electric body razor, but you can't use that in the tub.

How about a bath bomb? You toss one in. It's cherry blossom scented. As it dissolves, three sexy bath sex suggestion cards fall out. They're all variations on doggy style, probably because fucking in a bathtub is probably the easiest way to break your hip.

The water cools. You get out an dry off with a novelty towel. If you wrap it around your chest, it looks like you have gigantic tatas bursting through the fabric like the Hulk.

You walk into the bedroom. I'm there, reading an instructional book titled "The Housewife's Guide To Every Day Stripping". I'm wearing a neck pillow designed to look like a massive curved weiner. Also a pair of fake leather bondage leggings and an oversized men's christmas T-shirt that says "Jingle My Bells" across the front.

I see you come in. I put down the book, take off the pillow. Offer you a massage. You accept. I already burned up all the massage candles so I pop a new bottle of CBD massage oil that says something wrong about Chakras on it. It's very gritty. That's because there's little chunks of amethyst in it for some fucking reason. It's fine, though. You say you don't mind.

I don't do massages very often. It's bad. You end up more tense than before. One of your muscles starts to cramp- it's okay. I whip out a bottle of Lidocane topical masculine performance numbing spray. You immediately feel like your shoulder went to the dentist. It's not ideal, but it's better than cramping.

You're not in the mood to bone after that. Which is good, cause I'm actually pretty asexual, but it hasn't come up yet so I'm relieved to avoid the conversation. Instead we get ready for bed. (The weather is terrible, and I insist you stay over.) I set up the futon, then realize it smells like cigarettes from the previous owner and shyly ask if you wanna cuddle in my room. You're down.

I crawl under the covers, placing my penis-shaped pink glitter pride bottle on the side table in case one of us wakes up thirsty. Once you're settled in, I turn off the glowing bare ass night light and the room goes black.

It takes a few seconds for your eyes to adjust, but when they do, you look up at the ceiling. It's dotted all over with little green flourescent lights. Are they plastic stars? No. I've pinned up a thousand glow in the dark condoms. God bless

[vivisviolets]

⛓ who is your tribe? 𓆩📓𓆪 𓆩🖤𓆪 how will you meet? ⛓

✮i love how i connected these 3 pics im sooo smart guys

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ -pick the image that gotchu good 👁👁 gotcha eyes~ you know how to do it I know you do- if you feel unclear, take a nice deep breath, connect with spirit/God/your higher self, and ask what messages would serve you in this very moment~ this has been your radio host vi-vi talkin🎙, and I'll catch at your pile~🖋️✮ ˖ ⋆

⋆ ˖✮pile 1✮˖ ⋆

⋆ ˖ ✮ ˖ ⋆

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ Five of Swords (reversed), Five of Wands (reversed), Ace of Wands, The Hierophant, Page of Cups (bottom of deck)

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ (slight 18+ cw) Libra/air placemnets, 7th house (Sun/Moon/Rising/Mercury/7h dominant etc), 1 house placements, Aries placements/degrees (Moon/Rising, etc), Nepo baby/“girl(boy/kid)-next-door” vibes, hair extentions, “going blonde”, Legally Blonde, angel numbers 1111, 222, 2424, 1234, channeled songs, Casual - Chappell Roan + How to be a Heartbreaker - MARINA

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ Hello my pile 1s!!!!! omg i wanted to jump right in but I feel the need to greet you into this becaussse- omg you are gorgeous- like I am being so fr DO NOT play yourself down I can hear the mind chatter of some of you gearing up at me saying that,-shut that shish down. on the other side of this group,- you already know you were born beautiful, raised beautiful, and have always been your own created beauty, you’re so tapped into that and really you always have- so I want everyone in this pile, to align to that energy rn. 👏R👏N👏. No matter your upbringing, whatever your family told you, your past friend groups, your classmates,- you don’t got to do or be someone else’s anything. you speak for yourselfff- and you always have!! no matter how deep your security periods were, you still radiated- radiance💎 and strength- damn you guys are strong, no matter how “submissive” some of yall feel to be (your vulnerability is divine btw and def a part of your strength)- you are strong af. strong in only a way the wind is (I mean think of how destructive that nature can be yet how soothing its flow is when it is calm) or a polished pillar… I JUST KEEP HEARING IT- YOU GUYS ARE BEAUTIFULLLL. ugh I gotta get into more dets for you- I’m hearing that some of you are blonde (natural/dyed/bleached it dont matter) and damn does it make you look like a star ☆- PLEASEEE YOU’RE A STARRR ♥️- sorry- it looks so good on you the more fair aura because that is definitely the color of your aura in social situations (I’m hearing pale lavender, blue, pink, yellow), I’m hearing you have very calming eyes.. something about the color of your eyes is very “even” in color, or you may know how to keep very even eye contact and that makes the color of your eyes stand out (anyyy eye color- I’m even seeing some of you may have a kind of heterochromia where you may have a dot of brown in your blue iris/other colors apply, etc), some of the people who you’ve kept such level eye contact with during conversation- they think they’d be able to see your eyes in a dark room they stand out so much…

oh my god pile 1 you are a star- moving forward I have to mention, some of you are very proud brunettes- as you fucking should be because oh my jesus that’s hot, your hot, you are a star ★, a superstar- I am not just saying that holy shit. I’m seeing you may stand out in your friend group or who you usually hang out with due to your coloring whatever that may mean (for example cus we’re on the topic of hair- you may be a blonde within a lot of brunettes, or vice versa- you may have brown eyes among a bunch of blue/green eyes, vice versa- you may be only one who tans, has lots of birth marks, wears their hair natural, etc etc),- now I’m hearing I should be giving random styling opinions/boosting- so if you have a y2k grunge aesthetic, or old hollywood glam style you look incredibleeee- don’t you fucking dare bring your body type into this- if you’re an apple body you look like literal heaven in a pair of low rise bedazzled jeans- long straight hair looks so good with your body shape, get wigs if you’ve been thinking about it- get braids if you’ve been wanting them- different color highlights is definitely a good idea (blonde, orange, blue, purple), tighter tops look so good on your body shape (lace up ones or ones with details/graphtics)- a clean sleek white dress would literally ☆shock☆ everyone in a room who knows you/your style (and ppl who don’t know you loll), nude makeup that matches the rest of your undertones, glossy press on nails, one piece of jewelry per type here and there,- some more gn/masc opinions I’m hearing are more shaped clothes, botton downs tucked in high rise straight down jeans/pants (showcase the shape of your shoulders and waist a bit moreee)- I’m hearing if you were to wear a brooch of somekind on your shirt pocket you’d drive someone “wild”-… I MEAN MAYBE THAT’LL JUST BE ME 💞💀- curls look so great on you also, like if you did a larger loose curl somewhere in the front of your hair- gel curls would also look hot on you- star accents of some kind (jewelry, belt charms, keychains, even tattoos),,, you are totally someone’s “pretty boy”/“pretty girl”/“pretty baby”… OH MY GOD THIS IS A RELATIONSHIPS/FRIENDSHIPS PAC WHERE WAS III-

so I was getting into it even in the energy check-in some of you may be coming from a place of past drama- yes I said past bc even if it's fresh it will be past, and in that it is already the past babe. so anyway- there is something.. romantic here- possibly, but really I’m hearing you are in admiration by a lot of eyes-… now I’m hearing “Kiss the Girl” from The Little Mermaid lol BAHHA oooohh~ you think your life is really mundane and so you’re hearing me say you have eyeballs on you like “… I leave my house once a week”- …bitch- your envioment means nothinggg and can change when you want it to fr. no matter your place this is your natural energy- I’m hearing your natural energy is being a socialite- and I mean you are meant to shine like a glittery star in various rooms- WITH YOUR GAL PALS!! this can even apply for going into a business/professional environment where you speak and interact with a lot of people and you are at the center of that- But anyway take it where it may apply. for some of you- you may do amazing in more queer centered places (clubs, awareness groups, or even drag shows in your area), places with a lot of creativity in relation to fashion (maybe even theater?) and makeup- for others here you should get out more in your school/college (gardening clubs or outdoor volunteer work would definitely benefit you), even if it’s just walking around your enviroment- wherever you walk you own, and you make yourself known…

I’m seriously feeling that so hard- AND SOME OF YOU DARE TO TURN A BLIND EYE TO YOUR OWN INNER SHINE. it's seriously beginning to bug me how you’re still staying in this insecure, bitter, fearful, energy, that is not yours but you continue to claim it!!! WTF. anyways, to those of you resonating with that- I’m being sooo fr, as soon as you kick those feelings to the curb (to be run over and killed 💅) and you fully allow yourself to bloom and allow the sun to shine on you- there will be buzzing. BUZZINGGGG🐝. put yourself out there and seriously just experiment with what it feels like to be with different social groups, don’t take it personally, expect nothing, just do it for your own self experimentation~ doesn’t that sound fun??? I'm getting the tingles just thinking about it~again with those spaces I talked about, no matter your feelings- wherever you walk you own. you belong because you know you belong in yourself. that’s your natural state and no matter how vicious some people were in seeing that in you, you still own that about you ☆ and it is your choice to use that divine gift given to you. please trust and believe when I say that once you step into that inner, pure, state of being- you will be divinely protected, any ◉ attacks are small potatoes and will be diced.

ANYWAYS WOOO- ummm all those spaces that I mentioned are fully open to you, and are definitely where you’ll meet your tribe- again, I’m seeing your “tribe” will more so be you being you and coming in and receiving a lot of admiration- people will just love to talk to you as soon as you come in (I’m seeing especially for the queer/fashion/creative group people coming up to you with armfuls of clothing joyfully wanting your opinion I loveee this for you)- I’m speaking about the future mainly to my more underdeveloped group of this pile, but let me jump into the future which is the place some of you are very much stepping into rn!!!- you’re having people crossing their legs in club booths to fit more people into your get to together- BAHHA- people want to be close to you, catch up, ask where you’ve been traveling to or what you’re wearing- and you’re finally soaking it all up and sitting so relaxed, your smile is dazzling and you’re taking a nice breath in and out as all of this healthily regulates your ego + your higher self.. this is honestly giving that if you weren’t the “queen bee” in your high school- you are now but in your 20s/30s/40s/etc!! and you’re handling it amazingly well, because you still choose to go home solo most nights still high and happy ♡ I love this for you. you also get asked to be the leader or placed as the head of a lot of different projects- it’s more so you oversee them and everyone works around you- the thing is, that you don’t let all this go to your head because you’ve already grounded your self-worth- and because of that attitude, people then want you around even more. when you come in, people want you in your group for the day/hour/20 minutes before another group wants you lol.

you’re fabulous ok? it’s more than fine to be that, it’s divine ♡! soo many people are going to feel like the moth to your flame, it’s already been destined to happen literally😵💫!!!! just keep a watch out for the ones taking too much from you or being up and down with their give-and-take from you, because you deserve someone/people around you who stay hot for you and fan your bright flame while enjoying its warmth (unless they need their own personal space- ppl are ppl, not npcs lol)… I guess I should just briefly state before I finish your reading- the chorus of Casual by Chappell Roan was replaying through your whole reading- I’m not saying this as a cop-out, you have people stopping and, in fact, falling to their knees when they’re in your energy. I see one or two people who are already a part of your larger group environment being very infatuated with you (and I’d definitely keep your eye on them and remain open to this possibility- for some of you this special someone is in your group setting is so pure in their affection towards you and could,, be the one. I'm dead serious about that- but also HEHHEHHEHE💞- oh how I love-love♡),- but I’m mainly seeing a lot of first dates for you guys as you continue to get out there, and that is far from a bad thing because- who wouldn’t want a change at even just one date with you??? (take rejection as non-personal ofc- ppl have free will- and stupidity) and also you get the chance to see how you adapt and interact with new people which is terrific for you!! mannn do I see you getting accepted and taken out by so many people, assholes included but also a lot of “gentlemen”/“babes” who will gladly treat you extremely well and or will be pulling all the charm and fun within them for you- even if they know it’s just one night with you… I’ll just say, you do attract people who want to serve you… on their knees definitely-

AND THAT IS WHERE I WILL LEAVE ITTTTT FOR NOWWW- I’m so so soooo happy to have had you all here todayyyy your life is seriously going to keep going up-up and away if you’ll just allow yourself to see that steady climb and trust it <3 I seriously love youuuu I almost don’t want you to leaveee just like how everyone else feels BAHHA- love you.~

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ “Knee deep in the passenger seat and you're eating me out is it casual now- two weeks and your mom invites me to her house in Long Beach is it casual now” - “it’s hard being casual when i’m on the phone talking down your sister”

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ "This is how to be a heartbreaker- boys they like a little danger" - "singing I lo-lo-love you"

⋆ ˖✮pile 2✮˖ ⋆

⋆ ˖ ✮ ˖ ⋆

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ Ten of Pentacles (reversed), Ace of Pentacles, Nine of Cups, Queen of Cups, Six of Swords (reversed) (bottom of deck)

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ Aquarius/Gemini/Libra placements, Capricorn/earth placements, Mercury dominant, Saturn dominant, 2nd house placements black lace, black on black, cinnamon, The Spice Girls, The Cheeta Girls, H2O, 2000s nostalgia, high school reunions, ex-friendship rebirth, stand up, saturday night bars, life path number 11, angel numbers 1111, 1212, 1313, 1221, channeled songs, Party for One - Carly Rae Jepsen, Heat Waves - Glass Animals

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ You guys are funny- just gonna say it off the bat I’m feeling silly with you rn ngl BAHHAHHAhehe- ok um HI PILE 2S!! I shouldn’t yell- let me not yell- some of you are coming from pile 1,, heyyy pile 1s~ ouw~ ok ok, you smiling could light up a room, a house, a complex, a broken oven. AHAHAH- what beautiful teeth and lips you have there- pile 2s. I’m seeing, so many different teeth and lip shapes before you come for me- straight, crooked, vener-white, “needs-a-cleaning” off-white, upside down smiles, nonsymmetrical dimples, big lips, small lips, uneven lips, scarred lips- you get it, I don’t give a shit. when you smile and give that big cackle, chuckle, chortle- you do what you do with joy- and people believe in jesus. people believe that pigs really do have wings. people believe that the sun must shine from your ass. truly. I mean truly. I’m sitting here with my fingers together like- hm. yes. how do I write this all- with a straight face without being sardonic… sardonic? do you guys read? I think you read. now I’m hearing “you thought you ate that-“ that meme, I know that you know it- let me stop. for-… 5 minutes… so we would probably connect really well- which is why I am all over the place, because you are also all over the place (yes I am shading you. respectfully.) someone here does really good impressions, including animals… whatever that means…- BAHAH, you guys would do great in stand up of some kind, either that or you’re known as the funny co-worker. you guys have this range when it comes to your sense of humor, where it is either very dry, with the most composed pauses (when I manage to do that without bursting into your own laughter), and or you guys are so fast like- the editing of a youtube video fast with the jokes- and or a mixture of the two where you’re able to pull off very intricate jokes very quickly in the moment. and jeeze people find you so charming, even more so because of the way you look as well, it’s almost weirdly uncanny to some people how someone with the level of physical attractiveness that you carry (it’s so heavy and so much I know it’s so hard✨) and you then can pull off such- hilarity. and they're like- “…do they know they could be a model??? like- are they aware?? are they using this comedy because they don’t see that about themselves??”… it’s giving “i didn’t know women could be funny” (goes for nb/men too ofc)…

wow- kill them with a spoon 🥄- anyways WOW. so I think you may have, a lot of perceptions of you by people around you who haven’t known you for very long, mainly revolving around your looks- yes your looks. your modesty is attractive but it won’t fly in this courtroom👩‍⚖️- you are attractive in some way, or have an appearance that people definitely admire- but also scrutinize, or underestimate… you definitely get belittled. ok- that sucks- point them out to me?… yea I thought so they are so ew. I don’t care if that person is your mother, your father, or your co-workers who’ve been working at the place for 5 years longer than you- they are ew. anyone who puts you down due to their own pre-made perception of you is ew. ick even. yea, I’m seeing the issue here is not like most other piles I read for where it’s a growth journey with self and insecurity- no you’re good rn you’re like totally chilling. and I love that because I’m chill now, I’m dipping my tea bag up and down and sitting with you I’m so chill. but I had to look into anything going on because- drama, keeps you reading. so main issue I’m exposing is that there are people around you, in your space, a space you “have” to be in like work or even college classes I’m hearing- most people around you mind their own business, good on them, I love them- other people… they dress you up as something in their mind for their own- amusement?? or to feel a sense of having an eagle eye over “you”- and I say “you” in quotations because wtf- they do this… so as to spice up their own boring life? this is a weird form of admiration, because even if it’s a shitty thing to see you as, with them placing you so strongly in this box- they’ve placed you also on this pedestal… that’s probably why even with this obvious bullshit you’re still just chilling- because you know that if someone has built this all up to be who you are- it means you’re the best. and they’re the lowest. the end. anyway my back hurts- someone here likes podcasts, I’m seeing the The Broski Report podcast (broski nation✊) and also Murder, Mystery, & Makeup- again you guys really just chill, drink a bit of wine and entertain yourself.- so let me move onnn and see what transformations might be gearing up in your social life hun~

ok so it’s not “crickets” happening in your social life, not at all- but again you guys are just so, content and used to yourselves (this is my pile who talks to themselves in the mirror I see you)- when I asked yall if you felt lonely I literally drew a blank. and this is actually perfect because it’s seriously when you’re not looking/expecting and you're all good with what you have that you get given so much- so this is where I’m going to remind you all to actively meditate on keeping yourself open. don’t expect anything, just stay open and ponder what you’d like- and you’ll receive. that’s literally it. you’re in prime manifesting energy with how content and at peace you are in yourself- do you know how much you attract when you do that shit???? remain. open. and. aware. of anything that may happen, even if someone trips in front of you and you gain a brief interaction or someone asks you where to find extra office supplies and you show them the supply closet- see your abundance, allow it, remain without expectations. you are literally in the perfect energy for so much. You guys are definitely the type however to be really fine with only a few close friends you can have some fun with (and or have a nervous breakdown with) and some family… but I think this contentment you have with yourself, might have come from you feeling- misunderstood in your sense of humor or self-expression. I gotta say, you definitely handled that disappointment well, since instead of dulling yourself you just shine more inwardly for your own enjoyment and entertainment- and that’s wonderful! but I do gotta say- I know you can feel a bit, pent up. due to a lot of your big personality being fitted within you, and that’s fantastic truly- but also it has the same effect of being stuck in your house alone for one week too long. maybe that’s why you read when you can- you get to be in a very expansive and wide world that feels different from your own… oh god did I make you yearn???? oops I’m sorry. anyways!!

you’d really thrive in some environment that feels more- “widespread” I suppose, that doesn’t mean cracking yourself open to a room of strangers, I mean just sharing yourself- still from a place of your own entertainment- what I mean is that it’d be really healthy for you to find an outlet for the pent up jitters you get- find it online if you want to try that, try little baby steps, why not?- go on one-time dates just to release a bit of what you keep inside you- interact with random people sitting next to you at bars,- no attachments, just feel out what you feel when you let your inward personality, be more outward- on a lease 🐩. I’m hearing some of you may be a little fearful of attachment even, work that out- that doesn’t mean you’ll then sacrifice your peace, you’ll just gain a wider world for yourself by gaining new connections- and obviously, with the personality and personhood that you have- you can totally just pick and choose who gets to be a part of that world and your time! you owe nothing to anyone. do you have any actual clue how many people are out there, whose perception of you is not just what they observe, but what you actually are? and their perception of you actually helps you and is used to contribute to your happiness and peace??? yea. having actual friends is freaking great. and the more you simply open yourself up to that- while staying aware and choosing who you want- that is going to be the big door that’ll be opened to you- you’ll receive so many amazing experiences and will shift and broaden your world and the worlds of others, you’ll be like a big tree, growing it’s roots around other trees- isn’t that soooo cute??? ok I’m trying to see into the future details in regards to you finding your “tribe”- spirit is honestly wanting things to be vague, so as you can remain open without any expectations. kk? I mean what I mentioned with the earlier situations gives you the clues to follow if you so choose- just be youuuu. you have more opportunities than you realize and you got all the answers to what to do within you. trust me when I say you’ll be running down the street in weird clothes and pearls, scream laughing out of breath with two girls who love you… that’s for someone here and it also applies to everyone here~

okkk pile 2s, it was stimulating being with you I’m nearly sick❤️ BAHAH anyways, in regards to any avoidant/anxious-avoidant attachment issues, just remember that heartbreak sucks, but heartbreak always just makes you hotter, and funnier. you prove that- that outcome is very real every day you exist as yourself… OKKK love you byeee❤️♡

deadass as I channeled this song, I was questioning if it was correct- and I look up to see one of your angel numbers 1212 on the clock- and then again 1221 as I type this lolll

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ “Once upon a time I thought you wanted me was there no one else to kiss- was it all a dream I let myself believe, I’m not over this, but I’m trying” - “party for one, if you don’t care about me, I’ll just dance with myself, back on my beat- I’ll be the one, if you don’t care about me, making love to myself, back on my beat”

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ “Sometimes all I think about is you- late nights in the middle of June, heat waves been fakin’ me out, can’t make you happier now”

⋆ ˖✮pile 3✮˖ ⋆

⋆ ˖ ✮ ˖ ⋆

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ Page of Swords (reversed), Seven of Cups, Six of Cups (reversed), The High Priestess (reversed), The Moon (bottom of deck)

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ Cancer/Pisces/Scorpio placements, Libra/air placements, Leo/fire Placements, 5th house placements (Venus, Mars, Jupitar, Rising, etc), inner child, old friendships, childhood renewal, 1111, 333, 444, Only Yesterday (1991), horses, channeled songs, Wildflowers and Wild Horses - Lainey Wilson, Cheap Queen - King Princess

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ Ok- Hi my pile 3s! and also my pile 2s because some of yall did not leave yet and have stayed for the next reading- like seriously this whole pac is connected rn- also happy 1111 as I write this!!! um oh my gosh let me start- you are so beautiful, yes I said it for the 3rd time in this pac post why are you on my ass‼️- its so true, you all have this classic beauty, it is timeless- you are timeless- or from a different time in your aura, your beauty, how you carry yourself in this world- etc etc… and when I say “different time” I don’t just mean you embody this feminine/masculine balance straight out of the 1970s, 40s, 50s, 20s,- and all the other time periods before/after I just mentioned- I also mean you still carry with you the time you had as a young child, you carry with you the sunshine you felt on your skin when you were 3-6 yo, and the snow you felt on your hands when you were 8-11… you have kept this purity and innocence and grown with it- and holy cow do I need to congratulate you and the strength of your spirit- so often we are forced to “leave behind” our childhood years and perspective due to difficult events or what people expect of you while you reside in this worldly- world. -which really that just means internalizing and hiding away in the closet the purest state of yourself (*also this is my more queer-centric pile so hellooo my fellow queer community ✨☀️)- this is putting a hole in my own heart being in how free and high spirited you are, and how you fully embody that and always have ☀️. you have kept that warmed and soaked up the same sunshine as you did all those years ago- it might not even feel like years to you, it feels like only yesterday your childhood was your state of being and all around you- and now, you are a bit bigger but you may live in this state that no time has passed- does that make sense?? ugh dude I hope so, your energy is like the sunshine, in that, I can’t reach out and physically be in your presence- but more so I’m trying to sit in your light while my vision gets spotty and I get a little dizzy… as in- you guys are out of this worlddd💫!!! you might even be told by your family or your peers that you tend to make them “dizzy” with how you communicate- you may be the type to jump from one topic to another, while you fold your laundry- and tidy your desk drawers- and walk into another room *backward* because you are still talking and describing a detail that is “important” to the story you were recounting 10 minutes ago- you sweet thing!!!! this is adorable to be in,, if anyone’s ever made you feel bad about how you communicate, do not take it personally- its always good karma to be considerate of other’s sensitivities, but everything you do is so pure hearted- it would be so phony and ridiculous to believe any crap people say about you to be truthful. your energy is so pure and truly yours, this is your sign and confirmation to continue to not live for the external views of others and live life through your own view ☀️. Oh- i keep getting horse imagery- horses may be significant for some of you, it may be your spirit animal or a spirit guide that is close to you may take the energetic appearance of a horse (in particular for some of you it’s a very strong and matured brown colored horse of some breed), or some of you grew up around horses in some way!

Oh this is random but you may be the type to enjoy having your playlists on shuffle lol- because I just suddenly began mentally playing Cheap Queen by King Princess- so this is definitely where I will now channel the dets about your social environment my dear~!! ok sooo- I’m seeing various different types of family dymanics, big families, med sized families, even 2 person families (you + a guardian)- I sense that you have close family ties, and i know family can be complex, so let me state some variouions of what that means- you may have a close familiarity to your family’s home or yard (maybe even your neighborhood area), such as knowing every little creak that your house makes when you go to the kitchen to get a morning cup of water, I’m seeing for some of you- you are very tied to your sibling dymamic if you have siblings (I accidently wrote in all caps at first and I scared myself lol- so you may come from a family where loudness is common part of the jokes you share), or maybe even kids you knew in your neighborhood if you played with them often- things like that have stuck with you inrelation to what you look for in anykind of companionship, a sense of familiarity~ this is def the pile who believes in being drawn to your soulmate(s) or past life connections lol~ so while you have that grounded energy in wanting stablity, you also are an entertainer and you know how to have a good time!! as you should since you totally fly like a fabulous canary from room to room- you should feel more confident when you dance btw, put more energy into your shoulders with joy because the way you move literally energizes people-

now I’m getting messages on how you connect to your inner child, I’ve said before you already naturally embody your inner child (“just in a bigger body” I’m hearing- some of you may have had a big physical growth spirut as a child btw), but some messages in regards to connecting to your inner child for those of you who need some answers is to engage in more activities that return yourself to a past peaceful enviroment, this is also for those who had a more chaotic upbringing and had to turn inwardly for peace ❤️- taste is a really important sense for you returning to that younger state of peace, so certain candies (I’m hearing those fruit rollups I love those still) or fruits, snacks- simple dishes that made younger you excited and brought you joy- also I’m hearing something about sleepovers and evening activities/coziness~ so grab some blankets and make an event of staying up late if you already do that lol- anyways!! let me get back to how fun you truly are to be around my dear, I mean, seriously! If you have the opportunity go out when you can, if you already have a friend or someone familiar go to a house party nearby (keep yourselves safe!), try rollerskating if you haven’t, and get closer to someone you already know and show your colors- DRESS UP!!!! I know life can be bleak especially when you feel that life is very "closed off" and dead lol- but when I tell you the phrase “dress for the life you want”- I mean ittt~ it will align you with the environment that you desire and it will come to you so naturally (in the same way you making a coffee and taking your dog for a walk is a natural occurrence in your life!)- I’m hearing that the connections that you already have in your life are “all you need”, and by that I mean you can build off of those and shoot farther into the sky full of stars meant for you 💫. I’m hearing the quote about drawing back your arrow before you can shoot forward- if you’re feeling stuck right now, this is what I’m trying to tell you, blossom exactly where you are right now, and everything else will simply follow!!! and I know that takes courage but I KNOW you have it because it was child you’s courage that got you to this future you are currently in~ and when you start to embody their courage along with their light, I know it will be the turning point to creating the life you were always dreaming and painting in your mind~ I’m seeing bright neon lights, holding hands and toothy-laughing grins, your clothes looking exactly how you pictured months ago- this is what I see happening in the future!! please stay open to some of the connections you already have- renew them is what I’m hearing (but please follow your intuition, if you need to cut everyone except for one or two true connections then that is the right thing for you to do)- if these are people who you knew when you were a lot younger then bond on the older times and use that energy to renew into more new memories,- these older connections you have you could definitely collaborate with to mutually make new connections and go towards new experiences- I’m hearing maybe even to “get out of this town”... phew pile 3!!!! what a way to end this pac, so happy to have met you and I feel like I took a nap in the sun- I’m really on some hazy ish rn lolll but I really hope I was helpful in any questions or worries on your beautiful mind~ I LOVE YOUUU so much, you better keep on shining- even if that’s just in front of your mirror, that’s perfect and valid ☀️👏

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ “I'm five generations of blazin' a trail- through barb-wired valleys and overgrown dells- I'm barefoot and bareback and born tough as nails” - “I push like a daisy through old sidewalk cracks” - “yeah, my kinda crazy's still runnin' its courses with wildflowers and wild horses”

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ “I've been alright, I’ve just been doing the same shit I've always liked- like smoking and movies and homies who bring me wine” - “-all of my girls get up early and stay out late- they drive all the way to the west side to see my face- that's good love- and I ain't no big baller when it's fake friends you're callin’”

⋆ ˖

✮

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️am I actually going to (*schedule to*) post this omg it feels like forever since i did this.. where was i even? whatever- its whatever- holy shit I'm putting myself out there!!!! praise be!!!! omg I'm going to get one extra hour of sleep as a treat🍰

love, vi~♡

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

white wine | f. odair

(part two of red wine)

part one

summary: another celebration in the capitol leaves you and finnick in an argument that threatens to strain your friendship.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: reader’s pov, flirting, angst, argument, struggling finnick :(

notes: i don’t know if i like this, let me know what y’all think! final part will be out in a few days.

word count: 1.6k

A Sphynx cat dressed in a white suit scurried beneath your feet, disappearing around a vine-covered pillar in the courtyard of the Presidential Palace. Fairy lights were hung on every tree, bush, and pillar, providing light in the growing darkness of the evening. Orchestral strings played in a small band off to the side, so beautiful that it sent goosebumps prickling across your entire body. People were dressed to impress, though to you, they looked more ridiculous than impressive.

The 72nd annual Hunger Games had come and gone, and a tour was held for the victor whose name you had not bothered to learn. At last, the infamous grand celebration in the Capitol had arrived.

Months had gone by since your night of red wine and white cats. Parties had not been in short supply since then, meaning your meetings with Finnick remained regular. But something was off about him. Something you couldn’t place no matter how hard you tried.

Winter snow was beginning to stick to the ground, blending with the pure white gown you were wearing, gifted by the generous president. If purity and innocence were what he was going for, he probably should’ve chosen a dress without a plunging neckline. The proof was in the pudding. Or rather, the voice of the heartthrob from District Four.

“That dress is quite distracting.”

Sauntering toward you came Finnick Odair, a playful grin plastered on his face. Just like you, his outfit only consisted of white. A billowy V-neck that dipped down to his navel, paired with white dress pants and a golden netted belt.

“Finnick.” You smiled, your dull mood lifting from his presence. “So, he got you too, huh?”

“What? You don’t think I look dashing in white?” he teased.

“I think you look dashing in anything.”

The words just slipped out, supposed to only remain a thought. Finnick was a flirt, through and through. You hardly ever entertained his flirtatious manner; rebutting with either attitude or timid silence was more your style. So, the last thing you needed was for him to take your words to heart, however genuine they might be.

He blinked in surprise, only to quickly laugh it off. “Thank you, but I don’t think the spotlight will be on me tonight,” he said, his eyes scanning your dress from head to toe, then settling back on your face. “I hate to admit it, but Snow knows beauty when he sees it.”

“Snow knows everything,” you replied sarcastically.

And there it was again. That out-of-character shift in his demeanour. Like a storm cloud had suddenly rolled over head, dampening the mood with its gloomy presence. This was becoming a more frequent occurrence each time you saw Finnick and you were desperate to know why. What had changed?

Sunshine broke through the clouds again in the form of a splitting grin. “Unfortunately, so,” he said, brushing the topic aside as though it were nothing. “Would you like to dance? Give them a taste of real beauty?”

You couldn’t say no.

The instrumentals had slowed to the tempo of an assumed waltz. Although you had been trained in social etiquette, dancing was not your strong suit—unless you counted drunk dancing. With this knowledge, Finnick took the lead, his hand gently cupping your waist, another interlocking your own, and you followed his simple steps until you found a comfortable rhythm.

“I have got to know who your dancing instructor is,” Finnick quipped, his tone full of jest. “He’s got to be pretty talented to be able to teach you how to dance. Undeniably attractive too, considering your incredibly vain nature.”

You playfully rolled your eyes. “I can’t seem to recall his name. Not very remarkable. Phineas was it? Or maybe it was Finnley.”

“That hurts, sweetheart.”

“Truth hurts, Odair,” you said, sending him a teasing smile.

He chuckled, the dance continuing smoothly. “You’re getting better,” he said, his voice now sounding sincere.

Before you met Finnick, fitting in with higher society was a struggle. All of their customs and etiquette seemed so foreign to you, especially since you came from a lower-ranking district. But as he meticulously wound himself into your web, he brought with him an abundance of knowledge which he happily shared with you.

You had spent countless hours together, learning different subjects such as how to keep conversations going, the art of seduction, and even dancing, even though you never quite got it down.

Times came when dangerous situations arose—conferences with President Snow, meeting obsessiveCapitol citizens, and being given unreasonable demands. More than once, Finnick saved your life through his guidance. You owed him everything and more.

Heat spread in the places his hands touched you, subduing the slight chill of the winter air. You would expect someone from District 4 to be cold, as the ocean was like a second home to them, with their days spent fishing, swimming, and collecting underwater vegetation in the cold depths. Despite this, everything about Finnick radiated warmth. His bronze hair was like the embers of a dying fire; his skin was fiery upon touch. Even his smile was sunny, always beaming like a golden ray of light.

Slowly, the fairy lights transformed in colour, highlighting the luxurious scenery and both yours and Finnick’s clothing. White turned to green, accentuating the striking colour of Finnick’s eyes which gazed down upon you as your bodies swayed together. After green came a colour that turned your dress a deep crimson.

“This one’s my favourite,” Finnick said, his voice so melodious it sounded like a part of the orchestra.

“Why is that?”

You felt his hand glide to your lower back and your knees almost buckled.

“Because—” The music swelled before its end and he gracefully dipped you as if to emphasise his answer— “you always look stunning in red.”

Everything went quiet. The music had ended and all you could hear was the sound of your heartbeat thumping in your ears. Beautiful sea green washed over your body, enveloping you in complete serenity that resembled the feeling of floating beneath the ocean’s surface. Finnick was there with you, holding you in his arms, his eyes penetrating deep into your own—sea-green serenity.

You lowered your gaze to his lips, admiring the pink colour and velvetiness. It was a dilemma you constantly struggled with—having a crush on the Finnick Odair. The Capitol’s Darling. Everybody wanted him; some actually got him. You heard whispers of his little adventures in the Capitol, how a select few would get to spend the night with him whenever he visited.

There was no judgement on your part; Finnick was your closest friend. And that was all he would ever be, making you the most envious of them all. Condemned to forever wishing to be something more than platonic. Always being the one watching from the sidelines. That was the singular thing you had in common with the people of the Capitol.

But in that fleeting moment, you were undeniably certain no one had ever yearned to kiss anyone more than you yearned to kiss Finnick. Your heart lurched when his eyes flickered to your lips and suddenly, you were questioning whether or not he felt the same. When he started to lean in closer, your heart just about exploded.

But before anything could happen, you realised that the waters were infested with gossip-hungry sharks, waiting for their moment to strike.

Soft murmurs were echoing around you, reeling your harsh reality back into existence. Finnick too noticed and pulled you back into a standing position. His hands dropped from your body and without a second glance, he took off in the opposite direction, leaving you momentarily in shock.

“Wha—Finnick!” you exclaimed, trailing after him.

You weaved through the crowd of engrossed bystanders, ignoring their hushed whispers and unwavering stares. Finnick had climbed two of the marble steps leading up to the mansion before you reached out and grabbed his white sleeve, forcing him to face you.

“What, Y/N?” he snapped, wearing an expression that was a mixture of frustration and hurt. The usage of your real name took you aback. He would always call you ‘sweetheart’ or some other term of endearment. Hardly ever your name. “What do you want?”

You shook your head, confused as to where his sudden hostility had come from. “What’s going on with you?” you asked, searching his eyes for anything that would help you understand, but there were too many emotions for you to decipher. “Whenever we see each other it’s like something is weighing you down. Sometimes you can’t even look me in the eyes and then other times you’re asking me to dance with you and flirting with me. I don’t understand, is it me? Have I done something?”

He clenched his jaw, shaking his head as he averted his gaze. You let out an exasperated breath, lowering your gaze to his chest in frustration. The brilliance of his white shirt caught your attention and a troubling thought popped into your mind. “Has Snow done something?”

His eyes snapped to yours, a silent command to lower your voice. Descending one step, Finnick leaned down, towering over your body. His voice was low, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

In one last attempt to break through his barrier, you slid your hand into his. “Then explain it to me,” you pleaded. “Please.”

The inner turmoil was evident on Finnick’s face. His gaze softened but the deep worry lines were still etched into his skin. For a moment, you believed he was finally going to lower his walls. However, your hope was diminished as he exhaled a long, weary breath and said, “I wish I could.”

And then his hand slipped out of yours, disappearing entirely as he ascended the stairs and left you at the bottom, defeated.

tags: @bellamybellamyblake @teigo-the-explorer

part three

[fatkish]

The Hashira trying to befriend a new Hashira reader that is a Phantom Breath User. She likes to make creepy dolls and talk about morbid dark things to people. She's not trying to be scary on purpose that's how she interacts with people. Often inviting people to walk around old gravesites with her.

She's often seen talking to herself, but she's actually talking to ghosts

Hashiras x Hashira Reader

When Ubuyashiki introduced you to everyone, there were many different thoughts going through everyone’s heads. What is phantom breathing? Why does it seem like you’re constantly staring into people’s souls? How strong are you? And other thoughts. The immediate opinions of the Hashira are as follows upon first meeting you.

Tengen: you give him the creeps. While your sense of fashion (being that of constantly carrying a creepy little stuffed doll on your person and having a Haori that is white with flowers and skulls) is flashy in its own way, it gives you this eerie vibe.

Obanai: he couldn’t really care less about you so long as you’re strong and have earned your spot. As long as you do your job, he couldn’t care less.

Sanemi: you seriously piss him off. You have this blank stare that reminds him too much of Tomioka. (He’s not aware that you’re able to see his dead kid siblings constantly surrounding him)

Muichiro: what’s happening again? Who is this person that’s staring at him, or well, through him? A second decorative object.

Giyuu: he has no opinion. He just hopes that you don’t die too quickly.

Gyomei: another Hashira, how wonderful. He hopes that you will live a long life and be able to perform adequately.

Shinobu: why is it that your stare reminds her of a dead fish? Why are you just staring at everyone? Oh, maybe you’re just shy, or you’re socially inept like Giyuu. She hopes you won’t be as dreary as him.

Mitsuri: oh she’s so happy to have another female pillar around. What’s your favorite food? Do you have any hobbies? Hopefully you’ll be able to be good friends.

Kyojuro: another Hashira, how splendid! He’s never heard of phantom breathing before and is interested in how it works. Perhaps you’ll spar with him.

As time went on, the other Hashira began to notice things about you. You often talked to thin air and had conversations with yourself. You liked to walk through graveyards which was creepy to a lot of the other Hashira. Despite your eerie nature, you’re actually rather friendly and talkative. Although, the topics you talk about are rather off putting such as how the human body decomposes or where you should or shouldn’t bury bodies, etc.

You’d often sew these creepy little dolls and have a rather large collection of them. One time when you were on a mission with Sanemi, you asked a little girl if you could have some of her hair to sew onto your doll and use as the doll’s hair. Needless to say, Sanemi smacked you in the back of the head and dragged you away after you scared the poor child. He was very disturbed to find out that you often times take things from dead creatures to use with your dolls. You have a stuffed dog that has actual dog teeth sewn into it that you got from a dead dog.

One time when you were at Gyomei’s estate, you confessed to him that you were seen as a cursed child growing up. You told him about your past and your ability to see ghosts and the spirits of the dead. People avoided you as a child and thought you were either sick in the head or cursed since you always talked to ‘yourself’. You had difficulties distinguishing the difference between the living and the spirits of the dead. As you sat beside him, you told him about the child spirits that constantly follow him. You told him how they are always watching him and looking after him.

As time went on, the other Hashira had gotten used to you and your strange ways. Most of them have come to accept you. Although there are rumors in the Corps that you’re capable of seeing dead people, many think it’s just a rumor. Although some lower ranks do come to you occasionally to ask about their deceased loved ones. You’d often tell them what you can and they’d leave feeling better knowing that their loved ones are close and watching over them. The Hashira’s current opinions of you are as follows.

Tengen: I found her to be creepy at first but after I got to know her, I found that she can be relatively good company. Her ability to see dead people is certainly flashy in itself. I definitely believe her. She once told me that I shouldn’t let my past haunt me since my siblings don’t blame me for killing them. It was nice to hear that. She’s a decent Hashira.

Obanai: she’s weird. I don’t care if she can see and talk to the dead. I for one, don’t believe her. She is strong though so there’s that. Kaburamaru doesn’t seem to mind her.

Sanemi: that damn bitch! Who does she think she is making fun of my past! How the hell did she even know about my siblings and their names? How dare she talk about them. She’s strong but she’s creepy. If she ever talks about my family again I’m going to beat her up, I don’t care if she’s a woman!

Muichiro: she’s a strange creature. She reminds me of a moth. For some reason she constantly calls me Yuichiro, when I correct her, she apologizes and tells me that we look so similar. She and I have nothing in common. Who are we talking about again?

Giyuu: I like her. She’s nice. At first I didn’t believe that she saw ghosts but after we talked a bit and have gotten to know each other, she told me about how my older sister is constantly worrying about me and is always watching over me. At first I didn’t believe her but she described my sister perfectly. It’s nice knowing that my sister is at peace.

Gyomei: such a sweet child. Having the burden of being able to see and communicate with the deceased has caused her lots of pain. Despite being ostracized and mistreated for her gift, she continues to try and help the deceased. Such a kind and caring child. She is truly a pure soul and a good friend.

Shinobu: from a medical standpoint, I can’t say I believe that she’s able to see ghosts. Although I do believe that there is something that allows her to know the things she does, it just isn’t possible to see the dead. She once spoke about my beloved sister Kanae and told me that she was proud of me although she wished I chose to live a normal life. I don’t know how she knew this, but we’ve agreed that she is never to talk about my dear sister.

Mitsuri: oh she’s so sweet. Although she is a little weird, she’s super kind and friendly. Get this, she made me a little doll of myself and one of Obanai. The dolls are so cute. I keep them in my room on a shelf together. She doesn’t mind how much I eat and she even buys me food sometimes when we have missions together. She’s such a nice friend.

Kyojuro: she’s amazing. She is strong not just with a blade but also strong of heart. One time when she came over to my estate, she saw my father and had a private conversation with him. I didn’t hear too much of it, although I did hear my father’s shouts and heard him throw some things around. When she left that day, my father actually apologized for the way he’s been treating my brother and I. She told me that my mother was very proud of me and when I asked her about it, she perfectly described my mother despite me not telling her about her or having seen a picture of my mother.

[meanbossart]

I have another intense ask about bhaalist AU drow...

Would drow be “forced” to procreate? And how would Asatrion take that information? If Astarion is his consort, would he be jealous of concubines? Would this also contribute to his overall dissatisfaction during his time trapped at the bhaal temple? Or Would he be happy that his lover has distractions, so he can have time alone - maybe plotting his escape?

I’m overall curious about how drow and Astarion’s relationship falls apart in your AU

I don't think so! Not that I care about biblically following canon or anything like that, but there was nothing throughout the story that made me think procreation was a requirement in Bhaal's plan. If you take the scrapped ending into consideration, it seems to be more of a punishment first and foremost.

Not to say I don't believe it to be a part of the man-made gospel in some form or another. Sarevok seems fairly invested in this idea of generating bhaalspawn that are pure of blood, and this is an agenda that he subtly pushes onto DU drow throughout their years operating the temple: that said, like it often is, Bhaal is silent on the matter.

There seems to be a lot of conflict within the cult about what Bhaal wants and how he wants it, and I choose to interpret his failure to clarify as part of the Murder God's nature, as well as a fun nod at the (dys)functionality of real-life cults where you have several people claiming to have a direct connection to a god.

But back on topic, there IS the heavily implied Dark Urge To Multiply. A few instances where durge or someone around them suggests that, eventually, having children will be an irresistible biological necessity. There are a few ways to interpret this! But I can't help but notice that this theme is absent in a route where you do willingly become Bhaal's chosen - maybe its a failsafe Bhaal cooked into The Dark Urge in case his child became a weenie? To possess them with the need to spread their seed around until SOMEONE down the family tree stepped up to the role?

This definitely turns out to be the case in DU drow's redemned route, where he is plagued with bouts of breeding-related mania and depressive episodes that come and go as a result of a nest remaining empty, But I hadn't really considered this for his Bhaal-embracing self He definitely harbors an obsession with procreating in that AU - but... I'm not sure that's Bhaal's doing anymore. I think he just wants for there to: A) Be more of him around. B) Create a tangible, undeniable connection between himself and Astarion that cannot be severed.

A theme with DU drow is that he is aggressively monogamous. This remains constant in every possible iteration of him and it's a pillar of the character - he is devout to a partner until the end whether they want him or not, and so, Bhaalist DU drow would be violently opposed to the idea of being sexually involved with anyone besides Astarion. If Sceleritas or members of the temple insisted otherwise, he would balk and them push them off into a Chasm. If Bhaal demanded him do it, he would jerk off into a vial and hand it to whoever he deemed pretty enough to mix up with, and then probably kill the child as soon as it was born, anyway - because it's not right.

DU drow (again, in all iterations) almost believes there to be a magical component to true love that affects a person's life beyond just their choice in long-term partners. Just like he once decided that Orin was his forever-mate, he's now decided him and Astarion are intrinsically linked, that they are stronger together than they will ever be apart again. And It is particularly romantic to him (a matter of ironic fate, really) that the Murder Prince's true love would be undead. In DU drow's mind, and SPECIALLY in his Bhaal-embracing version, this is simply the universe's plan for him, and to divert from it in any way (by, for example, procreating with someone else) would be blasphemous.

Now, obviously him and Astarion can't have biological children for a plethora of reasons. But this is fantasy. Bhaalist DU drow would simply not stop until he found the best way to create someone that could be, spiritually and physically, considered their functional blood-offspring. Through Alchemy, magic, ritual, whatever it may be - as long as it works and works according to his high-standards. I suspect he would have specialists shipped in from wherever they may be in the realms to look into the issue, and probably someone who's sole job is to research the matter, though I'm not sure he would ever be satisfied with the results.

I think Astarion would be utterly checked out of the matter.

[atzfilm]

— 『 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋; 𝐨𝐭8 』 [6] (M)

— 𝚠𝚘𝚗 • 𝚍𝚎𝚛 • 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕, adjective. having someone who serves as a pillar in your life, who offers a sturdy place to lean in times of trouble. somebody you find yourself thinking about constantly and are completely infatuated with.

❝humans were such strange creatures. wretched in their mere existence. none of the eight were ever truly interested in them until they found you. they just find. it strange that despite their status and rank, you'd rather spend time with your lover. that isn't much of a problem, though. one they can fix with ease.❞

〘ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴍʏᴛʜ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰᴀᴇʀɪᴇꜱ〙(m.list)

— pairing: ot8 x reader, mxm (this chapter); yeosang x reader, wooyoung x reader; 12.7k

— note: this is a yandere fic. sensitive topics such as manipulation, gaslighting, murder, and other topics involved with the genre. please heed the warnings and read this work of fiction while keeping this in mind.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: murder references, manipulation, blood, torture references, dark magic, lying, emotional turmoil, injuries, slight descriptions of gore, worship references (?), smut

Chapter 6

You've grown to notice that it is never truly cold in the forest around their home. It feels as if it’s a warm bubble, unaffected by outside elements. None of the faeries ever mention it, probably accustomed to the odd temperature. You yourself are not, jacket wrapped around your waist as you walk through the small path Yeosang has taken you on. His clothing is loose, steps gliding along the slow breeze. All of them are quiet when they walk, barely the sound of a leaf crunching beneath their feet. He does not move as fast as San did when you arrived. In fact, there's little space between you, his skin close to brushing against your own.

Since you have known him, he has been indifferent to your presence. Oftentimes mulling in silence whenever you two spent time together, or glued to whatever object was around at the time. Being alone with him didn't happen often – most occasions he'd have San tied to his side, fingers wrapped around his waist, moving where he moved. Or Wooyoung lingering around you. So you're quite surprised he even wants you out here alone with him. You aren't close at all.

“The house could be quite a nuisance,” he says softly, hand sliding in yours as you climb around a protruding rock. Now that you know he can feel what you're thinking, the coincidences of him answering your thoughts aren't so shocking anymore. You expect him to let go once you’ve steadied yourself but he doesn’t, fingers entwined. “Everyone is watching your every move. San unwilling to leave your side for even a breath,” he smiles, slightly toothy grin. “Now you know how I feel.”

“It’s like he’s attached. Each time I leave the room he follows,” you say, and Yeosang snorts, nodding.

“Seonghwa warned him that he is to keep his eye on you. None of us know when you’ll–” he snaps his fingers on his free hand– “Better to be safe than sorry.”

“I’m not going to do anything.” There’s little ground to defend yourself on, but still. You can barely remember what happened then. It was a life or death situation. You doubt it'd happen now. “Just don’t try to kill me or anything.”

“Is that a threat?” he teases, brow raised. “Not to worry. I doubt any of us would do such a thing. We have morals, you know. Even as Unseelie.”

“San was explaining that to me. Between the chaos there is comfort. I can see it when you're around each other. You tease, but you do care. In different ways.”

“We do. Our inane element of chaos is fairly simple. We reign terror on human lives. It has lessened over the years now since humans aren't as inept as before. It takes time for us to ruin their lives,” he glances at you from the side. “You may witness it in person eventually.”

“Just like how you've caused it on mine?” You barely speak above a whisper, but Yeosang catches the irritated murmur, laughing softly as he helps you over a fallen tree. The sound is a bit eerie under these circumstances. You are trapped and he knows it so clearly. His laughter is evident enough of that.

“Precisely. We are almost there, human. Watch your step,” he pulls you closer to him, arm wrapped around your body, fingers light against your waist. Oddly it reminds you of Wooyoung – neither of the two's actions in consideration of the person they bother. In a way you believe that while Wooyoung touches you whenever he likes on purpose, Yeosang fails to realize there is an issue at all. He lets go when you enter the field, gracefully crossing his legs as he rests on the flower petals. You sit next to him with far less elegance, taking in your surroundings.

It is strange to see anything like this in the forest nearest your town. A small waterfall and a body of water sit in front of you, the sound of the liquid splashing filling the night. You pay no mind to how Yeosang watches you, your interest in the natural structures in front of you. A group of deer bend their necks, drinking the freshly cycled water from the pond.

“Hongjoong showed me this place when we first arrived,” Yeosang explains, head resting in his hands. “He told me that I can come whenever I like to clear my mind or hide away. He hasn't shown up here since, I'm sure out of respect for me. If you'd like I can come with you here whenever you need. I thought it would bring you some comfort amongst everything else.”

It does. Your emotions weigh heavy on you. Missing your family, mourning your lost relationship. Hurt sitting inside you with everything that's happened. You haven't gotten the chance to really let that feeling settle because you haven't had time to yourself. Though now you technically still don't, Yeosang doesn't speak. He doesn't interrupt the silence. No, all he does is stretch out his fingers, a book appearing on his palm. He flips through the pages, filling the air between the two of you.

“Thank you.”

The grass beneath you is comforting as you lie back, eyes closed. The sound of a page flipping continues.

“Thanking me is not needed.”

—

“Where did you take her?”

Yeosang barely looks up from his literature, a sigh escaping from his lips. Perhaps the two of you should have stayed out much longer. “Welcome home.”

“You can't just take her out of the house, Yeosang. We have to keep an eye on her at all times. You can't be alone without any of us near.” Seonghwa's voice is frustrated as he opens the fridge, digging through the drawers. “If she attempts to kill you we're too far away to stop it. You have to think these things through before committing to it.”

“The human isn't going to kill me, hyung,” Yeosang murmurs, frowning as he reads the next line. “Oh what a pity.”

“What?” Seonghwa turns, seeing his mate staring at the book.

Yeosang looks up, pointing to the page, “They died before meeting. They've been waiting years but they both died. It's horrific,” he shakes his head, continuing to flip through. It only gets Seonghwa more frustrated, frown on his lips soon to permanently embed itself in his face.

“You are not listening to me–”

“Oh, but I am listening perfectly, Seonghwa. I just wonder when you will finally let one of us know what's on your mind. And why you continue to lie about her to us,” Yeosang hums. “Maybe then I will give you my full, undivided attention. But for now, since you will likely respond with another lie, I will continue to read.” he looks up from his book, eyes resting on his. It makes the lump in Seonghwa's throat grow. Disappointment. Yeosang isn't like the others in that sense. He's hidden with his emotions, only letting his frustration or irritation through individual talks. Never letting another person around hear it. So now, even though they are both alone at the moment, it hurts Seonghwa to see that even with this privacy, Yeosang does not let his true feelings slip out. His hurt must be larger than he can comprehend.

It's not like Seonghwa doesn't want to say it. But solidifying his suspicions without being one hundred percent sure would only be useless. Turn them in a direction that they don't need to be in right now. They should be focused on the growing threat of Seelie entering their land, not you. You would just be a distraction between it all if you are human. And if Seonghwa is right about what you really are, then you're an asset to their team. If his spark all can fall under your charms without much effort, the Seelie are sure to fall for it. And they could finally subdue them once and for all. The only glaring problem with his plan, that is, is if you turn on them. It is the main reason why he dislikes whenever you’re left alone with just one.

“It is for a reason, Yeosang.” Seonghwa holds the tangerine in his hand, slowly peeling off the skin. “I hope you can understand.”

“We don't hide things from one another,” Yeosang says, writing into the pages of his novel. “So if you expect sympathy from me you've gone to the wrong mate. Perhaps Hongjoong, or Jongho will give you what you desire.” His brows furrow, frustration etching itself into his skin. “Now you can go. I'm getting distracted.”

Seonghwa places a tangerine in front of Yeosang's folded legs, leaving the room altogether. Once he is gone, Yeosang grabs the fruit. He stares at it, thumb running along the surface. It pierces the skin, juices sliding down his skin, spilling onto the book that rests in his lap. He sighs in frustration, tossing the fruit into the sink several meters away.

“Everything would be solved if she were dead,” he murmurs.

—

“Three.”

“Nope.”

“Less than that?”

“Much less.”

“It can't just be me, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung grins, palm holding up his head as he looks up at you. “It's surprising, no? But it's true. All I've ever wanted, no, desired, was other faeries or creatures beyond your comprehension. Humans are only playthings to me. Meals at the end of the day. Nothing more.”

The thought makes your stomach want to fold in on itself. “You're joking?”

“Unfortunately no,” he sighs, letting his head flop down to your sheets. “Your scent is all consuming, solaris. No other human has affected me in such a way. And it wouldn't make sense to have a human partner when all I'd do is just kill them in the end.” His eyes shift to you. “I wouldn't do that to you though, I like you too much.”

“How wonderful,” Sarcasm drips from your words as he laughs. Easily speaking of killing humans, as if he's talking about playing a game. Some things you'll never get used to when hanging out with Unseelie. Their lack of care for living still makes you feel queasy. Your one murder haunts you every night, but he, no, they, thrive in it. You just cannot imagine it.

“You've overstayed your welcome,” Yeosang stands on the outside of the door, arms crossed against his chest. He nods at you, expression surprisingly warm. Since that night, Yeosang often spent time with you. He hasn't said much, as usual, but he sought you out for quiet. Wooyoung being here right now is likely the opposite of what he wants.

Wooyoung's head rolls to the side, eyes narrowing at his mate. “You bother her too much. Give solaris some space.”

“You're in her room every night,” Yeosang deadpans.

“Yes, and? She enjoys me around her, I liven up the place! Don't you enjoy me?” His pout matches the whiny tone of his voice. In the beginning it was mildly irritating, but you do enjoy it now. Not that you'd admit it to him. He'd never leave your side at that rate.

“No.”

“Solaris!” He whines, tucking himself further into your sheets. It would be humorous if it weren’t for the look Yeosang gives him.

“Leave,” Yeosang says, his voice firmer now. “Mingi and San need you.”

“On a scale of not needed at all to they're currently dying, where does the need of my presence fall–”

“Go, now.”

Mingi. You haven't seen him in a while, assuming that he was on a mission. Knowing that he's around makes you wonder a bit. He hasn't greeted you since you've arrived again. Was he afraid of seeing you? No, that couldn't be. You were afraid of him, not the other way around.

Wooyoung painfully drags himself off your sheets, sending you a quick look before moving past Yeosang. His hand reaches out and grips Wooyoung’s bicep, their eyes meeting. They often communicate without speaking, gazes flicking over one another’s before Wooyoung leaves down the hall. Yeosang turns to look at you, exhaustion easily lining his gaze. Still you envy their connection, unlike anything you’d ever experience yourself. You wouldn’t want to become an Unseelie, but their devotion to each other is formidable. If only your kind were the same. Perhaps if humans were equally bonded to one another, there’d be less infighting and more respect spread across the Earth. But of course, just wishful thinking.

“Hongjoong asked for you,” Yeosang says.

“The man of the hour,” you murmur, sighing. “Why can’t he just come here himself?”

“Believe it or not,” Yeosang smiles. “He is a bit more busy than you think. He didn’t technically ask for me to come find you, but I doubt he would find the time to leave himself. And Yunho is too preoccupied to come here. I’m the only one free at the moment.”

You lift yourself up from your seat, stepping past the small gap between Yeosang and the doorway. He shifts slightly, arm brushing against yours as you make your way around. He does not follow you promptly. You turn to look at him, his sight glued on yours.

“Something the matter?”

His expression changes, and he merely shakes his head. “Nothing. I’ll lead the way.”

—

Yeosang leaves you with him, fingers brushing against the back of your hand as he disappears down the hall. He did not try to start a conversation as you two were walking alone, briefly glancing at you from time to time. Whatever you did moments ago must have bothered him enough to not even attempt to dissolve the awkwardness resting between both of you. But you didn’t either, so there’s that.

You slowly enter, your steps echoing as you move further inside. You’ve been inside Hongjoong’s office once before, but never in his room. It is nothing like you expected it to be - no torture devices hanging from the walls. Instead, vinyls resting on clear displays, cds in between each one. In fact, there were several instruments decorated all about, some you couldn’t even recognize yourself. Many likely hundreds of years old. This is his place, his mind. The thought of peering into his personal space, his mind, even if ever briefly, makes you anxious, goosebumps rising on your skin as you take yourself further in. It can’t be that bad.

He at least tolerates you enough to have you still around.

“Why are you here?”

You turn to the side, Hongjoong hunched over at his desk, pen dragging across stationary as he writes. He does not look up so you can only assume he heard your loud steps enter his room. The notebook he writes in is well-worn, corners curved in and cover peeling. His eyes briefly meet yours after you don’t speak, brow raised in expectation. “Well?”

“Yeosang told me you wanted to see me.”

He rolls his eyes, staring at his writing before ripping out a page, crumbling it up and snapping his fingers. The paper engulfed in flames before flickering into ashes, sliding off his table and into the bin beneath. “Yeosang tells everyone a lot of things, that does not mean it’s true. You’ll learn to not listen to his words after a while. He’s quite mischievous,” he murmurs.

“Then I am not needed?” You’re thankful, really. Being in his space, his scent, creates a strange feeling within you. There’s a reason you avoid him, more than just being afraid.

Hongjoong stands, throwing his notebook off his table. You take a step back just as he moves forward, too fast for you to leave his sight. His hands grip your body, pulling you close to him.

“Personal space is a thing, Hongjoong.”

“You want me to speak to you, truly?”

You try pulling away but his hold only tightens. So instead of fighting a losing battle, you speak through tight lips, “Say what you have to say.”

“What is it you want me to say? That I would follow you everywhere, until your steps become my own, until your breaths mingle with mine? There's no need for that. There is no where you will go that will be where I am not. It is all but that simple.” He cradles your face in his hands, thumbs rubbing against the skin. It takes everything in you not to flinch. “That is all I need, and it is all you’ve wanted. We will no longer be separated; you won’t be left alone. Is that what you want?”

What is he even saying? The more he trails on, the more fear begins to circulate your veins. He does not seem to notice it, so he continues when greeted with silence. “Soobin is no longer an issue since he’s gone. You’re free to desire whomever you want without him holding you back.”

His name pulls you out of your confusion almost instantaneously. “He was my partner, Hongjoong,” your brows furrow. “He’s the reason I’m even in this town in the first place. Why would he be holding me back? I love him.” And it’s true. There has been a bit of wavering in your love, and he broke your heart not too long ago. Mourning a love lost is one thing, but losing that love for him completely is entirely different.

You don’t see the way his mouth twitches at the word love. What you do see, though, is the way his eyes narrow. “He’s gone.”

“Love doesn’t just disappear when I no longer see him.”

“Then how will it? Must he come to you and say he hates you? Will he have to attempt to hurt you for it to go away? Why do humans continue to love someone who’s left them? Why can’t you let him go?” What else does he have to do? Should he have manipulated the human’s mind before they killed him? Made him break your heart? He thought Mingi’s appearance was enough to stop your mind from lingering on him. But it seems like it has done little.

You stare at Hongjoong as he loses himself in his thoughts. You’ve believed in inherent goodness, but there’s always been this underlying fear of them, just for the nature of them being Unseelies alone. Knowing that despite all of what they say, it’s something they can’t change. It’s something you’ve settled with. But hearing his words, the way his eyes shake as he looks at you… something tells you that he’s off. That despite their comfort and sympathy, they know what happened to Soobin.

An even smaller part of you believes that they’ve done something to him.

“Why do you care?”

He does not respond, waiting for you to continue. In the position you are right now, it’s hard not to.

“It’s hard to,” you explain, choosing your words carefully. “I’ve known him since we were children, and even if I didn’t love him in the romantic sense, I still would love him as a former friend. It hurts to just lose a friendship like that.”

"If I killed it would you forget him?"

You still. His touch is ever so delicate as he waits for your response. Eyes warm, blinking slowly. It's as if he didn't just say he'd do something so heinous, so unthinkable.

"What?" Is all you can respond with.

He leans closer to you, barely a breath away from your lips. His eyes flick over your face, before landing back on your eyes. "If I killed your weak, miserable, disgusting, incompetent, lackluster ex-partner, as you call it, will you forget then? Will you mourn its loss then come into my arms? Will you love me as you love it?"

It. Perhaps his mask slid down just a bit.

"You're out of your mind."

"I am very much sane, y/n. It's a simple question with an even simpler answer."

"No."

"No…?"

"I wouldn't forgive you if you killed him, Hongjoong."

He rolls his eyes, a huff echoing around the room. "How boring and mundane. I thought you were more amusing than that." He moves away from you now, grabbing his notebook he threw across the room. “Yeosang was right, I did want to speak to you. Not yet, but I suppose I have little reason to keep it to myself. Seonghwa suspects that you are not human.”

He moves on from the moment as if it never happened, as if he did not threaten your old partner. The subject change easily distracts you though, the idea so otherworldly that you scoff. Hongjoong snickers at the sound, standing up. “You make that incredulous sound but Seonghwa has rarely ever been wrong in his findings. You may not be as human as you think.”

“I’m only human, Hongjoong. There’s nothing else to it.”

“That you know of,” he adds, placing his book back on his table. “You’ve lived as a human your whole life you know nothing other than that. Of course you’d think the thought silly.”

“What do you want me to say? First you threaten my old partner and now you say that I’m not human? Do you want me to beg at your knees and tell you that it’s not true?”

“The thought of you on your knees in front of me isn’t unappealing,” he chirps.

“You’re,” you hold your tongue. It’s not the smartest thing to do - insulting an Unseelie in their territory. Hongjoong is unhinged already, no need to push him further into his madness. But you cannot help yourself. “You’re disgusting.”

He shrugs, “That’s not the worst insult I’ve ever heard. You've overstayed your welcome, you can go.” His hand waves you off, giving you his back completely. Though you expect nothing less from him, it still feels humiliating. But there's nothing you can do. Not now. You decide it's best to just leave completely, door slamming behind you as you exit the room. Yeosang lingers outside, book closing when you walk past him. He reaches out for your arm but you shove his touch off, making your way to your room.

You don't quite notice how hard you’ve pushed him, his body thumping against the wood. Yeosang looks down at his hand. How his fingers curl into themselves. You pushed him off. Strength formidable to his own with just a spike in your anger. He does not follow you but instead, enter the room you just left.

—

“He is an Unseelie. It is not unlike him to thrive off of your anger and frustration. It's tantalizing, the energy oozing from humans. It is fun for us,” Wooyoung's laying on your bed once again, arms folded beneath his head, eyes on the ceiling. “It tastes wonderful, though not as good as fear.”

“Doesn't really ease my nerves,” you say, flipping through the book he handed you. It's something he grabbed from Jongho, the scrawny writing etched into the pages. You snicker at the jabs he adds in, his notations growing more humorous as you turn pages. It's distracting enough for now. A hand covers the writing, Wooyoung's pout forcing you to stop. You shut the book, placing it on your side table. “He is annoying, Wooyoung. I don't think I'll last here long with him constantly saying shit and me not being able to say anything back.”

“You can argue with him, solaris. He won't kick you out.” He sees your expression, sighing. “We all do it, and none of us have left yet–”

“You are his mates, his spark. He wouldn't throw you out because of an argument. I have nothing left if I leave, Wooyoung. My family would be in danger, Soobin would be in danger, right when I step outside someone is waiting to kill me. It's exhausting to think about.”

“You have to learn to put yourself first instead of worrying about others,” he says. “And your family is as safe as they can be right now. They do not remember you, and you’ve been pulled from their lives. If a Seelie truly digs for it they will find them, but we will know before anything happens,” Wooyoung presses his finger against his temple. “I’ve got them on my radar.”

“You’re only confusing me more.”

“A spell, solaris. I’m keeping my eye on them every second. You’ll know if anything is amiss. Unfortunately though, I’d rather not update you on mundane things. It’ll make letting them go harder to bear.”

You do not agree with his method of lessening your worry, but you’d rather not argue with another Unseelie, too distraught from the last conversation to probe any further. You sink yourself deeper into the seat, closing your eyes. His silence is enough to make you open a lid, meeting the eyes of the Unseelie who continues to stare. You shake your head, closing them once more.

“Taking a picture would be better than you just staring.”

“Is that a joke or can I really take a photo?”

This time both of your eyes open, moving to him. He hasn’t moved from his spot, the devilish grin still on his face as he laughs. “I was kidding.”

“How unfortunate.”

You hum in agreement, eyes closing again. Since Wooyoung is often lingering around your room and having time to yourself is only reserved for late nights, San hasn’t really come around anymore. Sometimes he’d show here and there, but only for a quick once over and disappearing back to wherever he spends his time. It’s why you’ve grown used to Wooyoung threatening to tear your door down if you don’t let him in. Sure, it’s a bit concerning and mildly threatening, but he hasn’t done anything nefarious. Flirting here and there, maybe a bit of annoying banter, but you enjoy it. He’s one of your only companions that you have, even if you were essentially forced to live with him.

Your mother wouldn’t let you out of her sight if she knew.

“Do you like me around, solaris?” he asks after a moment.

“No.”

“If that is truly what you think, you don’t have to say yes and allow me to enter your room if you’re not comfortable with it.”

Nope. You don’t want this conversation to happen now. Not when you’re still figuring this out, trying to decipher what your feelings are for him. “I’m… fine with you being around, Wooyoung. You’re fun to hang around with.”

“As friends?” He asks. You hear the creak of your bed and immediately open your eyes. He sits on the edge of it, eyes looking through the open porch door. He does not look at you and yet, you feel like his attention is focused on the beats of your heart, the sound of your breaths. “Do you consider me a friend?”

“I don’t know.”

And it is true. You’re not sure how to classify your relationship with him. You’re friends, maybe. But it would be a lie if you were just that. He’s open with his own feelings, how much he wants you to want him. You just… don’t understand how he could want you so badly when he has seven other mates to focus on. And from what you know, despite Hongjoong’s slip of information, you’re a human. There’s nothing truly special about you aside from your little blip a while ago.

“Are you afraid of me?”

This is one you can answer with ease. “Yes.”

He turns around to look at you. It’s hard to see his face, the sun shining on the back of his head draping his face in darkness. You can barely see through the rays yourself. You watch as he stands, a slight step towards you. You follow his movements, though making no move to back up or go forward.

“That’s good, to be afraid of me,” he murmurs. “Perhaps you are not as clueless as we’ve previously thought. Being on guard around us, holding your feelings close. It is good.”

“What are you getting at, Wooyoung?”

“What I’m getting at is that you fear us, I can see it. I see how you interact with everyone, with me. But we both know how you feel about me. Even if you cannot say it yourself.” he moves even closer to you. But instead of standing in front of you, he slowly goes down on his knees. “If I am so terrifying to you, will this change things? My submission to you?”

He reaches up, his hands slowly holding yours in his grip as he places them on either side of his cheek. His eyelashes flutter once they touch his skin, a slow, clear groan escaping his parted lips. “It could be so easy for us. You could be mine, and I yours,” he whines.

“You have mates, Wooyoung. There’s no need for me.”

“They do not mind my yearn for you, if that is what you are worried about. None of them do. We all love each other differently, in different ways. My care for you is nothing like my care for them, but it does not have to be. You are different.”

Oh no.

You hold his face in your hands, fingers shakily stroking the tan of his skin, brushing against the mole beneath his eyes. They remain focused on you, lips trembling beneath each caress. You can hear your heart in your ears, pumping violently against your ribcage. It is familiar. A feeling you haven’t felt in a while.

You might just be in love with him.

And it is terrifying.

The revelation is alarming, swelling. It frightens you each passing second. You love him dearly. How has he worked himself into your heart? Is this coercion? Maybe he’s manipulated you to the point of no return. It is reasonable to think so. Before you were terribly frightened of his presence around you, aware that at any moment they may decide to drag their lengthened nails into your chest, killing you. And yet here you sit, Wooyoung crouched beneath you, his nails leaving indents in your thighs from how desperate his hold is, his warm, aroused eyes flicking between yours. The gasps leave your lips as his hands travel closer and closer to you. Right now you are not as afraid of him, not completely.

How could you love someone so easily when you lost the man you thought you were going to marry not too long ago? It should have been harder to fall for his charms. It shouldn’t have happened so quickly at all; and yet here you are.

Your thumb presses lightly into his lips, the flick of his tongue eagerly dragging on the pad of it. Never in your life have you seen such desperation from a partner, such eagerness to have you. It is a wonder you’ve held yourself strong for such a long time when he is so willing under your touch. Is it sinister to want this to continue? Knowing who he is, who they are.

“You are pretty,” the words leave your mouth without much thought. His body shudders at your words, leaning forward, head pressing into your stomach. His hands leave your thigh, wrapping around the curve of your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Am I?” His breaths hitch, yearning lining and enfolding itself around two simple words. You have yet to kiss him, to taste his mouth, and he is distressed for you. Touch on your skin, but it is not enough for him. His head tilts up, pupils covering his irises completely. “Am I pretty to you?”

He slowly rises, warm, trembling body moving closer and closer to you. His hands stay on your hips as he hovers over your body, chest rising and falling quickly. Your hands leave his face and cup his neck instead. You are not unaware of how his breath hitches as you hold him. He leans forward, lips lightly brushing against your chin.

“Am I?” There is a pause in his movements. His unwavering despair to have you is not unknown, but he pauses. As if waiting for your approval to move further. A bit humorous how now he is holding himself back when he is so close to having you. “I want you to say it to me, solaris. Tell me.”

“You’re pretty, Wooyoung.”

His lips waste little time in covering yours, tongue entering your mouth immediately. His lips tremble as he tastes you, hands moving to the back of the chair to hold himself steady. The freestanding furniture slides against the floor, hitting the wall behind it as he pushes himself closer and closer to you.

You are overcome with the feeling of not knowing him, of not knowing his touch, his desperate breaths mixing with yours, his teeth sinking into your lips, begging for reprieve. He almost swallows you whole with his eagerness, hands wrapping around your body, pulling you into him. His strength lifts you from the seat entirely, your legs wrapping around him as he presses you against the wall. He lets his lips leave yours, tongue tracing down the slide of your neck, moans loud. It is not surprising he is a vocal lover, and for a moment embarrassment settles within you at the thought of one of the others entering the home, hearing his voice echoing down the halls.

“I do not care,” he murmurs against your skin, “Let them listen to me worshiping you.”

You're unable to speak.

“Would it bother you? For them to hear me kiss you from your neck to your feet, everything in between? Is it so wrong for me to want my palms to burn beneath your touch?”

You laugh at the suggestion, “I am no God that you’d be burned by my touch.”

He smiles against your skin, “How is that possible if I pray to you each night? Do they not say to worship in the low light?” his lips press against the tips of your fingers, teeth dragging across the skin. “You should have heard my prayers, solaris. I am an extremely devoted servant to you.”

“Wooyoung,” Somewhere in between sacrilegious and obscene, his chest rises with laughter.

“For you alone I am weak, solaris. For you, I will crawl, I will beg,” his lips leave your fingers, “San is not the only Unseelie who is violently devoted to the brink of utter obsession, solaris. Can you not feel mine?” His tongue drags against the skin of your collarbone, your body trembling beneath the wet touch. His hands have never left your hips, nails digging into the skin. You are too involved to feel how they slightly puncture, his longing words distracting. “Can you feel how devout I am to you? How gloriously blessed I am to be touching your skin?”

His hands release you for the briefest of moments, wrapping around your torso as he moves away from the wall. The walls around you shift, your mind lost for a moment. You blink, only a moment to glance around and see that you're in fact, no longer in your room. That he pulled you through the thin threads of reality into his. Wooyoung is ever so impatient, letting your body fall against his bedsheets.

“I think I prayed enough,” he continues, staring down at you. “You might have finally heard me beg to see you like this. How lucky I am to be the one to see you like this,” he leans over, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “But I need you to do something for me.”

“Okay,” you say. The words come out with certainty you didn't know you possessed for him, breathless and accepting of anything he may suggest. His lips lift, but you see that it does not entirely reach his eyes. You lean up, and he sits back down on the floor. Looking up at you. Just as you're about to sit yourself next to him, his hand stops you, shaking his head.

“I need you to tell me what to do to you.”

“Tell you what to do?”

“I can't do it myself. I can't do anything to you myself.” The tone of his voice is strange now. It is as desperate as before, but there is something else between the words. You do not know him well enough to even guess what it may be, why he truly needs you to guide him. But his despair is apparent, the way his hands tremble as they begin to hold your thighs, tears coating the brim of his lids. It is merely a guess, but it feels like he can only move further with your exact words. Your precise permission.

It should not frighten you how much control, even if facetious, you have over him.

“Please solaris.”

“I have to?” You whisper, and he nods.

“It is as I have said. I follow your word.” His hold is lighter now as he waits. “I cannot indulge in your sweetness without permission.”

You grow weary as he continues his explanation.

“The corruption is not merely just a surface level. None of the Unseelie can, not without word from the other partner. Though we reign in chaos, we cannot do activities like this without explicit permission. I need you, I do. But I need you to need me too.” His touch is claw-like, fingertips tracing the marks upon your skin, lips tantalizing as they drag over your knee, breathes tickling the small hairs. “Do you need me?”

You have only been the sun to him. It is no wonder he is so vehement on you aching for him a tenth of how he craves you. You can see it in his eyes, the darkened gaze settling on you, the cage preventing him from moving further. The thought is comforting perhaps, though you'd never suggest that he'd do such a thing, but knowing that Unseelie are unable to force themselves upon someone. Nature is still balanced.

You are the sun to him, his solaris. What he is to you…

You have yet to figure out.

He nods at your question long forgotten, hands unmoving as you lean down. He holds his breath as you place your hand at the bottom of his chin, tilting his head up to entirely look at you. Submitting to you.

“I want you all over me, Wooyoung.”

His hands drag your legs forward, thighs spread apart. His body could crack a hole in the floor with how much he trembles in anticipation. His fingers change, nails lengthening. You watch in awe as they turn into claws, easily sliding through the material of your shorts, tossing it to the side.

“I've thought endlessly of how I would have you beneath me,” the words are barely let out as he pulls you closer to him, arousal dripping from his words. “Your lips desperately pleading for me, wanting me. How you would let me do anything to you.” His words are coated in lust, lips hovering over where you desire him most. “Can I taste you, y/n?”

“Please.”

His lips cover your clit, smacking together from the wetness that clings to them. Your fingers glide into his soft locks, tugging lightly as his tongue enters you. His moans into you are loud, the tug in your stomach tightening, worsening when you feel his fingers gripping your thighs, tongue finding your most sensitive point with ease.

You attempt to lift your head to see him, your gaze falling on his helmet of hair between your thighs, nestled. Soft whines spilled from your lips as you place your head back down on the sheets, the silk forcing your touch to only grip him. Your thighs tighten as you beg him for something you’re not sure of, his movements continuing until you tug a bit harder on his hair to pull him away. His shadow slides up your form, “I’m not just done with you, solaris.”

He lifts your head, pressing a light kiss just beneath your ear. “I haven’t had enough of you yet. You are godly, and yet I cannot help but sin,” his breath was hot as he exhales onto your skin, goosebumps left in his wake as he moves back to where he once was. His fingers tremble slightly against your skin, his hooded eyes resting on yours as he leaned back down, lips wrapped around your clit once more.

Wooyoung’s hand grips and tugs at your thigh. You blink once more, a field of clovers beneath the two of you. The evening sun is low in the sky, peeking through the trees, the sunlight leaving a streak across his cheeks, brown eyes lighter. He practically glows, eyes shining with need, tongue between his lips to softly flick over your bud. The pull in your cunt grows once more, stronger and stronger as his eyes flutter close. Leaves rustle, a warm breeze brushing against your skin.

“My solaris, how do I shine for you?” he whispers. The simple sentence along the return of his lips to your lower ones make your muscles grow tight, a soft moan vibrating up your throat once relief and warmth began rushing beneath your skin. Wooyoung holds you close as you tremble, lips still wrapped around you as you climax once more, unable to let your grip on his hair go, pressing him harshly into you.

His eyes are warm as they look up at you, your body covered with your shirt, chest rising and falling slowly. His lips are slow, peppering kisses along the inside of your thigh, “how are you? still with me?”

You swallow slowly, struggling to find yourself after what happened. A few seconds pass before you can speak, “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

He laughs, continuing the seemingly never-ending drag of his soft lips up her stomach, his fingers pushed under your shirt to glide it up. They’re soft, warm as your lift your hands away from his hair and up, allowing him to see all of you. The last person that’s seen you this vulnerable was Soobin, and before that… not many. His eyes are glazed over as he takes in your exposed chest, his index finger tickling your skin as he lightly moves around the flesh of your breast. “Just for me?” He leans forward, cheek pressed against the soft flesh, trembling. “You’re more than what I’ve ever imagined.”

“Wooyoung…” Your mouth is dry as you let his name leave your lips, the word coming out rougher than you intended it to. He groans, shaking his head slightly.

“I would never tire of hearing you say my name like that,” he murmurs. “It is a shame the others cannot hear since we are so far.”

You look around as he slips his fingers into one of your free hands. The field is small, likely near where Yeosang brings you every once in a while. The thought makes you wonder – he did say that no one knew of the place aside from Hongjoong and himself. How could Wooyoung know to bring you here?

“Your thoughts move elsewhere, are you alright?” His eyes are coated with concern, hand lifting to brush a thumb against your cheek. “We can stop if it’s too much for you.”

“No, no everything is fine.” It may be that Yeosang let this private place slip his tongue while speaking with him. And perhaps Wooyoung found it as beautiful as you did and decided to bring you here. You let those thoughts settle within you as he leans down, his lips pressing against your jaw. A hum vibrates against his lips, your moment of confusion slipping away once he lines himself up and pushes forward, just enough to have your eyes widening almost immediately. You expect the impact to at least ache, but it feels warm and soft and full.

“So warm, my solaris. Made just for me, yes?” His entrance is slow, his hand that cradles your face sliding to your shoulder. “I need to ask, solaris.”

He leans forward, lips pressing against your forehead as he pushes deeper. “We… I feed on life. On human life. And you are full of it, pretty. So so beautiful and holy and bright.”

His words make no sense, a question still not uttered. “What are you saying, Wooyoung?”

“Can I taste you?” His hands slide down to your waist as he finally fully enters. They glow a dark orange against your skin, his eyes on yours. “It would be just a small taste. It wouldn’t kill you. It will feel good, solaris. You will feel good.”

The question is still vague, but even with you clouded mind, you can pick through the mess of words. A low moan comes from you as he pulls out slightly, entering again. “You want to eat my soul?”

“A sliver, it will barely be missed.”

“…Okay.”

The fear disappears once his lips cover yours, tongue entering your mouth as his hips set a steady rhythm. “You’ll love it.” You begin to keen under him, feeling wave after wave of heat surrounding the two of you, the sound of birds above you chirping as he takes you. The ache entering through you from the pleasure his cock pressing in and out of you and the sensation of being beneath his torso. His fingers gripping your waist break skin, and then you see it. The orange light that you presumed was spilling through his fingers was not him, no. It is you, your aura surrounding the two of you. Wooyoung’s pace almost doubles at the sight, the smell woodsy and sweet. The mop of black hair seeps into a orange color as it swirls through the air, eyes matching. It is a sight to see between pleasure, you, yourself, seen in an unknown light. Just as he pulls away from your lips, your soul enters your skin again.

His brows furrow, but he does not comment on it, instead, lifting up onto his hands to find another angle, sighing in relief it once your knees were up at his sides, feet hooked around his waist. The question as to why he cannot feed on you lingers.

“Perhaps my sin is too much for a soul like yours,” he whispers, dropping his weight down onto his elbows, then further, arms wrapping around you. “I will enjoy you nonetheless.”

“What are you–”

His hips press harshly into yours just as you begin to speak, watching as your eyes roll back, lids fluttering. You’re not quick to notice a hot tear falling down your cheek, rolling down your temple, lost in the darkness as his cum seeping out of his tip slowly but surely began melting your senses into nothing. The sound of skin begins echoing in the air and trees, his knees sliding up to push his thighs against you, pressing him deeper. You slowly lose your sense of the world you, focused on his cock pressing into you, his arms around you as you writhe with each thrust.

“So pretty,” he murmurs. “You always shine brightly, solaris, and yet you shine even moreso. How am I to keep my hands off you now that I’ve finally had you?” The sound of his voice is lost in between the sounds of skin slapping, the way he rocked into her body.

“Then don’t,” you say.

His eyes widen briefly, the orange fading as they meet yours. You somehow find the strength to keep focused on him despite how intensely your climax is coming. It’s the first time you’re unable to read his expression, perhaps a tint of wonder if you could focus. After a few seconds your thighs tighten, gasps leaving your lips. “Wooyoung–”

“Just like that pretty, just for me.”

Your head falls back, straining to let out the moan that clawed its way up, vise forming around his cock until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hell,” he grits, hips stilling as he cums, stuttering with each succeeding one. Your breaths escape your lips, lids heavy as you feel his own lips press lightly against yours.

—

“It has been hours since they were together, and he has still not let her leave his room. Should she not eat?” Yunho murmurs. They can see how his annoyance has gathered around him, hand gripping the apple between his fingers tightly, brows furrowed enough to become one. He is right – neither you nor Wooyoung has left his room. Seonghwa and maybe San could break the barrier that he has placed around his resting place, but neither wants to. Only making Yunho grow more irritated.

“They were together, Yunho. Let them simmer in it before they're told the news,” San rubs his arm, presses a soft kiss against his temple. “It is soon to be ruined once they enter a shared space.”

“He’s not going to move on from this,” Hongjoong sighs, eyes closed as he tucks himself further into the couch cushions. “I’m not ready to hear him boasting everyday about something I don’t care about in the slightest. San you might have to whip up a spell to shut him up.”

“I doubt he’d say anything outlandish-”

“Good afternoon~” His warm voice echoes through the room as he enters, almost floating as he glides along the tiles to the fridge. He presses his lips against Yunho and San’s cheeks while he passes by, the ghost of his magic roaming over Hongjoong’s arm and squeezing it. “Lovely day.”

Hongjoong’s lip twitches, but he makes no move to respond to Wooyoung’s words, annoyance already riddling his features. Yunho glances at Wooyoung, watching as he sings a song, pulling ingredients from open drawers and cabinets. No one says a word in response aside from San, easily wrapping his arm around his waist and pressing a kiss to his mate’s temple.

“We haven’t seen you in almost a day.”

“Busy. And solaris is hungry, and I assume the rest of you are,” he places his utensils on the counter. “Ready for some human food?”

All of their faces wrinkle in disgust at his words, a chuckle draping his lips as he rolls his eyes. “It wouldn't hurt you to feed on things other than humans.”

“It tastes of chalk and sadness,” Yunho mumbles, watching as he coats the pan with butter. “And smells rancid.”

“Whatever, you're missing out on the joys in life. Sweets aren't the only thing that tingles the taste buds.”

“You would know,” San is barely heard as he bites on the apple slice, but it is audible enough for their joint laughter. “I'm surprised you haven't spilled your secrets yet. Not often do you keep your escapades to yourself.”

“I’m not going to brag, I would never kiss and tell.”

Yunho’s eyes narrow. “You do, in fact, kiss and tell. That’s all you do actually, I’m surprised you were even able to let that lie slip.”

Wooyoung sticks out his tongue, tapping the pepper into the pan. “Well not now. Solaris is too special for me to discuss things like that around you all. A star that glows like her demands privacy.”

“Did she threaten you?” Hongjoong snickers, peeking out a lid when he doesn’t hear an immediate response. “Oh? She did?”

He frowns. “Not necessarily. I would just like to keep it quiet. It's not just between us eight now, she’s different. Humans are more private. I don't want her uncomfortable.”

“Honorable,” Yunho notes. “Perhaps you have grown.”

“There’s barely a hundred years between us,” Wooyoung deadpans, narrowing his eyes. “I’m not as young as you think I am.”

—

“They were together.”

“Correct.”

“And you have no qualms with that?”

“They are not young and we are not responsible for their actions, Seonghwa. I don’t care what they do in their free time. You’re just upset that she wasn’t with you first as all. She likely would have if it weren’t for that disgusted look you give her every time you’re in a room together.”

“She’s not a commodity to be passed around, Hongjoong. I don’t care if she is with me first or not at all. All that I’m saying is, it’s irresponsible to ignore it.”

If Hongjoong’s eyes could roll further back they would. He closes his notebook slowly, looking up at Seonghwa. “What do you suppose we do, then? Place a chastity belt on Wooyoung, perhaps cuff him to his bed so that he cannot move near her? Ship him off to Yeonjun himself to deal with?”

  “That is not what I’m saying at all. You treat this like it’s a joke,” Seonghwa frowns.

“What you’re suggesting is a joke. I’m not stopping either of them from indulging in one another. I didn’t expect Wooyoung to win her over so soon, but it was inevitable. You hid your suspicions from them, but even with it, it would only make it more enticing for him. He does not back down from a challenge. Especially one he is so obsessed with.”

“You told me to keep it to myself,” Seonghwa rubs his temple, breathing deeply. “I was going to tell them-”

“You still could have. You still can. What I said was a suggestion, nothing more.”

There is no use in arguing with him, Seonghwa thinks. Hongjoong knows what his suggestions are - oftentimes there are threats hidden beneath them. And though he loves him more than life itself, he cannot stand how nonchalant Hongjoong can be. Even if the human, you, does not know your true nature yourself.

“Fine.”

Hongjoong smirks, “That was much easier to deal with.”

“I will tell them tonight. All of them.”

Hongjoong’s smirk twitches. Seonghwa is not looking at him directly, so he does not see the slight dip in his expression, “You will?”

“As you said, it was merely a suggestion. Perhaps their minds will change once they all know of her true nature. And we can finally kill her.”

“You want her dead?”

Never. The thought forms bile in his mouth. “I’d rather not touch her at all. But what other choice do we have? She will kill us all if we let her stay. It is the best decision right now.” He found you, he tracked you down. If he killed you in the beginning despite the resistance to their powers, perhaps it would have saved him from the guilt that begins to riddle his body. He should not care for a creature like you, knowing it is what you do. And still, with knowing, he cannot stop it from happening. Which is why he needs to tell the rest of them.

“They won’t let you kill her. Most have already succumbed to her charm.”

“... I will do what I must to keep us safe.”

Hongjoong shrugs, “Then so be it. You have no objection from me. I’ve grown wary of her being around anyway. Humans are too… irritating.”

“Not a human.”

“Right. I won’t let the others know of my opinion and side with the majority.”

“Sometimes, they would like to hear what their leader thinks, Hongjoong.”

He pauses for a moment. “It will influence their decisions too much for me to say what I want.”

“And you think your thoughts do not influence mine?” Seonghwa asks, genuinely curious. Hongjoong laughs at the question, shaking his head.

“Seonghwa, I've known you for hundreds of years. You’d rather throw yourself in front of a deadly attack than take my opinion over your own. It is settled.”

—

You sit near the back of the room, Wooyoung’s presence wrapped around the headrest of the chair you occupy. No one else has approached you, though you sensed the lingering eyes of Yunho to the side of you. He gave you a smile when you entered, the slight downturn of his lips as he met Wooyoung’s gaze obvious. It did make you nervous that it was somehow your fault he looked furious. But the expression was gone with a blink.

“Mingi won’t be joining us, but he already informed me of his opinion prior to our meeting,” Hongjoong says, sliding past the rest and sitting in the loveseat farthest away from the entrance. His eyes bore into yours, oddly twinkling. “It will be kept in mind as we’re voting.”

“And what is it that we’re voting on?” Yunho asks.

“It has taken me a while to consider what has been going on the past few months, and how it affects all of us, including y/n,” Seonghwa does not meet your eyes as he speaks, staring at an unoccupied couch. “Our voting today is to decide if she lives or dies.”

Silence falls over the room. Your own chest tightens, palms growing moist as the seconds tick by. Kill you? Has what you’ve done destroyed their relationship with other faeries to the point of no return? Seonghwa’s reluctance to even be near you was not only for disgust like you thought before, but something deeper. Hongjoong wasn’t lying when he told you that they believed you to be not human. But you’re not hiding anything yourself. Being anything but human just feels impossible.

“You’re joking?” Wooyoung stands up from where he is behind you, slightly stepping forward. “She’s done nothing wrong.”

“She killed Beomgyu, Wooyoung.”

“So? I kill faeries and humans all the time! Why should that matter?”

“You know why,” San speaks this time, shaking his head. “It has caused us many problems. But Seonghwa, killing her? What use is that to us?”

Seonghwa sighs. “She is not entirely human, that’s why.”

Their gazes all meet yours from across the room. Even Wooyoung, his valiant effort to coax them into saving your life, expression drops slightly, confusion coating his gaze. As if questioning the validity of everything you’ve told him. Somehow that look makes you feel utterly guilty, despite not believing in his claim.

“I am a human,” you retort. “That, whatever happened at that time, it wasn’t… it was me, but it was a fluke. An adrenaline rush.”

“How can we assume she’s not human just because she killed a Seelie?” Yeosang asks. His expression remains neutral, potion book placed face-down on the counter. “Strength like that is not uncommon in humans.”

“Correct, but we all know that a human cannot tear apart a Seelie, especially the way Beomgyu was. His body was unrecognizable, torn to shreds. Someone with her size and strength, even with a burst of adrenaline could not take a Seelie down like that. She would have to know weaknesses, have weaponry-”

“It is unlike you to say allegations without undeniable truth,” Jongho interrupts him. “So I believe what you’re saying, hyung. What is she, if not a human?”

It’s interesting how despite being in the same room with them, they all ignore your presence entirely, speaking amongst themselves. Likely because you can lie with ease and without restraint. They won’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth, anyway, except maybe Yunho or Wooyoung.

“Now this may bother you all. But there is no other explanation. She is a kumiho.”

“That’s impossible-”

“It isn’t,” Seonghwa interrupts Wooyoung before he begins, holding up a hand. “We are real, so it is not too far gone to believe in something that was once unreal to us. There are still beings out there that we do not know of. Her strength, the claw marks on the dead Seelie. She has not turned on the full moon and her blood does not contain any sort of wolf characteristics. Kumiho can blend amongst humans the easiest after they have lived over a thousand years. It is not unrealistic to assume that she has moved past that point and become a human woman.”

“She hasn’t even attempted to lure any of us.” Wooyoung narrows his eyes. “Nor has she eaten human flesh.”

“That we know of.”

You can only scoff, shaking your head. “This is unreal.”

“There is no other explanation. Your strength is formidable to our own. Likely, the feline creature hiding inside this human appearance in front of us has prevented itself from remembering what it was. For protection or otherwise - we have yet to find out.”

Wooyoung’s gaze wavers the longer he listens to Seonghwa’s explanation. In fact, it seems that each of them believes everything that comes from his mouth. But it is impossible. What would be the reason for hiding your true being from yourself?

“Now we vote, then,” Hongjoong starts. “Mingi has voted yes to kill her. Seonghwa?”

“It is what needs to be done, yes,” Seonghwa agrees.

“Yunho?” Hongjoong asks, turning to him.

His gaze is on the floor, thinking. After a few seconds passed, “No. I don’t think she’s a threat to us. We keep her alive.”

Hongjoong looks at Yeosang.

Yeosang ponders the thought as everyone discusses loudly amongst one another. His eyes meet yours across the room, just being Wooyoung as he seemingly protects you with his body. You look afraid. Your eyes move to each person as they speak, your nerves palpable enough to be tasted in the thickened air. If he himself agrees to your death, it is likely that San would agree. Neither of them truly differ in opinion on things like this. Jongho would soon follow out of mere respect. And you would be killed promptly. It is what he has wanted since you’ve arrived here, turning everything sideways. So why, as he looks at your pathetic cowering behind Wooyoung, why does he feel such pity for you?

He looks at Wooyoung again. Though his fascination with you is beyond his capability of understanding, he can see it. How his eyes look at his spark desperately, pleading with them to save you. How Yunho’s jaw clenches, quietly observing. He wanted you here, wanted you protected by them. Though you aren’t exactly the pitiful human he once thought you to be, he still cares for you, strangely.

“Well, what do you want to do?” San whispers into his neck. Useless, since they all can hear what he’s saying aside from you. “Kill her?”

His next words will change everything. Yeosang meets your eyes across the room. His own widen slightly at your expression, flicking down to read your lips. The words mouthed to him are enough for him to decide.

Please help me.

“There’s no reason to kill her if she does not hold any threats to us right now.”

Seonghwa whips his head to Yeosang. Anger expressed along the vein on his neck, the set of his brows. He will not say it outright, but Yeosang has just betrayed his trust. Perhaps Seonghwa thought he would allow the woman to be killed just because … well, because he wanted it. But he cannot now, not when things are turning out so interesting.

“You are sure of this?” Hongjoong asks. His eyes sparkle. “Truly?” Despite only being the fourth oldest, his words hold weight for the rest.

“I am,” Yeosang says simply. The tense gaze of your expression has not dropped. Probably because you don’t realize that San would follow his lead, then Jongho. Your hand wraps around Wooyoung’s arm that traps you behind him. “If need be in the future with reason, sure. But now, no.”

“This is a mistake-” Seonghwa begins, stopping once Hongjoong flicks his finger. His mouth is shut in an instant, the feeling of magic swirling through the air.

“Hasn’t he spoken enough tonight? There are three remaining votes. As always, I will side with the majority. San, you’re next.”

“No need to kill her,” San agrees. Hongjoong’s smile grows louder, eyes flicking to Wooyoung.

“Your answer is obvious, but please Wooyoung, give your vote.”

Wooyoung covers your body almost completely as he speaks. “Of course, I will not kill her.”

“What does our youngest think?”

“I enjoy her being around, I can’t imagine her not being here,” Jongho smiles at you from across the room. “She can stay.”

“Well, as with the majority, y/n’s life is spared. Apologies to Seonghwa and Mingi, but as you know, it has now been decided. Take all the time you need to process this.” He flicks his finger again toward Seonghwa. The room expects him to roar his complaints, but he only looks around, tiredness seemingly flowing off of him.

“I trust you all and always have. And I assumed that you trust my words as well. But as Hongjoong has said, majority rules. I hope that you all keep an eye on her, and make sure that with the slightest change in behavior, monitor it. It can come at any time since she cannot control it herself,” Seonghwa looks at you, eyes meeting. “And I hope, y/n, you listen to my words yourself. Leave if you feel the change happening.”

He leaves the room, Hongjoong disappearing from his spot, likely following Seonghwa close behind along with Yunho. Leaving the rest of you alone.

Wooyoung’s body seeps into your figure the way he embraces you so tightly, lips pressing against your temple lightly. “I’ll be back, pretty.” His touch disappears as well. Jongho glances at you sympathetically, eyes glazing over yours for a moment before he too, blinks away. The instantaneous disappearing bodies is not something you’d ever get used to.

It does not distract you enough from what Seonghwa said, though. You are not human, despite how you’ve lived, how much you have insisted. A kumiho? As he further explained it, it still made entirely no sense to you. You’ve lived your life plainly, rarely if ever dated once in a while. Soobin was your second official relationship, the first lasting no more than a couple of years. The way he looked with such disgust as he explained it, how your age superseded everyone’s in the room. How your true nature was hidden from even yourself - it is impossible to think of.

“It is interesting to look at you, knowing what you are,” San says, looking around Yeosang to peer at you. “Do you have the urge to bite me?”

“I don’t feel anything, San,” exasperation coats your words. “I don’t even believe it myself.”

“Seonghwa is rarely wrong,” Yeosang murmurs. “That is why we take his word as the truth. Since you are kumiho, your training with Mingi will be much different now. Likely more intense.”

Your arms ache at the thought. You have yet to see Mingi yourself, but the training from before was strenuous. You look at Yeosang, remembering he expression on his face as he peered over at you, the tired eyes filled with curiosity as he voted to keep you alive. You are grateful, nonetheless. But the question lingers the longer you look at him.

“Do you want me dead?”

Yeosang pauses at the inquiry, straw resting between his lips. Eyes flicking to yours. There is little to decipher when it comes to him since he rarely tells what he may be thinking, and you're not with him often. But something in the way he looks at you. He does not respond right away – an indication that he may twist his words to satisfy your question.

“In the beginning I thought it'd be best to get rid of you before it escalated. Even more recently, I thought the same. But now I am not so sure,” he places his drink on the counter. “Most of us do enjoy having you around, human or not. Though I am not as enthused as Yunho or Wooyoung with your presence, I no longer hate it. So I have grown to tolerate it. Until I cannot.”

“You will kill me?”

His smile is strange, hollow. “If I must. Your life isn't that important. Or I'll wait until it has run out itself. You may only have a few more decades left, anyway. They will get over it – their fixation will move to something more interesting eventually.”

How casually he talks about your life. Like it is nothing. He does consider it as nothing, as he has said. None of the Unseelie is this house told you do directly as he has done. You should feel a bit wary around him now, knowing he could change his mind in seconds and kill you. Even now, as he reads the spellbook resting on his thighs, he could kill you. And San, sitting nearby, would only help.

So feeling comforted at the thought is unusual.

“Thank you for being honest,” you say, and he snickers. “Not much of that going around here.”

“Sure.”

San leaves a bit after that. The silence echoes around the small room, eyes moving to the doorway at the sound of the door clicking open. The sight nearly startles you, seeing him for the first time in months. Mingi is followed closely by Yunho, bodies brushing against one another as they enter. Yeosang takes that as a sign to leave you, closing his spellbook and gracefully hopping off the chair. His fingers drag across Mingi's arm as he leaves.

“Oddly quiet around here,” he notes, opening the fridge. Yunho sits where Yeosang just was, smiling at you. “Have you been getting along well despite today?” He asks, thanking Mingi as he passes him an apple. “Wooyoung said you've been making progress adjusting, but I rarely take his word for it.”

“It's been better now,” you say. “It's not one hundred percent yet, but I am getting used to being around here. I hope it just ends soon.”

“I heard your life was spared. It should make you happy. Ah,” he snaps his fingers. “They haven't told you yet,” Mingi sits on the opposite side of you. “We will have to leave soon.”

“We?”

“Half of us. Yunho, Wooyoung, Hongjoong, and myself. Seelie requested our presence. We would have all went, but with these circumstances, it may be best to leave half of us here.”

Circumstances meaning you. Mingi does not further explain and you do not insist on him doing so, instead sinking further into the chair you rest on. “So I am left with the rest of you.”

“Left is a strong word,” Yunho mumbles into his cup. “More like babysat.”

Your frown deepens, and he laughs. “It is but a joke. You can take care of yourself. They won’t do anything to you while we’re gone. Yeosang and San will likely stay to themselves now that Seonghwa has relieved him of his duty to watch you. Jongho will be entertaining enough, no?”

“She is older than us all, no need to treat her as a faerling,” Mingi murmurs.

“She thinks she’s almost three decades old, Mingi.”

“Time to see reality.”

They banter back and forth about you, clueless as to how you’ve already left, steps quiet as you make it to your own bedroom. Seonghwa’s words, no matter how convincing, is not something you believe to be true. He says you conjured up this false reality of your life to blend into the human world, but it makes no sense to you. Nothing, none of it does. You remember your parents, you remember your family life. How you so easily deluded yourself into thinking that it was real when it’s not is beyond your comprehension. Likely because you don’t believe it at all. Why would you hide it from yourself? There is no reason to block your own mind from it - even if you are as he says you are. Jumping to such a conclusion is ridiculous.

No. You’re not a kumiho.

You enter your room, shutting the door behind and locking it. Surely Seonghwa can easily create a spell to allow the others into your room, but he won’t. Not if he so vehemently believes that you’re a creature that he didn’t even think was real. You settle yourself into your sheets, ignoring the lingering feeling in your mind that he might be right.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dark Shelves 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, bullying, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes (archivist AU)

Summary: your new job is much of the same, with a hit of new misery.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You peer up at the romanesque pillars and the curved dome of the elaborate building. It’s a step up, a high one, and you’re proud of yourself for taking. After years in a basement, blowing dust off of rusted spoons that may as well be at the good-will, you’re finally exactly where you want to be.  

Not associate, not assistant, you are an archivist in your own right. You will not be pushed into the corner again. Though you aren’t too presumptive. You could get lost in any stacks. You like how your job affords you pockets of solitary, but you didn’t choose the career on that alone.  

You work to preserve and share the past. It sounds more noble in your head than out loud. It’s a good enough reason for you. 

You climb the stairs and pause before you pass through the double doors. Inside, the lobby is airy and polished to a shine. You try not to marvel too obviously. Too often you’ve been caught and ridiculed for the very act. Most people look at you and assume less than more of you. 

You walk up the front desk, a grand circular structure with shelves behind it. The man behind it has a metal nametag on his brown plaid shirt; Peter. You greet him stoically. You quit smiling to appease strange men a while ago. 

“Hi, I’m here to get my employee ID.” You take out your phone. “Then I’m supposed to meet someone named James.” 

“Right, I have your welcome packet,” he reaches under the desk. “It’s here.” 

“Great,” you accept the folder as he beams back at you. He’s young and fresh-faced. He must still be a student. “Thank you.” 

“Have you been her before?” He asks. 

“A couple times,” you answer. 

“Cool, cool,” he accepts, “there’s a map in there in case.” He points to the folder. “You’re going to second floor. East wing. The office number is in the email.” 

“Yes, I saw that. Thanks so much,” you nod. 

“Oh, your card’s activated. So any access thingies, just swipe,” he says. 

“Got it,” you cross your arm over the folder and continue around the desk to the double set of staircases that open behind it. 

You climb patiently. You’re early. You always are. A long academic career has drilled the habit into your very being. 

You check the email one last time and put your phone away. You’re not one for stereotypes but in your experience, the senior archivists tend to hate screens. You always resented their stubbornness. Digital backups are essential to the future of your profession. It could also just make their lives easier in general. 

As you count down the office numbers, you slow down. The short heels of your lace-up boots clack softly on the oaken floor tiles. The door you need is already open and there’s a man standing in it. He leans slightly on the frame as he faces inward. His deep voice carries behind him. 

You push your shoulders back as you approach. You don’t want to interrupt. You stop about a foot back, unsure how to go forward. You check your watch with a subtle tilt of your head. 

The man in the door is tall. He has one foot pointed to the floor, and arm bent back as he pushes back his brown corduroy jacket and grips his hip. He wears a dark blue turtleneck that meets the long tails of his outgrown hair. There’s never an in-between with archivists. They are either immaculately preened are shaggy and stuffy. 

“Right,” the man glances over his shoulder at you and his eyes squint, crinkly his nose, “I think I’m holding someone up.” He turns to face you, “hello, miss, do you need some help? Looking for the newspaper lab?” 

You’re not surprised that he assumes you to be a student. It’s a common presumption among his demographic. They are always the authority and everyone they don’t know must be ignorant. 

“No. Hello, I’m an archivist. Newly-hired. You wouldn’t happen to be James Barnes?” 

“James?” His mouth slants. “Only his mother calls him that. Bit of advice, it’s Bucky.” 

“Steve,” a voice drawls from within the open office. 

“Alright, alright,” the man shows his hands then extends one to you. “Steve Rogers. I’m the next door down. Fellow senior archivist, with James.” 

“Steve,” another snarl. 

You shake the man’s hand, “nice to meet you.” 

His cheek ticks, “you too. I like that vest. Very... quirky.” 

You don’t thank him. You merely retract your hand and adjust the scarf between the open front of your coat. He sidles out of the doorway as he wears a pompous smirk. 

“Come in,” the bodiless voice calls out to you. 

You step into the doorway. The man you’re looking for sits behind his desk. He uses an envelope open to pick at what appears to be a metal shell for a coil of parchment. He delicate traces the lines of the ornate metal cap on the end. 

“I’ll be a moment,” he says. 

“Alright,” you stand in the doorway. He doesn’t welcome you to sit. You introduce yourself in the stagnant lull. 

“I know who you are,” he grumbles as his brow wrinkles at his work. “After all, I sacrificed my day to training you.” 

You don’t appreciate the insinuation. You’re a task he doesn’t want to tend. A burden on what he really wants to do. You can find your way around just fine without him but the email said training was mandatory. You didn’t exactly have any say in who was handed that unlucky chore. 

“I have experience. Three years in the Heron’s Corner archives. And I’ve also done some volunteer work for museums. If you’d rather, I learn just as well from paper or email.” You suggest. 

He huffs, “typical.” 

You don’t reply. Whatever he assumes about you isn’t true but you’re not biting the hook. He grows exasperated and sets the container on its stands and stabs the envelope open into his pen cub. He slaps his hands on his desk and stands. 

“You young ones just want to sit at a computer all day,” he comes around and slides his hands into his pockets. “This job isn’t that.” 

“I’m aware of the job description,” you assure him. 

He stops before you and reaches to brush his fingertips along his thick beard. A thicket of hair falls forward he swoops it back just as swiftly. The cleft in his jaw deepens with his distaste. 

“That’s good. Less to explain, doll face,” he pulls his hand away to check his watch. 

“Fine, let’s get started.” He sniffs, “take notes.” 

He steps forward and you barely have a chance to get out of his way. His jacket flaps as he passes you and you stiffen as you grip the folder tightly. You reach to your coat pocket and take out your silver pen. 

It’s only the first day. Soon enough, you’ll be free to focus on your own work, and he his. 

[wonryllis]

previous poll won fic: watermelon sugar ( jake )

TEASER!!!

GOT MY EYES ON YOU (revamp) · heeseung

strangers to lovers classical trope, college au, popular frat guy with quiet girl trope, quite literally only has eyes for his girl, loves to make her heart race tropes kinda thing. lotss of fluff, smut, some sprinkles of angst and a happy ending. typical popular frat & basketball captain!heeseung with his shy and inexperienced!angel. the always chased after guy chasing someone for the first time. the 'fuck i didn't know i got the hots for someone like that' trope. my writing was not that good then so will be heavily revamping this series into a oneshot(new scenes) with probably the third installment included. like 15k word vomit probably??

DADDY ISSUES: MY LITTLE GIRL (revamp) · jay

neighbour to lovers, age gap (like 7 years), romance, smut, comfort angst, fluff, happy ending, doctor(might change that)!jay with his doll!girl, heavy on daddy issues and dark topics alike. jay literally always at his girl's beck and call, he cares about you a lottttt trope. the "i know you can do it, but let me do it for you" trope. did i mention it starts with jay babysitting you? kinda ddlg concept idk? he's like your pillar, comfort person and just everything you have ever needed. practically your dream man come to life. first part was 16k so will include the next part and make it a oneshot but if it gets like 25k-30k then i'll probably do it in two parts.

CALL ME DESTINY (new) · jake

an online to offline love au, loosely based off of the cdrama love o2o, college setting, smut, literally tooth rooting fluff and crack, angst... what's that? dumb x dumber couple with their fed up friends, slight misunderstandings and miscommunications but it's just full of crack no hard feelings. flirty nerd!jake with his online game mentor!crush. know each other online and offline but don't know it's the same person. the 'im crazy about her but i don't have the guts to tell her' trope. they're just so over each and everyone can see it but them, about 30-40% done. hmm i got no idea how long it'll be maybe 10k or more not sure.

[chocoloom]

Adding onto my last post, Imma make an Eden’s Garden prediction on who I think may survive or die, or at least seems to be more likely to die to ME.

Spoilers Ahead for Project Eden’s Garden btw! If you haven’t played it, please do, it’s FREE RN

If you’re still here, here we go!

Damon Maitsu - Survives (Protagonist clause, he’s gonna be hella traumatized though). Dude still has a whole character arc to go through, he still has trust issues to get rid of.

Ingrid Grimwall - Probably Dead. Look I love this lady with my whole chest. Her passion and charm hit me like a train and as a southern woman myself, I love her accent. But. Her death would hit like a truck and that is exactly what Danganronpa thrives in doing. Especially considering her death would cause the group to lose a pillar of emotional support, and would devastate a certain little matchmaker. Speaking of which.

Toshiko Kayura - Survives. She’s gonna get some character development related to Diana or Ingrid, especially if one of them dies (looking at Ingrid specifically). Ingrid dying would fuck this girl UP, which is why I think it’s going to happen. They have been setting up these two having a mother daughter relationship early on. I don’t see this girl as a murderer, but I can see her filling a similar role to Aoi’s. Specifically how Aoi was acting during the Sakura trial, hiding evidence cause she blames other people and herself for the death of someone she cares about. I can’t see her dying though, she’s too young. That’s a baby. Then again, this isn’t the main Danganronpa world, so I could be wrong. Absolutely off topic, but I think there’s a reason she’s hiding her face. Not a bad one mind you, she strikes me as someone who would try to hide things she doesn’t like about herself in an attempt to seem more mature or lady like. Maybe she still has braces and is embarrassed about it.

Jean DeLamer - Solid fifty fifty. I straight up don’t know, I could see this going one of two ways. One, he survives to the end (in which case, awesome, he’s honestly one of my favorites in this game). Two he dies in a sacrificial manner to save the rest of the group, as they have become his new crew in a sense. In which case, I’m sad and my heart is in tatters. He gives off big Nekomaru or Gundham vibes in his role in the group. Regardless, I see him as a big source of reliability and moral support for the group going forward. I can also see him taking up more of a leadership role going forward. Maybe he helps out Diana in her attempts to unite the students.

Ulysses Wilhelm - Dead. That bit about him not being able to smell strikes me as a Chekhov’s gun that has yet to be fired. I can practically taste the metal. I could see him being either a murder victim or a murderer. Regardless of which, it will likely involve Wenona in some way, as those two have been maintaining a positive relationship. I can see them conspiring with each other, or betraying each other. Either way, dramaaaa~

Jett Dawson - Dead. 100%. I do not see his ass surviving. Sorry Jett enjoyers. The fact that we don’t know what his face looks like also feels like a Chekhov’s gun. Maybe it’s connected to Tozu and Mara, or maybe it’s connected to another student (looking at Mark). Maybe someone impersonates him, or the other way around.

Mark “Mayhem” Berskii - Dead. I could see him being a murder victim or murderer tbh. I think it may depend on what happens with Jett, as those two have been linked together, much to Mark’s initial chagrin (The shippers are gonna sob I just know it). There’s a darkness in that boy’s soul, and it specifically mentioned that Mark specializes in remixing songs and voices. I could see a scenario where he takes the recorded voices of his fellow students and uses them to create confusion, maybe make people think that a person is in a specific place when they are not, or cause confusion as to whether or not a person is alive or dead at a specific time. Maybe he kills Jett, would that be fucked up or what :D?

Desmond Hall - Fifty fifty, but I think he Survives. He’s more likely to in my head, but if he does die, he’s the murder victim. From what we know about his personality, I think he’s less likely to try and kill anybody in comparison to some of the other characters. He’s got a very low key personality, and even though his talent is the most connected to killing out of the whole cast, I actually think he is probably one of the people who is least likely to do so. Dude is a killer shot, but he’s no killer.

Wenona - Fifty fifty, leaning more towards 25-75 in favor of death. She COULD survive, but I think it’s more likely for her to die tbh. She’s been one of the people who has been the most vocal about waiting for rescue, but she’s also a billionaire. And you don’t get that much money without being willing to take advantage of, manipulate, and hurt people. She’s definitely going to be an antagonist in a future chapter, aided by Ulysses. She’s also going to have some sort of conflict with Cassidy, as they have been setting up this bad blood between the two since Cassidy’s intro. She strikes me as someone who could play a similar role to Byakuya or Celestia, especially if she finds out that help might not be coming. Or if her company is on the line. Cuz we still don’t know what the situation is like outside of the Academy. Also, murder is just as much of a girlboss move as it is an immoral one.

Eloise Taulner - Dead. I don’t know enough about her to say for sure, but I think she could be the murder victim or murderer. If it’s the latter, good for her ig. Girl slays, or I guess stabs would be more applicable.

Cassidy Amber - Survives. I think she’s more likely to survive than die. Girl is feisty, and the survivor groups usually have some upbeat and optimistic. If she dies however, she dies mid game. I could see her plotting to murder Wenona, or getting into a confrontation with her due to her status as a morally bankrupt billionaire. I don’t want her to die, I like her dynamics with a lot of the other characters, but I could see it happening.

Grace Madison - Dead. I would wager she might die within the next chapter or two. Her primary connection as a character was to Wolfgang, and he’s gone, soooo, yeah. Something is definitely up with her that’s going to get addressed next chapter regardless. For one, we still don’t know why she was so adamant about nobody going into Wolfgang’s room at the time of his death. It could be because she was just embarrassed about people discovering and questioning her about her relationship with Wolfgang, but I think there could be more to the story. There’s secrets in each students room, but we don’t know what secrets could be contained in Wolfgang’s room. But Grace might. What’s more, her behavior after Eva’s execution peaked my interest. She’s uncharacteristically silent, not saying anything, even when someone says something that would typically elicit a violent reaction from her. I think she’s conflicted about Eva now, cause Grace definitely despised Eva, but after watching her death, in all its horror? I think even she feels like it was too cruel. She might act a bit more toned down and less angry going forward. Additionally, during Diana’s speech, she doesn’t insult Diana or say anything. Wenona is the only one to really insult Diana, while the rest of the group just kinda try not to acknowledge it. Either Grace is still in shock, or maybe she was actually kinda moved by Diana’s gesture to try to honor Wolfgang’s memory? Maybe she’ll help her, who knows. Would be interesting to say the least.

Okay, these last two are really hard. Figures, they have the most interesting relationships and dynamics with Damon, our protagonist. I can see this going in a lot of different ways, and they are all interesting.

Kai Monteago - Okay, hear me out. Kai strikes me as someone with confidence issues in spite of being an influencer. He underestimates himself, and that lack of confidence combined with his cowardice leads to him wanting to leave stuff like the investigations and the trials to other people. But I also think he wants people around him. The guy craves genuine connection, and he seems to have found the beginnings of that in Damon. He latched onto him like a butterfly to a flower, and I can’t see him letting go anytime soon.

Because of that, I see Kai filling the role that people initially thought Eva was going to fill. Kai will be Damon’s Assistant character, his support. The role of an influencer is one that involves the manipulation of people, be it to follow them on instagram, to buy their products, or simply to listen to them. Damon can argue and debate all day, and he’s good at it, but Kai I think will aid in getting people to listen to his points, and could even manipulate people to uncover lies or get them to confess. This will increase his confidence in his own abilities as a result. Kai is not as dumb as he seems to think he is, and I think he’ll learn that in the arcs going forward. He may also kiss Damon on the mouth, but only time will tell. I hope they do tbh.

Because of this, Kai is mostly safe. If he dies, he dies late game and it mentally destroys Damon, or helps further his character development. Otherwise he survives until the end. And honestly, I think there’s a pretty good chance that the latter option will occur. Regardless, Kai is going to play a crucial role in Damon’s arc. I could see him being one of the catalysts for Damon actually trusting people in this game, after his trust was so broken up by Eva’s murder plot.

Diana Venicia - First of all, she is not gonna be a murderer. Girly was framed last trial, they aren’t gonna pull that shit twice. Plus it was established that she couldn’t bring herself to pull the trigger on Wolfgang, even though her life was actively in danger and he ATTACKED her. If, IF, she becomes a blackened, it is purely by accident or she didn’t intend to kill (maybe smth similar to Chiaki where her actions led to the murder unintentionally, but she never intended to kill). Even then, I think the chances of that situation happening are veryyy low.

I think she is going to serve as a foil to Damon in the trials to come, kinda like an antagonist. As an antagonist isn’t someone who is necessarily evil. They either serve as foils to the protagonist or prevent them from reaching their goals. She won’t obstruct or prevent Damon from reaching his goals, as they both want to go home and get out of the killing game. Rather, she’ll be an antagonist in the moral or metaphorical sense, and I think she’ll be more vocal and try to take a leader position in an attempt to emulate Wolfgang. Her trusting and open nature clashes with Damon’s closed off and suspicious demeanor, and that’s going to play a role in the trials going forward. I can also see her finding allies in her attempting to unite the students in Toshiko, Jean, and possibly Jett, Cassidy, and maybe Grace.

I’ve seen some people saying she will die come Chapter 2. While I see the reasoning behind that. I don’t think that will be the case. If she dies, it’ll be late into the game, maybe come Trial 4 or 5. I could also see her surviving, but it’s too soon to tell. She either dies late game or survives the whole thing, like Kai. That’s my take anyway. Still, the poor bubblegum girl. The horrors are just beginning for her I think.

Wolfgang and Eva: lol they dead as hell. Rigor mortis is already setting in. They’re extra crispy.

In Summary:

Potential Survivors (most to least likely in my head) - Damon, Kai, Diana, Toshiko, Desmond, Cassidy, Jean

As for who may be next to die in chapter two, my money’s on Grace, Ulysses, or Eloise.

[call-me-copycat]

Hey! Idk if you still write fics but if you do. Could you please write about Aizawa having a daughter who selfharms, but he didnt knew until one day he entered to her room and find her doing it?.

Its kind of an emergency so i would really apreciate if you wrote it 🩷

Hi! I'm really sorry for the slight delay, I've been bouncing between school during the day and work at night, so even though I saw your ask I couldn't physically write it due to exhaustion (⑉ ᷄ ⌳ ᷅ )ก

That being said, even though it's been a couple days I didn't want to leave you hanging! I got some rest and wrote as much as I could in one sitting!

I really do hope this helps, feel free to message me anytime if you need to vent or such ₍ᐢ‥ᐢ₎ ♡

What I Owe To You

*I listened to this on loop while writing*

➤ Welcome - Introduction and Request Rules (Requests are open + Some info about me)

▶ Characters: Just Aizawa and Reader

▶ Genre: Comfort + Slight Angst

▶ Summary: As the ask states

▶ Word Count: 2925

▶ WARNINGS:

- Self harm

- Depressive thoughts

- Overall lots of angst

Please don't read if any of this makes you uncomfortable!

The cycle always went on.

At this point you were afraid of what was to happen next. At the same time, the thought was pushed away by the constant emptiness that filled you through. The sticky tar-like hands of this unknown void ravaged your mind, shredding it apart piece by piece.

Leaving you constantly feeling... Hollow. It was difficult to describe it as anything else.

You walked to school everyday and went to your classes. You sat next to your classmates as they animatedly discussed the usual topics of training and what to do after school.

On the weekends, you slept. Sometimes went shopping with your father. Maybe you'd get visited by your Uncle Mic, other times you'd train.

There wasn't much variety. It was suffocating. These feelings had no place to spawn from, as your life wasn't much different from everyone else's. There didn't seem to be a reason, for all you knew. But it was there, no doubt about it. It made itself known.

-

It was a usual Friday night. You had completed all your classes and had the weekend to yourself. It felt pointless, there wasn't much to do. Nor did you have the energy for anything either.

Sitting in your room, you jumped a bit at the unexpected knock on your door. You had been gazing out of your bedroom window for who knew how long, zoning out as far from your mind as you could. You vaguely remembered that a storm was to come soon.

"Dinnertime. Wash up and come to the table when you're ready."

Your father's voice never failed to comfort you, and in a way he was one of the main beacons of light in your dark and foggy world. An unchanging pillar of strength, he held on tight to your cracking mind.

Slowly, tiredly, you made your way out of your room. As you passed by Aizawa, he couldn't help but sigh in response to your barely-there smile at him. You had a habit of doing that, possibly to keep him from worrying.

Truth be told, Aizawa always worried about you. Ever since you were young, he was on guard every second, trying to keep you from falling and scraping your knees, to keeping an eye on you during training.

Though recently, he had noticed some... changes. Your eyes began to grow dull, and their usual energy faded with each passing day. The bags under them grew more prominent, and in turn your hair began to be left more of a mess. Slowly, little things were building up, and he couldn't tell why.

It worried him sick, since the only thing he had in mind for you was for you to be happy and safe. Seeing your condition worsen with each day made him nauseous, as it was the last place he wanted you to be at. He wanted to help you, the best he could.

So that's why before you even sat down to eat, he began to question you.

"Are you feeling okay, [Name?]"

Truth be told, he knew you'd say you were fine. He just needed to soothe his frantic mind.

Looking up at him, you gave him another smile. He couldn't help but grimace at how forced it looked.

"Oh, of course I'm fine." You clenched your jaw at how unenthusiastic you sounded, but it would have to do.

Aizawa only felt uneasy. Too many things added up and gave him a weird taste in his mouth to leave it at that.

"Look at me, [Name]."

The unusual tone of his voice brought you out of your foggy state of mind as you looked up at him fully. Once you met his eyes properly, Aizawa took notice of the... Saddened expression that filled yours. He knew someone was wrong, but it was being covered.

"You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?"

He needed to know if you trusted him. He needed to be the one person you trusted in life. This was all or nothing.

Your eyes went wide for a split second as your breath hitched, but you quickly shook it off. His bluntness was what caught you off guard.

"Really, it's nothing Papa." You tried smiling once more, raising a hand out a bit in an attempt to calm him. You knew it was a pitiful attempt, but you didn't have the energy to make it convincing. Alongside that, Aizawa was generally a very tough man to fool. It'd take a lot to actually pass anything through him.

Aizawa's eyes narrowed in response as he saw your reaction to his question. Your body language indicated how uncomfortable you were, and he didn't want to push you too far past your limits.

It was tough, but he decided to give it up in the end and hope you'd come to him whenever you were ready. You always shared everything with him since you were young, and he had gained a large amount of trust over you in turn.

-

Dinner was eaten in silence, and as soon as it was over you bid your father a goodnight before heading off to your room.

Aizawa stayed seated at the kitchen table as he watched you walk off, wondering what was happening to his child. He couldn't bear the thought of you struggling with something alone. He had been there your whole life to help you get through everything you passed by, so why weren't you letting him in now?

After much deliberation, he got up from his spot at the table and made his way to your room. He needed to finish this conversation, and he needed to know what was going on. His mind had been sprawled all over the place for the last few months, as he'd been observant enough to catch on to the smallest changes you went through. Seeing you go into such a decline was like a punch straight through to his heart.

His mind was in such a haze that he threw open your door without second thought, seeing as he normally takes care to knock first. The room was pitch black, but based off of the startled gasp that came from you and the clanging of metal hitting the ground, Aizawa felt his blood freeze in fear.

Quickly flipping on the light, his eyes widened at the site that laid in front of him. You didn't have any time to cover yourself, so Aizawa saw it all.

The bandages laid out.

The blades.

And most importantly, your cuts.

You felt your eyes water at the expression on your father's face, guilt and self-loathing bleeding into your mind.

Aizawa was stuck in shock for a moment. It felt as though all time was warped as he saw what was his worst nightmare laid out in front of him. He was quickly snapped back to reality at the sound of your sobs that echoed throughout the room.

He swiftly made his way towards you from across your room, and in one smooth movement he pulled you into his lap, hugging you tightly to himself.

He had known something was wrong, felt it deep in his heart, but he didn't realize how serious it truly was. His heart ached for you as his grip only grew tighter around you. Aizawa didn't want you to hide these things from him, and in a way, he felt disappointed at your lack of trust towards him. All his disappointment and anger quickly dissipated, leaving him to face his worry and guilt.

"[Name]..."

He could hear his voice tremble, but couldn't care less.

"Why? I-" He was stuck in shock. It was something he never thought he'd run into. Looking down at you, his worry for your well-being grew tenfold, but he gathered the willpower to overcome the sudden surge of emotions he was feeling.

"I want... I need you to promise me you'll never harm yourself again," He looked down at you, cradled in his arms, "I don't think I could ever bear the pain of losing you..."

He knew this was only one step of many. That it doesn't start like this. That it grows. Although he couldn't pinpoint what might've started it, he at least needed to confirm you'd be safe. He just needed this one thing to give his already worn heart a little bit of ease.

You couldn't help but recoil a bit, bringing your arms to hug your torso. As much as you wanted it to be that easy, as much as you wanted to tell your father 'okay!', you knew it wouldn't be done so fast. And in a way, that only worsened your resentment towards yourself.

"I... don't know if I can.." You avoided his gaze as you faced the ground, hating how saddened he was and much rather preferring him to be angry. It'd lessen the guilt a little bit, at least.

He needed something.

"[Name]... I can't make you promise me you'll be able to stop right away. That's foolish to believe." Heaving out a sigh, he put a hand atop your head. "But I just need you to know that I'd be devastated without you. I can truly say from the bottom of my heart, I'd never be able to live a normal life again if you were gone."

Looking up into his eyes, you saw a heaviness that swirled in them. This was coming from a man who had seen it all - numerous deaths in ways he wished he could unsee.

You hadn't realized just how much you meant to him. It never popped up in your head. The all-consuming void had blocked any sensibility or logic from getting to you, and the more you thought about it, the more you realized just how much it would affect your father. He always told you your pain was his to deal with too.

Settling your face in the crook of his neck so you wouldn't have to see the hurt in his eyes anymore, you tried your best to explain everything to him.

"It feels..." Closing your eyes, you tried imagining everything that has built up. "Like I'm running a race, yet getting nowhere. That everything I do has no effect... I'm tired."

You stayed silent as you felt your father put a hand on the back of your head. Aizawa watched as you carefully pieced your words together, and saw the true effect of everything you had been dealing with. His heart ached to relieve you of your pain, his fatherly instincts screaming at him to help save his child.

"[Name]." His grip on you tightened ever so slightly. "I want you to get this through your head, alright? You are not a failure. You're going through a lot, and it's weighing down on you. And I understand you're under a lot of pressure, but-"

Aizawa was cut off when he began to choke up, the thoughts too much for him to bear. As much as he tried to keep his composure for your sake, his walls were beginning to crack.

You heard your father pause and looked up at him, only to be brought into shock at the sight of your normally stoic father tearing up. You felt ashamed for forgetting about his pain, tearing up once more at the guilt that ravaged your mind.

He could see how surprised you were, but he couldn't help it. He always struggled to contain himself when it came to you, especially whenever you were hurt. He hated seeing you in pain.

"Do you have any idea what it would do to me if I lost you? I- ... [Name], if anything happened to you, I don't know what I'd do anymore, I'd-"

He truly couldn't help it. All that Aizawa wanted was for you to be happy. Seeing you in so much agony... seeing your only escape being to harm yourself... He felt that he lost a part of himself.

You cried out loud this time, seeing your father so torn over you. It was heartbreaking, but oddly soothing at the same time. To have someone to deeply care about you that they felt intertwined with you. He cared.

You could feel his arms engulfing you, and you allowed yourself to be swallowed in his hold. It was warm and soothing... A stark contrast to the cold you constantly couldn't escape from.

As he held you, Aizawa couldn't help but be more shocked at himself than anyone. He normally was able to easily retain his composure, so as he felt tears flowing down his face he couldn't help but stiffen. Quickly getting over it, he held you close. The room gradually began to get quieter, the both of your emotions slowing down.

You couldn't help but feel... Secure. It was a stark contrast to the constant void you felt. You felt... Warm.

Yeah, warm.

It was a nice feeling.

Closing your eyes, you finally allowed your body to relax. Aizawa rubbed your back as he gently rocked back and forth.

"I just want you to breath. Don't think about anything else."

Following his word, you kept your eyes closed and settled your breathing. You quickly noticed how much easier it was to think this way. Nothing else was getting in the way, no unwanted thoughts or fears, and you felt safe. Safe and comfortable.

The world around you normally was so chaotic. It seemed everyone was in a rush, always somewhere to be. You couldn't have time to yourself either, constantly getting pushed to and fro. There never seemed to be a place to stop. Nowhere to rest. An unchanging race.

But here you were. The world has stopped, giving you a break you so badly needed. You couldn't describe it, but such a simple hug from your father seemed to dull everything that pained you.

"I understand what it's like."

Aizawa would be lying if he said he was never in your place before. Too many nights he was kept up, worrying about working on himself. Scared of the changing future. Feeling like nothing was changing for him while the world moved on. It was isolating.

Over the years, he got better. The world's rush blurred to background noise, and he learned to appreciate his own speed in life. It was his own life he was living, after all.

Looking down at you, he saw a mirror image of himself.

"Y'know, it's not fair..." You looked up at him as he brushed away a lone tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. "You allow me to laugh with you in your happiest moments... So why do you lock me out when you're at your lowest?"

You had never heard it phrased like that before. You did enjoy having him around whenever you had something good to share. Whenever you were proud, or amazed, or just plain happy. But you understood, he wanted to be a part of it all. Every smile... And every tear.

Your voice couldn't find you, but Aizawa didn't mind. To you, he was always a hand outstretched. A guide to help you through the fog and the dark. It made the terrifying a little less daunting.

"Please talk to me when you can. Tell me whatever you'd like, I just want to know how you're feeling."

You nodded, looking at him directly. Your heart rate had gone down significantly, and you didn't know how much time had passed. If you listened carefully, you could hear the distance rumble of an oncoming storm, thunder booming on the horizon.

There was a pregnant pause before he started once more.

"Tomorrow, we'll need to get your injuries looked over-"

Seeing a look of fear cross your expression, he was quick to calm you.

"I'll be with you. The entire time. You won't have to deal with living life alone. I understand it's frightening to look at, but let me hold some of the weight you own."

You watched as Aizawa stretched out his hand, offering it to you. Looking at it, you thought back to all the times he'd helped you in the past. Every time he's offered his hand out to you.

All the times you were too scared to cross the road when you were little. Every time you felt too suffocated by the number of people surrounding you. Or even when it was just the two of you, silently walking home together in the warm afternoon sun.

He always offered you support, for every little thing life had to throw at you. Aizawa's expression softened when you gently put your hand in his, no hesitation in your movements.

Clasping his fingers over yours, you saw how your hands intertwined. And you realized, he was always there to take some of the pain from you - acting like he was a part of you.

"You get it now, huh?" Looking up into his eyes one more time, you thought you saw a sparkle in them. "Whenever you bring pain to yourself," He squeezed your hand a little tighter, "you're hurting me right alongside with you. I need you in one piece, kid."

You breathed out, everything a little clearer now. There was so much more to do. So much to go through. It was a formidable thought.

But as you looked up into your father's eyes and as you felt his hand in yours, you realized;

You weren't alone.

You really did owe him the world.

During my lowest moments, Aizawa was always a huge character I relied on to get me through it. I will always write comfort for him to anyone who asks.

I hope you have a lovely day, and I hope things get just a little easier for you, you definitely deserve it (*´艸`)ﾌﾌﾌｯ♡

➜ Please let me know if I missed any warnings/triggers in the tags or in the opening!

[unicyclehippo]

Hi my name is Otohan Thull, Legend of the Peaks and I have short grey hair that falls to one side and piercing eyes and a device on my back like a jet pack filled with inky shadows and a lot of people tell me I look like Jourrael (AN: if u don’t know who they are get da hell out of here!). I’m not related to Ludinus Daleth but I wish I was because he’s a major fucking hottie. I’m a human but I have four shadows. I have dark tan skin. I’m also a psi warrior, and I rule a crawler gang in Bassuras where I’m a big fucking deal (I’m scary). I’m a Vanguard (in case you couldn’t tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Hot Topic and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing dark leathers and a thigh-length cloak with a thick mantle across my shoulders and fingerless gloves. I was walking outside the Prime Pillar. It was underground on the moon so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. The Bells Hells stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.

[devotedlypinkpeanut]

Make Me Lose Control — Part 1

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

PAIRING : Park Sunghoon x Neighbor Nurse! Reader.

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

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

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

Number of words : ~48k

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

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

⤑ Main Masterlist — Series Masterlist | Next Chapter ⇢

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He should never have betrayed me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taglist : @heeknow @moonpri

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

[euphorix-moon]

Only You

Ellie x Fem!Reader

Wc:1.2k

Synopsis: Ellie being a loser lesbian hopelessly in love with one of her best friends.

A/n : It has been quite a while but i'm back with a lil fluffy fic

Ellie doesn’t know how she’s going to do it. She doesn’t know when she’s going to do it. But she knows she has to do it.

Ellie's has known you for almost six years now. You guys met at school, and from there, you guys would spend countless hours with each other. Ellie has known you for six years already—six years of stolen looks at you, six years of covering up the need to be close to you as a friendly shoulder bump or hand on your thighs while laughing or telling a story. Ellie has known you for six years, and she has been in love with you for six years. "Love at first sight," as people call it, Ellie laughed at that and said, ‘Don’t fuck with me; you can’t fall in love with someone you just met’. She told that to her neighbor and friend Jesse, who told her he fell in love with some girl right at the second he laid eyes on her. Love at first sight was bullshit for Ellie. Was.

Until one day, a transfer student arrived in her class. The second you walked into the classroom, Ellie was swept off his feet, and she thanked the chair under her buttocks for holding her. You looked absolutely breathtaking, and you had a smile that could easily light up the entire room. So bright, Ellie thought looking at it for too long would burn her eyes. But it didn’t. She tried. Once she made a competition, alone, of course, trying to see how long she could look at without going blind. Maybe Ellie went blind and just didn’t know it yet.

You were that friendly girl who laughed at all the stupid jokes and tried to do everything she could to help everyone. Everybody liked you. Honestly, how could anyone even think of hating this sunshine? You sat on the free desk, which happened to be right next to Ellie's, and brightly said hi to her new seatmate. All Ellie could do was nod her head and smile, but her smile felt embarrassed before the smile on your face. Your smile brightened up her whole existence. Ellie couldn't bring herself to start speaking to you during class, so Ellie's hobby at that time during class (and to be honest, during the whole time her eyes were open) was looking at and studying you. The flower is too beautiful for this shit of a school. Ellie was scared someone might step on or cover the sun for you, but you were stronger than it seemed. Never letting anyone get to you and always knowing how to stand up for yourself, no matter the circumstances

Ellie wanted to help you. She wanted to be your pillar, the person to whom you could tell everything and never hold back. And she was. Only in front of Ellie did you let your tears fall, open up, and share your insecurities and secrets with her. You felt as if Ellie was one of the only people who would listen to you and not judge you for anything you said.

It happened two years into their friendship. It hurt more than anything Ellie ever felt. More than that one time, she got her wisdom tooth out with the medicine still not fully working. More than the time Jesse punched her in the face because Ellie was being too much of a dick, nothing new, but she touched on a topic she promised herself she wouldn’t. Seeing you holding a girl’s hand and laughing at her stupid jokes hurt Ellie more than she could take it.

 ****

The next month was like a black spot for Ellie. She remembered not even showing up at school, too busy curling into a ball on her bed and scratching angry words onto her innocent journal. Words that spoke more than her mouth could, her heart spilling on the pages. That one month, she didn’t see you at all. That one month was nothing but darkness, because her sun was someone else’s, too busy shining for someone else.

One night, the doorbell rang, and Ellie opened with an annoyed face and even more annoyed-looking hair. It was you. A very sad and crying you. For a second, Ellie panicked, almost closing the door in your face. The second you were in Ellie's small apartment, you fell into her arms, sobbing and mumbling curses and ‘she cheated."Ellie tried calming you down,sitting you on the couch, tugging you in soft blankets, and even though she won’t admit it, she kissed your forehead after making sure you were asleep. Ellie was angry. She was so angry that she gulped down the already-opened beer in one breath. She knew that girl wasn’t one to trust. She knew she should’ve stayed with you to protect you. She was angry at no one but herself.

Ellie never left your side again. No matter how many more girls were there,smiling annoying smiles and talking with disgusting voices, Ellie was there to catch you every time you fell. After yet another breakup, you, being drunk and emotional, ended up kissing Ellie. It's more like you passed out on Ellie's lips. Ellie knew you wouldn't remember this; she really tried to forget what ever happened that night as well. But Ellie remembers, always, forever. She has a little pocket in her heart where she keeps every little moment spent with you. Even that one time you threw up on her at one of your first parties

More time passes, faster than Ellie would like it to, and you're still here. Smiling brightly and making the world a better place—at least Ellie's world for sure. Jesse once asked Ellie how she did not break during all these years spent with the one you love and yet not be able to actually be with them. Ellie laughed sadly, her eyes speaking more than words. Jesse just nodded knowingly and patted Ellie's shoulder. Ellie was already broken long ago. She needed glue to fix her heart and her soul.

The glue that kept the pieces of Ellie together was you. It was always you. Ellie laughs at herself, shaking her head. Six years have passed since the day she met you. Since she met the missing piece that would make her whole,

She didn’t know how to do it. She didn’t know when to do it. But she knew she had to do it. Ellie knocked on your front door with flowers in her hand and a goal on her mind. She had to finally tell you how she felt. How she felt after all these years

Six more years pass, and six more wait right around the corner. Ellie smiles every time she remembers how stupid she was for not confessing to you earlier, or how stupid you were for not telling Ellie earlier. Love at first sight was something you both didn’t believe in—something you both laughed at. But here you guys are, laying in their now-shared bed, in their now-shared apartment, sharing loving looks and gentle touches. Ellie hugs you, pulling you closer and kissing your face with a smile forming on your lips. You were, are, and always will be Ellie's everything.

A/n: Hope you guys enjoyed. As always feedback is appreciated !

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 9

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 1.2K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

You sat there, unmoving, your eyes fixed ahead of you as you tried to push down the raging thoughts that You sat there, unmoving, your eyes fixed ahead of you as you tried to push down the raging thoughts that bubbled within you and whispered their vile taunts in your head. How would there be anything after this? You had watched someone die, someone you could have helped. How could there be a morning where you woke up feeling normal? Did you even know what normal meant anymore?

Feyre knocked on the door, and without prompting, the fae lights in the room grew slightly, illuminating your surroundings. The door in the right-hand corner was dark oak with a golden brass handle shaped like a branch. Above it, a small stained glass window depicted a constellation, the whites of the stars contrasting sharply with the midnight blues. The wooden floor was barely visible through the dark blue carpeting, adorned with intricate silver swirls. The rightmost wall had the door to the bathroom, and the bed now revealed tall pillars of brown oak, intricately carved to look as though they were swirling in on themselves. The soft silver sheets and the dark blue blanket matched the carpet. To your left was a desk with a chair, both the same oak color as the bed and the door, and the wall featured large blue curtains, likely concealing floor-to-ceiling windows or doors.

Feyre crossed the room, setting the neatly folded pile of clothes on the bed. “These are for you, whenever you’re ready,” she said, flashing a calm, collected smile. She stood for a moment, her hands clasped in front of her as you ran your fingers over the soft fabrics, much softer than the ratty clothes you currently wore.

You peered up at her. “Thank you,” you said.

She smiled again and then gestured to the end of the bed. “Can I sit?” she asked.

You nodded, and she took her place near the edge, smoothing her dress under her as she did so, pulling one leg up to rest next to her as she turned to face you. She seemed to be searching for words. “Thank you,” you said again, “for everything you’ve done.”

Feyre chuckled a bit. “You’re more than welcome. Considering everything that happened, it’s the least we could do.”

You looked down at your hands, covered in dried blood and brown stains. Feyre appeared to be looking for something to fill the silence as well. “I don’t want to intrude,” you started, and Feyre immediately started shaking her head.

“No,” she said, interrupting you. “Don’t even worry about that.”

You smiled back at her and continued, “I don’t mean to overstay my welcome.”

“It isn’t like we don’t have the room,” Feyre gestured around.

“Even still, I can’t imagine that I’m not at least a bit of a hindrance.”

Feyre reached her hand towards yours, lightly grasping it. “Not a bit.”

“I’ll be on my way as soon as I can get myself together,” you continued. Feyre’s brows furrowed slightly. She paused, shaking her head.

“Why will you not accept help?” she finally asked. You were stunned by her words, more forward than you would have said.

“I’m sorry?” you asked.

Feyre shook her head. “No, I’m sorry, I just—” she paused, looking towards the ceiling as though the answer might be there. “Azriel shared with us, with me, what had happened before, and I just want you to know that we aren’t like that here.”

You looked at her, puzzled. “I mean like the camps,” she clarified. “We aren’t like them.”

You paused, considering her statement. Who was the “we” to which she referred? And the “them”? You asked, “What do you mean?”

“We aren’t like the Illyrians,” Feyre clarified.

“But Azriel—” you started, but Feyre raised her hand slightly to pause you.

“Azriel is an Illyrian, but he is not like the others, or like those you met in Frostvale.”

You asked, “Because he isn’t a soldier.”

Feyre paused, smiling a bit. “Because he is different.”

You scoffed slightly, but Feyre continued, “He isn’t like them, and I can’t explain it, but he just isn’t. He’s kinder, more gentle, less—”

You cut her off, “Of a predator.”

Feyre seemed a bit taken aback by your comment, her eyes widening as you glared at her, before she dropped her gaze, smoothing out a wrinkle in the sheets. “Yes,” she finally said.

You swallowed down your own fear as you thought about what you had witnessed the last few days. “I’m not saying you need to trust him,” Feyre said, “Or even speak to him if you don’t want to.” She placed her hand over yours. “But you don’t need to run from here. You’re safe. We can protect you.”

“Who is we?” you asked.

“The Night Court.”

“That isn’t an answer,” you responded. “The Night Court is a place.”

“I mean, the court members,” Feyre clarified.

“You don’t know me,” you spat back.

“I know enough to know you are a citizen of the court, and therefore it is our duty to help you.”

Suddenly, in a moment of anger, you shot out, “Does the Night Court pick and choose which members it protects?”

Feyre went stone-faced, pulling her lip between her teeth slightly and letting out a slow breath. “I am deeply sorry for what happened, and if Azriel had known what was going on, he would have—” but you cut her off.

“I’m not talking about that.” You stopped her. You paused, shaking your head slightly, feeling foolish for saying such things. “I’m sorry.”

Feyre’s face softened slightly. “You don’t need to apologize.” You swallowed back your anger. “Take all the time you need. I’m sure you have a lot of questions, so,” Feyre rose from her spot, “when you’re ready, just let me know, or come out. I’ll be down around the corner.”

Feyre then took her leave, leaving you alone again in the room. You glanced down at your clothing, sure that you smelled of vomit, but the idea of the shower made a sour taste rise in your mouth. You rose and made your way back into the bathroom, turning the handle of the shower. The water cascaded down onto the floor as you let your hand run under the already steaming stream. The water from your hand drained down onto the floor in a wave of brown, muddy liquid. When you pulled your hand back, the brown still left behind smeared onto your wet skin. You were filthy. While you felt as though you didn’t deserve to take a shower, your discomfort about continuing to dirty the home, or whatever this place was, of the someone who had been so kind overtook that discomfort.

You stripped off your clothing, catching a glimpse of your dismal reflection in the mirror. Your eyes were sunken and lined with deep purple, and your body was covered in countless bruises, cuts, and stains from dirt and gods knew what else. You looked feral and shied away from your own image. Stepping into the shower, you turned the heat up to a temperature you almost couldn’t bear, allowing the water to cascade down your shoulders. The filth ran in rivers down your body as you closed your eyes and breathed in the steam. 

You hadn’t had a proper shower in a very long time, relying only on baths in your small cabin up in the mountains, where the water had to be boiled by hand. The unending stream of hot water was a luxury, and you relished the feeling as it dripped onto you. You let your face fall beneath the spray, its heat turning your skin a slight pink as the water ran down your eyelashes and through your hair, smoothing it down to the base of your scalp. You held your hands behind your neck, directly in the stream, breathing deeply into your stomach and chest and releasing the air in wavering, stunted breaths.

You took the bar of soap, which appeared to be new, from the little alcove on the side of the shower, along with a fresh white washcloth, and began to scrub at your skin. You scrubbed most of your body raw, taking extra time to scrub viciously at the spots where Darian had touched you. Try as you might, you couldn’t scrub away the feeling of his hands on your body. You let the water run through your hair as you worked some sweet-smelling shampoo into it, untangling the knots despite the pain as they washed down the drain. When you were finished and as clean as you could get, you sat on the floor in the corner of the shower, the room now fully steamed, and let yourself be shrouded by the mist around you, trying again to take deep, stabilizing breaths.

You must have been in there for over half an hour before you finally turned the shower off and wrapped your red body in a fluffy white towel. Your reflection was slightly more palatable than before, though your bruises still patterned your body in an array of blues, purples, and greens. You made your way back into the bedroom and noticed that the bed had been remade, suddenly concerned that someone had entered your room without your knowledge. You went to the door and locked it behind you before returning to the bed, your fingers sliding over the clothing laid out for you: a long-sleeved green shirt and a pair of black linen pants, similar to the ones you had met Feyre in.

You carefully pulled on the shirt, wincing as pain spread through your midsection when you raised your arms over your head, and slid the pants on. You allowed your hair to dry down before braiding it back with the ribbon Anthea had given you, which you washed in the sink, scrubbing to get all the filth out of it.

You debated opening the door to the hallway, but instead, decided to open the large curtains, revealing two large glass doors. With a shove, you pushed them open, and a blast of cool spring air filled the room, sending the curtains whooshing back behind you. Your eyes instinctively closed as you breathed in the clean, clear air of the mountains. You took a tentative step onto the white marble balcony, your fingertips brushing through the doorway. The cool air bit at your skin through your shirt, but you welcomed it, feeling the breeze blow your hair from your shoulders. 

When you opened your eyes, you were met with the familiar sight of the Velaris skyline, nestled at the base of Ramiel. Memories flooded back as you walked to the edge of the balcony, resting your forearms on the marble railing. Laid out before you was that wondrous city, with the Sidra River winding through it as canal boats and shipping freighters slowly labored in the morning drift. The spires of the buildings jutted sharply into the sky. Looking down towards the city streets, you could see the first signs of life: market vendors bringing their wares into the squares, hauling out carts, and swinging open their windows. Citizens paced leisurely by the riverside, children running freely by their sides. From high above, you couldn’t make out their faces or voices, but the chatter and rumblings of the city brought you back to a feeling of home.

It was strange how many memories you had of this place, feeling so close to it even though you had only spent a few years within its walls. Yet, you felt as though you could walk it blindfolded. 

You remembered how your mother would wake you early in the morning, her kind, warm face greeting you well before the sun, her hair already done up as though she had been awake for hours. She would shower you with kisses as you rolled out of the bed you shared, racing towards the bathroom where she would wash your face and lovingly brush your hair, singing sweet songs you two had made together. She would braid your hair, tying ribbons at the ends, and smile at you in the mirror. Though the memories were faded, you could still recall the soft pink of her cheeks, the red of her lips, and her eyes—almost the same color as yours. But most vividly, you remembered her smell: cinnamon and vanilla, like a baked pastry.

You and she would walk through the streets together, and she would buy you a pastry from the market. While you always offered to share, she would always decline, telling you that sweet treats were reserved for sweet little girls. She would spend the whole day with you, wandering the streets, playing by the riverside, and exploring the nearby mountain forests. Always singing, she made you feel free. She would always tuck you in at night, promising to see you the next morning. Your mother never had much money, and you always lived in apartments with other females, sometimes with their children as well. You didn’t mind; you always had playmates, and the other females knew you well enough that you felt as though they were extra mothers, but none were your mother. Some nights, when you woke up in search of her, another female would comfort you back to sleep, but your mother would always be there in the morning to kiss you awake.

You smiled to yourself, your fingers tracing the cold marble as you took in the city. You looked over your shoulder to the two chaise lounge chairs positioned near the door, you made your way to them, laying down on one, pulling you knee upwards, letting the sun beat down on your face as you took in the world around you, and for the first time in a long time, you did not feel afraid.

To my lovely tagged readers, this one is for you:

@thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @romantacyreader28 @caroline-books @slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2

[atzfilm]

— 『 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋; 𝐨𝐭8 』 [m.list]

— 𝚠𝚘𝚗 • 𝚍𝚎𝚛 • 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕, adjective. having someone who serves as a pillar in your life, who offers a sturdy place to lean in times of trouble. somebody you find yourself thinking about constantly and are completely infatuated with.

❝humans were such strange creatures. wretched in their mere existence. none of the eight were ever truly interested in them until they found you. they just find it strange that despite their status and rank, you'd rather spend time with your lover. that isn't much of a problem, though. one they can fix with ease.❞

〘ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴍʏᴛʜ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰᴀᴇʀɪᴇꜱ〙

— note: this is a yandere fic. sensitive topics such as manipulation, gaslighting, murder, and other topics involved with the genre. please heed the warnings and read this work of fiction while keeping this in mind. mxm is often referenced in this fiction

FIC WARNINGS: main character death, murder, manipulation, blood, blood drinking, torture references, dark magic, kidnapping. this series is very dark, if you're uncomfortable with the subjects listed do not read. warnings will change but be listed in each chapter. there is no tag list for this series.

character sheets | survival guide | teaser 1 | teaser 2 |

VOLUME ONE

「chapter one;」

— seonghwa was the first.

「chapter two;」

— it was only proper that wooyoung were the second.

「chapter three;」

— third times the charm, as yunho says.

「chapter four;」

— better than last, mingi supposed.

「chapter five;」

— fifth in age and meeting, san mused.

「chapter six;」

— yeosang dreamt of this moment.

「chapter seven;」

— despite his eagerness, jongho was only a step above the bottom.

「chapter seven point five;」

— the leader has failed.

「chapter eight;」

— the leader was often last.

「chapter nine;」

— manipulation is key to love, so they say.

「chapter ten;」

— humans were born to fall, after all.