BL Oneshots (BoyxBoy) ENGLISH

by Guwluse

Summary:

⚠️ CONTENT WARNING
This book may contain 18+ content, including explicit scenes, violence, abuse, and dark themes.
If you're uncomfortable with BL (boylove), leave now - this book isn't for you. 🙃
Also lot of smut🙈🙈

Chapter 1

Guys! That song ☺️ https://youtu.be/vHpglrG9uTM?si=G8Dho1w6dG7ZkMmN This book is a collection of oneshots written upon request. Just tell me who with who, who's the top and who's the bottom – I'll take care of the rest.

The characters in these stories are inspired by real people, but the plot is entirely fictional. Most things written here never happened.

What do you need to write me for getting your boyxboy to written is:

- bottom/top

-Boxboy- names

- anything you want in story you like.

⚠️ CONTENT WARNING
This book may contain 18+ content, including:
• Explicit scenes
• Violence and abuse
• Toxic relationships
• Dark and sensitive themes

If you're uncomfortable with BL (boylove) or GL (girlslove), please leave now – this book isn't for you. 🙃

This is only my imagination. Please do not copy.

And enjoy!

Avoid reading my story if you're sensitive reader and don't like this type of content.

- Soft romance also can be Dark Romance.

Please don't comment negatively, if you want to say anything to me let me know presonally to my messages and don't write it here!

 

If you like this story, like and comment.

Thank you,

Enjoy!

Chapter 2: Sarawat x Tine❤️

Summary:

Top: Sarawat

Bottom:Tine

Enjoy~

Between Guitars and Grocery

Tine never thought adulthood would mean spending twenty minutes arguing about dish soap.

"No, I'm serious," he said, waving the bottle in the air like a tiny plastic flag. "You bought the lavender one again. I told you I hate how it smells like old lady perfume."

Sarawat leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, unbothered. "It was on sale."

"It's always on sale! Because no one wants it!"

Sarawat took the bottle from Tine's hand and looked at it. "Smells fine to me."

"Because you have the scent sensitivity of a brick."

That earned a soft laugh, which only irritated Tine more. He tossed the bottle into the cupboard with a sigh. "Never mind. I'll just suffer."

Sarawat stepped forward, wrapping his arms lazily around Tine's waist and squeezed his butt cheek. "Want me to wash the dishes for a month to make up for it?"

Tine paused and blush deeply. "Two weeks. And you can't pretend to do a bad job so I'll take over."

Sarawat tilted his head, faux-offended. "You think I'd manipulate you like that?"

Tine arched an eyebrow. "You once faked a wrist injury to get out of assembling furniture."

"That wasn't fake. I genuinely twisted it...while trying to carry my guitar and bubble tea at the same time."

"Mm-hmm."

Sarawat leaned in, his nose brushing against Tine's temple. "I'm really bad at adulting, huh?"

Tine snorted. "We both are."

They stood like that for a moment, Tine resting his forehead against Sarawat's shoulder, the quiet hum of the fridge and the patter of Sunday afternoon rain outside settling around them.

It had been a year since they graduated. A year since they moved into this tiny apartment that didn't have enough storage, where the windows rattled in the wind and the bathroom tiles never quite stayed clean. Tine worked at a marketing firm now—long hours, endless emails, but steady. Sarawat taught guitar lessons part-time and played gigs in the city's quieter bars.

Life wasn't as dreamy as they thought it would be. There were bills, chores, missed calls from parents asking when they'd get "real" jobs or get married—not always in that order or bring them a grandchildren which Sarawat and Tine can't obviously have even though Sarawat saying otherwise every night. Sometimes, they fought about things like laundry, or Sarawat forgetting to text when he'd be late. Sometimes, they were too tired to fight, and the silence stretched heavy across their bed.

But sometimes—like today—it was easy again. Effortless. Like breathing.

Later that evening, they sat on the balcony. Tine's head rested on Sarawat's shoulder, a blanket draped over both of them. Sarawat played his guitar softly, thumb brushing over strings in no particular rhythm.

"You ever think about what it would've been like if we didn't end up together?" Tine asked suddenly.

Sarawat stopped strumming. "Why are you asking that?"

"Just curious."

Sarawat was quiet for a beat, then said, "I'd still be playing music. Probably drinking more. Maybe dating someone who didn't get mad about lavender dish soap."

Tine elbowed him gently. "Be serious."

"I am," Sarawat said. Then, after a pause: "I think I'd be...less."

Tine lifted his head. "Less what?"

"Just...less happy. Less me. You make things real, Tine."

The words hit Tine like a slow-building wave. He blinked. "That's...unusually poetic for someone who wears mismatched socks."

Sarawat grinned. "You like my socks."

"I tolerate them."

Tine reached for his phone, opening a note titled 'Tine's Emergency Sarawat List' and added: "Said something emotionally devastating at 8:42 p.m."

Sarawat peeked at it. "You still keep that list?"

"Of course. It reminds me why I put up with you."

"Not because you love me?" Sarawat teased.

"That's reason #3. Right after your voice when you sing and the way you bring me hot packs when I have cramps."

Sarawat kissed the side of Tine's head. "I love you too."

That night, Tine fell asleep before Sarawat. He always did, curled on his side with the blanket kicked halfway off, hair a mess. Sarawat watched him for a while, his fingers still aching faintly from the guitar.

He reached for his phone and opened his own private notes app. There was a draft message titled:
"Tine—someday."

He'd written it months ago, after one particularly hard day when Tine had cried quietly into Sarawat's hoodie because he'd missed a promotion. That night, Sarawat had stayed up, writing everything he felt but didn't know how to say aloud.

"Tine, you always think you're not enough. That you need to work harder, smile bigger, be more charming. But you don't. You're already the person I want to wake up next to for the rest of my life.

I love you when you're confident. I love you when you're tired. I love you when you yell at the TV during political debates.

You, in all your moods, are home."

Sarawat closed the note and set his phone down. Someday, he'd read it to Tine. Maybe on a beach. Or in the living room, when they were old and still arguing about dish soap.

For now, he curled in behind Tine, letting their breathing sync up. Outside, the city hummed, indifferent and noisy. But in their small apartment, in their tiny world built from music and shared chores and stolen kisses, everything was calm. Tine then open his eyes wide when he feels something hard against his backside.

18+

"What are you doing?" Tine asked, confused, as Sarawat moved his hips against him.

"Your mom keeps bothering me about wanting grandkids, so I decided I'd finally make her wish come true." He slowly licked Tine's neck, from his earlobe to his collarbone.

Tine laughed, but his voice cracked a little. "It's not like that, Sarawat. We don't even have a cat, let alone a kid."

"We can start with the second one and get a cat later," Sarawat murmured against his neck, his hands wandering around Tine's waist.

"You're insane," Tine muttered, but his hands instinctively wrapped around Sarawat's neck. "And what if your mom wants twins?"

"Then I'll have to try even harder," Sarawat replied with a confident smile, gently biting his skin, making Tine gasp.

"God, you're impossible..."

"And you're adorable when you blush," Sarawat commented as he slowly laid him down on the bed. Their gazes met—Sarawat's intense, playful, but kind; Tine's full of embarrassment, but not wanting to leave.

"At least close the window," Tine mumbled, as Sarawat started kissing him beneath the jaw.

"Why? Are you embarrassed someone might see us trying to meet parental expectations?" Sarawat asked provocatively.

Tine elbowed him, but he was laughing too. "No... but if anyone hears your 'efforts,' you'll be the one explaining to the neighbors why they can't sleep at night."

"I don't apologize for such a performance," Sarawat whispered.

Tine gasped as Sarawat kissed him again—this time deeper, rougher. His lips were hot, his breath uneven. Tine felt his body giving in, softening, melting under the touches he knew by heart, yet they never stopped surprising him.

Sarawat leaned over him, his fingers slipping under his shirt, palms slowly gliding over his chest, as if he wanted to memorize every curve, every breath.

"I thought this would just be fun," Tine whispered, his voice already rasping.

"And it isn't?" Sarawat asked with a smile, though in his eyes, there was something deeper—desire, tenderness, devotion.

"It is..." Tine admitted, "but I also feel like I'm drowning."

"Drown in me," Sarawat whispered into his ear. "I never want you to rise to the surface."

His hands traced Tine's sides, holding him firmly but gently, while their bodies pressed closer together. Tine felt his heartbeat quicken, every nerve in his body responding to the touch, to the rustle of their skin against each other, to the air between them that trembled with passion.

The kisses turned into hungry, smooth movements—Sarawat's tongue finding its way along Tine's neck, collarbone, chest, as Tine tilted his head back, allowing himself to be led. He bites him everywhere.

"You...can you just stop biting me like a damn dog?! " Tine breathed between kisses. "Sometimes you drive me crazy."

"I'm just helping you feel more good, Can you just appriciated it? " Sarawat replied, his voice deep, almost hoarse. "I am trying my best here."

"I have a job to do, tomorrow". Tine scolded, his hand slipping into Sarawat's hair, gently pulling him back toward him.

Sarawat paused for just a second, his gaze penetrating deep into Tine's eyes.

"It's not like you gonna undress yourself there, they won't see it, don't worry," he said, pointing out the fact.

And then he kissed him again—passionately, with certainty, as if the whole world could burn, and he would be content, as long as he had Tine beneath him, with eager lips, with a heart beating just for him.

„Yeah, Like that keep going".

Tine felt every touch from Sarawat burn into his skin—not like fire, but like the warmth he had needed all day. Their hands were intertwined and pinned behind Tine's head.

Their bodies moving together in a rhythm. Sarawat was gentle, yet wild—like a wave crashing against the shore and caressing it at the same time.

Clothes fell away next to bed, discarded like they were obstacles to the deeper connection they were about to share. Every movement, every brush of skin against skin, was loud and probably heard from miles away, Tine enjoys every single movement of Sarawat inside him hitting same spot over and over again.

„Ah ~" Tine's breath was shallow and unsteady, but his eyes never left Sarawat. He watched him with an intensity that made his pulse race, his body aching with need. Sarawat's lips moved with purpose, not just kissing but worshipping him, tracing paths along Tine's chest, his ribs, and down to his stomach. He paused there, his breath warm against Tine's skin, before his lips descended again.

Tine gasped when Sarawat's tongue flicked out, teasing the sensitive skin of his stomach. The sensation was electric, sparking through his veins, and Tine's body reacted instinctively, his back arching slightly. Sarawat's hands roamed, finding purchase on Tine's hips, holding him in place as he slowly kissed his stomach, his tongue trailing along the contours of Tine's body. Each soft lick was deliberate, slow, as if Sarawat were savoring every inch of him, his mouth leaving a burning path wherever it touched.

„Baby, spread them more." Sarawat whispered dangerously into his ear.

He spreads Tine's legs wider to sides and thrusted in quicker movement hitting his sensitive spot.Tine arched his back under the feeling of pleasure and little bit of pain.

"Mhm ...Slower," Tine whispered, his voice trembling with the overwhelming pleasure of it all. He had never felt while having sex, this heady mix of desire and tenderness.

Sarawat immediately complied, his movements becoming even more deliberate, deeper. He bites Tine's thigh again, lingering this time, pressing a soft kiss to the spot just below his navel. The gentle press of his lips there made Tine's heart skip a beat.

„I will cum." Tine stutter out as Sarawat help him by rubing his dick up and down in sync with his thrusts.

"I want you to remember this," Sarawat murmured, his voice low, husky, as his hands slid up to Tine's ribs, fingers digging in slightly, pulling him closer.

"I'll never forget it," Tine replied, his voice thick with need and desire. His hands reached up, cupping Sarawat's face, pulling him up for a kiss. Their mouths met with a fierceness that left Tine breathless, the taste of Sarawat lingering on his lips as they deepened the kiss.

Their bodies moved together in perfect harmony, the rhythm of their lovemaking quick but fierce, each touch an unspoken promise. Sarawat's lips never left Tine's skin for long, tracing kisses and soft nips, his hands mapping every inch of Tine's body as if he wanted to imprint it on his memory forever.

When the moment finally came, when the tension between them reached its peak, Tine's world exploded in warmth, his body trembling in release. He clung to Sarawat, feeling the strength of his lover's embrace. Sarawat cum inside let it spread and pulled out.

They collapsed side by side, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in heavy, satisfied pants.

Sarawat's hand moved gently to Tine's stomach again, his fingers tracing small, lazy circles on the skin there. As if he thinks about another round.

Tine smiled softly, still trying to catch his breath. "Your mom's out of luck," he said, voice still hushed and full of afterglow.

Sarawat chuckled, resting his head on Tine's chest. "Why's that?"

"Because if we keep going like this, I think I'm going to pass out before we even think about having kids."

Sarawat laughed, his breath warm on Tine's skin. "Even without kids... you're still my home."

Tine's heart swelled as he curled up against Sarawat, his head resting on his chest. The steady rhythm of Sarawat's heartbeat soothed him, grounding him in this moment of calm after the storm of their passion.

"So are you," Tine whispered, his voice barely audible. And with that, they fell asleep, tangled together, their bodies intertwined in the quiet embrace of the night.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hope you like this chapter! ♥♥ (2200 words)

Let me know in comments ~

Chapter 3: Tell your friends Phuwin! (18+)

Summary:

Okay, I'm extremely embarrassed, take this part with the fact that I'm tired and devastated of boring sexy time.

PondPhuwin

Dom: Pond

Sub:Phuwin

Enjoy!

Phuwin took a deep breath as he stepped into school. He knew his locker was next to the third-years' section, which meant there was a high chance he'd see him again—something he didn't want. He just wanted to get to class and pretend he didn't exist.

Monday. The worst day to start the week—teachers, exams, and, of course, Pond. That boy with the smile that could throw him off balance more than he'd ever admit. In front of everyone, Phuwin acted like he hated him, like he didn't even know him—but that couldn't be further from the truth. He knew Pond too well. They were together. They spent almost every evening together, but no one at school knew that little secret.

"Today's going to be rough," he muttered to himself as he walked down the hallway, trying to avoid the eyes that watched him. Then he saw Pond's face appear at the end of the corridor, right near his locker, with that faint smile on his lips.

"Phuwin!" Pond called out, catching the attention of nearby students.

"I don't have time. I'm already late for history!" Phuwin scowled, fumbling with his overstuffed locker, avoiding looking at his so-called enemy while trying to ignore the curious glances from others. What? The two "archrivals" hanging out together?

"Come here for a sec, we need to talk." Pond's grin only deepened, confusing Phuwin even more.

"Leave me alone, Pond," Phuwin snapped, slamming his locker so hard the door nearly came off its hinges. He knew if he gave in and acknowledged him, his mind would spiral with a million questions he didn't want to think about. But of course, Pond didn't give up. Soon after disappearing from sight, Phuwin's phone buzzed with a message.

Pond: "Bathroom on the top floor. 2:30 PM. Don't come... unless you want to."

Phuwin rolled his eyes and let out a dramatic sigh as he read the message. Typical Pond—'fix it now or forget your night'. Still, one question haunted him: When was the last time they'd spent time together without pretending to be enemies all day?

"So... the bathroom, huh?" he muttered, dodging his friends' glances. "Why can't he just tell me this stuff at home?"

Another thing: Phuwin and Pond were roommates in the dorms. While everyone thought they hated each other, they actually spent their nights cuddling, kissing, and sharing quiet, stolen moments of intimacy.

When the final bell rang at exactly 2:30, Phuwin stood in front of the deserted top-floor restroom. The place was gray, cold, and echoing with silence. He stepped inside cautiously and spotted Pond already there, leaning casually against the wall with a smug yet mysterious look.

"So, what's so urgent it couldn't wait?" Phuwin asked, confused but curious.

"Why haven't you told them yet?" Pond asked quietly, disappointment clear in his voice.

Phuwin tensed. He knew it was his fault that no one knew they'd been dating for almost a year.

He crossed his arms. "Another one of your secret-relationship 'lessons'?" he said sarcastically.

Pond chuckled. "You make it sound like some cliché high school drama." He pulled Phuwin closer, until not even air could pass between them.

"Do you really think they won't figure it out?" Pond whispered, planting a gentle kiss just above his temple. Phuwin winced and touched the spot, sighing. He hated when Pond made sense.

"I just... don't want them to know. Yet," Phuwin said nervously. "I want them to find out when the time is right."

"And when's that, Phuwin?" Pond pulled away slightly, eyes serious. "When we get married?"

Phuwin smirked. "Well, in that case, will you marry me?"

Pond laughed softly and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Then in that case... will you marry me?" he teased, dropping to one knee, hands clasped as if holding a ring box.

"You think you can win me over just by kneeling?" Phuwin raised an eyebrow. "You'll need a bigger ring than that cheap imaginary one." He played the diva, pretending to be a gold digger.

"Why not?" Pond grinned. "You don't think I can? Maybe you just need to loosen up a little... and let me see what's really under that icy exterior."

Phuwin tried to look away, but something flickered in his eyes—Pond's words had hit home. "This is insane," he whispered, but his voice had softened, betraying that something inside him was shifting.

"Maybe crazy is exactly what we need." Pond's grin widened. "Relax, Phuwin. Tonight's going to be unforgettable. Trust me."

Phuwin hesitated again, but felt like control was slipping through his fingers. What once seemed ridiculous now felt inevitable. Pond grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the exit.

The door to their dorm room creaked open.

"Can someone please replace that thing? I swear it's older than my great-grandmother. And those chairs? Gross!" Phuwin grumbled, same as every day.

Pond just laughed and locked the door behind them. He pulled off his uniform and dropped his bag beside the bed.

"I'm gonna shower," Pond announced, waiting for a reaction.

"Go ahead. I'll go after," Phuwin said, barely looking up from his phone.

Pond grabbed a towel and glanced at Phuwin one more time, smiling at the way his roommate laughed at funny videos, completely unaware.

"Come with me."

"What?! Shower together?" Phuwin's eyes widened in shock.

"Yeah. I've seen your naked body plenty of times."

"If you touch me, I swear I'll slam it in the shower door."

Pond instinctively covered himself. "You wouldn't dare, babe. You'd lose something pretty special—not everyone's got what I've got."

Phuwin smirked and stood up, following him into the bathroom.

As they stood facing each other under the running water, Pond cupped Phuwin's face and gave him one long, hungry kiss.

„Turn around."it was definitely a command. Phuwin hates when Pond commanded him around but when they fuck, they fuck in rough way.

Phuwin turn around holding on wet shower wall and arched his back, pushing his ass to Pond for him to get better access.

„That's a very nice view, You know?" He whispered and squeeze one of his booty cheeks.

„Just fuck me already". Rolling his eyes impatiently.

Pond moved his hand to Phuwin's ass stretching his hole using two of his long fingers, stretching it to sides. Phuwin cursed in pleasure that hits him so quickly and bites his hand so he won't make any sounds, because this "paper walls" of dormitory definitely sucks.

"Don't do that, I want to heard you moan." Pond said moving his fingers so fast in and out motion as Phuwin's legs shaked so much as it almost made him fall.

"Ahh, S-slow d-down, it's too much...nggh!" Stuttering out of himself. With another finger pushed inside his tight walls, he immediately finished.

"Ah!" Spreading his cum on shower wall as he pants heavily.

"That was quick." Pond chuckled satisfied. "Babe, it's my turn, I'm not even hard yet, so first you have to make me hard ~".

Phuwin turned to face him and lower himself on his knees, taking Pondou's penis in his hand and gently rubbing it. He licked the tip as small veins popped on his penis naturally, as a sign that it was starting to harden.Pond closed his eyes and leaned against the shower door. Phuwin licked it, pumped it up and down quickly, and gently teased it with his teeth until he finally took it all in his mouth. He gagged his reflex was there but already used to it.

Until it was completely hard and full of pumped out veins, then he pulled away from Pond and wiped the saliva from his mouth.

Pond growled and pulled Phuwin back up by his hair moved him to same position as before, when he faced the wall. Pond opened the shower door to get a condom from the cabinet. Skillfully rolling it down on his dick. He pressed his chest on Phuwin's back and slides in.

"Mhmm ~" Phuwin rolled his eyes back in pleasure and slight pain. He enjoy it everytime even thought the day after he got back pain and his ass was always like on fire.

Pond thrusting in him with all force, grabbing fist's of Phuwin hair. Pond gave him a few wet kisses until he found the sweet spot inside Phuwin.

Phuwin's eyes blurred from the sudden pleasure, he bites his lips harder to prevent a loud moan from escaping his mouth.He whimpered as his insides tickles from overstimulation and warmness. Pond pounded him faster and quicker to stimulate his prostate over and over again. Phuwin scratched wall infront of him, his back hurts him, his dick dropping with precum it was hard as rock, he prayed for quick realease.

" I want to cum". Phuwin whimpered out softly. Pond heard him and his palm wrapped around Phuwin's penis and his thumb trailed over his tip spreading precum all over it, he thrusts into him harder and faster.

"Ahh,I can't take it much longer !". Phuwin groaned and finish on the wall infront of him for the second time. Pond thrusted in for a few more times and finish into him. They were both breathing heavily, when Pond suddenly turned him over and pulled him under the running warm water. Pond took off the used condom and threw it out onto the floor.

" That was great, I really enjoy it". Phuwin whispered, he can't even stand properly.

"Yeah, I enjoy it so much as always". Pond support him and gently washed his body with blue loofah.

"I love you". Phuwin showered him with kisses all over his whole face, lovingly.

" I love you too, Babe". Pond answered him and let himself be cared for.

" I will let them know, that we are together and that you fuck me every night". Phuwin said with humor as they lay in Pond's bed, snuggled together under the soft blanket.

"Don't tell them that, because they'll come up with their own twists and turns."

"That's the point! Listen, They are still single..." declared Phuwin, raising himself on his elbows to get a better look at him.

"Great! So they're emotionally available and spiritually questionable." Pond said it with a grin—and earned himself a playful punch to the shoulder. „ Just kidding.. Or maybe not".

„ Do you want another one?!" Phuwin pulled back up his fist ready to punch the shit out of Pond's body.

"Okay, sorry!" he raised his hands in mock defense, grinning.

They kept teasing and bickering like kids, until their laughter faded into quiet breaths and sleep took over.

Chapter 4: Part 1- I'm Sorry... But It's Too Late‼️

Summary:

Dom: Ohm

Sub: Leng

Note: This is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and locations are created by the author and are not based on real people or places. Sensitive individuals should approach this story with caution.

"N-no... please! I'll pay everything back! I-I swear... I have two daughters, they look just like me... please... I want to see them grow up—"

"Shut up already. You're giving me a headache," Ohm said as he took a drag from his cigarette. In his right hand, he held a pair of rusty pliers—heavy, stained with old blood and time. They looked like something that had no place in the hands of a student.

Two large men in black stood beside him. Two more were holding the man slumped on the floor—blood dripped from his mouth, his whole body trembling. The fear in his eyes had long since faded into hopelessness.

Ohm slowly walked over to the man and gripped his face so tightly that the skin under his nails split open.

"You know," he said with a faint smirk, "there are too many like you in the world. And I think tomorrow, there'll be one less."

Then, without hesitation, he struck the man in the jaw with the pliers. Metal met bone—several bottom teeth shot into the air and landed on the concrete with a soft clink. Blood sprayed high, splattering the wall behind him like a crimson signature.

The men around didn't flinch. Unmoved. They simply watched the scene unfold with empty eyes, as if they'd seen it all before.

From the shadows in the back of the warehouse, hidden behind a metal shelf, Leng watched in silence. His heart was pounding like a hammer. He couldn't move, but every cell in his body screamed that he shouldn't be there. This wasn't meant to be his secret. He wasn't supposed to see this.

But he couldn't look away.

Ohm leaned down and whispered something into the man's ear—Leng couldn't hear what it was. But in that moment, he realized that the person he had loved from afar... he had never truly known. And maybe—maybe he didn't want to.

Ohm took another drag from his cigarette, exhaled slowly, and reached into the inside pocket of his long coat. From it, he pulled out a small, crumpled photograph.

He held it up, just enough for the broken man on the floor to see. Two little girls, smiling—one missing her front teeth, the other holding a worn-out stuffed animal.

"I hope you kissed them goodnight," Ohm said coldly.

The man's eyes widened. He whimpered something unintelligible through the blood and shattered jaw.

Ohm didn't look at him again. He gave a nod to one of the men behind him—one holding a splintered piece of oak board, dark with age and something darker still.

The man stepped forward and slammed the board down across the victim's back with a brutal crack. The man screamed—high, raw, inhuman—and then collapsed, limbs twitching.

Leng clamped his hand over his mouth to stop a gasp. His chest felt tight, heart pounding against his ribs like it wanted to break free.

He stumbled backward a step, breath catching in his throat. He fumbled into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone. His fingers trembled so violently he could barely grip it. He tried to punch in the emergency number, but he couldn't see through the hot blur of tears in his eyes.

Almost there. Almost—

A hand grabbed his collar.

Leng let out a strangled noise just before he was yanked forward and thrown like a ragdoll. His phone clattered to the ground and slid out of reach.

He landed hard—right at Ohm's feet.

Silence fell like a guillotine.

Ohm looked down at him, eyes narrowing.

Leng trembled under Ohm's touch, still clinging to the hem of his coat like a lifeline. His voice was barely a whisper now.

"Please... please, I won't tell anyone, I swear... just let me go..."

Ohm tilted his head slightly, studying him like a strange, pitiful creature that had crawled in from the cold.

"You were watching me for a long time, weren't you?" he said, almost gently. "Pathetic. I could feel your eyes on me for months. And now look where it's brought you."

Leng's lips parted in silent shock.

"I'm not angry, but I am also not happy," Ohm continued. "But I can't just let you walk away. You understand, don't you?" Ohm said with extremely weird sweet tone.

„Boss..."

Behind them, one of the men in black stepped forward. Calmly. Silently. He pulled something from his coat pocket — a folded cloth.

Leng didn't even see it until it was too late.

The man grabbed him roughtly by his hair in one swift movement and pressed the cloth to his face.

It reeked—strong, chemical, suffocating. Leng thrashed, trying to scream, but his cries were muffled as the fumes hit him. His legs kicked weakly against the ground. Everything spun, blurred, collapsed inward.

Ohm knelt beside him as the light began to fade from Leng's eyes.

"Shh," he whispered. "You said you'd do anything. Let's see if you meant it."

And then—

Darkness.

His body was heavy. Every limb felt like lead—his feet, his legs... he couldn't move them. There was a weight pressing down on him, a thick, suffocating fog in his head. He tried to raise his hand to his face but couldn't.

"No... no..." he whispered through gritted teeth, his voice strained with the panic rising in his chest.

His eyelids fluttered, but the darkness was impenetrable. He couldn't see anything. There was a coldness, a void where his vision should be. His pulse quickened.

I am scared, please somebody save me!

His heart hammered as he struggled to focus, but his mind was sluggish, like it was drowning in slow motion. He tried to make sense of it, but everything was wrong. He couldn't move his feet, his legs—his whole body felt trapped, chained. Something cold against his skin made him shiver. He realized, with rising dread, that he was naked.

Why—why can't I see anything?

I want to go home! I shouln't follow him!

Then, the terrible, chilling realization hit him.

I can't move.

His body was stretched out. His arms and legs were pulled wide apart, unable to move, as though he were pinned up in the air as in some ritual. Panic surged as the weight of his situation hit him.

His breathing quickened, and his head began to ache. There was a heavy cloth over his eyes, restricting his sight, a piece of fabric tightly tied around his head—he could feel it pressing against his skin.

He was helpless.

And then, out of the darkness, that voice. Low, calm, almost too soothing.

"Welcome back, Leng."

His heart skipped a beat. Ohm's voice. It was so close, so impossibly close.

Leng's breath hitched, his chest tightening. The air around him felt thick, suffocating. His entire body trembled, the chill of his exposed skin blending with the terror building inside of him. This wasn't a nightmare. This was real.

And he had no way out.

The sound of a whip cracking sharply through the air pierced the tense silence.

Leng's heart skipped, his entire body seizing in fear. The sharp, biting sound echoed off the cold, metal walls—closer than it should've been. He couldn't see, couldn't move, but the noise filled his mind with a sickening certainty of what was coming next.

Crack!

The second strike came faster, the sound more forceful this time, almost like it was aimed directly at him. Leng's body went rigid, every muscle tightening in anticipation, even though he couldn't see a damn thing.

Leng could feel the oppressive weight of the silence, the chill of his exposed skin, and the heavy breath in his lungs. He was helpless, bound, unable to move, unable to see.

The whip cracked again. This time, it landed with a loud snap, right near him. The sound was so close it made Leng jump, his body tensing against the cold metal floor beneath him.

"You should have know better than stalking me."

And before Leng could even react, before his mind could fully grasp what was happening, the whip struck his ribs.

Crack!

The sharp sting of leather against his skin shot through him, sending waves of fire and agony racing across his back.

„AHHH!!" Leng screamed, his body jerking against the restraints. He tried to pulled his hands to hide his body from Ohm but he was chained, his legs useless as well, bond wide to sides. The pain was intense, overwhelming, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Ohm's voice hovered over him, low and cruel.

"That's your place now, Leng. You're going to learn what it means to not get in somebody's business."

But Ohm wasn't finished here. Not yet not so soon.

Crack!

The whip lashed out, striking Leng's back with a vicious crack. He cried out, his body jerking against the restraints, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps.

"Please... please stop!" Leng begged, his voice trembling with terror. "I'm sorry... I never meant... please, don't—"

Ohm stood in front of him, cold eyes narrowing as he watched Leng squirm. The whip dangled loosely in his hand, but the menace in his expression was far worse.

"You thought you could stalk me... follow me around, hide in the shadows." Ohm's voice was steady, almost conversational. "You thought I wouldn't notice?"

Crack!

Leng screamed as the whip struck again, the pain searing through him. His back burned, the sting of the lash pushing him to the edge of his control.

"Please! I didn't mean to... I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!" he sobbed, his words barely forming as his chest heaved with each desperate breath. "I never wanted to hurt you... please, stop!"

Ohm smirked, his eyes cold and merciless.

"You're going to learn, Leng," he said, stepping closer, the tension rising in the room. "You can't just follow me, watch me, without consequences."

Crack!

The whip came down again, this time across Leng's shoulders, the pain so intense he couldn't help but cry out.

"Please!" Leng sobbed, his voice breaking. "I won't do it again! Please, just stop!"

Ohm remained silent for a moment, letting the weight of the punishment hang in the air. Then, he spoke again, his tone cold.

"You'll learn your place. You'll never follow me again, boy. Not without paying the price."

Crack!

Leng screamed once more, his body trembling uncontrollably. The pain was unbearable, each lash a brutal reminder of his foolishness.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry!" he cried out, tears streaming down his face as his body shook. "Please, I'll never do it again! Please stop!"

Ohm paused, his gaze lingering on Leng for a moment before he finally lowered the whip. "I think you've learned enough."

Leng's body dropped to the floor like a broken puppet, chains clattering loud against the concrete. He lay trembling, naked, tears streaking his cheeks as pain pulsed through his raw skin.

Ohm walked over slowly, looming above him. His face was blank, void of mercy—only twisted amusement remained.

He crouched down, took Leng's chin in his hand, and smeared the tears across his mouth with his thumb.
"Shhh... big boys don't cry," he whispered mockingly, pressing his thumb hard against Leng's lips.
"Here. Bite it if you need to. But stop that pathetic noise."

Leng sobbed into the pressure, trying to obey. His entire body trembled from fear. This wasn't the Ohm he once watched from afar at school—this was something else.

A monster wearing his face.

Ohm grabbed him by the collar and yanked him close. Leng felt like his lungs were about to burst — so close, so suffocating. His body writhed in pain and weakness, barely clinging to consciousness. He felt like a trapped animal.

Desperate, with the last of his strength, he bit down on Ohm's lip. The taste of blood filled his mouth. A chill ran through him — not out of revenge, but out of fear of what he had just done.

Ohm pulled back, slowly wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, and looked at him with a gaze more lethal than any blow.

"To me, you're just another piece of meat who thought he could play at feelings," he scoffed with disgust.

Those words pierced deeper than anything else. Leng's world crumbled. His quiet feelings, his secret glances, those foolish dreams... all shattered under the weight of that sentence.

Ohm smiled. Not kindly. More like someone who enjoyed destroying what was weak.

Then — with one sudden motion — he grabbed Leng and threw him into the corner of the room. Leng landed on a filthy, torn mattress, feathers poking out, reeking of mildew and rot.

"This is where you belong," Ohm said coldly. "In the dirt — just like your feelings for me."

„ NOOO!" Leng tried to crawl away, his vision gets blurry because of tears, he can't see properly.

„Where the hell are you think you going?" Ohm reached down and grabbed him roughly by the ankle

„ You know we should have sex". And with that Ohm spreads his legs wide open.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-End of part one.

Chapter 5: Part 2: You are such a good boy ~🙈

Summary:

„ You know we should have sex". And with that Ohm spreads his legs wide open.

Ohm sneered at him until Leng shivered with fear.

He was afraid. He was very afraid of him, he knew he couldn't defend himself, he never could. He wasn't built for that. He only knew how to obey orders well.

"Be a good boy". Ohm whispered to his ear.

Leng let out little shallow whimpers.

Ohm squeezed between his spread legs and gave him another sloppy kiss. Leng didn't kiss him back, so Ohm squeezed his dick hard. He crushed it hard in his palm without a hint of gentleness or tenderness.

" AAAAAAA!!" Leng shouts out off top of his lungs. He tried to pried Ohm's hands of him.

He grinned widely and squeezed him harder. When he saw that Leng had almost stopped breathing, he stopped and pulled him closer to loosen hug.

" Shh, you need to breathe. I've stopped now." Gently patting his back as to soothe him, but in reality he made Leng suffer so much.

"Have you calmed down already?" Ohm asked and pulled away, taking in between his fingers Leng's chin and look deep in his eyes. Leng nodded, he knows he can't said No. Not to him.

" Great! Let's continue, shall we?" Ohm change position by pulling him to kneeled in front of him.

" Suckle." He looked down at him with sharp grin and grabbed a fistful of Leng's hair in his hand. He pulled Leng closer and cupped his cheek with his free hand, pressing him against his crotch.

"You're pretty like this" he mused softly as he used his thumb to lightly tug at his bottom lip.

Leng wanted to pulled away, he doesn't want to do it, but he doesn't have any chance to fight back. I have to act as if I like it and continued I still want to live and get back home to my mom, safely.

Leng's whine was muffled as Ohm pulled on his lips. He lightly nipped at his thumb and rolled his eyes eyes as in seductive manner. He definitely doesn't know what to do.

Ohm chuckled lowly at Leng's defiance, finding it amusing how he attempted to act as "he likes it". He tugged at his hair once more.

"Be good and listen this time, yeah?". He murmured dominantly as he gripped his chin.

Leng nodded obediently. And unzipped his pants pulling them down, seeing his boxers already wet.

Leng gulped and in swift motion pulling Ohm's underwear down. Ohm's was big and already hard. He takes it to his hand and stroked it received soft moan which was good sign. He strokes it two three time before takes it to his mouth. He licked his tip, nibbling, suckling and licking.

"No, no.. not like this. Open widely". He said and with one of his fingers stretched corner of his mouth. Pushing himself down Leng's throat will all force, until Leng's nose touched his lower belly.

"That's it such a good boy". Leng held on Ohm's thighs for support, shaking with pure disgust, he wants to thrown up. He can't breathe, his eyes rolling backwards as salivas escaped his mouth dribbling down his neck and bare chest.

"Shit!". Ohm cursed and pulled Leng's slightly away just for split moment before shoved his dick back to his mouth, fucked his mouth with deep and fast movement. Leng's jaw hurts so much, he can't feel it.

" Don't you dare to bite me!" Ohm growls and stops as he finished deep in Leng's throat.

"Mhmhh!" he coughed out saliva's with sperm. He didn't even realize he was lying on the mattress underneath him.

"Don't-" Leng tried to pushed him away but his body hurts him and his voice doesn't want to come out of his throat.

"Shut it". Ohm entered him with a sharp thrust, he doesn't even stop to let Leng used to this feeling, but started thrusting in with force.

"AAAH!" Leng cries out his ass hurts him more than anything, it hurts him so much. He wants to get out of that place.

" Do you feel it, you rear became so tender and soft, yet so tight. I can barely move." Leng sobs out and slowly nods.

" I ask again. Do you feel that sensation?"

" Y-Yes, I-I do. Ah! Aah!!!" Leng can't even move his body burnt in flames with pain and little bit of pleasure. It feels weird Ohm's dick pressed to all different places inside, stretching him.

"Very well. I am not a man accustomed to repeating myself. Pray see to it that it does not happen again." He warned him.

Leng lets out soft whimpers as he felt him deep inside almost at his stomach, he clenched tightly on Ohm's dick.

"Fuck!" Ohm cursed and let out low moan, he finished with few deep swift movements and take a look back on Leng.

" So, you know how to be good after all ". Ohm said and strokes Leng's cheek. Giving him little peck. Leng turned his head to side, so Ohm can't touch him.

" That hurts, please pulled it out!" Leng said as he was still inside him.

"I suppose you deserve a reward for your endeavor. ". Ohm said and pulled out. Leng looked at him in hope he wants it right now so much, he needs it, craving it. "What will that be?"

" I want to go home". Leng whispered out hope Ohm will allow him to leave.

" Ohh! You want to go home?" He mocked him. " No, no my dear you're mine now for the rest of your poor life. Did you really think this will satisfy my needs? No way." He grinned sadistically and handcuffed him back with the chain that was hanging from celling.

"Let me be!!" Leng screamed at him.

"You are nothing. You are my toy. And I like to play for a long time. Forget who you were. Now you are mine. Now you belong to me. You will be with me and you will listen to me."

-End.

Chapter 6: The color is Blue! (littlespace)🍼🐣

Summary:

Dom: Gemini

Sub: Fourth

Super fluff, this story contain littlespace disorder when Fourth act like child, if you want to know more about this disorder you can google it or let me know!

Enjoy!

he door slammed.

Not loud or angry—just desperate. Rushed. The kind of slam that came with swollen eyes and a
backpack barely zipped.

Gemini looked up from the kitchen, a tea mug in one hand, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He
knew that sound. He knew that soft whimpers and pitter patters.

"Baby?" he called gently, already stepping toward the hallway.Peeking toward the hallway.
And then he saw him—Fourth, in his school uniform he hates so much, tears streaking down his
cheeks. His lips trembled, and his hands clutched the straps of his backpack like they were holding him together.

"G-Gemini ..." the voice cracked.Gemini knows Fourth is not in his little space now but in his big
boy state, which probably stresses him a lot.

"I hate that school and my classmates too!" Gemini's face softened, and in two long steps he was there, crouching low, arms wide.

"Come here, baby."he pulled boy close and hold him. " You can be yourself now, okay?"
Fourth dropped his bag with a heavy thud and practically launched himself into Gemini's chest,
burying his face in the safety of his boyfriend's plaint shirt.Gemini softly pats boy's back in
soothing manner just to make sure boy is warm, and safe.

"There...there my sweet little boy, daddy's holding you."he rocked his gently and holding him
against his chest tightly.

"They don't get me," Fourth sobbed, voice muffled. "They say I act weird. They laugh when I draw baby bears with stars and when I bring my Fufu~ blankie in my bag. I wasn't even trying to beweird, Daddy, I was just being me..."

"I am really sorry ," Gemini whispered, stroking his soft hair. "They don't understand because
they're not magic like you. You live in stars and dreams, and they're stuck down here on the
ground."

"I don't want to go back..." Fourth whispered, curling tighter against Gemini.

"You don't have to think about that now," Gemini said gently, lifting him up bridal-style. "Right
now, you're home. With me. And I've got your warm milk waiting and a new fuzzy friend I found
today."

Fourth blinked up at him through tears. "A new stuffie?"

Gemini smiled. "Mhm. Bunny with floppy ears. He said he only wanted to live on your bed."
That got a tiny smile.
Gemini carried him to the couch, wrapped them both in a soft pastel blanket, and let Fourth settle into his lap, head tucked under his chin. He rocked him gently, fingers tracing slow circles on his back.

"It's your nappy time ". Gemini pointed at clock that showed it was past midnight.

The soft hum of the heater and the low lullaby playing from the bunny-shaped speaker filled the
living room with warmth. Gemini gently pulled the blanket up to cover Fourth's shoulders as the
boy blinked sleepily against his chest.

"You were such a brave boy today," Gemini murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
Fourth mumbled a sleepy sound, nuzzling deeper. "But I cried..."

"Even brave boys cry," Gemini said. "Especially when their hearts are too full."
There was a quiet pause, and then Fourth whispered, "Was I still a good boy?"
Gemini smiled softly. "You were. You came home and told Daddy everything. That's what good
boys do."

Fourth squirmed a little, shy. "I like being your good boy..."

Gemini chuckled. "I know you do. And good boys get rewards."

Fourth perked up slightly. "Like what?"

"Well," Gemini teased, "I think Mr. Floppy-Ears is ready to sleep in your bed tonight. And Daddy
might have hidden a blue star lollipop in the treat jar..."

Fourth gasped, eyes wide, kicking his sock-covered feet. "A blue one?!"

"The bluest," Gemini confirmed with a wink. "But—" his voice dipped slightly lower, gentle but
firm, "—only if my baby listens and goes to bed now. No more sneaking your tablet under the
blanket like last time."

Fourth lowered his eyes, flushed. "I just wanted to play a bit..."
"I know, baby. But when you don't listen to Daddy, you become a little naughty. And you remember what happens when you're naughty, don't you?"

Fourth nodded slowly. "I get... a punishment."

"That's right," Gemini said, stroking his back. "Not because Daddy's mad. But because Daddy
wants you to learn from your mistakes ."

Fourth bit his lip, curling closer. "Like... like when you spank me or send me to stay at corner?"
"Only when you really don't listen," Gemini confirmed. "And it's always safe. Always gentle. And
always followed by cuddles."

Fourth looked up at him with big watery eyes. "I wanna be good, Daddy..."
Gemini smiled warmly. "Then let's go brush your teeth, change into your softest jammies, and
you'll get your lollipop and extra snuggles tonight. Deal?"

"Deal!" Fourth giggled, already wiggling out of the blanket.

Next Morning

The soft smell of pancakes wafted through the house, and Gemini was smiling to himself, setting
out pastel plates. It was going to be a good day. Until he walked past Fourth's room. Silence. But not the sleepy kind.
He opened the door—and there he was. Forth curled under his fluffy blanket, tablet screen glowing faintly, bright and blue.
Gemini stepped inside, voice low and firm. "Fourth."

The blanket rustled. "N-No TV, I promise, it's just one video about kittens..."

Gemini's expression softened, but his tone didn't. "We said no screens before breakfast, Fourth.
Especially not hiding it under the covers."

Fourth's eyes widened, guilt flashing across his face.

"I-I forgot... I'm sorry, Daddy, I didn't mean to..."

"You broke a rule, sweetheart," Gemini said, sitting at the edge of the bed. "And you know what
happens when Daddy's little boy breaks an important rule."

Tears began welling in Fourth's eyes already. "Are you... gonna spank me?"
Gemini gently nodded. "Yes, baby. Just a few—but firm ones. Because you didn't listen."

Fourth whimpered, tummy knotting. "But I don't like it when it hurts..."

"I know," Gemini said softly, "and Daddy doesn't like giving you punishments. But my hand is
strong because I love you. It's meant to help you remember."

Reluctantly, Gemini sits down on Fourth's bed pulling boy to lay across his lap.His fingers gripped
the blanket as Gemini raised his hand and—
Smack.
Smack.
Smack.
Each one firm, enough to sting, enough to draw real crocodile's sobs. Not in cruel way. Never cruel.
But real.

By the third, Fourth was crying openly. "Hurts!Daddy—! I'm sorry, I'm really really sorry—!"
Gemini stopped when he smacked him for the tenth time, scooped him up instantly, cradling him tight in his arms. "Shhh, it's over, baby. Daddy's got you. It's all done now."

Fourth buried his face in Gemini's shirt, still trembling. "I'll be good, I promise... I promise I'll
listen next time..."

"I know you will," Gemini whispered, rocking him slowly. "Because you're a good boy at heart.
Even when you slip sometimes."
Fourth hiccuped softly, rubbing his swollen eyes. "N-No tablet or TV before breakfast. Ever again."

Gemini chuckled softly and kissed his temple. "That's right, little star."

He reached over and wiped away tears with his thumb. "Now, how about we wash your face, pick your softest shirt, and go eat those pancakes Daddy made?"

Fourth blinked up, cheeks red but eyes hopeful. "With the blueberry's syrup?"
"With all the blueberry's syrup in the galaxy," Gemini smiled.
Gemini took his hand, guiding him toward the bathroom. As they walked, Fourth looked back and whispered, "I love you, Daddy."

And Gemini squeezed his fingers. "I love you more, baby boy."
"I wish I could stay little forever," Fourth whispered, voice drowsy. "Just be your baby boy
forever..."
"You already are," Gemini murmured. "And you always will be."

And in the quiet hum of their safe space, where the world couldn't touch them, where love spoke in soft tones and gentle hands, the tears dried. The stars returned. And so did the smile of Fourth, safe in his Daddy's arms.

I want to go play outside!

The sun was warm and golden, the kind of day that made the world feel soft and safe.
Fourth sat on a pastel blanket in the backyard, his little yellow bucket full of sand and shells. He
wore his favorite baby-blue overalls, tiny dinosaur socks peeking out from under the cuffs. Around him were stuffies watching like a royal court as he carefully built a sandcastle kingdom with his plastic shovel.

Gemini watched from the patio, sipping iced coffee and smiling. "You're doing such a good job, baby boy," he called.

Fourth beamed. "Look, Daddy! This one has a tower for Bunny!"

"I see that," Gemini said, standing. "Daddy will come check it in a minute—"
"OWWWW!" The sudden cry shattered the quiet.

Gemini dropped his glass and rushed across the yard.
Fourth was sitting frozen in the sand, eyes wide, hand clutched to his arm. "D-Daddy! It stings!
Something bit me!"
Gemini knelt instantly. "Let me see, baby—shhh, it's okay, Daddy's here—"
He gently pulled Fourth's hand away to see a small red welt blooming on his forearm.
"A bee sting," Gemini said softly, already pulling out his handkerchief. "You were such a brave
boy..."
Fourth's lips trembled. "It hurts a lot..."
"I know, sweetheart, I know. Daddy's gonna fix it, promise."

Tears spilled over as Fourth leaned into him. "I don't like the outside anymore..."
Gemini scooped him up and cradled him against his chest. "You're safe now. You did so good, baby.
"Let's get you inside, alright?"Inside, he placed Fourth on the kitchen counter, kissed his forehead, and gently cleaned the sting with cool water and a soft cloth. The boy sniffled, hiccuping sobs as he clutched Bunny to his chest.

"Deep breaths," Gemini said, voice calm. "You're so strong. I'm gonna put some magic cream on it to make the ouchie go away."G emini carried Fourth through the door, the boy curled tight in his arms, his breathing hiccupy from crying.

"Breathe, baby boy," he whispered softly into his ear. "Daddy's got it. You're safe now."
Fourth still had his hand clutched tightly over the bee sting, a little purple welt forming. His cheeks were wet, his bottom lip trembling. Gemini set him gently on the kitchen counter, wrapping a soft blanket around his little shoulders, then opened the fridge.

"We're gonna put something cold on it, sweetheart. It'll help..."
But Fourth knew what was coming—and the moment Gemini pressed the cold compress to his arm, he yelped.

"Aaah! Daddy—no! It's c-cold! Too cold—!"

"I know, I know, my love..." Gemini said softly, holding his little hand firmly but gently, keeping
the compress in place. "It'll help with the swelling. Just for a little bit, okay?"

"Nooo! I don't want it, it burns, Daddy, it's freezing!"
Gemini's heart ached. Fourth's little body shook, tears spilling again as he looked up at him with
huge, watery eyes.

"Give me the ouchie instead, Daddy... not the cold..."
Gemini leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. "Daddy's so proud of you, little one. Just ten seconds, okay? We'll count together."
Fourth sniffled but nodded. Gemini held the compress steady and began to count softly:
"One... two... three..."

By "seven," Fourth was crying again—quieter this time, but still trembling, still brave.
When Gemini finally set the compress aside, he scooped Fourth straight into his arms and hugged him tight. "Done. You did it, my brave little boy."

Fourth whimpered into his chest, "Never again... no more bees, no more cold, no more ouchies..."

"Never again, baby. Not today. Daddy's holding you now."

After Fourth had earned his moment of calm, Gemini decided to reward him for his bravery and
strength. He gently sat him on the couch, still wrapped in the warmth of the blanket, his eyes no
longer as sad as they had been before. Enjoying each others warm and with that Fourth falls asleep as he was tired of big boo-boo that happened to him.

"Sleep tight, Daddy love you." Gemini whispered and kissed Fourth little ear.

Chapter 7: Pond x Phuwin - Knoted by Alpha (18+)

Summary:

Dom: Pond

Sub: Phuwin

Guys, I sincerely apologized for making som much mistakes here, I am so busy with my modelling job that I don´t have time to post and this was very hard to write, but it was requested so here it is.

Hope you like it..

Enjoy! <3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Phuwin felt like a fish in a dry tank.

For the third time, his fingers nearly slipped around the champagne glass as he tried to hold eye contact with someone—anyone—who could help him feel less painfully out of place. Everyone in the room radiated strength and confidence—and most of them were Alphas. His sensitive Omega instincts picked it up instantly. The pheromones, the power stares, the dominance in the air.

And then, it happened.

He walked in.

Pond—tall, poised, commanding the room with a presence that made silence stretch in his wake. Every step was calculated power. Every glance a quiet challenge. Dressed in a fitted black suit with his collar slightly open, he let his Alpha scent drift freely, deliberately. Phuwin shivered.

“That’s him,” someone whispered behind him. “Pond Naravit. Investor, entrepreneur... the most dominant Alpha in the city.”

Phuwin turned his face away—but too late.

Pond’s eyes had already found him.

Like a magnet—steady, unrelenting—Pond cut through the crowd, walking straight toward him, as if he’d known from the start exactly where Phuwin would be.

“You’re Phuwin,” Pond said, his voice low and resonant, sending a vibration straight into Phuwin’s core.

Phuwin nodded—silent. His body reacted before thought could catch up. His stomach clenched. Omega instincts buzzed—not from fear, but from something dangerously close to desire.

Pond stepped closer, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ve chosen you.”

Phuwin froze.

“For sponsorship,” Pond clarified, lips curling into a faint smirk—but there was something else in his tone. Something darker. More possessive.

“Sponsorship... for what?” Phuwin asked, his voice soft, almost shaky.

“For your acting career,” Pond replied, though his eyes spoke of things far less professional. “But that’s not the only reason. I like your scent.” His voice grew rougher, rawer. “You look fragile—but your eyes tell me you’re not. You’re strong...”

He closed his eyes for a beat, inhaling deeply, like he was tasting something forbidden.

“...and your scent is irresistible.”

Phuwin felt something tighten deep inside. An ache. A pull. His body began to hum with something primal, unnamed.

Pond leaned in, lips grazing the edge of his ear. His breath was hot. Damp. Intimate.

“I want you warm in my nest, Phuwin,” he whispered. “I want to show you what it means to belong to an Alpha. And when your heat comes... I’ll be there. Ready.”

A violent shiver ran through Phuwin’s spine.

Knotting. No—it couldn’t happen. Not like this. Not without love. Not without affection. The word echoed through his mind, sharp and heavy. And still, his body betrayed him. His hips shifted, almost involuntarily, closer.

Pond saw it. And smiled. “Tomorrow. My villa,” he said. “You don’t need to bring anything—just come.” His voice dipped lower. Hungrier.

“If you come tomorrow... you won’t leave untouched.”

“This is it,” Phuwin whispered to himself, eyes locked on the map in his phone… then back to the building in front of him.

The villa stood like a quiet predator—elegant, secluded, and far too expensive for someone like him. Walls of stone and glass, modern lines, a sharp contrast to the twisting in his gut. He stared at the door, unmoving. His Omega instincts whispered danger... and something else. Possibility. A future.

He wasn’t sure.

He didn’t know what waited behind those doors. He wasn’t even sure what kind of offer he had accepted last night—if it really was just a "sponsorship," or something much more binding.

Something primal.

His hand hovered above the gate’s intercom before finally pressing the button. A soft chime. A short pause. Then:

“Come in.” Pond’s voice. Calm. Controlled. The same voice that had whispered, "If you come... you’ll be mine."

The gate clicked open. Phuwin stepped inside.

The villa’s interior was warm and clean, a mix of masculine minimalism and something older, deeper. The scent hit him first—Pond’s scent, thick and commanding. It coiled around him the way silk might wrap around skin—soft, but binding.

“You came,” said a voice behind him.

Phuwin turned.

Pond stood at the top of the stairs, no suit this time—just a black shirt, open at the collar, sleeves rolled, eyes fixed on him like a hunter who'd waited long enough.

“I... I wasn’t sure if i want to do it,” Phuwin admitted, his voice barely holding steady.

“But you did,” Pond replied. He began descending, each step slow and heavy. “And that means something is going to happened.”

Phuwin’s pulse raced. “What does it mean?”

Pond stopped just a step away. “It means you’re here... and I won’t hold back.”

There was a pause. Just breath between them.

Then Pond reached out—slowly, giving space for refusal. Fingers brushed Phuwin’s wrist, feather-light, yet it burned through him like fire.

“You’re tense,” Pond murmured.

“I’m... overwhelmed,” Phuwin confessed.

“I’ll teach your body how to relax,” Pond said softly, voice like velvet. “How to respond to mine. If you let me.”

Phuwin’s lips parted, but no words came. His Omega instincts were screaming now—not in fear, but in recognition.

Heat. Submission. Knotting.. possibility of getting pregnant... No... not yet, a voice in him begged. Not unless he truly cares...

But when Pond leaned in, nose brushing along the soft line of Phuwin’s neck, inhaling deeply, reverently— Phuwin’s knees nearly buckled. “You smell ready and very nice like a blooming flowers,” Pond whispered. “I’m not,” Phuwin said quickly, a tremble in his voice. Pond pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

Silence. Heavy. But comforting. “You're not a prize to be claimed,” Pond added, quieter now. “You’re someone I want to know... to keep warm, to protect.” Phuwin blinked, startled by the gentleness beneath the Alpha’s power.

“Stay tonight,” Pond said. “No expectations. Just… be near.” Phuwin nodded. Barely. But he nodded.

The room Pond gave him was beautiful.

Warm. Quiet. Wrapped in earthy tones and soft textures. Everything inside smelled faintly of cedar and clean cotton... but under it all, Pond’s scent clung subtly to the air—just enough to make Phuwin’s chest ache with something he didn’t have a name for.

He hadn't planned to stay the night.

But Pond had looked at him with such quiet certainty when he’d asked: “Stay. No pressure. Just sleep, here, near me.”
And Phuwin, against every instinct to run from the unfamiliar, had said yes.

Now it was past midnight. He lays curled on the wide guest bed, but sleep wouldn’t come.

His body felt… hot.

Not burning, but warm under the skin. Sensitive to even a little touch. His pulse fluttered too fast for someone resting. Every shift of the blanket made his skin tingle. And worst of all—he could still feel Pond’s presence in the house. Strong. Near. Watching over him, maybe. Or waiting.

The door creaked opend. He sat up instantly. Pond stood in the doorway. Barefoot now, dressed only in dark lounge pants and a loose shirt, eyes shadowed, but alert.

“ I smelled you from miles away, you feel it yourself, don’t you?” Pond asked quietly.

Phuwin didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

“I knew it,” Pond said, stepping in, his voice lower. “The moment you walked into that room yesterday… I could smell it on you, now it is stronger.”

Phuwin swallowed hard. “Smell what?”

“Your scent,” Pond said. “It’s changing. It was faint yesterday—sweet, soft, subtle. But now… it’s getting heavier. Riper. It's calling out for sex.”

Phuwin flushed. Embarrassed. A little scared. “I didn’t know. I haven’t had a heat in over a year, it’s been stable, regulated...”

“Your body’s done waiting,” Pond said, moving a little closer, but still respecting the space. “Your pheromones are shifting. Any Alpha in that gala would’ve noticed if they weren’t so distracted by their own egos. But I’m not like them. I pay attention.”

“Is that why you invited me here?” Phuwin whispered, almost hurt. “Because you smelled me?”

Pond’s gaze softened. He sat on the edge of the bed, not touching him.

“That’s why I noticed,” he admitted. “But it’s not why I kept looking. Or why I asked you to stay.”

Phuwin looked down, voice smaller. “Then why?”

“Because you didn’t run from me, even when your instincts told you I was dangerous and also my scent is nice and lovely and pretty strong for soft omegas.”
He leaned in slowly, stopping just close enough for Phuwin to feel his warmth.
“Because even now, when your scent is driving me wild, I can hold myself back... just to prove I care.”

Phuwin blinked at him, stunned. The weight of those words hit harder than he expected.

“You’re not just heat to me,” Pond added. “You’re Phuwin. And I want all of you. Not just your scent.”

The silence between them now was warm. Electric.

And for the first time, Phuwin whispered, “Can you... stay? Just for a while?” his cheek flushed with deep red color almost too much..

Pond layed down on bed beside him, and the moment Phuwin curled up against him, the air shifted—tight with tension, electric. Pond moved—slow, sure, not rough, but unmistakably dominant. With a low growl, he pressed Phuwin down into the mattress.

Phuwin gasped. “Pond…what are you doing ?”No answer. Just breath against his neck—hot, damp. And then—a bite. "You said you will hold back".

Not hard. Not deep. But enough to make his body jolt.

" I am holding back, now".Pond lingered there, tongue flicking gently over the spot. His hand slid down, fingers tugging at his waistband.

“Lift up your hips.” Phuwin obeyed.

In one smooth motion, Pond pulled down both his pants and boxers. Cool air met flushed skin. Then heat—Pond, skin to skin, pressing close. Hard against him.

Phuwin was already slick, wetness trickling down between his thighs—his body betraying every hidden desire.

Pond growled low, fingers slipping between his cheeks, teasing but not entering. “You feel that? That’s your body telling me you’re already mine.”

Phuwin trembled. Not from fear. From desire and building pleasure.

And when he whispered Pond’s name, the Alpha answered with a deep purr—hovering close, claiming him with scent and skin like he already belonged.

Pond’s voice was low, darker now. " Omegas… you’ve got something special, don’t you?”

Phuwin shivered under him, his breath catching.

“That sweet little ass of yours—it’s like a girl’s hole. Makes its own slick, soft and warm… ready to take me without a need of stretch.” Pond’s hand slid down, firm, claiming, until he gripped one cheek and spread him open. “Your body was made to be filled up with semen.”

Phuwin moaned, helplessly.

Pond pressed closer, the thick head of his cock nudging right up against his entrance—slow but deliberate. Not pushing in yet. Just letting him feel the pressure. The threat. The promise.

“You feel that?” he growled, mouth close to his ear. “That’s fucking mine.”

Phuwin’s hole twitched around the tip, instinctively welcoming, already slick with natural wetness.

Pond hissed in satisfaction. “Fuck… you’re so ready. So wet for me, and I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

Phuwin whimpered, his hips shifting back without thinking, trying to take more.

But Pond held him firm, just the head pressed tight against his hole, teasing.

“You want it?” Pond rasped. “Say it. Tell me who is your alpha ?”

"Ahh, Y-You are.." Phuwing rubs his forehead, he was already such a mess, trembeling, moaning.

Pond’s breath grew heavier, voice rough with heat. “Shit, you are dripping wet, and so fucking tight.”

Phuwin whimpered, face buried in the sheets, body trembling. The blunt tip of Pond’s cock pressed harder, slicked with his own need and Phuwin’s natural slick—but his hole still resisted, tight and trembling.

Then—one sharp thrust.

Phuwin cried out, high and broken. “Ah—Pond!”

It hurts. His body stretched wide around the sudden intrusion, his slick doing its job, but not enough to dull the raw pressure, the burn of being opened so suddenly.

Pond grunted, burying himself halfway before gripping Phuwin’s hips tighter, forcing him still. “Fuck, you’re gripping me like a vice.”

Phuwin’s fingers twisted in the sheets. “Hurts… it hurts!…”

Pond leaned over him, chest to his back, breath hot against his ear. “I know, baby. Virgins always felt it deeply for the first time. That pretty little hole of yours just needs to learn who it belongs to.”

He rolled his hips, not pulling out—just grinding in deeper, inch by inch, stretching him further. “You’ll take all of me. Every fucking inch. And you’ll beg for it before I’m done.”

Phuwin gasped, tears pricking his eyes, but there was heat underneath the pain—his body clenching, pulsing, leaking even more slick as instinct fought to surrender.

Pond licked the shell of his ear. “You’re mine now. Just the way you need to be in this position laying under me.”

Pond growled deep in his chest, shifting Phuwin’s legs higher until they rested firm on his shoulders, folding him open, knees spreading to side so he can moved more smoothly and easier.

“Relax,” he snarled, slamming back in, hips meeting ass with a wet slap.

Phuwin cried out, back arching, the pressure intense—but he could handle it. The sting was there, yes, but his body had begun to welcome it, slick flowing freely, wrapping around Pond’s cock like it belonged there.

Pond leaned over, his weight pressing Phuwin into the mattress, their bodies tight together, sweat and scent mingling. His cock drove in deep—deeper than before—making Phuwin gasp as his belly tensed.

“You feel that?” Pond whispered darkly, voice low and possessive. “That’s how far inside I am. Right here.”

He moved one hand between them and pressed two fingers against Phuwin’s lower belly—right over the spot where he could feel the pressure from the inside.

“My seed’s gonna stay right here,” Pond growled, circling the spot with his thumb, “right under your belly button. Filling you up nice and deep.”

Phuwin whimpered, hole pulsing around him in response.

Pond grinned, feral. “You’re gonna walk around leaking, smelling like me for days. And everyone will know—this Omega’s been bred.”

Then he thrust again—hard, punishing—claiming him completely as his knot began to swell at the base, preparing to lock them together.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered against Phuwin’s ear. “Marked, filled... and fucked full.”

Pond gripped his hips tighter, slamming into him with hard, relentless thrusts—deep and brutal. Phuwin was moaning uncontrollably beneath him, fists twisting in the sheets as if holding on was the only thing keeping him together.

“Pond—f-fuck—” he gasped, his body trembling, stretching wide, taking everything.

Pond knew he was wrecking him—could feel Phuwin's tight body twitching around him, could hear it in the needy, broken sounds he made.

“You love this, don’t you?” Pond growled, chest heaving. “Getting wrecked. Fucked open like an Omega should be.”

Phuwin could only nod, teary-eyed, voice lost in moans. “Harder… please—don’t stop—”

Pond leaned down, breath hot against his neck, lips brushing the spot between his shoulder and throat. “I’m gonna mark you,” he growled. “Gonna bite you so deep, they’ll smell me on you for the rest of your life.”

And then—he sank his teeth in.

Right at the claiming spot. Hard. Deep.

Phuwin cried out, body convulsing as pain and pleasure exploded through him, his hole clenching tight around Pond’s cock, trying to milk him.

Pond didn’t stop—one final, brutal thrust and his knot began to swell, forcing its way inside, locking them together.

Phuwin screamed—wrecked, trembling, split wide, and so full. He felt it, every inch. Felt Pond’s knot stretch him open, plug him tight. And then—warm, thick pulses of seed flooding deep inside, no escape.

Pond pressed his palm flat against Phuwin’s belly, right below his navel. “Right here, baby. My cum’s staying in. Gonna breed you proper.”

Phuwin gasped, overwhelmed, broken in the best way.

“Yours…” he whispered.

“Forever,” Pond answered, mouth still on his mark, knot pulsing inside him.

They were still locked together.

Pond’s body rested heavy over Phuwin’s, his chest warm against his back, both of them slick with sweat. The air was thick with their mingled scents—raw, claimed, satisfied.

But Phuwin squirmed just slightly, whimpering.

“It… it hurts,” he whispered, voice shaky. “You’re still inside…”

Pond kissed his nape, slow and soft. “I know, baby. That’s the knot.”

Phuwin tensed a little around him—his stretched rim still pulsing, tender from the way Pond had filled and locked him down there.

“I-I’ve heard of it, but…” He gasped quietly, voice trembling. “It’s so big… I feel like I’m going to burst.”

Pond’s voice dropped low, soothing but proud. “That’s normal. Your body’s adjusting.” He reached around and placed his palm on Phuwin’s lower belly again, pressing gently. “My knot swells when I finish. It locks us together. Keeps my cum deep inside you. Right where it belongs.”

Phuwin whimpered, squirming again—he could feel the knot, swollen and firm inside him, stretching him wide, keeping him plugged full. Every movement made it throb.

“But it hurts,” he admitted, biting his lip. “It’s too much…”

“I know, sweetheart. First time’s always the hardest.” Pond nuzzled into his neck. “But it means your body’s accepting me. You’re not just slick—you’re knotted. Bred. Claimed.”

Phuwin shivered, the words sending a fresh wave of heat through his already overstimulated body.

“How long… do we stay like this?”

Pond smiled against his skin. “Until I shrink. Could be ten minutes, could be twenty. But for now…” He tightened his arms around him. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Phuwin paused for a moment, then turned to look into Pond’s eyes.

“Can I… can I have babies from this? And… be pregnant?” he asked quietly, a little unsure but hopeful.

Pond smiled, gently stroking his cheek. “Yes, Omega. When I mark you and fill you like this, you can get pregnant. That’s part of what makes knotting so important—my seed stays deep inside you, ready to fertilize.”

“So… it’s not just a mark,” Pond continued, “but the start of something bigger. You can carry our children. And I… I will protect you.”

Phuwin nodded, still feeling fragile but more connected than ever before.

“I want that,” he whispered.

- End.

Chapter 8: Fort x Peat - Thongs with little bow ~ (18+)

Summary:

Dom: Fort

Sub: Peat

( There will be lace, skirts, and a boss who can't take his eyes off it. Yes, there's crossdressing. Yes, it's intentional. Yes, it gets steamy.)

Peat moved quietly, almost soundlessly. His fingers glided over sheets of paper, carefully sorting them into colorful folders—by topic, by priority, by alphabet. Everything had to be perfect. He knew Fort would return from the meeting any minute now. And he also knew that the meeting hadn't gone according to plan. The staff had failed, the numbers didn't add up, and the boss's mood would be like a storm at sea. Peat could feel it in his bones—today, Fort wouldn't just need order in his documents. He'd need a release.

And though he looked entirely focused on his work, his outfit told a different story. Peat was always there to please the boss. That's why he dressed like this—not for the coworkers, not for himself. For him. He loved the look Fort gave him when he thought no one was watching, the way his gaze would drift to the hem of his short skirt. And most of all... he knew Fort had a weakness for his thongs. Black, lacy, or today—with a little pink bow.

And Peat liked it that way. It suited him. After all, he was Fort's jinx. The kind of temptation that unraveled even the most controlled man.

He always made sure to be ready for his boss. Not just in how he looked—but in how he presented himself. He knew what Fort liked, what he noticed, even when he pretended not to. So Peat would take his time getting dressed in the mornings, choosing just the right fabric, the right scent, the right way to carry himself.

And when he knew Fort would need more than silent obedience—on days like this—he'd prepare himself more thoroughly. Sitting just the right way. Subtly open. Waiting. He'd position himself deliberately, legs just slightly parted when he bent over a drawer, his blouse sheer enough to offer hints, but never everything. And always—always—he made sure he smelled the way Fort liked. Clean, sweet, with a trace of warmth.

It was a ritual. A dance. And Peat? He loved playing his part to perfection.

Then Peat heard it—the sharp slam of a door somewhere down the hallway. He knew that sound all too well. Fort was angry again. No doubt the meeting had gone sideways, not according to plan.

Peat didn't flinch. He just smiled to himself—soft, sly, a little wicked—and moved quickly toward the office door. He opened it just in time, stepping to the side with graceful precision, holding it open like a proper assistant. Or something far more obedient.

"Sir," he said softly, with just the right touch of innocence.

He didn't need to look to know Fort would be storming in, eyes dark, jaw clenched, his whole body radiating tension. Peat lived for these moments—when control slipped just enough for something real to show underneath. And he was always ready to catch it.

"Close the door, Peat."

The sound of heels clicking softly on the marble followed. It always threw Fort off balance—though he'd never admit it. But today... today Peat was wearing that black skirt. Short. Paired with a sheer blouse that did little to hide the straps of a lacy bra. Fort saw it. Tried not to. But he did—every time Peat leaned over the desk. And worse—he'd glimpsed the little pink bow on his underwear the last time he turned too fast. It haunted him. Every time he closed his eyes.

The door clicked shut behind Peat.

"Did you need something, Mr. Fort?" That voice—smooth like cream, sinful like sugar—cut through the tension.

Fort finally looked up. There was restraint in his posture, but something dark flickered behind his eyes. He stood, slowly. Every muscle tight. Every movement charged.

Weeks. Months of restraint. For the job. For appearances. Because Peat was gentle. Beautiful. Innocent-looking. But Fort knew better. The glances. The subtle smiles. The way he sat down today—legs just slightly apart...

"Stand by the desk," Fort said, his voice rougher than intended.

Peat obeyed without question, locking eyes with him as a slow, knowing smile played on his lips. He stood exactly where Fort wanted him.

Fort stepped closer. Close enough to catch the scent—vanilla, warm skin, a trace of musk. His hand moved down, trailing lightly over Peat's side, down to the soft, thin fabric of the skirt. He leaned in close, lips nearly brushing Peat's ear.

"Are you wearing that pink lace today too?"

A tremor ran through Peat. Barely visible—but Fort felt it.

"Do you want to check?"

And that... that was the final straw.

Fort turned him around, pressed his palms onto the desk, and without hesitation, lifted his skirt. The sight that met him stole his breath. Pink lace panties with a delicate bow, perfectly matched with thigh-high stockings. Fort growled, sliding his fingers beneath the fabric, and Peat gasped at the touch.

"Do you know how many nights I've imagined this?" Fort whispered in his ear as his hand slipped between his thighs. "Bending you over this desk. Sliding into you so deep, until—"

"Do it," Peat cut him off, trembling with need. "Please."

Fort spread his legs, pulled his thong sideways, and without warning pressed his fingers against him. Peat gasped, his body shaking as Fort entered him with one finger—a skilled, smooth motion, as if he knew exactly where and how to touch him, he pressed at soft place inside him..

"You're so wet," Fort murmured in his ear. "You like it, don't you?"

"You're so wet," Fort murmured in his ear. "You like it, don't you?"

"Yes..." Peat breathed, fingers buried in the edge of the table, butt thrust back, so obedient, so ready. His skirt was up to his waist, thighs shaking, but desire held him firmly in place. Fort added another finger, then a third. He stretched it gently, letting him feel the pressure, the pulse, every wet moan. Only when Peat almost collapsed from his own eagerness did Fort unbutton his pants. He pushed himself inside him in one long, hard thrust. Peat cried out, partly in surprise, partly in pleasure.

Fort settled himself completely inside him, all the way to the root, his hands gripping his hips so tightly that he could have bruised them. And then he started to move. Hard, merciless thrusts, loud slaps of skin on skin, and Peat crumbled beneath them – moaning, gasping, unable to think, only feel.

"Look at yourself,"

Fort hissed, grabbing his hair and turning his head to the glass wall where they were reflected. "See that slut in her skirt, begging to be fucked? It's you, Peat."

"Yes... I'm... yours..." Peat rasped, tears of pleasure streaming down his cheeks.

"Only yours... please... deeper... more..." Fort changed the angle and Peat roared as his body exploded from within.

Each thrust was precise, hard, and animalistic.

Fort crushed his hips, whispering his name between his teeth, and as he neared climax, he grabbed Peat by the neck and pulled him close. "I'm going to cum inside you. Do you want it?"

"Yes! Please, Fort, do it, fill me..." And Fort did just that. His body tensed, he pushed in one last time, deep, and came with a muffled growl into Peat's shoulder.

A warm wave pulsed through him as Peat felt himself release into him. He came himself only a moment later, his whole body shaking, destroyed, broken, but incredibly filled.

They stayed like that for a moment longer—Fort still holding him, breathing slow and heavy into the curve of Peat's neck, while Peat just leaned back against him, sticky, flushed, his cheek resting against the cool glass of the window. But his lips still held that smile—the one that always said I knew you'd break eventually.

Fort moved slowly, savoring the warmth between them, then tilted Peat's face toward him and pressed a soft, almost reverent kiss to his lips. His hand slid lower, pushing the delicate thong just a little more to the side as he looked down.

"You wet your thongs, honey," he murmured, voice low and rough with satisfaction.

Peat shivered at the sound. Fort leaned in and kissed him again—deeper, wetter, tasting the remnants of everything they'd just shared—before resting his forehead against Peat's with a soft exhale.

"Mmh." Peat's eyes fluttered, then glanced down at the desk below. "It's a little dirty, though," he said with a teasing smirk, nodding toward the papers now streaked with something that definitely wasn't ink.

Fort followed his gaze and huffed a quiet laugh. "Guess I'll need to revise the quarterly forecast again," he muttered dryly.

Peat giggled, nuzzling his nose against Fort's. "You'll survive. Just tell finance I was... a strategic distraction."

Fort pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, one brow arched. "Strategic, huh?"

"Well," Peat said, smoothing his skirt as Fort gently guided his thong back into place, "I did read the whole report. And I alphabetized the contracts. That has to earn me some kind of bonus."

Fort let out a low chuckle, his hand trailing down to give a soft, appreciative squeeze. "Tomorrow," he said, voice dipping to that deep register again, "wear the red ones."

Peat tilted his head, pretending to consider. "Hmm... satin or lace?"

"Both."

"Greedy," Peat teased, straightening his blouse with deliberately slow fingers. "Anything else you'd like, sir?"

Fort's gaze lingered on him for a beat longer. "Yeah. Coffee. Strong. And none of that oat milk nonsense this time."

Peat mock-gasped. "Blasphemy. You wound me."

"Better than you wound my desk," Fort muttered, picking up a paper gingerly between two fingers.

Peat grinned and started toward the door, hips swaying just enough to make Fort's jaw tighten again. "You're welcome, by the way," he called over his shoulder.

"For what?"

"For not leaving you the one cleaning it up."

Peat slipped out of the office with a little bounce in his step, still adjusting the hem of his skirt, a smirk playing on his lips. He knew Fort's eyes were on him until the very last second.

He made it halfway down the hallway, heels clicking in soft rhythm, before he paused. The silence behind him was thick, expectant. Peat bites his lip, glanced toward the break room—then turned on his heel.

He walked back just as quietly, pushed the office door open without knocking, and leaned inside. Fort was standing by the desk now, shirt slightly unbuttoned, phone in hand, preparing to call someone—probably to tear them apart in management.

Peat didn't say anything at first. He just stepped in, closed the door behind him with a gentle click, and locked it.

Fort raised a brow but didn't look surprised.

"I was halfway to the coffee machine," Peat said, crossing the room slowly, voice soft and deceptively sweet. "But then I realized something."

"What is it?" Fort asked, already suspicious.

Peat moved around the desk, slipping between Fort and the chair. He leaned against the desk edge, fingers brushing over one of the stained reports.

"I left a mess," he murmured. "And I think I should clean it up properly... with my tongue."

Fort's breath hitched just slightly. His fingers tightened around the phone.

"I'm about to make a call, you can't just lick my desk or my dick you know that right?"

" Ohh, I definitely can!" Peat's lashes fluttered innocently. "Just sit back and enjoy. I'll be quiet." He knelt slowly, hands sliding up Fort's thighs as he lowered himself. "Well... mostly."

Fort stared down at him, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"You're a psychopath," he muttered, voice low, dark, amused.

Peat smiled up at him, already lifting the edge of Fort's belt. "But, You love it."

Fort hesitated for just a second, thumb hovering over the call button. Then he exhaled through his nose, slowly sank into his chair, and let his legs spread slightly. Permission, unspoken.

Peat took that as a command.

He moved with deliberate grace, his fingers working open Fort's belt, then the zipper—slow, reverent. There was nothing rushed about him. He wanted Fort to feel every second of it.

The screen of Fort's phone lit up as he tapped the number and brought it to his ear. "Hey, Lena.." he said, voice steady, cool, businesslike. "Yes, I've gone over the numbers. We need to redo the entire projection for Q3. Your team gave me bullshits and excuses."

Peat glanced up at him with a flicker of mischief in his eyes, then dipped his head back to his half hard dick..

Fort didn't flinch. Barely even moved, except for the way his jaw tightened when Peat licked him. His free hand curled over the edge of the armrest, knuckles white.

"Yes," he continued, while Peat worked his mouth slowly, deliberately, licking him and nibbling like a pro. "You'll need to rerun everything with adjusted cost variables. I don't care how long it takes."

Peat let out a quiet, satisfied hum that Fort tried—and failed—to ignore. His voice wavered, just for a second. He then take him whole to his mouth, he was big indeed so it wasn't easy for him to do.

"No, nothing's wrong," he snapped quickly into the phone. "Just—static."

Peat chuckled softly around him, wicked and knowing, hands smoothing along Fort's thighs like silk. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. Every movement said you're under my control right now, even when you're pretending to be in charge this whole time.

Fort cleared his throat. "And Lena, from now on... I want your reports printed, not emailed. In my hand by nine. Understood?"

He hung up without waiting for confirmation. He finished in his mouth and Peat swallowed it whole.

For a moment, the office was quiet again—just the soft sound of breathing, the faint hum of air conditioning. Then Fort leaned forward, one hand sinking into Peat's hair, guiding him, holding him. No rush. Just pressure. Control.

"You really couldn't wait for this , huh?"

Peat looked up with flushed cheeks and glistening lips, breathing shallow.

"I am giving you energy," he said with a grin. "Just... a different kind."

Fort growled low in his throat, letting his head fall back against the chair.

"Tomorrow," he muttered, "I'm locking that damn door the second you walk in and no more coffee even if i really craving now.."

"Then you better keep that key close, sir... because I plan on being your favorite distraction for as long as you're the boss."

Chapter 9: Part 1: Am I Omega? 🌿

Summary:

Hey guys! Thank you so much for all your support—I really hope you're enjoying my stories so far. 💕If you have any ship suggestions or requests, feel free to reach out to me anytime!

Dom: Jeff

 

Sub: Barcode

- This story is based on the A/B/O dynamic (Alpha/Beta/Omega), which plays a key role in the development of the characters and their relationships.
Content warning: This story contains strong language and themes of mpreg (male pregnancy).

Enjoy!

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The silence of the clinic smelled of disinfectant and emptiness. Barcode sat on the edge of the metal examination bed, his shirt lifted to reveal a bruise stretching under his ribs. His breathing was shallow. Sweat clung to the back of his neck. His body pulsed with heat, and his head buzzed like something under his skin wouldn't stop growling.

Dr. Raynes was quiet, but his expression said more than words. He glanced at the blood results, then looked back at Barcode.

"Your pheromone levels are elevated. Hormonal imbalance," he finally said. He set the folder aside. "You've gone through your first serious hormonal break. Your system has shifted."

Barcode froze. "What does that mean?"

Raynes took a deep breath. "It means you're not a beta like you always thought. You're an omega."

Barcode was silent. His chest tightened. "That's... a mistake. I'm not—"

"It's not a mistake." The doctor stepped closer. His voice was calm but firm. "Your body knows. It's already changing. Your hormones will start fluctuating. You'll attract alphas. And your reactions – emotional and physical – might not always be under your control."

"That doesn't mean I'll submit to them," Barcode whispered, clutching his elbow like he could hold something inside himself.

"It means you need to be careful," the doctor said quietly. "Not every alpha respects it when an omega says no. And you... your levels aren't stabilized yet. You haven't learned to suppress your scent."

Barcode let out a laugh – half bitter, half sad. "So what now? Hang a warning sign around my neck?"

"No. But if you go near any packs, some of them will sense you before they even see you. And if you get too close to a strong alpha... it could be dangerous."

Jeff. The name flickered through his mind, though he'd never met him. An alpha said to have killed three of his own brothers just to gain power. The kind of alpha an omega like him should avoid at all costs.

But something inside him – dark and unwilling – didn't move out of fear.
It moved out of curiosity.

Dr. Raynes paused, then added, more carefully now:

"There's something else you need to know."

Barcode narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"You're biologically omega now. That means... if you engage in unprotected sex with a dominant alpha, there's a risk of pregnancy."

The words hit Barcode like ice water. "You're joking."

"I'm not," the doctor replied calmly. "Your body has shifted. It's rare, but not unheard of, especially in newly awakened omegas with unstable hormone levels. You're fertile when the cycles peak, even if you don't feel it coming on."

Barcode stared at him, disbelieving. "I didn't ask for this."

"No one does. But now that your nature is active, you have to understand how it works. This is not just about heat cycles or emotions—it's about biology and power."

Raynes hesitated, then continued in a lower voice. "And one more thing. If an alpha marks you—physically, with a bite during sex—it can trigger a bonding response. Psychological. Permanent. The mark can suppress your independence, override your instincts. Some alphas do it to control."

Barcode looked away, his jaw tightening.

"So what, I'm just... prey now?"

"No," the doctor said. "But you'll be prey if you act like you don't know the rules. This world doesn't protect omegas who ignore them."

He handed Barcode a small pack of suppressants—sealed pills with a silver omega symbol on the front.

"Take one daily. It won't stop everything, but it'll help control the hormonal surges. And if you ever feel... drawn to someone in a way that scares you, get away. Fast."

Barcode clenched the pack in his fist, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I'd rather die than be owned."

Raynes gave him a tired look.

"Then stay far away from alphas like Jeff."

Barcode walked out of the clinic without saying another word.

The white fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as he descended the narrow stairwell, his footsteps echoing against the concrete walls. The cold metal handrail felt sharp against his palm. He gripped it tighter than he meant to.

Each step felt heavier than the last.

Omega.
The word throbbed in his skull like a warning siren. Like a curse.

He could still feel the doctor's voice in his ears. "You're biologically omega now. You can get pregnant. You can be marked." As if those things could ever apply to someone like him—Barcode, who lived on the edges, who didn't belong to anyone.

But now... his own body was turning against him.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and shoved open the heavy door. The city hit him like a slap—cars, voices, exhaust, neon signs flickering in the early dusk. Normalcy. Indifference.

No one here knew what he was.
No one could smell it. Yet.

He pulled his hoodie over his head and stuffed the suppressants deeper into his pocket. The plastic blister pack crackled, too loud, too real.

He'd always lived by one rule: never be naive and always took your suppressants.
And now his body was screaming vulnerability. Heat. Need. Instincts that didn't feel like his.

His heart raced as he walked faster, blending into the crowd like a shadow.

He needed to disappear.
Before someone sensed it.
Before an alpha like Jeff caught his scent and decided Barcode was his to claim.

And worst of all—some part of Barcode wasn't sure if he'd fight back.

The streets buzzed with early morning noise—delivery trucks, barking dogs, and distant horns. Barcode blinked against the light and took a deep breath, trying to ground himself.

His fingers curled tighter around the pack of suppressants in his pocket.

School.
He was supposed to be on his way there.

But then he remembered.

Home first.
His parents were waiting. They'd insisted he stop by the apartment after the appointment to tell them the results. Especially his father, who demanded answers like they were a matter of war.

Barcode's stomach twisted. He wasn't ready. Not for the questions. Not for the judgment.

But he turned toward the apartment anyway, dragging his feet like he was walking toward a cage.

Third floor. Creaky steps. Peeling red door.

He opened it slowly.

Inside, the apartment was tense with silence. The kind of silence that had weight. His mother stood from the kitchen table the moment she saw him.

"Barcode—" she breathed, eyes already scanning his face.

His father stood near the window, arms folded, jaw tight. Always watching. Always waiting for weakness to show.

"You're late," his father said. "What did the doctor say?"

Barcode tossed his hoodie onto the couch. His voice came out hoarse.

"I'm not a beta."

His mother froze. Her eyes widened slightly. "Then...?"

He swallowed. "Omega."

Silence.

His mother's hand slowly covered her mouth.

His father's expression darkened. "Are you sure? No mix-up? You were tested when you were younger—"

"I'm sure," Barcode interrupted, sharper now. "It wasn't a mistake."

His father stepped forward. "An omega. In this city. Do you know what kind of attention you'll bring to this family?"

"I didn't ask for this!" Barcode shouted.

"You'll stay home," his father said flatly. "Until we know what to do with you. Until you're under control."

"You mean until you can figure out how to hide me," Barcode muttered, jaw clenched.

"I mean until you stop being a risk."

His mother whispered, "Please, don't fight. We just need time."

Barcode didn't respond. He turned and walked to his room, shut the door, and clicked the lock behind him.

He had five minutes to breathe before school.

Five minutes to pretend he wasn't scared.

Barcode sat on the edge of his bed, the suppressant pack still clutched in his palm. The silence in the room was stifling.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from Macau.
"Hey! You good man? What did the doc say?"

Barcode stared at the screen for a long moment.

Then he typed quickly, fingers trembling only slightly:

"All good. Just ran some tests. Turns out I'm a beta after all. Nothing weird. Just hormone imbalance."

A lie.
A clean, simple one.

He hits send and dropped the phone beside him, heart thudding.

A few seconds later, Macau replied:

"Nice, bro! Glad you're okay. Beta gang! 🎉"

"Wanna come to a barbecue party tonight? Me + Us are going. We'll have soju, maybe fire up the karaoke 😎"

Barcode let out a slow breath.

A party.
Loud music, grilled meat, glowing faces.
Normal day with his friends, while he has to pretent he is something different.

Tempting, but he knew he can't go. What if something happened?! However, he can't just said No to his friends.

He stared at the screen and hesitated—then began to type:

"Yeah, maybe. Text me the address."

Another buzz. Macau was fast.

" Starts at 8 p.m. You better show up, Barcode. We're not letting you emo-sulk all night."

Barcode allowed the tiniest smirk to tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Emo-sulking did sound like a strong possibility. But maybe... just maybe, a party would help him forget, even if only for a few hours.

Even if there was a risk someone there might pick up on something he couldn't fully hide.

If he takes his suppressants, nothing can't happened, right?

--------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 10: Part 2: The Barbecue Night❤️‍🔥

The bar was packed up with drunk high schoolers. Music pulsed through the air, a steady thrum of bass and laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional shout. The smell of grilled meat and alcohol mingled in the warm, crowded space.

Barcode stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the dim lights, the haze of smoke. The heat of the room hit him almost immediately, the buzz of energy around him like a wave crashing against his chest.

There they were—Macau and Us, already standing at a table near the back, surrounded by empty glasses and bottles. Macau's grin was wide, Us was leaning back in his chair, relaxed, as always.

"Barcode, over here!" Macau shouted, raising a glass in Barcode's direction. "There you're man! Glad you made it!"

Barcode smiled, though it felt a little too tight. He'd sent a text earlier, lying to them, but now, in the noise and the chaos of the bar, it felt a little easier to pretend.

"Yeah, man," Us added, leaning forward with a grin. "We were starting to think, you won't showed up."

Barcode shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "Nah, just wanted to make sure I wasn't dying or anything."

Macau raised an eyebrow. "You're alive. So that means it's time to drink, yeah?"

He pushed a glass of soju toward Barcode, who took it without thinking, and threw it back in one smooth motion.

"Cheers!"

The liquid burned, but Barcode welcomed the sensation. It felt grounding, numbing. The loud laughter, the chattering voices—it was all so loud, so messy. Maybe it was what he needed.

Macau smirked, watching him with an amused look in his eyes. "You still look like you've got the weight of the world on you, man. But alright, I see you're ready to party."

"Yeah," Barcode muttered, feeling the alcohol start to hit him in waves. "I'm fine. Just needed to get out."

They all laughed, raising their glasses to one another. The night was just beginning, and despite his inner tension, Barcode allowed himself to sink into the rhythm of the celebration.

Us leaned in, his voice a little quieter now. "By the way, we're having a competition tonight. Karaoke. You in?"

Barcode smiled, the warmth of the alcohol loosening his stiff posture. "Sure. Why not?"

The drinks kept coming, one after another—soju, beer, a little bit of everything. The laughter, the conversations, the upbeat music—it all blurred together in a haze. Barcode didn't keep track anymore. Each sip seemed to numb the gnawing tension in his chest a little more, even if the weight in his mind never quite left.

His head was spinning, and the room felt like it was pulsing along with the beat of the music. His vision shifted, edges blurring, and for a moment, he felt like he could just... forget.

Forget about what doctor said.
Forget about the omega pheromones inisde him.

But then Macau's voice cut through the haze, and he blinked, trying to focus.

"Yoo, Barcode, you good?" Macau asked, his voice a little slurred, his hand on Barcode's shoulder. "You've been quiet for a while, bro. You need another drink?"

Barcode looked up at his friend, nodding slowly. He was fine. He just needed to step outside for a minute. The air inside was too thick, too heavy.

"Nah," Barcode muttered, pushing his glass aside. "I'm good. I just need some fresh air ."

Before either of them could respond, Barcode stood up, swaying slightly. He was lightheaded, but he didn't care. The night was still young. Maybe the fresh air would clear his head, even if only for a little while.

He stumbled through the crowd, past people dancing, laughing, and shouting over the music, until he reached the door. The cool night air hit him like a wave as he stepped outside, the chaos of the bar replaced by the quiet hum of the street.

He took a deep breath. The city was alive, neon lights flashing, cars honking in the distance. The night felt endless.

Barcode leaned against the cold brick wall of the bar, the coolness seeping into his skin as he let his mind wander. His thoughts were fuzzy, drifting, but one thing was clear:

He wasn't in control anymore.

Not of his body. Not of his future.
And certainly not of whatever the hell was going on inside him.

He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, but everything seemed to swirl. The alcohol, the pressure from his father, the fact that he couldn't escape what he was.

For a moment, the noise from the bar seemed distant, like it belonged to someone else. It was just him now.

Barcode stood outside, breathing in the night air, trying to get some clarity, but it wasn't coming. The alcohol had settled in his system, heavy and warm, but his mind still buzzed with too many thoughts. The chaotic noises of the bar faded into the background, replaced by the muffled hum of the city. He decided go back inside.

 

And then—

Thud.

Barcode stumbled backward, his shoulder slamming into something solid. His breath caught in his throat, and before he could regain his balance, a voice cut through the air.

"Hey, watch where you're going!"

Barcode looked up, his vision a little blurry, but his gaze sharpened when he saw the figure standing in front of him.

A tall, imposing figure with a dark stare that cut through the dim light. Jeff. Of course. He was on his way inisde, his arms crossed over his chest, wearing that stoic expression that always made Barcode feel like he was being sized up.

"Didn't see you there," Barcode muttered, his voice slightly slurred from the alcohol. He straightened himself, trying to keep his posture, but his head was still swimming. "You gonna stand there all night?"

Jeff's lips twitched into a barely noticeable frown, his eyes never leaving Barcode's face. "You're drunk."

"Not drunk enough to trip into you," Barcode shot back, trying to maintain some semblance of pride, but there was something in Jeff's gaze that made his chest tighten. The annoyance in Jeff's expression only deepened, though he didn't say anything right away.

The two stood in silence for a moment, the air between them thick, tense, and Barcode felt the weight of Jeff's stare bearing down on him.

"Having fun?" Jeff asked, his tone flat but his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Barcode gritted his teeth, frustrated at the way the world felt like it was closing in on him. "Sure. Just enjoying the party, gonna join karaoke with my friends!"

Jeff stepped closer, not saying anything at first, just observing. His presence was almost overwhelming, like a shadow that wrapped around Barcode, making it hard to focus. His stoic expression didn't soften, but there was something in the way he watched Barcode—an unreadable look, cold yet... knowing.

"You really shouldn't be out here alone like this," Jeff said finally, his voice low.

"Yeah?" Barcode scoffed, trying to look unaffected, but it came out weak. "And why not?"

Jeff tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving Barcode's. "Don't play games. It's obvious you're not fine."

The words hit harder than Barcode expected. He shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Jeff's gaze.

"I'm fine," Barcode muttered, his voice more defensive than he intended. "I just needed some air."

Jeff took another step forward, closing the distance between them. Barcode could feel the heat from Jeff's body, could smell the faint trace of cologne mixed with the night air. He looked up at Jeff, trying to hold his ground, but something in Jeff's unwavering, cold expression made it hard to maintain his defiance.

"You don't look fine," Jeff replied flatly, his voice soft but firm. "What happened? You don't seem like the type to just... lose control."

Barcode didn't answer right away. Instead, he just exhaled sharply, avoiding Jeff's piercing eyes.

"You're right. I'm not."

"Then stop pretending you are." Jeff's voice was steady. He looked down at Barcode, eyes unblinking.

For a moment, Barcode felt small under Jeff's gaze. The weight of the world pressing down on him, he really doesn't want to talk about his feeling and problems and definitely not with HIM. But Barcode didn't want to be vulnerable, not here, not now. So he did what he always did—he shut down. He didn't know why it felt like Jeff could see through him—like he could strip away the layers of lies Barcode had wrapped around himself.

"I've got this," Barcode said, forcing the words out like armor. "I'm fine."

Jeff's gaze lingered a little longer, but he said nothing more. Instead, he straightened, his posture not shifting an inch.

"Don't make me repeat myself." His voice was quieter now, like a command.

Barcode didn't respond. He just turned away, walking a few steps before looking back at Jeff, meeting his eyes one last time.

"You should head back inside. Don't worry about me." Barcode called, trying to act like everything was fine.

Jeff simply nodded, his eyes briefly narrowing before he turned away.

As Barcode watched him start to walk off, something shifted in the air. He noticed Jeff's steps slowing, as if something caught his attention. Then, Jeff paused.

Barcode frowned and watched Jeff subtly inhale, his nostrils flaring for a brief moment.

Then Jeff turned back, his stoic expression a little more intense than before. "What the hell is that smell?"

Barcode blinked, confused. "What?"

Jeff's gaze locked onto him with a sudden sharpness. "That... scent." He stepped closer, his eyes flickering down to Barcode's neck, then back to his face, almost like he was trying to decipher something.

Barcode stiffened, but his confusion was quickly replaced by a sinking feeling in his stomach. He hadn't noticed it himself, but there was something there—something... sweet, almost intoxicating, a scent that hadn't been there earlier.

Barcode barely had time to register Jeff's sudden movement before he was shoved up against the cold brick wall. A sharp breath escaped his lungs as Jeff's strong hand pressed against his chest, pinning him in place.

"What the hell—" Barcode started, but before he could finish, Jeff leaned in, his face dangerously close.

Barcode froze as Jeff's nose brushed against his neck, inhaling deeply. His heart hammered in his chest as he felt the heat radiating from Jeff's body. The Alpha's breath was warm against his skin, and his sharp gaze never left Barcode's face.

A soft growl rumbled low in Jeff's throat. "What is that scent?!" His voice was rough, barely controlled, as his pupils dilated, and Barcode could feel the intensity in Jeff's grip tightening.

Jeff pulled back just slightly, but his eyes were locked onto Barcode's neck with a strange intensity, almost predatory. He reached for his phone and muttered something under his breath as his fingers worked quickly over the screen.

Barcode's confusion only deepened, his body stiff with a mix of fear and frustration. "What... what are you doing?"

Jeff didn't answer right away. Instead, he stared at the phone, his gaze flickering between it and Barcode. His jaw clenched, and when he looked up, his expression was hard—something darker, more dangerous flickering in his eyes.

Without a word, Jeff grabbed Barcode's wrist and pulled him roughly behind him. He didn't give Barcode a chance to protest as he dragged him down a quieter, more secluded street, away from the bar.

"Why the hell are you out here?" Jeff's voice was tight with irritation. "Are you that stupid?" his grip didn't loosen. "You've got no idea what you're doing, do you?"

Barcode's pulse raced as he stumbled behind Jeff, trying to free his wrist, but Jeff's grip was iron. "What are you talking about?"

"You're walking around, smelling like that," Jeff continued, his voice laced with frustration. "Don't you know what happens when an omega reeks of scent like this? Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? You have no control over it — you can't just go around releasing your pheromones.."

Barcode's chest tightened, his mind spinning. "I'm just—"

"Do you want to end up pregnant?" Jeff cut him off, his voice like a snap of authority. He stopped suddenly, turning to face Barcode with an unreadable expression. "You don't just wander around like this. You have no idea what could happen if you get in the hands of the wrong Alpha."

Barcode swallowed hard, his throat dry as Jeff's words hit him with a weight he hadn't expected. He felt a cold sweat breaking out across his skin. "I didn't— I didn't mean to—"

"Yeah, well, you don't get to control that." Jeff's eyes darkened, and he took a step closer, his voice lowering. "You're lucky I found you first. You really don't want to be caught by someone who wouldn't care about you—someone who wouldn't think twice before claiming you."

Barcode's breath hitched in his throat, the reality of what Jeff was saying slowly sinking in. He had no idea what he had been doing. The scent he hadn't even noticed was the thing that had drawn Jeff to him like a magnet. He wanted to run, but Jeff's presence was suffocating, and the fear in his chest gripped him tightly.

"You need to be careful, Barcode," Jeff muttered, his tone darker than before. "This... this isn't a game. And right now? You're playing with fire."

Chapter 11: Part 3: First Heat 🔥

Jeff remained still, alone in the room, his expression unreadable.

Barcode lays on the soft guest bed, curled on his side, one hand still gently pressed against his aching cheek. The sting hadn't faded — not just from the slap, but from the way he'd been treated.

His thoughts swirled, heavy and bitter.

Why does everyone treat me like a kid?
Like I don't know anything. Like I can't decide for myself.
I'm not stupid. I'm not weak.

He blinked back the burning behind his eyes, jaw tightening. The room was too quiet, too perfect. It smelled nothing like home.

And for the first time in a long while. He just wanted to be strong Alpha or just Beta.

Barcode jolted awake, it was middle of the night. It's so hot here!

His sheets were tangled around him, his skin damp with sweat. His breath came in short, shallow gasps. His whole body felt hot — too hot — like something was burning under his skin. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he pressed his palm to it, trying to calm the pounding in his heart.

A deep ache pulsed low in his belly, unfamiliar and demanding. His limbs trembled slightly, his thighs pressing together on instinct.

No... not now... he thought, panic prickling through the haze.

He threw the blanket off, sitting up with a gasp. The room felt suffocating. His scent was thick in the air — sweet, sharp, undeniable.

It's happening, he thought, heart thundering. My heat... it's here.

In Jeff's house, with Jeff right next door.

 

He had hoped the suppressants would hold longer. That maybe what the doctor said was just caution. But this—this burning, aching hunger tearing through his body—was unmistakable.

He pressed his forehead to his knees, trying to steady his breathing, but it was no used. His scent was getting stronger, filling the room like syrupy smoke, thick and impossible to ignore.

His skin felt hypersensitive, every movement of the fabric against his body unbearable. His throat was dry, and every nerve screamed for touch, for relief.

He clenched his jaw. I can't let Jeff know. Not like this. Not now. But his pheromones takes over his mind and he needs release right now, and only person who can help him now was indeed Jeff himself.

He stood up, he was sweating all over, he was hard, bulge on his underwear twitching with excitment, his hole was dripping from the wetness.

His legs carried him toward Jeff's bedroom, a pull he couldn't explain, as if the heat was drawing him closer, needing some kind of comfort.

He hesitated just outside the door, his breath coming faster, but eventually, he pushed it open. Inside, Jeff was sound asleep in his large king-sized bed, his breathing slow and steady.

Barcode's heart raced as he silently moved closer to the bed, unsure of what he was doing, yet unable to stop himself. He slid under the covers, his body instinctively pressing against Jeff's back, seeking warmth and relief.

His breath hitched as he gently wrapped his arms around Jeff, closing his eyes and letting the warmth of another person soothe the overwhelming hormones coursing through him. The scent of Jeff's pheromones mixed with his own, intensifying the desire for closeness. He was craving his touch down there. He whimpered as he was so horny.

Jeff wakes up. He covered his nose and turn to Barcode. „Why are you here in my bed?!" Jeff said looking over him up and down, that strong scent of fresh blooming flowers in spring.

 

„ Are you in heat?" Jeff asked pushing Barcode away from his body, knowing he can't let his guards down now. It was very strong for him to control his own desires.

„Please! I need your help! Please!" Barcode's face was all red his eyes closed from excitement. He wants Jeff inside, deep inside. He pinned Jeff down and straddling him. He pulled his shirt down, moving his hips slowly agianst Jeff.

Jeff bites his lips, he can't do this, this is wrong, but his own pheromones makes him want it more and more, with each passing moment he loses his control slowly, and then he loses it totally. He changes position lowering Barcode down laying on his bed. He takes his own clothes down sitting there only in his boxers, looking on Barcode's face.

" I can't hold back, anymore". Jeff said and licking down Barcode's neck, his legs hugging Jeff's torso, pulling him closer. He tries to control himself to not marked him, because it would be big problem, but the idea was so tempting. He bites Barcode's collarbones, as Barcode moans back in respond.

" More! G-give me more....please". Barcode whispered, he was brushing himself desperately against Jeff's stomach. His own hand slides between his thighs and tried to touch himself.

"Shit! Calm down, Barcode". Jeff growls aggressively and pulled Barcode's pants down. His underwear was soaked up with cum, and his ass was also so wet. Shit! Jeff cursed and moved to licked Barcode's hole. He licked him all around, sliding inside, thrusting in and out with his tongue. Barcode's hand pulled hardly on Jeff's hair and moaning with pleasure.

" I am cumming.!" Barcode said and cum instantly on his stomach.

"Well, that was indeed fast". He wiped his chin and pulled down his boxers. Barcode's eyes widen, he was so excited due to his heat.

" I want to feel you inside". Barcode spread his hole to show Jeff how excited, he really is and how much he wants him inside. Jeff swallowed hard and reached for the nightstand.

 

"I have to take a condom, wait-" Barcode pushed himself down, taking Jeff's dick position it against his hole while pushing close as then Jeff instinctively thrust in, he moans how goods that felt.

" M-move faster..." Barcode impatiently moved his hips against Jeff wanted to be fuck.

Jeff moved his hips like animal, hardly, quickly, poking at Barcode's prostate. Barcode scratches his back almost to bleed, he moved against him and his hand gently strokes his dick to feel more pleasure.

" Don't do that, you have to cum by just my dick hitting your prostate". Jeff stops him which Barcode protests but immediately stops. Jeff turns Barcode to all fours and his head end up in pillow. He was slightly choking, but it was still bearable. Jeff strokes his thighs and moved to bites his neck, when he-

"Don't-" Barcode didn't finished when he felt Jeff's teeth sink inside his flesh. He lets out loud yell it hurts so much. But what was worse what the fact, Jeff is marked him as his mate.

"NO! WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!" Barcode sobs out.

"Shut up, be good and get use to it". Jeff's eyes focus only on Barcode's body his own mind gets blurry with pleasure, lust and passion that took control of him.

 

Barcode cries out tried to push him away as if he wanted to prevent everything that had happened. Even thought he still was horny and needs of release. "I will cum...". Barcode finished on bed, falling down into sheets.

Jeff pulled him back up. " I did not finish, so focused". His voice was full of lust. Jeff with few movements finished in. Barcode's eyes widen. "You shouldn't-".

" I already marked you so it doesn't matter, if you end up pregnant or not". Jeff said pulling out and resting down on bed next to Barcode's naked body.

"Will you take care of me?" Barcode's voice trembled, the vulnerability in his words slipping out before he could hold it back, a deep need for reassurance.

Jeff's expression softened, his hand gently resting on Barcode's stomach, offering a comforting warmth. "Of course," he said, his voice steady and calm, full of promise. "You, me, and whatever comes next. We'll face it together."

Barcode nodded, feeling the weight of everything start to ease as he snuggled closer to Jeff. He rested his head on Jeff's chest, their hands naturally intertwining. The steady rhythm of Jeff's heartbeat calmed him, making him feel safe in a way he hadn't felt in a long time.

Jeff's lips brushed against Barcode's temple in a gentle, almost comforting gesture. The warmth of the moment settled between them.

Barcode's breathing slowed, and before long, he had drifted into a peaceful sleep, comforted by the presence of the man beside him.

I hope you keep your word—because in the end, it's all I'll have to hold on to.

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I hope you liked it! Sorry for any spelling or grammatical mistakes.

- End.

Chapter 12: Chapter 10: Vanilla (BDSM)🙅🏼

Summary:

⚠️ CONTENT WARNING ⚠️
This story contains BDSM elements, including choking, restraint, the use of a safeword, power dynamics (Dom/sub), and emotionally intense scenes. It is not suitable for sensitive readers or those who may be triggered by consensual pain, punishment, or psychological tension. If these themes may be distressing or triggering for you, please proceed with caution or consider not reading further.

Dom: Aou

Sub: Boom

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Boom walked through a quiet city alley, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. He'd originally gone out for just one thing—a vanilla latte from the corner café, where the barista remembered his name but never asked questions. When the door closed behind him and the familiar scent of vanilla and dark espresso enveloped him, a memory struck him like a sudden sting.

Vanilla.

His safeword. The one word that made Aou stop. Not because Boom didn't trust him—quite the opposite. Precisely because he trusted him too much.

He pulled his jacket tighter around himself and slowly made his way to the other side of the city. He had one more task—not a task, perhaps more of a ritual. To pick up the ring. Silver, simple, thin—but carrying a weight felt by everyone who wore it. Each of Aou's sexual partners had one. Not as a symbol of ownership, but of consent. A sign that they had entered a world where the rules weren't always spoken, but always respected.

Boom remembered the moment when Aou made the offer. It hadn't felt like a demand for commitment. It was an invitation. "If you want it, it's yours. If you're still unsure, wait. But once you put it on... you won't just be a guest in my world anymore."

Today was the day. Today, he had made his decision. Not because he had to. But because he wanted to.

Evening

When Boom knocked on Aou's apartment door, his hands trembled. But the moment it opened—and there stood Aou: tall, composed, arms crossed, eyes scanning him like a familiar but rewritten page—Boom knew. He had made the right choice.

"You dressed nicely," Aou said, his voice calm, unreadable. Then he stepped aside, allowing Boom to enter with a slight tilt of his head.

Inside, the room was bathed in warm candlelight. On the low table lay the velvet-covered rulebook—the one they had once built together as friends who flirted with boundaries, but never crossed them. Until now.

Tonight, only one rule was written:

"Be honest. With yourself and with me."

 

Boom knelt on the carpet near the table, hands resting in his lap, breath quiet and steady. The silence between them wasn't empty—it was watchful, expectant.

Aou stood behind him for a long moment. Then, without a word, he moved to sit beside Boom. Their shoulders nearly touched. Aou's gaze dropped—just briefly—to Boom's left hand.

The ring was already there.

Simple. Silver. Worn on the finger they had once joked about, and now wore with silent understanding.

Aou didn't speak of it. He didn't have to.

Instead, he turned a page in the velvet book and placed his hand flat against it.

Boom felt the weight of that gesture.

"I didn't know if I'd see you like this again," Aou said, voice low.

Boom nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "I wasn't sure either... until I was."

Aou looked at him then—not just at the ring, not just at the kneeling figure—but into him. Like a man seeing the soul beneath the skin.

"You remember our safeword?"

Boom nodded. "Vanilla. If I say it, everything stops."

"Good," Aou said. "Because nothing starts without your full consent. Not tonight. Not ever."

He hesitated for just a breath, then added—soft, but with firm clarity:

"In bed, I'm your Mister. Nothing more. Even if I still care for you as a friend."

Boom's lips parted slightly at the words. There was no malice in them. No distance. Just a line—clear, respectful, and necessary.

"I understand," Boom said. "And I want it that way."

Aou smiled softly. His fingers brushed the back of Boom's hand, over the ring—acknowledging it now, not as a gift given, but as a choice made.

"Then let's begin slowly," he said. "And see what the night has to show us."

Without a word, Aou led him down the hallway. They passed the familiar living room, where they had often shared tea, but tonight they didn't stop there. Aou opened the door at the end of the hall—the door that was usually kept closed.

Boom knew what was behind it. Their private space. A room they only entered with mutual consent.

Aou turned on the light—soft, warm, not blinding. And Boom held his breath.

The room was clean, calm, and yet charged with energy. On one wall hung carefully arranged restraints made of leather and silk, floggers of varying lengths, feathers for teasing. On the shelves lay small boxes, each marked with a discreet symbol. On the other side of the room was a large bench with soft cushioning, beside it a stand with candles and oils.

It wasn't a place of fear. It was a sanctuary of curiosity, trust, and surrender.

Boom only moved when Aou gently pulled him forward. He stopped in the middle of the room, taking everything in—the leather, the scent of wax, the silence thick with anticipation.

"This is our space," Aou said. "We only come here when you're ready, baby."

Boom nodded, his eyes drifting over the details. Everything had its purpose, its meaning. Nothing was random, nothing was outside their agreement.

Aou stepped behind him, placing his hands on Boom's shoulders. He spoke softly into his ear:

"Tonight isn't about you performing. I'm not expecting anything from you."

His hands tightened slightly, grounding Boom.

"I want you to watch. To learn how it works when I lead. When I take control."

A beat of silence passed.

"This is how it looks when I'm the dominant one. I want you to understand—not just the actions, but the intention behind them."

Boom's breath caught. He nodded again.

Aou's voice lowered just a touch, firmer now:

"But don't test me tonight, Boom. Don't try to provoke me or push just to see how I'll react."

He leaned in, brushing his lips close to Boom's ear.

"This is still your space too. You're safe. But I expect respect."

Boom whispered, "I understand."

Aou let go of his shoulders, walking toward the shelves. He glanced back once, eyes unreadable but calm.

"Good. Then watch closely."

come to be guided. And no one guided him with such reverence as Aou did.

"I'm ready," he whispered.

Aou took a deep breath and gently stroked the back of his neck. His touch was calm, grounding.

"Good," he murmured. "Tonight, I'll lead you slowly. No rush. No demands. Just steps—each one with your full consent."

Boom nodded. He trusted those words.

Aou moved with quiet certainty, guiding him to the bed at the side of the room. The sheets were soft beneath Boom's back as he layed down, lights casting flickers of warmth across his skin. There was no fear—only the weight of anticipation.

"I'm going to blindfold you now," Aou said. "Only if you still want that."

"Yes," Boom whispered.

The satin slid gently over his eyes, shutting out the world, replacing sight with heightened awareness. Darkness wrapped around him like a breath held in the chest.

Then Aou took his wrists, lifting them above Boom's head. He secured them carefully in the soft, pink cuffs—decorative, yes, but symbolic too. Boom's breath caught as the cuffs clicked closed. His heart pounded—not in panic, but in wonder. He had never been bound before. Never surrendered this much. And yet he felt...somehow safe.

"You've never done this," Aou said softly, more a statement than a question.

Boom swallowed. "No. But with you, I want to try."

Aou leaned in. His lips barely brushed Boom's temple.

"Then tonight, you learn. Not by force. By feeling."

"Relax... you know I don't want to hurt you," Aou whispered in his ear, feeling shivers run down his body, straight to his pants. His legs instinctively pressed together to cover the obvious bulge forming beneath the fabric.

He heard Aou open the drawer and rummage through it for a moment. He felt nervous, unable to see anything, knowing he wanted to, but he trusted Aou to lead the evening. He definitely knew what he was doing.Aou pulled down his shirt, then his pants and boxers.He left him there, naked and vulnerable, while he prepared the things they would use

Boom felt the leather tassels gently brushing against his stomach, until Aou suddenly snapped them against his abdomen. It stung, though it was still gentle, yet the sharp sensation made him furrow his brow.

Then Aou expertly flicked the tassels across Boom's bare skin, the sting on his stomach sharp and intense. Boom wanted to speak the safe word, but he knew they had just begun, and he didn't want to upset Aou.

When he stopped, Aou praised him by gently stroking his hair, acknowledging that he had handled it well and hadn't made a single sound of protest.

"Good, very good, that's how the good boy acts." Aou murmured, his voice low and approving.

As he moved between his legs, he spread them apart so he could sit between them. He squeezed some lube onto his hand and ran it around Boom's entrance, pressing it with his finger.

Boom was humming softly; it was unpleasant because the gel was cold.

" Calm down. It will feel better, I promise". Aou said pulling two fingers in .  " Fuck! If it wasn't you I already will fuck you and fill you completely, leaving you totally ruin."

„Ah-h Mister!!" Boom gasped feeling pushing fingers on his sensitive spot, knowing he can't last forever this way.

„ I am also not this generous all the time". Aou said pulling his wet fingers out. „ I like doing it without losing them up first. Watching them squirm in pain makes it worth it."

„But, why do i feel this urge to slip my tongue here...?"  His tongue slips inside him stretching him with his tongue and licking his hole.

„Ah-! M-mister...! W-what are you doing-." Boom tried pushed him even, he doesn't like it even though it makes him so horny and moan in pleasure.

„Mph-!! N-no..-Why There...Haagh...!" Boom tried to pulled down the mask but he doesn't have time for both, fighting with mask while he is handcuffed and also squirming and moaning.

Aou undressed himself quickly his dick already hard as hell. He pushed on Boom's entrance.

„Shit... Can it even fit? It's too small". Thinking out loud. He pressed on knowing he could not even shove inside because if he does Boom will die from pain. He knows he shouldn't care but somehow, he felt sympathy for his bottom.

Boom pale face says it all when he pulled down his mask and gasped loudly screaming at Aou.

"Ah- w-wait...! H-hold on a second!!! He tried to covered his hole with his hand and crawled away.

"It's way too big...! I feel like I'm going to die from pain! And it won't even go in...!!" Boom said scarily as he doesn't even feel any sort of pain but his body was so tense.

"Just endure it." Aou said tried to get in, it just won't go in, he stretched him to side.

"Mister, Please I'm begging you..." Boom stuttered out, covering his eyes while whimpering and begging.

....Fucking hell ....Aou thinks rolling his eyes in impatience. He opens drawer pulling out small dildo almost his finger size.

" This can work, if this hurts you, I will kick you out." He soaked it in gel enough so that it didn't hurt. He slapped his ass for a few times and then shoved it in. " Does it hurt?"

"N-no... Hah...ha!! Master- please, n-no I'm about to...! Boom gasped and loudly moaned, Aou moved with dildo fast, pressing it on right spot. Boom end up breathless.

" Ha, already? No, Hold it in. You know what happens if you cum without my permission, right? „He smirked shoving it even faster.

"Ah- No...! I...I really think I'm about to...! Then he cums all over his stomach. Feeling the sensation spreading inside him. He breathes heavily. He doesn't expect it when out of nowhere...

Slap, strong one, across his face hitting his jam and cheek, turning his head to side...

" Who said you could cum without permission?" Aou said dominantly and rubs his palm.

"Boom trembled—it hurt. He had never been slapped by anyone before. His eyes welled up with tears, and his body shivered. His eyes widened as Aou held him firmly by the neck, pressing him down against the bed.

" Looks like you really are the one of those who gets off pain." Aou said angrily pushing harder on his throat " Is that why you were so eager to be punished ? Hm?".

"Hagh–Hak... M-Mister...!" Boom cried out louder, gasping for air he couldn't catch. He tried to push away the hand that was tightly gripping his throat, but the hold was too strong.

"V-Vanil-la..." he gasped, barely getting the word out.

Aou instantly let go of his neck, where two angry red marks had already begun to form.

Boom rolled onto his side, still wiping his tears. He didn't want to use the safe word, but fear completely overwhelmed him. I was so scared... I couldn't hold it together. I just ended up crying, he thought. And then came another thought, one that hurt even more: I must have ruined it. This is the end.

" Are you okay?" Aou pulled him to tight hug, showered him with kisses. "I think I got a little too carried away... And ended up startling you." Aou pushed their body close wrapping blanket around Boom' s naked body and rubbing his back in soothing manner.

"Does it hurt a lot?" He asked stroking his hair and kissing his forehead. He does mean to hurt him, he just got carried away.

" N-no, not really... I was just startled too, so I'm sorry..." This was too unexpected even thought Boom knows Aou is his master in BDSM which means stuff like this includes. However, Aou never choked him or slapped him.

" Alright. Then let's stop here for now since you cum already..." Aou pulled him even closer and stroking his hair, laying down in tight hug.

"Clean yourself up. You cum a lot," Aou remarked, gently rubbing the release that had spread across Boom's stomach. He leaned down to press one last kiss to his lips before standing up.

Boom instinctively reached out, his fingers brushing Aou's wrist. "W-Where are you going?" he asked, voice small, trembling with confusion.

Aou paused, then spoke gently. "I'm going to sleep on the couch downstairs. I don't want to risk hurting you again. It's better for both of us if we take a moment. Get some rest... I care about you, Boom."

With a pillow and an extra blanket tucked under his arm, Aou turned to leave.

Boom nodded, eyes still wet but filled with something tender. "O-Okay... Aou? I really like you," he said, cheeks flushed, a shy smile curling his lips.

Aou hesitated at the door. "Me too," he said, almost a whisper.

"Aou..." Boom murmured again, softer this time, like a thought escaping his lips.

Aou turned slightly in the doorway, the dim light outlining the shape of his shoulders. His face was calm, unreadable—but his eyes were kind.

"I know," he said quietly, before flicking the switch.

The room fell into darkness.

Boom lay there in silence, the quiet pressing gently around him, his heart still racing from all that had been said—and all that hadn't.

Chapter 13: Part 1: The Scent of Destiny (mpreg,fantasy)🧝🏼🫄🏼

Summary:

Dom: Joong
Sub:Dunk
⚠️ Mpreg, fantasy story...

Dunk sat on the examination bed, tense as a coiled wire. His hands trembled slightly as the doctor finished scanning his abdomen. The strange machine emitted a soft chime as it shut off. Silence settled in the room like a thick fog.

The doctor cleared his throat, glanced at the glowing crystal tablet in his hands, and then looked at Dunk with a carefully measured expression.

"Your suspicions were correct," he said calmly. "You might be pregnant."

Dunk's breath caught in his throat. "W–what?" he stammered. "But... I'm a man!"

The room tilted for a moment. He gripped the edge of the bed to steady himself, his heart pounding in disbelief.

"And yet," the doctor replied with unsettling calm, "you're not an ordinary man. In this world, it's not unheard of. Rare—yes. But not impossible."

"How is this even real?" Dunk whispered. "This shouldn't be happening. I don't understand..."

The doctor gave a small shrug. "It's been arranged. You were made this way. Just... be careful who you sleep with."

Dunk stared at him, eyes wide with a mix of panic and shock.

"That's it?" he asked, his voice cracking. "That's all the advice you have?!"

The doctor smiled faintly, something ancient flickering behind his eyes. "Your brothers are waiting for you outside."

Dunk stood slowly, still pale and shaken. He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, where Phuwin and Fourth were waiting. The concern in their eyes was clear. They knew something had changed, even if they didn't know what.

And Dunk... would never be the same again.

The moment the door closed behind Dunk, the doctor's expression shifted. He turned to a silver communication device on the wall, pressed a hidden rune, and spoke in a low, reverent voice.

"Your Majesty. The special boy has appeared in the human world."

A pause. His eyes glimmered with purpose.

"This time, call for celebration. Your bloodline shall continue—through him. One of your sons will father the future."

Dunk stood frozen in the doorway for a moment longer, trying to gather himself. His chest was tight, breath shallow. Pregnant. The word echoed in his mind like a scream in an empty cave.

He looked up and saw Phuwin and Fourth waiting just outside the clinic, both of them standing nervously, eyes immediately darting to his face.

"Hey," Phuwin said, frowning. "You look pale. What did they say?"

Dunk forced a tight smile, willing his legs to move. He stepped forward, hoping they wouldn't notice how his hands were still shaking.

"I'm fine," he said quickly. "Just... some stomach issues. Nothing serious."

Fourth raised an eyebrow. "Stomach issues?"

"Yeah," Dunk continued, trying to sound casual, but his voice cracked slightly. "They did an ultrasound. Nothing big. I'm okay, really."

Phuwin exchanged a look with Fourth, clearly unconvinced.

"We can go home now," Dunk added, walking ahead a few steps to avoid further eye contact. "I'll make us some soup. Something warm, you know?"

His tone was light—too light, too forced. It wasn't convincing, not even to himself. But his brothers didn't press further. They followed him silently, sensing that something was off, but unwilling to push.

As they walked into the fading light of day, Dunk wrapped his arms around himself. He didn't feel okay. Not even close.

But for now, he would pretend.

Phuwin drove them home in silence.

Dunk sat in the passenger seat, staring blankly out the window. The world outside passed in a blur of color and motion, but his mind was far away—spiraling. He could be pregnant. The words didn't fit in his reality, not even a little.

A baby. Me. A guy... with a baby?
It sounded like a bad dream. Like some weird sci-fi plot he'd scroll past on the internet. And yet... it was happening.
It was happening.
————————————————————————————————————

When they got home, Dunk moved like a ghost—quiet, distant. He kicked off his shoes by the door and went straight to the kitchen. He opened the fridge without focusing on food inside.

Behind him, Fourth plopped onto the couch, watching him with a furrowed brow.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked.

"I said I'm fine," Dunk mumbled, grabbing a bundle of vegetables. His hands were still trembling. "I'll make soup."

Phuwin shrugged off his jacket and joined Fourth, giving Dunk space.

After a moment, Fourth spoke again, more thoughtful this time. "You know," he began slowly, "my friend Gemini told me something weird yesterday."

Dunk turned slightly. "Yeah?"

Fourth leaned back, resting one arm along the back of the couch. "He said he has pointed ears. Like... legit pointed."

Dunk blinked. "...What?"

"Yeah," Fourth nodded. "I laughed at first, thought it was some weird joke. But then he showed me." He whistled low. "Man, I swear, they were sharp—like little blades sticking out of his head. I couldn't stop staring."

Dunk swallowed hard.

Gemini.

That name.
It triggered something in him. Something the doctor said. One of the royal rats....

"Did he say why?" Dunk asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Fourth shrugged. "Nah. Just said it runs in the family. I mean... maybe it's a genetic thing? A rare condition or something. But the way he looked at me... it was almost like he was testing if I'd freak out."

Dunk turned back to the cutting board, his heart racing again.

He suddenly wasn't so sure he wanted to make soup anymore.

Oh, by the way," Fourth said casually, not noticing Dunk's tension, "I promised Gemini he could come by for dinner. He's been wanting to hang out, and I thought it'd be good if we all got together. And, uh... his brothers are coming too."

Dunk turned slowly to face his brother, his mind racing. "You promised him?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Fourth nodded, completely unfazed. "Yeah. Gemini is my boyfriend. He's been asking to meet you guys for a while, and I thought it'd be nice if our families got along. You know, so we all get along better."

"His... brothers?" Dunk echoed, feeling a cold shiver run down his spine. He was starting to connect the dots, but it wasn't making sense.

"Yeah," Fourth continued, clearly not sensing Dunk's growing unease. "Gemini, his brothers—Joong and Pond. They'll all be here. I thought it'd be fun. You know, get to know them, maybe share a meal. It's good for our families to mix, right?"

Dunk's heart raced. Joong. Gemini's brothers. The connection to the royal bloodline, the strange events surrounding him... Dunk's grip tightened on the knife.

"Is that... really a good idea?" Dunk asked, his voice quieter than he meant. "I mean, what if they—"

Fourth raised an eyebrow, looking at Dunk in confusion. "What if they what? You've met Gemini before, right? He's not weird or anything. Just a royal prince of kingdom,maybe little stubborn but that's all."

Dunk turned away quickly, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Different. Royal. Connected to all this...

"Well, I'll finish the soup," Dunk muttered, trying to hide his anxiety. "We don't want it to get cold before they arrive."

Fourth smiled, oblivious to Dunk's unease. "Right, good idea. I'll set the table."

But Dunk couldn't shake the feeling that this dinner was going to change everything.

They sat around the table, the only sound the soft clinking of spoons against bowls as they ate the soup Dunk had prepared. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension.

Gemini chatted animatedly with Fourth, his easy smile and friendly tone a stark contrast to the silence around the table. Phuwin, who usually couldn't resist conversation, kept his eyes fixed on his bowl, ignoring the persistent smile of Pond. Joong, however, was staring directly at Dunk, his gaze sharp and unnerving, almost like a wolf sizing up its prey.

Dunk did his best to keep his composure. He stared down at his bowl, focusing on the soup rather than meeting Joong's eyes. His heart pounded in his chest, the weight of his fear heavy in the pit of his stomach. Stay calm. Just don't look at him. Don't show them anything.

He hated them. The royal family. Everything they represented. They had everything, and yet they did nothing. The princes attended school, but it wasn't for learning—it was just for appearances, a formality to maintain their image. They don't even care about education, Dunk thought bitterly. They've never had to work, never had to struggle. They think everything is handed to them.

And Joong... Joong's stare felt like a brand, marking him with something he didn't want. Why am I even here? Why am I letting them into my life like this? Dunk clenched his fists under the table, the tremble in his hands betraying him.

But he kept his eyes down, doing his best to maintain the illusion of calm, even though inside, he felt like everything was unraveling.

Joong's voice broke through the heavy silence. "Our maids cook better at our place," he muttered, casting a disgusted glance into his bowl.

Dunk looked up, disbelief flashing across his face. Did he really just say that?

He shot Joong a sharp look. "No one invited you," Dunk shot back, his voice low but filled with irritation. "You're lucky my younger brother is dating yours. Otherwise, you'd never step foot in our house."

There was a brief, taut silence. Dunk's words hung in the air like a challenge, the underlying tension between them palpable. Joong's gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he didn't respond immediately. Instead, he gave Dunk a cold, dismissive smile.

"Interesting," Joong said after a beat, his tone laced with condescension. "I wasn't aware your opinion mattered in this house."

Dunk's grip on his spoon tightened, the urge to retort rising within him. He's such a spoiled brat. But he forced himself to swallow the words, knowing it would only make things worse. The last thing he wanted was a scene, especially with Gemini and Fourth in the room, still oblivious to the silent conflict.

Instead, Dunk simply stared down at his bowl again, his mind racing with a mixture of frustration and resentment. They have everything. And me and my brothers are orphans, depending on my decision and life choices.

-End of Part one.

Chapter 14: Part 2: You're that special boy, Dunk!

Dunk suddenly pushed his chair back with a screech, the sound slicing through the quiet room. Without saying another word, he stood up and stormed toward the back door. He stepped out onto the terrace, slamming the door behind him, the sharp crack echoing through the house. The cold evening air hit his face, but it wasn't enough to cool the fire burning inside him.

His hands clenched into fists as he leaned against the railing, staring out into the dark yard. Who does he think he is? Walking into my house, insulting my food, acting like he owns the world...

Behind him, muffled voices filled the room, but he didn't care. Let them talk. He needed space, needed to breathe.

Inside, Pond shot a sharp glare at his older brother Joong. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Pond snapped under his breath, struggling to keep his voice down.

Joong took a casual slurp of soup. "I said the truth," he replied coolly. "If he can't take a little honesty—"

"That wasn't honesty," Pond interrupted, his tone sharp. "That was you being a royal jerk. You knew exactly what you were doing."

Gemini cleared his throat, sensing the tension. "Maybe I should go check on him..."

"No," Pond stood up. "I'll go."

Without waiting for a response, he walked toward the terrace door, his jaw clenched. Dunk didn't deserve that—not today.

Phuwin pushed his chair back. "I'll go talk to him," he offered quietly, worry in his eyes.

Pond raised a hand to stop him. "No. He should go." He turned to Joong with a piercing look. "You insulted him in his own house. You might be a prince, but here, you're a guest. And you don't treat people like trash."

Joong raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Pond snapped. "You don't get to act like you're above everyone else. Go outside and apologize. Or leave."

Joong sighed heavily, standing up reluctantly. "Fine," he muttered, walking toward the terrace.

Phuwin exchanged an impressed glance with Fourth, both quietly surprised by Pond's unexpected authority.

Joong stepped outside, the cool air brushing against his skin. Dunk sat at the far end of the terrace, legs swinging slightly. His brows were furrowed, lips tight. He was still furious, clearly not ready to talk.

Joong hesitated for a moment, watching him. Dunk didn't acknowledge him, didn't even look up, just kept staring at the yard. The silence stretched, thick with tension. Joong shifted uncomfortably.

"You're mad," he said, his voice surprisingly low and without the usual arrogance.

Dunk didn't move.

Joong ran a hand through his hair. "I wasn't exactly nice back there. I was out of line."

Still nothing from Dunk.

"This is your house," Joong added, quieter now. "You didn't deserve that. I'm sorry."

Dunk slowly turned his head, glancing at Joong from the corner of his eye. He still didn't say anything, but his foot stopped tapping.

Joong's words had caught him off guard. The voice that had always been so sure now seemed genuine. That quiet sincerity was enough to make something stir in Dunk.

A faint scent began to rise from him, unnoticed at first. It was warm, heady—violets and roses after rain. Unmistakable. The same scent from the doctor's office.

His eyes widened. No, not now.

It was happening again—the fragrance that meant he was one of them. One of the rare "special boys" meant to carry royal bloodlines. Meant to bear heirs.

He swallowed hard, trying to push it back, but the scent grew stronger as his nerves took over. It was too much to control.

Joong's nostrils flared. He inhaled deeply, and something in his expression shifted. The cold, noble demeanor melted into something darker.

"You're... different," Joong murmured, eyes locking on Dunk with intensity.

Dunk stepped back. "No... no, please," he whispered. "I'm not doing this on purpose."

Joong stepped closer, his gaze focused. "You're one of them. The chosen one."

Dunk's breath caught. "I'm nothing."

Joong's eyes gleamed with a mix of reverence and something else—desire, maybe. "The boy born under the blessed star. The one meant to carry our bloodline. You're supposed to carry a child for a prince. For someone like me... or my father."

Dunk shook his head, panicking. "I didn't ask for this. I'm just a normal guy!"

Joong took another step, his voice softer. "You don't have to be. But it's already been decided. This is your fate."

Dunk's heart raced. "I'm not your tool!"

Joong's gaze darkened. "You were created for this. Not by force. By fate."

Dunk felt a wave of helplessness crash over him. He couldn't breathe.

Pond's sharp voice broke through the tension. "So this is it? You're telling us Dunk is just going to fall in line with your plan?"

Joong turned toward Pond, his voice rising. "It's not about what we want. It's what must happen. The bloodline must be protected."

Pond scoffed. "That doesn't mean Dunk doesn't have a choice."

Gemini nodded in agreement, his voice quiet but firm. "You can't just force him into this. It's not fair."

Dunk's chest tightened. This wasn't his life. Not the one he wanted. His whole world was spinning out of control, and now Joong expected him to accept it.

Joong's frustration bubbled over. "This isn't just about me! It's about our family, our kingdom! We need him. I need him!"

Pond stepped forward. "You're not listening. Dunk isn't your pawn."

Joong's hands clenched into fists. "He was born for this. No woman can carry our child. Whoever finds the chosen one claims the throne. And now—this is my time!"

Dunk's breath caught. This wasn't his fight. He wasn't part of this world. Yet here he was, caught between them, unsure of what to do.

Joong's words seemed to hang in the air, a weight Dunk couldn't ignore. "You have to come with me, Dunk. There's no choice. It's already decided."

Dunk shook his head, his voice shaking. "No... I'm not going anywhere."

Joong's gaze hardened. "You don't have a choice."

The silence grew thick. Dunk's mind raced. There had to be another way. He couldn't be part of their kingdom's plans. But then, Joong grabbed his arm.

"Come with me, Dunk. We leave now."

Dunk struggled, trying to break free. "You can't do this!"

"Stop," Fourth called from inside, stepping forward. "He's our brother. You can't force him."

Joong hesitated. "He doesn't have a choice."

Pond's voice was sharp. "He deserves to choose. You can't treat him like this."

Joong's expression faltered, but he quickly masked it. "This is bigger than us."

Dunk's heart thudded in his chest. There was no escape. He had no say in this.

Finally, Dunk stopped resisting. His shoulders slumped. "Give my brothers what they want, and I'll go with you."

Joong's grip loosened. He nodded. "Fine. I'll make sure they're satisfied."

With a heavy heart, Dunk followed Joong outside. His steps were slow, uncertain. There was no turning back. Joong led the way, his expression unreadable, and Dunk walked behind him, his mind racing with the uncertainty of what awaited him.

Chapter 15: Part 3 : Pregnancy ❤️👨🏼‍🍼

For the third week, Dunk lays in the royal bed, unaware that the family he was now part of was actually of elf's blood. He didn't even know that Joong, the cold prince, was an elf, and frankly, he didn't want to. It was already too complicated.

Joong hadn't touched him once, not sexually, not even his hand and he hadn't even shown any real concern for Dunk's well-being. All Dunk had been doing for three weeks was lying around, eating, and feeling like a prisoner. He wanted to go for a walk in the royal gardens, at least something normal.

One morning, he decided to get up, dress in the simple white robes provided, and step toward the window. The gardens stretched out before him, beautiful yet mysterious. He wanted to explore them.

But then, he heard a knock at the door.

"Dunk, breakfast is ready," Pond called from behind the door.

"Yeah, I'll be there soon," Dunk replied, trying to buy some time. "I just want to walk for a bit."

"Are you sure you're well enough?" Pond asked, concerned. "Joong is here. Maybe it's better if you rest before heading out."

Dunk sighed. "I don't want to see anyone just yet," he said, glancing around the room. He felt he needed this small escape.

The gardens were quiet, a perfect place for Dunk to hide from everything. As he wandered among the flowers, he felt free for the first time in days. But soon, he spotted Joong watching from a distance. The prince's gaze was strict and unyielding.

Dunk tried to avoid him, but Joong quickly moved to block his path.

"Where are you going?" Joong asked, his voice as emotionless as ever.

"I'm just walking," Dunk answered, trying to sidestep him, but Joong stopped him.

"You shouldn't wander too far," Joong said, as if giving an order.

Dunk frowned. "Do I have a choice, or not?" he asked coldly.

Joong paused for a moment. "No, you don't. But you do have the option to accept your role."

Dunk looked at him, confused. "And what's my role?" he asked bitterly.

"You're part of what helps ensure the royal bloodline grows, Dunk," Joong said. "That means your decisions are no longer just yours. You have the ability to carry a royal child, and that makes your role far more significant than you realize."

Dunk fell silent for a moment, overwhelmed. He realized he was trapped in this palace, bound by expectations he had no control over.

"I don't want to be just someone's cow," he muttered under his breath.

Joong softened his gaze. "I understand this is hard for you, to deal with things like this" he said quietly. "But what's happening now is bigger than just you or me. I'm not sure you'll ever understand that."

Dunk turned away, ignoring his words. "I don't care," he said flatly. "Just give me time... I don't have to bear a child now, or carry your child just yet."

And so, Dunk kept walking, hoping that one day, he would be able to make decisions for himself—decisions that weren't forced upon him by others.

"Fine," Joong said coldly and turn to walk away.

Dunk sighed heavily. He wanted to leave, but deep down, he knew this was his fate.

That evening, a grand ball was held, attended by the entire royal family. Dunk didn't have to participate, so he preferred to stay in his room, sipping on chamomile tea and reading a mysterious novel.

Pond came to check on him. "You don't have to go downstairs. The guards will keep watch. You don't need to worry." Dunk just nodded in agreement and continued reading the same sentence, probably for the third time.

The tea had already gone cold by the time Dunk finished reading 40 pages. The novel didn't interest him much, and overall, the books in the royal library were dull and lifeless. Suddenly, a knock on the door broke his thoughts. He stood up to open it.

It was a drunk Joong standing at the door. His white shirt was undone at the top, and his lips were pink and swollen, probably from exchanging insatiable kisses with someone. He was also covered in wild dust, his skin slightly sticky, and his eyes were a bit half-lidded.

Joong stumbled back inside and collapsed onto the bed. He covered his eyes with his palm and let out a soft huff. "Sorry... I shouldn't have dragged you into this against your will."

"I'm truly sorry," Joong said, his voice tinged with regret. "But you know, as the firstborn, this kingdom belongs to me. Without a blood heir, I'm nothing. I need someone who will stand by my side."

Dunk watched him as he sprawled across the bed, pouring out the words of a drunken man—someone who almost always spoke the truth when intoxicated. Dunk stepped closer and sat down beside Joong, the weight of the moment pressing heavily in the room. Joong's voice was soft, almost pleading, as he glanced up at Dunk. "You know... we don't have to have children right away. It's enough if you're here with me. Maybe later, when the time is right."

Dunk gently brushed Joong's dark hair from his forehead, his gaze lingering on his bare chest, rising and falling with each labored breath. The silence between them was heavy, filled with unspoken words and emotions that neither of them knew how to express.

Dunk leaned in, his lips softly brushing against Joong's, a kiss that felt both tender and desperate, as if the very act of closeness was what they both craved. Joong responded immediately, pulling Dunk closer, his arms wrapping around him, as if he needed the connection more than anything else in that moment. Joong gently bites Dunk's lower lip,filled with an intensity that sent a shiver through Dunk's body. The moment was charged with an unspoken desire, and Dunk could feel his heart racing as Joong deepened the kiss, the sensation both thrilling and overwhelming.

"I'll be gentle don't worry I don't want hurt you". Joong rolled him under him and pulled the soft satin sheet down from his body.

Dunk nodded, allowing Joong to do as he wished. He lay down, still scared, but deep down, he knew Joong wasn't as bad of a person as he appeared to others.

Joong looked at Dunk's pale, naked body and smirked. "You're so beautiful," he murmured. His palm gently rubbed Dunk's belly, a silent desire to have him pregnant right away flickering in his eyes.

Joong bent down and flicked his tongue over Dunk's nipple. Dunk gasped, quickly covering his mouth—this was his most sensitive spot. Joong suckled gently, teasing with soft bites and slow, deliberate licks.

"Mhhm~" He was so sensitive there; his lower body twitched with excitement. Joong pulled away from his chest and moved down to his stomach, leaving a trail of wet kisses. He tugged down his white shirt, revealing his finely built abs and toned back.

Joong slowly moved lower, his tongue tracing a path down Dunk's abdomen until he reached his hips. He paused there, letting his lips rest gently against the sensitive skin. His warm breath teased Dunk's flesh as he gently spread his legs apart with his hands.

Without warning, he leaned down and bit into the inside of Dunk's thigh—soft, but firm enough to make him gasp. Dunk exhaled sharply, a muffled moan escaping as his body trembled under the wave of pleasure. Joong smirked against his skin, then slowly licked the spot where his teeth had just been. Every movement was deliberate, teasing—like he knew exactly what he was doing, and exactly what it was doing to Dunk.

„Ahh.." A low moan escaped Dunk's lips, unable to hold it back this time. His fingers instinctively tangled in Joong's hair, tugging gently but firmly. Joong let out a soft breath of surprise, his eyes flicking up for just a moment before Dunk pulled him closer.

Their bodies pressed together, and Joong's hips brushed against Dunk's with an electric friction that made them both inhale sharply. The contact was unintentional—raw, intense—and yet neither of them moved away. Joong lingered there, their heat mingling, his breath catching at how easily their bodies fit, how perfectly they reacted to one another.

Joong didn't move. He just let Dunk guide him, fingers still tangled in his hair. Their bodies were pressed together—skin on skin, breath against breath.

"Dunk..." Joong whispered against his neck, voice low and rough with desire. "If you keep pulling me like that, I won't be able to control myself."

Dunk let out a quiet, teasing laugh, his grip tightening slightly in Joong's hair. He turned his head, their lips now just a breath apart. "Maybe that's what I want," he murmured, lips brushing lightly. "Show me what happens when you lose control."

It was a challenge Joong couldn't resist. His lips finally crashed into Dunk's in a hungry, fevered kiss. His hands slid down along Dunk's sides as their hips met again, grinding slowly, deliciously. Their breaths grew heavier, mouths desperate, tasting, needing.

"God, Dunk..." Joong gasped as their bodies moved against each other again, friction setting his nerves alight. "You have no idea what you're doing to me."

He paused, lips hovering near Dunk's ear, his voice a soft, pleading whisper.
"Can you... let a little of your scent out for me?" he asked, almost reverently. "I want to feel it... all of you, all of my special boy ."

Dunk looked into Joong's eyes, his lips slightly parted, breath shaky. He hesitated for just a second—then let go. His body relaxed, and with that came a subtle change in the air.

It was almost imperceptible at first—a faint, warm aroma, sweet and primal, laced with something ancient. Joong inhaled deeply, and his pupils instantly dilated.

The scent.

It was unmistakable. The rare, intoxicating fragrance of a special boy—one born with a scent that only royalty could perceive. A scent not just meant to allure, but to trigger something deep, biological... sacred. A scent meant to stir royal blood into heat, into hunger—and into readiness to plant life.

Joong's breath hitched as the effect washed over him. His entire body responded instinctively, heat pooling low in his belly. He pressed his forehead to Dunk's shoulder, voice trembling with the force of what he was feeling.

Joong groaned low in his throat, grinding his hips against Dunk's as that scent wrapped around his senses like silk and fire. "Then you'd better be ready," he growled, lips ghosting over Dunk's neck. "Because I'm going to give you exactly what your body was made for."

Joong didn't hold back anymore. The scent Dunk released was like a spell—intoxicating, sacred, irresistible. Each wave of it vibrated through his senses, his instincts screaming that this wasn't just desire. This was destiny.

His lips crashed back against Dunk's, but this time it wasn't just passionate—it was hungry, desperate. His hands slid under Dunk's shirt, feeling the heated, taut skin, the muscles trembling beneath every touch.

Dunk melted under him, his body reacting to every movement, every touch of Joong's fingers. But more than that, it was the force between them—magical, fertile power. He felt his own body open, preparing, a strange energy pulsing in his lower belly, like something ancient stirring deep inside.

Joong pressed closer, his hips grinding against Dunk's thighs, and he groaned into Dunk's ear, his voice low and thick with desire.
"I can feel it... your body is calling to mine."

Dunk moaned, fingers digging into Joong's shoulders. "Then answer it," he gasped. "Fill me. Make sure the bloodline continues."

Those words made Joong lose his control. He was like an animal, knowing he had one sacred task. Their bodies connected in a fierce, urgent motion, Joong driving deep into him, already so wet, and with each thrust, he pressed tightly, passionately, as if sealing something greater between them.

Each thrust was met with a sharp gasp, their bodies burning, sweat glistening on their skin. Dunk's scent filled the air like sacred incense, and Joong lost himself in it, feeling not just lust but purpose.

"Yours," Joong whispered between kisses. "Your body... your scent... they belong to me now."

Dunk smiled, eyes closing, his whole body trembling with pleasure and surrender. "Then take it all... and don't hold back."

Joong's breaths grew heavy as he pressed even closer, their bodies moving in rhythm, feeling the intensity of the moment build. Every movement was faster but exactly pressed at right spot.

A-ah.. m-more..p-please.!" Dunk moans loudly, scratching Joong's strong back.

The bed creaked beneath them, the sound of it hardl hitting the wall in time with their movements. Joong's lips found Dunk's again, their kiss wet but then growing more passionate, their breaths mingling, mouths opening slightly, tasting each other. Dunk's hand slid to the back of Joong's neck, pulling him closer, as if unable to get enough of him. Joong licked Dunk's chin as he strokes his dick in his free hand.

Their skin was slick with sweat, the heat between them building with every thrust.
"You have to stay with me," Joong whispered against Dunk's lips, his voice hushed, almost pleading.

His hand slid down, fingers wrapping around the head of Dunk's cock, smearing the cum with his thumb in slow, teasing strokes. He lifted Dunk's leg onto his shoulder for deeper access.

"I-I can't... take it much longer..." Dunk gasped out, voice breaking with pleasure.

Joong quickened his pace, thrusting harder as his hand moved faster. Dunk came with a cry, spilling over Joong's hand, his body tightening so much that it made movement nearly impossible.

"Fuck! You're so tight," Joong groaned, trying to push in, but Dunk's spasming muscles held him in place.
"You have to relax so I can move..." he murmured, breathless, as he began to rock gently, inch by inch.

Little by little, Dunk's body yielded, loosening around him, and Joong was finally able to move again.

"That's much better..." he said, voice low and rough, and after a few more deep, rhythmic thrusts, he followed Dunk over the edge, releasing with a final, shuddering moan.

Joong stayed inside him for a little while longer, resting his forehead against Dunk's as they both struggled to catch their breath. His release was still deep inside Dunk, and Joong could feel the rapid beat of his heart echoing through the other's chest.

"I need to stay in you a bit longer," he whispered into his ear. "To make sure it works. To make sure you really get pregnant."

Dunk nodded, his whole body trembling, eyes closed, lips parted from exhaustion.

Joong moved slowly, carefully, but didn't pull out. One hand slid along Dunk's side, the other gently guided his leg back around him, keeping them close, joined.

"You have to hold it in, okay?" he murmured. "Just a little longer... for us."

Dunk let out a shaky breath, a soft smile playing on his lips as he nodded and buried his face in Joong's neck. They lay there in silence, connected, still, as if the whole world had paused just for them.

They stayed like that for a while—quiet, tangled together, breathing in sync. But after a few minutes, Joong slowly began to move again, still buried deep inside him.

"We should do it again," he murmured against Dunk's skin. "Just to be sure. I want to give you the best chance."

Dunk looked up at him, cheeks flushed, eyes soft and dazed. "Again?" he whispered, a small, breathless laugh escaping him.

Joong smiled, brushing a damp strand of hair from Dunk's face. "At least two more times," he said, voice low and full of heat. "Three total. I want to fill you up so much your body can't say no."

And he did.

He took his time the second round—slower, deeper, every movement intentional, every thrust meant to push him closer, to make it count. Dunk clung to him, moaning his name like a prayer.

The third time came hours later, after they had rested, held each other, kissed and whispered promises in the dark. But when Joong rolled over him again, hard and ready, there was no hesitation—only need.

By the time they finished, Dunk could barely move, his body spent, trembling from the intensity of it all.

Joong pulled him close, pressing kisses to his shoulder. "Now it's guaranteed," he whispered with a grin. "There's no way your body didn't take it."

Dunk let out a tired, content sigh and curled up against him. "Good," he murmured. "Then we did it right."

One week later

Dunk sat on the examination table, legs swinging nervously, hands clenched in his lap. Joong stood beside him, one hand resting gently on his back, grounding him.

The doctor was quiet for a moment, eyes scanning the screen. Then he turned to them with a soft, warm smile.

"Well... congratulations," he said. "You're pregnant."

Dunk stared at him, stunned. "Seriously?"

The doctor nodded. "Very seriously. It's early, but everything looks just as it should. You're going to be a parent."

Joong let out a breath, his eyes softening as he looked at Dunk. Without hesitation, he wrapped him in a strong embrace and kissed the top of his head.

"I told you," he whispered. "We did it right."

Dunk's eyes filled with tears, overwhelmed. "It feels real now... I didn't expect it to hit so hard."

Joong gently cupped his cheeks, forcing Dunk to meet his gaze. His voice dropped, deep and full of meaning.

"Now you can become a king," he said quietly, smiling. "And you'll be my queen."

Dunk let out a shaky laugh, a tear sliding down his cheek. "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe," Joong said, brushing the tear away, "but I mean every word."

They stayed like that—foreheads pressed together, hearts pounding in sync—as the future, bright and unknown, slowly began to unfold before them.

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"It's the end of their story.
I'm already blind from trying so hard to piece it all together. I truly apologize for any mistakes.

I hope you enjoy it!

 

- If there's a ship you'd like me to write about next, feel free to leave a comment — I'm not sure who to focus on now.

Chapter 16: Boss x Noeul fluff~

The school hallway buzzed with the usual morning chaos—noise, laughter, distractions. Noeul walked with his shoulders slightly hunched, clutching his books tightly to his chest like they were his only shield. His pants were neatly pressed, and his shirt carefully tucked in. In his mind, he repeated math notes, but his heart skipped a beat when he heard a familiar sound—laughter.

Boss.

He leaned casually against the lockers, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder, a black shirt hugging muscles he didn't bother to hide. In one hand, he toyed absentmindedly with his motorcycle keys. His hair fell slightly into his eyes, his gaze lazy—though sometimes, just sometimes, it landed right on Noeul.

And in those moments... the world paused.

Noeul tried not to look. But somewhere deep down, he wanted to be seen. Not as the boring overachiever, but as someone... important.

Boss pushed off the wall, his steps slow and deliberate, and walked straight toward him. Noeul froze, fingers tightening around his books. Boss stopped next to him and leaned one shoulder against the locker beside Noeul's.

"You dropped something again," Boss muttered so softly Noeul wasn't sure he'd heard it right.

After a short silence, Boss tilted his head slightly and added, casually but with just enough curiosity to make Noeul's breath hitch:

"So... gonna pick it up or what?"

Noeul blinked, scrambling for words. Boss had never spoken to him like this. Not directly. Not this close.

"I, uh... will pick it up," he managed, bending down to grab his biology note.

Boss smirked, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough to make Noeul's heart flutter. "There you go."

"See ya~" Boss waved and headed toward their classroom. Noeul squeezed the paper tightly in his hands, cheeks flushing.

When Noeul sat down at his usual seat in the classroom, he noticed a small package on his desk. A sandwich. Still warm. Wrapped in simple brown paper, just like always. Noeul stared at it, unsure whether to touch it or just keep staring. He glanced around—no one seemed to notice. No one ever did. Except one person.

Carefully, almost reverently, he unwrapped the package. But this time... something was different.

Tucked between the layers of wax paper was a tiny folded note, scribbled in messy, slanted handwriting.

"I love you."

No signature. No explanation. No emoji. Just... simple.

Noeul felt his breath catch in his throat. He held the note between trembling fingers. His heart thudded loudly in his chest, louder than any voice in the room. It couldn't be real. Couldn't be meant for him. But deep down—where secrets and wishes lived—he knew. Maybe, just maybe...

He looked over his shoulder. Boss sat two rows behind him, arm lazily slung over the back of his chair, pretending to be half-asleep, half-bored. But Noeul caught it—just barely. The faintest flicker of a smile. A glance.

Their eyes met. And yet it said more than a thousand words. Noeul turned back, the note still in his hand. He pressed it to his chest and tried not to smile like a fool. Not here. Not now.

The classroom buzzed as the teacher walked in, her heels tapping rhythmically against the linoleum floor. Noeul quickly tucked the note back into his bag.

"All right, everyone," the teacher said, clapping her hands once to get their attention. "As I told you last week, today you'll be working in pairs on your project presentations. I expect them finished by tomorrow, so use your time wisely."

A few students groaned, as they always did, while others immediately began eyeing their favorite partners.

She said last week, and his partner was—Boss.

His breath had caught in his throat back then. But now it was real.

He looked over his shoulder just as Boss stood up, casual and confident as always. He slung his bag over one shoulder and headed straight toward Noeul's desk, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Guess it's your lucky day," Boss said lowly, a smirk tugging at his lips as he dropped into the seat beside him.

Noeul blinked. "Or yours."

That earned him a look—a flicker of something unreadable in Boss's eyes. Boss leaned in slightly, voice soft and low, just for Noeul.

"I already have an idea. But I need your brain to make it sound smart."

Noeul rolled his eyes but couldn't stop the small smile forming on his lips. "Fine. But you're the one presenting."

Boss chuckled. "Deal."

Their arms brushed as they opened their notebooks. Close. Too close.

And yet... not close enough.

The final bell rang, echoing through the halls like a sigh of relief. Chairs scraped, voices rose in chatter, and backpacks zipped as students rushed to leave.

Noeul took his time. Always did.

He packed neatly, double-checked notes, and tried to ignore how aware he was of the boy beside him. Boss hadn't said much since they'd agreed on the topic. Just the occasional glance, the occasional smirk.

But somehow, his silence said more than words.

When Noeul finally stepped into the hallway, the building was half-empty. A few stragglers wandered near lockers, but most had already escaped.

He pushed open the door leading outside—

And froze.

Rain poured like a curtain, soaking everything within seconds. Thunder rumbled far off, sky heavy gray.

No umbrella. Of course.

He sighed, stepping back, planning to wait it out near the exit.

"You gonna melt?"

Noeul turned. Boss stood there, helmet in hand, water glistening on his leather jacket from his dash to the door.

Noeul shrugged. "I just didn't want to get drenched."

Boss tilted his head, considering. Then pulled out a second helmet from his backpack—Noeul hadn't realized he was carrying one.

"Come on. I'll take you."

Noeul blinked. "Wait—you're giving me a ride?"

"Unless you wanna swim home."

For a moment, Noeul hesitated. This wasn't just about getting home. This was Boss. His heart pounded so loud it almost drowned out the rain.

He nodded slowly. "Okay."

Boss smirked, handed him the helmet, motioned him to follow. They ran through the rain, laughter caught between droplets and thunder. The motorbike waited near the curb, sleek and black like a dream.

Boss swung onto the seat, looked back.

"Well? You getting on, or chickening out?"

Noeul took a breath, climbed on behind him, hesitantly placing his hands on Boss's waist.

"Hold tighter," Boss said over the roar of the engine. "I don't drive slow."

As they took off into the rain—Noeul pressed close, heartbeat wild, and for the first time... he didn't feel so far from the person he'd only dared to love in silence.

Traffic was a nightmare.

Rain hammered the streets, windshields blurred, horns blared under gray skies. Boss's bike weaved carefully, but even he—calm, unshakable—cursed under his breath more than once.

When they finally left the main road, Noeul blinked through the helmet visor, confused.

"This isn't the way to my place," he raised his voice over the storm.

Boss didn't answer right away. He pulled into a private underground garage; the rain muffled as the heavy gate shut behind them. The silence felt sudden and strange.

Boss parked and turned off the engine, helmet still on.

"Your place is too far in this mess," he said simply. "You'd be drenched before we got halfway."

"So where are we?"

"My place."

Noeul stared, stunned.

Boss took off his helmet, ruffled wet hair like it was nothing. "Come on. Unless you wanna sleep in the garage."

They took an elevator to the top floor. Noeul held his breath the whole ride.

Doors slid open with a soft chime.

There it was.

A penthouse.

Not flashy. Not cold.

Warm.

High ceilings, soft lighting, dark wood floors, a glass wall looking out over the city skyline blurred by the storm. A deep leather sofa. Bookshelves. Blankets carelessly tossed over armrests. Plants. A record player humming something soft.

Noeul's lips parted. "I didn't think you lived like this."

Boss raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"I don't know... I expected neon lights and chaos. Not... this."

Boss smirked, dropped keys into a dish near the door. "Sorry to disappoint."

He tossed Noeul a dry towel. "You're soaked."

Noeul caught it, cheeks warming. Drying his hair, he felt Boss's eyes on him—soft, not teasing. Quiet. Like seeing something no one else ever had.

"I'll find you something dry to wear," Boss said, disappearing down a hallway.

Noeul stood in the center of the room, heart thudding, rain still beating softly on the windows behind him. He had no idea what this night would become.

But for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel like just another boy in the background.

Boss returned carrying a steaming bowl of soup, the rich, homemade aroma wrapping around Noeul like a soft hug.

"Here," Boss said, sliding the bowl across the table. "Eat up before it gets cold."

Noeul's fingers trembled slightly reaching for it. The warmth seeped through the ceramic—a small comfort against the damp chill clinging to his skin.

"And—" Boss pulled a neatly folded bundle from behind the sofa. "You're soaked through. Change into this."

Noeul looked at the clothes—an oversized hoodie and loose sweatpants that smelled faintly of leather and cologne. He bit his lip, cheeks flushing. "Thanks."

Boss nodded, crossed to the fireplace, crouched down, pulled open a hidden panel, and added logs. Soon the room glowed with golden light and gentle heat.

"No one's got time to be freezing tonight," Boss grinned, throwing a blanket over the sofa's back and grabbing pillows. He dropped them beside Noeul's seat.

Noeul settled, soup warming his hands. Wrapped the blanket around his legs, sighed softly, tension melting.

Boss plopped down beside him, shoulders touching.

For a moment, silence—just the fire crackling, rain tapping windows.

Then Boss looked at Noeul with something softer than teasing in his eyes.

"You know," he said quietly, "I don't usually let people in like this. Not in my own place."

Noeul met his gaze, heart pounding new rhythms. "I'm glad you did."

He never let anyone in—Noeul was the only exception. As the storm raged outside, Boss sat close, their shoulders brushing lightly. He pulled a big towel and gently pressed it to Noeul's damp hair.

"Your hair's still wet," he said softly.

Noeul blinked, didn't pull away. Boss dried his hair slowly, carefully.

"You're impossible sometimes," Boss teased, eyes warm.

Noeul smiled shyly. "Thanks."

A quiet moment passed, close and delicate.

Boss leaned back slightly.

"But we should probably work on that presentation before it gets too late."

Noeul nodded, voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah... we should."

He reached for his bag, hands trembling slightly. From cold? Or the way Boss's presence made his heart flutter? Not sure.

Boss noticed, of course.

"You're still shaking," he said, brow furrowed. "Cold... or something else?"

Noeul looked down, clutching the blanket tighter. "I... I'm okay. Just need a minute."

Boss didn't press. He stood, walked to the fireplace, adjusted the logs to burn brighter. Returned with another blanket, draped it over Noeul's lap, fingers brushing lightly against his knees.

"Better?"

Noeul looked up—really looked—and for a moment, the world outside this cozy warmth didn't exist.

Without thinking, he reached out, gently took Boss's hand, fingers wrapping around his like it was the most natural thing.

Boss stilled. Slowly, wordless, he shifted closer, tugging Noeul into his arms.

The presentation didn't matter anymore. Only how Noeul fit perfectly against his chest, head resting near Boss's collarbone, their hearts racing in sync.

"You really are something else," Boss whispered into his hair, holding him tighter.

And Noeul, safe in his arms, finally stopped trembling.

Boss worked in silence, fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard, focused on the screen.

Noeul sat quietly in his lap, wrapped in a blanket, head resting against Boss's shoulder.

Not watching the screen—watching him. The way Boss's jaw tensed concentrating, the warmth of his arms holding him close.

Every so often, Boss adjusted something with one hand, pulled Noeul closer with the other, never letting go.

The room was quiet—just soft typing and fire crackling.

And in that stillness, Noeul felt exactly where he was meant to be.

As Noeul relaxed, half-asleep, warm from the fire, he murmured softly, barely a breath:

"Boss... I think I like you."

Boss stilled—not surprised, just quietly amused. A low chuckle rumbled deep and soft.

"I know," he said, brushing Noeul's damp hair back gently.
"Peat told me weeks ago."

"Shit!" Noeul blinked, confused and half-embarrassed. "He... told you?"

Boss smirked, thumb grazing Noeul's cheek. "Cornered me in the cafeteria like it was a secret mission. Said if I ever hurt you, he'd stab me with a pencil."

A sleepy laugh escaped Noeul, muffled against Boss's chest.

Boss's voice dropped, sincere now. "But I'm glad you told me yourself."

He paused, pressing his forehead lightly to Noeul's.

"Because I like you too, Noeul. More than I ever planned."

Noeul's heart swelled. He tightened his arms around Boss, hiding his smile against the soft fabric of the hoodie.

Boss tilted Noeul's chin up gently, meeting his eyes—so close now, breath warm and steady.

"Can I...?" Boss whispered.

Noeul nodded, eyes fluttering shut.

Boss kissed him—slow and tender. A kiss that said: you're safe, you're wanted, you're mine.

When they pulled apart, Noeul leaned in with a quiet sigh, cheeks flushed, heart full.

In Boss's arms, Noeul had never felt more at home.

-End.

Chapter 17: Pavel x Pooh - Drive or Ride?🔞

Dom: Pavel

Sub: Pooh

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The engine roared beneath them as Pooh gripped the wheel too tightly. His hands trembled.
"I— I don't know if I can do this," he stammered, panic creeping into his voice.

Pavel slammed his palm on the dashboard, making Pooh jump.
"Stop whining!" Pavel barked, eyes blazing. "You're not a kid anymore. If you want to learn, then listen!"

Pooh blinked, swallowing the lump in his throat. Pavel leaned closer, pointing sharply at the pedals.
"Clutch! Gas! Not at the same time, moron! You stall every time because you're scared to let go!"

Pooh flinched but tried again, hesitantly easing the clutch. The engine sputtered and died.

Pavel groaned loudly and slammed his hand against the steering wheel.
"God, Pooh, how many times do I have to say this? Get it together! This isn't a game!"

"Okay, okay, I'm trying!" Pooh's voice cracked, frustration mixing with fear.

Pavel's gaze softened for a moment, but then he pushed the feeling away.
"Trying isn't enough. You have to do it. Look at me when I talk to you." His finger jabbed toward Pooh's face.

Pooh met his eyes, hard and demanding.

"Focus. Now. One more time."

Taking a deep breath, Pooh pushed the clutch, slowly pressed the gas—and this time the car didn't stall. It lurched forward awkwardly but moved.

Pavel's mouth twitched, half-smile, half-grimace.
"See? You can do it when you stop acting like a scared little kid."

Pooh wiped sweat from his forehead, heart pounding.
"Thanks... for pushing me."

Pavel gave a sharp nod.
"Don't thank me yet. We've got a long way to go."

The roar of the engines faded slightly as Pavel's voice cut sharply through the air again.
"Pooh! This is just the trainer. What do you think you'll do when you get on the real track? Huh? You think Red Racing's gonna wait for you to learn? No! They'll eat you alive if you're not ready!"

Pooh gritted his teeth, trying to focus, but Pavel wasn't letting up.
"You have to push, Pooh! I'm not asking, I'm telling you! If you want to step in for me, you gotta prove you can beat Red Racing — that means faster reflexes, better control, more guts!"

Pooh slammed the wheel lightly, frustration boiling over.
"I'm doing my best, Pavel! What more do you want from me?"

Pavel's eyes burned with intensity.
"Your best isn't good enough yet. Not for them. If you want to replace me, you gotta earn it. Every second counts, every move matters. Out here on this trainer, you make mistakes — that's fine. But on the track? Mistakes kill."

Pooh swallowed hard, nodding, determination lighting in his eyes.
"Okay. I get it. I'll push harder. I won't let Red Racing win."

Pavel's voice softened just a bit, but the fire was still there.
"Good. Because if you don't, you'll never wear my shoes."

The training session was over, but the tension still hung thick in the air. Pavel stormed out of the garage, heading straight for his house. Pooh hesitated for a moment, then hurried after him.

Inside the quiet living room, Pavel threw his jacket onto the couch and faced Pooh with a hard look.
"Why do you always hold back?" he demanded, voice rough but not as loud as before.

Pooh swallowed nervously, stepping closer.
"Sorry, Pavel... I'm trying. I really am."

Pavel's eyes softened just a little, but the edge was still there.
"Trying isn't enough. You need to want it. To prove you deserve to take my place, you can't just 'try.' You have to fight for it."

Pooh nodded, shoulders tense.
"I understand. I'll push harder, I promise."

Pavel sighed and ran a hand through his hair, tension easing slightly.
"Good. Because it's not just about driving fast. It's about having the guts to keep going when everything's against you. When Red Racing is breathing down your neck."

Pooh met his gaze, determination shining through the nerves.
"I won't let you down."

Pavel gave a short, almost reluctant smile.
"We'll see."

"I'm going to wash up," Pavel said, and he left.

Pooh lingered for a moment, then shuffled toward the couch and sank into it with a sigh. He stared at the ceiling, arms crossed, telling himself he'd just wait for Pavel to come back. But the silence stretched, and the sound of water running behind the door tugged at his curiosity... and something else.

He bites his lip, hesitating. Then, almost without thinking, he stood up. His footsteps were quiet as he padded across the hall. His hand hovered near the bathroom door. He took a breath, heart racing.

"Pavel?" he called out softly, unsure if he even wanted a response.

No answer. Only the soft splash of water.

Pooh swallowed, then pushed the door open.

Steam rolled out slowly, warm and thick. And there, in the faint blur of fog and tile, was Pavel in the bath, back turned, muscles tense but relaxed against the rim of the tub.

Pooh stood frozen in the doorway. Pavel didn't look back.

"Well?" he muttered, voice low. "You coming in, or just gonna stand there like an idiot?"

Pooh stepped inside.

Pooh stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind him. The steam clung to his skin, warm and heavy, as if the room itself was holding its breath.

Pavel still didn't turn around. "Took you long enough," he muttered, voice low, echoing slightly off the tiles.

Pooh's heart pounded. He moved closer, step by step, until he stood beside the tub. Pavel's bare back was damp, his dark hair dripping, muscles shifting slightly as he adjusted his arms on the edge.

"I didn't mean to make you mad," Pooh whispered.

Pavel finally turned his head, just enough for his eyes to meet Pooh's — half-lidded, unreadable, but softer than before. "You didn't," he said, almost too quietly to hear. "You just drive me crazy sometimes."

Pooh's throat tightened. He knelt beside the tub, their faces now nearly level. "Then why do you keep pushing me?"

"Because..." Pavel exhaled slowly. "Because I care. Too much, maybe."

Their eyes locked. A silence bloomed between them, thick with everything unsaid. Then, slowly, carefully, Pavel reached out and let his fingers brush against Pooh's hand, still resting on the edge of the tub.

The contact was electric — gentle, but charged with something deeper.

"You don't have to be perfect," Pavel said, voice barely above a whisper now. "You just have to be real with me."

Pooh leaned in, forehead nearly touching Pavel's. "This is me. Right now."

Neither of them moved for a long moment — until Pavel lifted his hand, fingertips brushing the side of Pooh's face, tracing the curve of his jaw. Pooh closed his eyes at the touch, leaning into it.

"Get in," Pavel said, voice rough now — not with anger, but with something else. Longing.

Pooh didn't hesitate. He stood, peeled off his shirt slowly, then climbed into the warm water, facing him. The tub was barely big enough for both, but neither seemed to care.

Water rippled around them. Legs brushed. Fingers hesitated — then intertwined.

There was no rush. No need to speak.

Just the sound of the water, their breathing, and the quiet truth of being close — finally, truly close.

Pavel's arm slid behind Pooh's back, pulling him close in one firm motion. The water surged around them, sloshing over the edge of the tub and spilling onto the tiled floor with a loud splash.

Pooh gasped, his hands instinctively landing on Pavel's chest to steady himself. The heat of the water was nothing compared to the warmth of the body pressed against his.

Pavel tilted his head, eyes lazily dragging over Pooh's face, down his bare shoulders, his expression unreadable—almost amused, almost something else.

"You know," Pavel murmured, his voice low and curling like smoke, "if driving's not your thing..." He leaned in just enough for his breath to tickle Pooh's skin.
"...maybe you're better at riding."

His smirk widened at Pooh's stunned expression.

Pooh's mouth parted, but no sound came out. His cheeks burned, and his heart hammered loud enough to drown out the dripping water around them. But he didn't pull away.

Pavel's hand rested on his waist, firm, grounding. "You tense up too much behind the wheel. You overthink it," he continued, voice still dipped in that teasing edge. "But here?" His fingers skimmed gently along Pooh's side. "You're learning to let go."

Pooh swallowed hard, eyes flicking between Pavel's and the space between them that was quickly disappearing.

"You really think this counts as training?" Pooh whispered, half-challenging, half-breathless.

Pavel's smile deepened. "Depends on the kind of race we're talking about."

Their lips met in a slow, heavy kiss, as if the tense string that had kept them apart had finally snapped. Pooh let himself be guided, leaning into Pavel, feeling his hands, his breath, his restless strength. The kiss lasted a long moment. Their bodies moved and rubbing against each other. Their breating getting shallow.

Only when Pavel gently pulled back did he guide Pooh's body the way he wanted, the way he needed. Pooh followed, even as his thoughts scattered.

"What if water gets in my asshole?" he mumbled shyly, his voice catching with both laughter and nerves.

Pavel smirked, his eyes gleaming. "If I break you," he said lowly, with a sharp grin, "I'll be the one to fix you back up." Pooh looked at him, breath catching in his throat. Something in Pavel's voice sent a shiver down his spine — not just the threat, but the promise hidden underneath it.

Pavel thrusted into him and started thrusting, while holding Pooh against his chest so he wouldn't escape him. It was difficult, since they were in the bath full of water.

"Mhhm." Pooh closed his eyes and bit Pavel's shoulder from a mix of pain and overwhelming pleasure. The water rippled around them, warm and weightless, muffling their movements but amplifying every sensation. Pavel grunted softly, tightening his grip around Pooh's waist, his breath hot against Pooh's neck.

"You okay?" he whispered, his voice husky, but laced with care.

Pooh nodded, barely able to speak, his fingers digging into Pavel's back. "Y-Yeah,don't stop..."

"Fuck, I can't move, properly !" Pavel muttered, his limbs heavy from the water and intensity of the moment. He reached behind him and pulled the plug from the bathtub, letting the water drain with a loud gurgle.

Pooh let out a small laugh, breathless. "Well, that's one way to solve it."

The water slowly sank around them, revealing flushed skin, goosebumps, and the tangle of their bodies. Pavel looked at Pooh, eyes half-lidded. "Next time... maybe not in the tub."

Once the water had fully drained and they were still tangled together in the tub, Pooh slowly began to move again. Every motion was deliberate, teasing. Pavel watched him intently, his eyes tracing every subtle shift in Pooh's hips.

"This..." Pavel breathed out, a crooked grin spreading across his lips, "you're definitely better at this than driving. No contest."

Pooh chuckled, leaning in to press his forehead against Pavel's. "Good," he whispered, moving a bit faster now. "Because I'm not stopping until I squeeze you that hard, that your dick will fall off."

Pavel groaned, his head tipping back against the cold edge of the tub, but the heat between them made him feel like he was burning from the inside out.

"You talk a lot of shit for someone riding me like that," he growled, his hands gripping Pooh's thighs, guiding him with more force now.

Pooh smirked, not slowing down. "Then shut me up."

Pavel didn't hesitate — he pulled Pooh down into a rough kiss, teeth clashing, tongues tangled. Their bodies moved in sync, water droplets still clinging to their skin, the sound of slick movement echoing off the bathroom tiles.

Every thrust, every gasp, every twitch of muscle pulled them deeper into the moment, until the rest of the world dissolved into nothing but heat, pressure, and need.

"Fuck—Pooh..." Pavel's voice broke as his fingers dug into Pooh's hips. "You're gonna kill me."

Their bodies moved as one, caught in a rhythm that neither of them wanted to break. Pavel's breath was ragged, his mind fogged by sensation, but somewhere beneath the intensity, he couldn't help but laugh — short, breathless.

Pavel lowered his head and ran his tongue slowly across Pooh's chest, savoring the taste of his skin, the way Pooh shivered under his touch. The warmth of the moment deepened as his lips trailed lower, brushing over the smooth planes of muscle and skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

Pooh's breath hitched, his fingers curling into Pavel's hair, pulling him closer. "You always know how to make me weak," he murmured, voice thick with need.

Pavel smiled against Pooh's skin, the connection between them electric. "Only because you let me," he replied softly, before capturing Pooh's lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

Pavel thrusted in deeply, making Pooh whimpered out loudly. His body trembled, and in the next moment, he came, spilling warm release across Pavel's abdomen. A moment later, Pooh tensed and instinctively pulled back, the sensation of oversensitivity making him wince slightly as Pavel's still-hard length slipped out of him. Pooh collapsed onto Pavel's chest with a shaky breath, his body still trembling in the aftermath.

Pavel wrapped his arms around him, pressing a soft kiss to Pooh's damp temple. Their skin was slick with sweat and release, hearts pounding in a shared rhythm. For a moment, neither spoke — only the quiet sounds of their breathing filled the bathroom.

Pooh lifted himself slightly, his damp skin sticking briefly to the cold surface of the empty bathtub. He looked into Pavel's eyes, breath still uneven.

"You didn't come," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, echoing off the tiled walls.

Pavel gave a faint smile, brushing a strand of hair from Pooh's face. "Didn't need to. You were enough."

But Pooh didn't seem satisfied with that answer. He slid down slowly between Pavel's spread legs, knees squeaking softly against the porcelain. The cold of the tub clung to his skin, but inside he burned.

"Let me fix that," he whispered, lips brushing the skin just above Pavel's twitching length.

Pavel sucked in a breath as Pooh's mouth descended — warm, wet, eager. There was no teasing now. Pooh took him in deep from the start, his lips stretching, tongue pressing flat and firm. Pavel groaned, head falling back with a dull thud against the tub.

His hands gripped the edges as Pooh moved with rhythm and purpose, sucking hard, then easing up, letting his tongue swirl and flick, only to take him deep again. Pavel's thighs tensed, stomach trembling — he was already so close.

"Fuck... Pooh, I—" he hissed through clenched teeth, chest heaving.

Pooh just moaned around him, the vibrations pulling Pavel closer to the edge. One of Pooh's hands slipped to cup his balls, massaging gently, while the other pressed on his hip, holding him still. The tight heat, the sound of wet suction, the sight of Pooh between his legs — it was too much.

With a strangled cry, Pavel arched his back, release hitting him hard as he spilled into Pooh's mouth. Pooh swallowed without hesitation, slow and deliberate, his eyes half-lidded, moaning softly at the taste.

When he finally pulled back, lips flushed and glistening, he licked them with a little smirk.

Pavel looked at him through half-lidded eyes, still catching his breath. His hand reached up, fingers curling around Pooh's jaw as he pulled him in for a kiss. Their lips met — hot, deep, tongues tangling — but after just a few seconds, Pavel suddenly pulled back. His face twisted slightly as he wiped his mouth.

"Ugh... fuck. That's me," he grimaced. "Tastes weird when it's yours."

Pooh burst out laughing, leaning back on his heels, clearly enjoying Pavel's reaction. "Didn't seem to bother you a minute ago."

Pavel rolled his eyes but couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips. He reached up again, tugged Pooh down for a softer, slower kiss this time — one that lingered, full of warmth. When they parted, he looked at him with a teasing glint in his eyes.

"You kiss like a fucking dream. Ride my dick like a pro. But drive? You're a goddamn menace behind the wheel."

Pooh snorted, half offended, half amused. "I told you that pothole came out of nowhere."

Pavel just chuckled, pulling him back down into his arms. "Sure it did, baby. Sure it did."

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Chapter 18: Chapter X: Little Secrets(a note from the author)

Some stories are meant only for those who truly want them. Not because they're too bold or too delicate — but because they're like secret letters, written from one heart to another.

If you'd like to read special scenes, bonus content, or alternate versions that didn't quite fit here... or if you'd enjoy a custom moment with your favorite pairing (maybe a family holiday, a bedtime story, or a rainy day adventure?) — I'd love to write something just for you.

📩 You can reach me at:
[email protected] or in comment on this chapter....

Let me know the characters and the mood (wholesome fluff, gentle angst, cozy slice-of-life — anything you'd like, as long as it's heartfelt and safe for all readers 💛).

Thank you for being part of this journey. Every read, every smile, every shared emotion — it means the world to me.

With love,

Your author: Guwluse<3

Chapter 19: Jimmy x Sea - Black Kitty Hybrid 🖤🐾😊

Summary:

This story is completely free of sadness.
It's a pure fluff story full of love, care, and warm moments.

Sea is six years old and a cat hybrid — a special child who doesn't have an easy life in this world. Fortunately, he found a new home with Jimmy, who is 26 years old and takes care of him like his own son.

Enjoy!

In this world, hybrids had no rights.

They weren't citizens. They weren't even people. They were treated like animals — registered under numbers as wild creatures. Animals had more rights than hybrids.

Sea was one of them. A little black cat hybrid.

He was just six years old when Dr. Jimmy Jitaraphol found him — curled up in a cold metal cage at a government research facility, quiet and still, his fur matted and tangled, his little tail trembling like a tiny leaf in the wind. His ears twitched at every sound — a door creaking, footsteps echoing — and he flinched at even the softest movements. He didn't cry. He didn't speak. He didn't even seem to hope.

Until Jimmy knelt down beside the bars, his breath warm on the cold metal.

"Do you have a name?" he asked softly, voice gentle like a lullaby.

The little hybrid looked up with wide, shining yellow-green eyes, pools of deep emotion hidden beneath layers of fear and longing.

"...Sea," he whispered, voice barely audible, like the rustle of leaves in autumn.

It wasn't registered. It wasn't official. But to Jimmy, that made it even more precious. He reached through the bars, careful not to scare him, and offered a small, trembling hand.

He took the little ball of fur home with him. Not as a test subject. Not as a patient. But as a neglected child hybrid who needed love and acceptance as a human being.

First Weeks

Sea was... shy. That was one way to put it.

He didn't speak much. He didn't understand boundaries — or maybe, his boundaries were too strong, built like invisible walls around him.

He slept under the kitchen table, curling his tiny body into a tight ball, tail wrapped protectively around himself. Whenever the vacuum cleaner came out, he hissed and scrambled to hide behind the couch cushions, trembling like a frightened kitten.

He hoarded socks — one striped, one fuzzy, one soft blue — hiding them in a secret stash under the sofa cushions.

Once, he tried to eat cereal with a fork because "it looked like a little comb," he told Jimmy seriously.

Jimmy didn't laugh. He smiled, sure, but never mockingly.

Instead, he said gently, "That's okay. We can learn together."

He bought soft pajamas with little space cats floating among stars, and put a nightlight shaped like a glowing moon beside the bed. Every night, Jimmy read him bedtime stories about whales singing in the deep sea, stars that always found their way home, and gentle creatures that never gave up hope.

Sea listened to every word.

He didn't always understand, but he always listened.

One quiet afternoon, Jimmy came home carrying a pack of crayons and a big drawing pad tucked under his arm.

Sea peeked out from behind the couch, ears twitching like tiny satellites.

"For me?" he asked, eyes wide and sparkling with wonder.

"Of course," Jimmy said warmly, setting the crayons and pad on the table. "You can draw anything you want."

Sea padded over slowly, eyes fixed on the box like it was a treasure chest. He climbed carefully onto the chair, tail swishing gently behind him, and touched the crayons with both hands.

"Can I... draw a baby hippo?" he asked seriously, his voice small.

Jimmy chuckled softly. "Sure you can. Any color you want."

Sea nodded solemnly. "I want him to be blue. Like the sky."

He picked the blue crayon with careful fingers, tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth in concentration. He gave the baby hippo big, round eyes, tiny ears, and four chubby legs. Then, next to the hippo, he drew a little fox-like figure with pointy ears and a fluffy tail.

Beside that, he drew a taller figure wearing glasses and a gentle smile.

He added sparkly stars all around them. And underneath it, in his uneven but eager handwriting, he wrote:

"Me and Daddy."

Jimmy paused, breath catching in his throat.

Sea looked up, clutching the crayon tightly.

"...Is it okay if I call you that?" he asked softly. "Like... real daddy?"

Jimmy's heart nearly stopped. He knelt beside the chair, eyes misty.

"Sea," he said, voice low and full of emotion, "you can call me anything you want."

Sea smiled, eyes glowing like sunrise. "Okay, Daddy."

Jimmy pulled him into a warm hug, cradling him close.

"And that hippo?" Jimmy said gently. "He's perfect."

Sea nodded into his shoulder. "He's blue 'cause he's safe now. Just like me."

Sea sat cross-legged on the floor, staring intently at the little chart hanging on the wall beside his bed.

It was covered in sparkly yellow star stickers. Sixteen of them — neat little rows, each carefully placed by Jimmy's hand.

Sea counted them quietly. "One, two, three... sixteen..."

He pressed his tiny finger against the newest one, added just that morning. He earned it by not hiding under the table when Jimmy turned on the kettle — loud noises still scared him sometimes. But that day, he had stayed right there on the kitchen stool, clutching Mokky, his seal plush, and breathing like Jimmy taught him: in... and out.

Jimmy had smiled so big after. "You were so brave, bud. You did amazing."

Now Sea's ears twitched proudly. He needed twenty stars to get a new plushie — a very specific one. A blue jellyfish with sleepy eyes and dangling legs. He'd seen it in the store window once, and Jimmy promised, "We can make that your special prize, okay? For when you reach twenty stars."

Sea whispered to himself, "Four more..." He looked over his shoulder.

Jimmy was humming in the kitchen, making toast and cocoa. The smell drifted through the apartment — warm and comforting like morning sun.

Sea hugged Mokky close. "Do you think I can do it?" he asked softly, half to himself, half to the stars.

Then, his voice a little stronger: "...I wanna be good. For Daddy."

Just then, Jimmy peeked around the corner. "You already are," he said gently, smiling.

Sea beamed.

The sun wasn't even up yet when Sea's eyes fluttered open. He sat up slowly, rubbing sleep from his eyes and carefully tucking Mokky the seal back under his blanket. The apartment was quiet. Peaceful. Even the city outside seemed to be sleeping.

Sea slipped off the bed and tiptoed down the hallway in his fuzzy socks, tail twitching excitedly.

He had a mission — make breakfast. For Daddy.

He didn't go to school like other kids — not yet. He couldn't read much either, not really. So recipes and measurements were just mysterious squiggles in books.

But Sea was determined.

He dragged a wooden chair across the kitchen floor with a loud scraaaape, wincing when it squeaked, then climbed up carefully.

"Okay," he whispered to himself, tail swishing. "Pancakes."

He'd seen Jimmy make them before — mixing white stuff in a bowl, adding brown stuff, frying it until the whole room smelled like happiness.

Sea stared into the big red mixing bowl like it might whisper the answer.

He scratched his fluffy head.

"Hmm... what does Daddy put in the pancake mix?" he mumbled.

His eyes darted to the cupboard. Then the fridge. Then a drawer full of wooden spoons.

He reached for a long-handled spoon — stretching across the counter from his wobbly perch.

But the chair wobbled with him.

Too far—!

CRASH!

Sea yelped as the chair tipped over, landing on the tile floor — right on his little black cat tail.

"Ow!" he gasped, eyes wide with shock.

He froze, breath caught, and for a moment it looked like he might cry.

He curled in on himself, ears low, hands on his tail, which throbbed with a dull ache.

Tears pricked his eyes — not from the pain, but from the fear and frustration. He was trying so hard to be good, to make Jimmy proud.

He sniffled. "I was just trying to cook..."

From down the hall, soft footsteps started — Jimmy stirring from his sleep.

Sea blinked up at the doorway, bottom lip trembling.

Jimmy came down rubbing one eye, still half-asleep in pajama pants and a soft old t-shirt.

He blinked at the crash.

"Sea?"

No answer. Just a quiet sniffle.

Jimmy's heart dropped. He hurried the rest of the way and stopped in the doorway.

There, on the cold tile floor, sat Sea in a little heap. His wooden chair lay tipped beside him, a spoon rolled across the floor.

Sea was curled up, clutching his tail with both hands, ears flat against his messy hair.

"Hey, hey —" Jimmy rushed over, kneeling beside him. "Oh no, sweetheart. What happened?"

Sea sniffled, trying to be brave. "I-I fell... the chair went boom and landed on my tail..."

Jimmy gently lifted him into his arms, feeling the slight tremble in his small body. "Shh... I've got you. It's okay now. Let me see..."

He sat Sea on the edge of the counter and crouched down, brushing flour off his cheek.

"Tail still attached?" he asked softly, trying to make him smile.

Sea gave a tiny nod, still biting his lip.

"It hurts a little..."

Jimmy examined the soft black tail carefully.

"No breaks. Just a little bump. You're gonna be okay, brave boy."

Sea's ears flicked.

"I didn't mean to be loud. I just wanted to make pancakes..."

Jimmy looked around — open flour bag, tilted chair, empty bowl — then back at Sea's worried eyes.

"Oh, bud..." Jimmy ruffled his hair gently. "You were trying to cook? All by yourself?"

Sea nodded. "Because you like chocolate and strawberries..."

Jimmy's heart melted completely.

"You're the sweetest kid in the world," he whispered, kissing the top of his head. "But next time, promise me you'll wait for me, okay? Pancakes are a two-person job."

Sea looked up hopefully.

"Even if I can't read the recipe?"

"Especially then," Jimmy smiled.

He grabbed a warm towel and wrapped Sea like a tiny burrito, setting him safely on a stool at the table.

"Now," Jimmy said, rolling up his sleeves, "Chef Sea — what do you say we make the world's best chocolate strawberry pancakes together?"

Sea's tail gave a small wiggle beneath the towel.

"Okay, Daddy."

Chapter 20: First x Khaotung - My future wife (18+)

Dom: First

Sub: Khaotung

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The hospital was heavy with tension. Not just because of the pressure in the air, but the silence that was only broken by the beeping of monitors and the occasional groan from the wounded. Khaotung, still in his white coat, wiped the sweat from his forehead. It had been a long day. Gunshot after gunshot, one gangster after another. Tonight's shift was pure hell.

The doors to the trauma unit slammed open, nearly coming off the hinges. Several men in black suits entered, followed by a man whose steps were calm—but his eyes spoke of violence. First.

"Where's my boss?" First hissed without a greeting, his stare cold as steel.

Khaotung eyed him. "Operating Room Three. He survived by a miracle."

First nodded, but didn't head there. Not yet. Instead, he stopped in front of Khaotung. For a moment, the air between them thickened—not with fear or urgency, but something sharper.

"You know you'll be the only one to witness his final hours," First said quietly, but clearly.

"You say that like you've already made peace with it," Khaotung replied with a bitter edge. "Or... maybe someone like you doesn't say goodbye."

First gave a small smile. It wasn't comforting. "Exactly. He's weak. Too old. His time is up. And I... I think it's time the leadership changed hands."

Khaotung drew in a breath. "And what am I supposed to be? A hitman with a salary?"

"No," First whispered, pulling a small black package from his pocket. "You're someone who knows when to keep his mouth shut. And someone who, in return, gets protection. Power. Or... something more valuable to you."

Khaotung stared at him, expression unreadable. First stepped closer. "Like... me."

Seconds dragged out as their eyes locked. Then Khaotung stepped back, though he didn't look away.

"I'll lock the operating room. No one will disturb you for ten minutes. But if he dies, it won't be by my hand."

"That's all I need," First said, with cold certainty.

The hallway was dim, the lights flickering slightly overhead. Khaotung walked ahead with brisk steps, not looking back, and First followed like a shadow. When they reached the end of the corridor, Khaotung stopped, typed in a code, and the heavy security door slid open.

Inside, the boss lay unconscious, a ventilator breathing for him. Bandages wrapped around his torso, blood already seeping through. Machines beeped steadily, keeping him alive—but barely.

"You have ten minutes," Khaotung said, voice low, almost emotionless. "No cameras. No witnesses. Just you and him."

First stepped past him without a word.

Khaotung didn't move. He stood in the doorway, back straight, jaw clenched. He was the only thing between life and death—and yet, he didn't stop it.

The door slid shut behind First with a soft hiss.

Inside, the air was cold. Sterile. Almost too clean for what was about to happen.

First approached the bed slowly, his eyes scanning the man who had once ruled the underground like a god. Now reduced to tubes, wires, and the scent of antiseptic.

"I always thought you'd die in a blood-soaked alley," First murmured, pulling a chair close to the bed. "But look at you. So... fragile."

He reached into his jacket. Not for a weapon—but a syringe. Clear liquid shimmered inside. Silent. Untraceable.

"No one will question it," he whispered, gently tapping the syringe. "Your body's already failing. Your lungs half-destroyed. One more shock and the doctors will call it natural."

He leaned close, lowering his voice to the edge of a secret.

"You taught me to be ruthless. I hope you're proud."

And with that, he slid the needle into the IV line.

The boss's breathing hitched—but only for a second. Then it stilled.

The heart monitor flatlined with a single, steady tone.

First stood slowly, adjusting his suit. Calm. Controlled. His eyes betrayed nothing. He pressed the emergency button by the bed. Seconds later, the doors burst open again—doctors rushing in, chaos blooming like smoke. Khaotung pushed through them and caught First's eyes across the room.

No words.

Just a single look.

Later, when the body was being wheeled out and the others were distracted, Khaotung found First in the hallway, his back turned to everyone.

First sat in the shadow of a concrete pillar in an empty garage, the cigarette smoke slowly rising toward the cracked ceiling. In his hand, he held a plastic card—worn and weathered, with a photo, a name, and a clear label: Khaotung Thanawat—medical intern.

When Khaotung entered, his steps faltered, his eyes narrowing on the small piece of plastic between First's fingers.

"Still just an intern?" First asked lazily, taking a drag from his cigarette. His eyes were half-closed, his voice calm—but every word carried the weight of knowing the answer already.

Khaotung stood frozen, but his eyes flashed. "Give it back."

First snorted a laugh but didn't move. "Twenty-one. And still just an intern? Either you're slow... or you're playing a game no one has noticed."

"That's none of your business," Khaotung snapped, stepping closer. "This isn't your world."

"And yet you're here," First raised his gaze, their eyes meeting through the cigarette smoke. "Why do I get the feeling you're more than just a guy changing bandages after shootouts?"

Khaotung's expression didn't change. But his silence spoke volumes.

First slowly stood up, letting the card slip between his fingers—not dropping it. Just holding it so Khaotung could still see it.

"You know I killed a man today I served for years?" First said quietly, almost confidentially. "And you... you were there. And said nothing."

"Maybe I had my reasons," Khaotung replied just as quietly.

"Then tell me what they are."

"That depends on what you're offering," Khaotung spoke softer, stepping closer—until their bodies almost touched.

First smiled. Still holding the card. And the world around them, in that abandoned garage full of shadows, suddenly seemed too quiet.

Khaotung remained silent.

First smirked slightly. Still holding his ID card, he flicked it between his fingers as if it were a playing card that could change everything.

"What do you want, Khaotung? Money?" he finally asked sharply, though his voice stayed low. "My subordinate found out you have a sick mother. Is that true?"

Khaotung suddenly stopped breathing. That was confirmation enough.

First leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Expensive treatment. Rare diagnosis. Long list of hospitals. And you? An intern with a lousy salary and hands stained with blood that wasn't yours."

Their eyes met. Khaotung pressed his lips together, his eyes darkening.

"I don't kill," he said softly.

"Not yet," First whispered. "But you help those who do. And that's already halfway there."

Slowly, he lowered the card toward Khaotung's chest until the plastic touched the fabric of his shirt. He didn't give it to him—just hinted that he held it. And that he held power over him.

"Everyone has a price," First added.

"And you think you know mine?"

"Not yet," First answered, taking a drag from his cigarette, "but I like finding out."

First then smiled and pulled Khaotung toward a black SUV parked nearby, ready to take him to his big house. He dragged him through the whole house, all the way into the main part of the massive living room...

"So, how much money do you want?"

Khaotung hesitated, eyes darting around the room — expensive art, sleek furniture, a life so far from his own struggles. He swallowed hard.

"Enough to keep her alive," he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

First's smile twisted into something sharper, colder. "Money's easy. But loyalty? That's the real currency."

He stepped closer, the tension between them thickening like smoke in the air.

"So tell me, Khaotung... what are you willing to trade for that cash?"Khaotung's eyes widem, what he is talking about? I just allowed him to kill his boss.

"What ? I helped you get to your boss—and you kill him."

"You did it," First said, showing him a carefully edited security footage—one that made it look like Khaotung was the only one who killed him. It was all manipulated, deceiving him...

Khaotung's eyes flickered with shock and anger as he stared at the screen. The grainy footage showed him stepping into the room alone, the gunshot echoing, the man falling—but everything else, the real players, the hidden hands? Erased.

"You set me up," Khaotung said, voice low and trembling.

First leaned closer, a cold smile creeping on his lips. "I gave you the chance. You just took it. But don't think this ends here. You owe me now."

Khaotung swallowed hard, the weight of betrayal sinking in. The game had changed. And so had their alliance.

His voice cracked with fury and anger. "You're a piece of shit!"

First didn't flinch. He met Khaotung's glare evenly, calm as a storm before the chaos. "And you're the fool who trusted me."First smiled coldly, stepping closer, the shadows of the room dancing across his face.

First looked him up and down slowly, a sly smile playing on his lips.

"You know," he said, voice low and tempting, "you could be my wife. You wouldn't have to work in that moldy old hospital where some useless bastard dies every day. You deserve better than this..."

"No!" Khaotung snapped, crossing his arms firmly. First's pupils dilated, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes.

"Well?" First murmured, gripping Khaotung's jaw tightly.

"I don't got time for no bullshit, boy."

First looked at him sharply.
"If you don't wanna be my wife, you can be my fuck buddy. And trust me, it's not good position to be in, because i don't care about their feelings. "Khaotung swallowed hard and nodded faintly."That's exactly what I wanted to see," First said, then kissed him, roughtly. Khaotung squeezed First's sleeves, he never received a single kiss, so he obviously doesn't know how to do it.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Khaotung landed on First's bed — the soft mattress cushioned the fall, but it did nothing to ease the tension coiled in his body. First loomed over him like a shadow, his eyes gleaming with dark delight.

"You know you walk into this trap yourself ?" First whispered, slowly unbuttoning his blazer, which slid to the floor with effortless grace. Every move he made was deliberate, like a predator savoring the stillness of prey — prey that wasn't running at all.

Khaotung propped himself up on his elbows, his face burning with shame and confusion. "What do you want from me?" he mumbled, voice trembling.

First sat at the edge of the bed, took hold of Khaotung's ankle, and slowly pulled him closer. "I want to see how far you're willing to go now that you've crossed the line. You're in my world now, intern. And here, everything is paid for — with your body, your loyalty and for your dear mother's life".

His hand slid up Khaotung's calf, higher, his thumb pressing lightly at the edge of his thigh. Khaotung exhaled sharply, not knowing if it was from fear — or something else.

"I-I can't do this..." he whispered, but didn't move.

"Think about your mother" First's voice was soft, deadly quiet. "Do you think she'll make it through another month without my help? Without medication, without a doctor even willing to see her?"

Khaotung closed his eyes. Then slowly, he nodded — like a man accepting a death sentence.

First leaned in, face close enough that his breath brushed Khaotung's lips. "Very well, good boy," he murmured, and this time, the kiss was different — slower, deeper, more possessive. Khaotung tried to respond, but he was clumsy, like someone who had never known true desire.

First pulled back, watching him with a mix of impatience and curious intrigue.

"Incredible. You're a virgin, aren't you?" he growled, tugging Khaotung's shirt over his head. "That's twisted... even for me and i hate it so fucking much ."

He lowered his mouth and traced his tongue from Khaotung's neck down to his collarbone, leaving a wet trail that made Khaotung clench his fists. For the first time, he shivered not just from fear — but from something else he couldn't name.

"I love that moment when someone realizes they like it... even if they'd never admit it." First murmured, looking on Khaotung hard dick and his legs spreading widely just for him, begging him to do it.

He had prepared Khaotung for this. " Fuck! You're so tight.." patiently, preparing Khaotung with his finger, stretching it.. He stopped when he noticed Khaotung's eyes shut tight, his breath uneven, his entire body tense. For a moment, he simply watched him. He is definitely ready, now.

"Tonight, I will give you a gift — a taste of what it means to belong to me. Next time... it won't be this soft."Then he stood, pulled his pants down same with his underwear and then lower back on top of Khaotung.

Khaotung remained lying on the bed, his body full of chaos, his heart teetering on the edge of breaking, and his mind unsure whether he had just begun to burn his soul for a man who smiles when he kills or he hates it and he wants to throw up.

Khaotung swallowed, throat dry. "Will it hurt?"

"Yes," First said honestly. "But I'll give you time. You'll breathe through it. You'll endure — because you've already proven you can."

And when it began — when he finally pushed in — it did hurt a lot, he tighten up around First's dick.

" Shit! You will break my dick off, you're squeezing me so thightly.."

Khaotung's body arched, a sharp cry slipping past his lips. First didn't move, didn't thrust — he stayed still, letting him adjust. One hand gripped Khaotung's thigh, the other moved to his chest, steadying his frantic heartbeat.

"Breathe," he whispered, brushing damp hair from his face. "Just breathe."

Minutes passed in silence except for the sound of Khaotung's ragged breath and First's steady exhale. It was pain, yes — but not cruelty. First could've taken what he wanted and broken him. But he didn't.

He waited, patiently. For Khaotung's single nod or approval to start moving.

And slowly, the pain dulled into a strange, throbbing fullness. Khaotung's body trembled, not from fear now — from being opened, from being claimed.

First noticed the change instantly. His hands tightened, lips brushing against boy's ear.

"There," he murmured. "You're doing so well."

And then he moved.

Not brutally, not wildly — but with hunger control. Each slow thrust pushed a little deeper, a little further, testing the limits, feeding the fire that had begun in Khaotung's belly.

"Mhmm...so d-deep..." Pain blurred with pleasure. And in the end, when First finally stilled inside him, Khaotung's body was slick with sweat, his legs trembling, his mouth parted in silent disbelief. Spreading his legs a little more, he feels good but also not used to this feeling, it feels weird, but weirdly good, feeling his dick moving inside, makes him horny even more.

First leaned down, his lips met with his collarbone biting sharply to soft flesh.

"Ahh!" Khaotung moans loudly, moving against First, as to find more pleasure.

"There he is". First focus on the place inside Khaotung and moved directly on that sweet spot. Khaotung unexpectedly pulled him closer so that their naked bodies touched.

"I-I think I'm... g-going to..." Khaotung's words tumbled out between ragged breaths, his voice trembling with urgency. His body was overwhelmed — hypersensitive, every nerve alight, his skin flushed and damp. The final wave hit with a shuddering gasp, leaving him breathless and trembling in First's arms.

First watched as Khaotung's body trembled beneath his touch, chest heaving in the aftershocks, breath slowly settling. But those eyes—still wide, still dazed—held something wild and aching. He didn't move, not yet. Just kept a hand on Khaotung's waist, grounding him, letting the silence stretch between them like a thread still burning.

Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Khaotung's temple, slow but firm, like sealing in the heat that still clung to both of them.

"You made such a mess." he asked, voice low and gravelled, still thick with everything they'd just shared—but laced with something deeper, rawer. Concern. Possession. Want.

"You made such a mess," he murmured.

Then he pulled back just enough to meet Khaotung's eyes, a slow, wicked grin curling on his lips.

"I'm not even finished yet," he added, his voice full of teasing.

Khaotung's breath hitched, his body already too sensitive, yet that single sentence made the fire flicker back to life in his veins. His legs shifted instinctively, a reaction he couldn't control. First was still inside him twitching.

First noticed. Of course he did.

He dragged his fingertips down Khaotung's thigh, tracing the tremble, then leaned in, brushing his mouth just beneath Khaotung's jaw.

"Think you can take more—or do you want to help me and take care of it with my mouth?" he whispered, the words more of a challenge than a question.

Khaotung swallowed hard and looked down hesitating, his cheeks flushing deeper. This was definitely a bad idea either way. But he knew he was overstimulated down there, and his ass was still sore, so he made his choice.

"I... I want you to," he whispered, voice shaky but determined.

First's grin turned wicked, eyes gleaming with approval. "Good boy," he said softly, sliding closer, ready to take care of him just as promised.

First slowly pulled out, letting Khaotung take a moment to get used to the emptiness. Then he bent down slowly and crouched in front of him. Khaotung looked at him uncertainly, his cheeks burning with shame as he saw what was coming. Slowly, hesitantly, but with growing desire, he took him into his mouth.

"Mmh..." came a quiet moan as he tried to adjust, but it was clear he was still inexperienced. First chuckled and gently scolded him, "You're terrible at this," he whispered, his voice playful and lightly encouraging. "Just keep your mouth open and let me guide you."

" This is not even half way inside your mouth, you need to open more wider same as your legs".

Khaotung let out a soft, nervous sigh as he tried to obey, while First began to move his hips gently, urging him toward more confidence and rhythm. Tears and saliva dripped down Khaotung's chin as he struggled to keep up, overwhelmed by the new sensations flooding him. He glanced up at First, eyes wide and vulnerable.

First's gaze softened, but his tone remained firm. "You've got to learn this," he said quietly, "or it'll never be enough."

Without warning, First thrust deeper into Khaotung's mouth, filling him completely. The sudden pressure made Khaotung gag softly, eyes fluttering shut as he fought to stay steady. First's hands gripped his jaw, guiding him with deliberate control, his voice low and commanding.

"Breathe through your nose. Don't stop now."

Khaotung placed his hands on First's thighs, trying to push him away, but First grabbed his hair firmly to keep him in place. Without mercy, he thrust deeper and harder until Khaotung's body finally trembled and he let go with a soft, choked moan.

When he pulled back slightly, First whispered firmly, "Swallow it all, like a good boy."

command was clear, and despite the flutter of nerves in his chest, he obeyed. He swallowed hard, feeling the unfamiliar warmth slide down his throat.

First's grip on his hair loosened slightly, though his gaze remained intense, watching every small reaction. "That's it," he murmured, voice low and approving. "Good boy. You're learning."

First pulled back, breathing heavily, then grabbed his shirt and slid it over his head, muscles taut and glistening with sweat. He gave Khaotung a sharp look.

"My driver will take you home. I'll send the money later," he said coolly, already pulling on his pants.

First stood up, threw on his pants, and without another word, walked out the door—leaving Khaotung alone on the bed, used and aching, his throat raw and his ass sore. The room was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by Khaotung's shallow breaths as he tried to catch himself.

Khaotung's phone lit up, displaying his account balance—one million Thai baht. A glimmer of hope sparked in his eyes, brightening the dark room.

Maybe it wasn't so bad after all.

End.

Chapter 21: Kinn x Porsche-Fuck Buddies or just a bodyguard? 🔞

Dom: Kinn
Sub:Porsche
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Bangkok never slept, not really. It just blinked slower at night—like a predator conserving energy. Neon lights painted the wet pavement outside the club in strokes of crimson and gold. Inside, the bass pounded like a heartbeat, but none of it registered to Porsche.

He sat alone in the corner booth, bruised knuckles aching, sweat mixing with the remnants of cheap cologne. The job had gone south. Again.

He hated this place. Hated what he was becoming.

But he needed the money.

And more than that, he needed to disappear.

"Rough night?" a voice asked, low and smooth like whiskey laced with poison.

Porsche didn't look up immediately. He knew that voice. Everyone did.

Kinn Theerapanyakul.

The heir to the most feared crime family in Thailand. Rich. Ruthless. And far too dangerous to be standing here, in front of him.

"What do you want?" Porsche asked.

Kinn smirked, the kind of smirk that made men nervous and women weak. "You owe a lot of money. To a lot of the wrong people."

Porsche's blood ran cold. "How do you—?"

"I know everything," Kinn cut in. "I make it my business to."

He slid into the booth like he owned it—and maybe he did. Maybe he owned everything. The room felt smaller suddenly, the shadows heavier.

"I can make your debt disappear," Kinn said. "Just like that."

Porsche narrowed his eyes. "And in return?"

"You work for me," Kinn said simply. "Be my bodyguard. My shadow. My weapon."

Porsche hesitated. He didn't trust anyone—especially not someone like Kinn. But the alternative? It was a shallow grave on the outskirts of the city.

"And if I say no?"

Kinn leaned in close, voice barely above a whisper. "Then you'll run. You'll hide. And one day, you'll wish you hadn't."

There was a threat in his words—but something else, too. Something almost...possessive.

Porsche swallowed the lump in his throat. "Fine. One condition."

Kinn arched a brow.

"I don't take orders like a dog. I'm not one of your trained pets."

Kinn's smirk widened, darker this time. "No. You're not. But you'll learn to listen and behave nicely".

———————————————————————————————————

The Theerapanyakul estate wasn't a house—it was a fortress. Black marble, steel gates, silence that felt like a loaded gun. Porsche had seen wealth before, but this wasn't luxury. This was control. This was power sharpened into architecture.

He stood in the entry hall like a man awaiting sentence, shoulders squared, jaw tight.

Kinn watched him from the grand staircase, a tumbler of something expensive in his hand. He didn't speak. Just observed.

Finally: "You clean up well."

Porsche glanced down at his new suit, tailored to perfection. He hated how good it felt. "Don't get used to it," he muttered.

Kinn descended slowly. "You agreed to my terms. This is part of the deal."

"I agreed to be your bodyguard. Not your trophy."

Kinn stopped in front of him, too close. His presence was oppressive—heat and threat in equal measure. "You think you understand what you agreed to. You don't."

There was a pause. A long, loaded silence.

Then Kinn lifted a hand—not to strike, not to touch—but to hold Porsche's chin, tilting his face up.

Porsche froze. Not in fear, but in something murkier. Shame. Curiosity. Anger.

"I don't need a dog," Kinn said softly. "I want a man who fights—until he chooses not to."

Porsche's breath hitched. "And if I never choose?"

Kinn's eyes darkened. "Then I'll break you slowly. Not with pain. With want."

Porsche yanked his chin away. "Try it. See what happens."

Kinn smiled.

Porsche woke up with a confused pounding in his chest. The bed was unnaturally soft, the sheets smelled of expensive detergent—and something else, like night air after the rain.

He wasn't alone.

In the shadows stood Kinn, leaning against the doorframe, his shirt unbuttoned down to his chest, his gaze sharp as a blade.

"You shouldn't sleep so lightly when you live in my world," he said quietly.

"And you shouldn't be standing by my bed," Porsche replied in a hoarse voice. He rubbed his eyes, but the tension in the room didn't fade. Kinn's presence was heavy—like a storm hanging in the air.

Kinn moved. With slow, deliberate steps, he walked over to the bed. For a moment, he sat on the edge—then suddenly threw himself onto Porsche, pinning him down with his full weight, knocking the breath out of him.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Porsche rasped, trying to push him away, but Kinn held him firmly.

With one sharp movement, he yanked the blanket off Porsche's body, exposing his chest. Porsche gasped, but had no time to protest—Kinn placed his hands on his neck.

Not gently. Firmly.

His fingers pressed into his throat with a pressure that wasn't quite murderous, but dangerously close.

Porsche's heart raced like crazy.

Kinn leaned in so close his breath brushed against Porsche's face. Their eyes locked.

"Do you know what it's like to have someone completely under you?" he whispered coldly.

Porsche didn't feel panic. Not the kind he should have.

"If you want to kill me, do it," he growled quietly.

Kinn didn't move. The pressure increased for a second. Then... released.

He slowly pulled his hands back from Porsche's neck. His chest was rising and falling quickly, but not from effort—from something darker.

He bent down and rested his forehead against Porsche's. "No. Not yet."

Then he stood. Stepped back. Left Porsche lying there—flushed, breathless, confused.
" first, let me just fuck you~". Kinn pulled Porsche closer and kissed him roughly.
Kinn kissed him—roughly, with the kind of hunger that didn't ask permission. His mouth moved like it had every right, like he'd already claimed Porsche with words long before touch. And Porsche—he didn't know whether it was fury or something far more dangerous that made him kiss back.

Their teeth clashed, breath mingled. It wasn't soft. It wasn't romantic. It was a challenge.

Porsche shoved at Kinn's chest, and Kinn let him—just enough to give the illusion of choice. He hovered above him now, eyes unreadable, lips swollen.

"You want to break me?" Porsche panted, voice ragged. "Try harder."

A muscle ticked in Kinn's jaw. "Don't tempt me."

"Maybe I want to."

"You think this is a game?" he murmured. "You think you can provoke me and walk away untouched?"

Porsche's pulse thundered. He knew he should be afraid. He wasn't.

"I think you like the fight," he said, voice low. "I think you don't know how to want something without trying to control it."

Kinn's expression shifted—just slightly. Enough for Porsche to see it. A flicker of something real. Vulnerable.

And then it was gone.

"I control everything," Kinn said coldly. "Including you."

Porsche's lips curled into a crooked smile. "Then why do you look like you're the one losing control?"

Kinn's grip tightened for a heartbeat. And then, slowly, he let go.

Porsche sat at the edge of the bed, breathing hard, his eyes still locked on Kinn. The tension between them was razor-sharp. Then—slowly, deliberately—he pulled his shirt over his head.

The fabric whispered as it hit the floor, and Porsche remained seated, bare from the waist up, his gaze hard, his challenge clear.

"Then come on," he said, voice rough, stretched tight. "I want it. Right here. Right now."

Kinn stood frozen, caught off guard by the sudden shift. He was used to being the one in control—until Porsche snatched it from him without hesitation.

"What's wrong?" Porsche asked with a smirk. "Did that catch you off guard?"

Something flickered in Kinn's eyes—desire, maybe. Or anger. Or pure shock that someone like Porsche would ever dare push back.

Porsche leaned back on his hands, body tense and ready. "I heard," he said quietly, "that criminals are insanely good at this..."

Kinn didn't move.

Porsche's smirk deepened. "...they always hit the right spot."

For a moment, the silence was deadly—sharp enough to cut skin.

And then Kinn moved. Fast. Decisive. Without warning.

Their kiss that followed was fire and challenge—Porsche didn't hesitate. He kissed back with equal hunger, his hands already tugging at the hem of Kinn's shirt.

The fabric resisted for only a second before Porsche yanked it upward, dragging it over Kinn's head and tossing it aside. His palms roamed over Kinn's chest like he'd wanted to do it for a long time. No fear, no flinching—just raw, deliberate want.

"You think I don't want this?" Porsche muttered against his mouth. "You don't know me at all."

Kinn's breath caught, eyes flickering darker. Porsche didn't stop. He pulled Kinn closer by the waistband of his pants, their hips aligning, friction sparking like flint and flame. He wanted this—wanted to feel the full weight of what he'd challenged, what he'd invited.

Kinn's control slipped, just slightly.

"You're playing a dangerous game," Kinn warned, voice hoarse as he leaned in, pressing Porsche back into the mattress.

"I know," Porsche whispered, smirking, his hands already working Kinn's belt open. "But I don't play to lose."

Kinn's growl was low, guttural, almost a laugh. He captured Porsche's mouth again, deeper this time, while his own hands roamed—touching, testing, taking. The tension between them snapped like a stretched wire, and in its place was heat, motion, breathless chaos.

Their bodies tangled, and the bed creaked beneath the weight of two men who didn't know how to fuck gently—only how to fight, and how to burn.

Porsche's voice was a rasp in the darkness. "Come on, Kinn. Show me."

And Kinn did.
He shoved his dick inside stretching him and kissed him again, he doesn't wait for Porsche to used to this feeling only to fuck him more and more than ever it was hard and nice at the same time for Porsche. He liked the edge between pleasure and pain—it thrilled him, fed some deep, tangled hunger inside.

"F-Fuck..." Porsche gasped, pulling Kinn closer, feeling every motion with raw intensity. His body trembled under the sensation, overwhelmed by how deeply Kinn filled him.

"You're so tight..." Kinn growled against his neck, his voice thick with desire. "At this rate, you'll break me."

Porsche clutched the sheets, knuckles pale, waves of pleasure rippling through him. "There—ah—right there..." he moaned, voice breaking as the tension inside built higher and higher.

Kinn shifted, adjusting his position with purpose, drawing another desperate cry from Porsche. And then—he froze.

Porsche's breath hitched. "Wh-what...?" he asked, confused, until he felt it—heat blooming deep inside as Kinn buried his face in the crook of his neck, breath heavy.

Porsche closed his eyes as he felt the warmth spreading inside him. It was strangely soothing, even though his body was still trembling from the fading waves of passion.

Kinn didn't move, just stayed there, his forehead resting against Porsche's neck, their bodies rising and falling in the same rhythm of breathing. The silence between them wasn't empty—it was charged with something neither of them dared to name.

"J-just stay like this for a bit..." Porsche whispered, pulling Kinn closer so their bodies remained pressed together, warm and breathless.

"It'll hurt your stomach if I stay too long like this," Kinn murmured, brushing damp strands of hair from Porsche's forehead as he let out a weary sigh.

"Why do you care?" Porsche replied, stubborn but quiet. "It's fine. If I want something, I take it."

He leaned back against the pillow, eyes half-lidded. Kinn hesitated, then slowly shifted his hips before carefully pulling away. The silence that followed was heavy, filled only by their shallow breaths and the sound of the sheets rustling.

Kinn shifted onto his side and stared at Porsche's face for a while. His gaze was intense, but not cold—more like searching, as if trying to understand something breaking inside himself.

"I've never felt pleasure like this before," he finally said hoarsely. "Not with anyone."

Porsche slowly turned his head toward him, a spark of confidence flashing in his eyes, though a trace of uncertainty lingered beneath. "Is that a compliment?"

"It's the truth," Kinn said seriously. "You're not just good at being a bodyguard..." he traced a finger along Porsche's bare chest before resting his palm over his heart. "You're... amazing as my fuck buddy, too."

Porsche let out a soft, tired laugh. "That's probably the weirdest way anyone's ever told me they want to keep me."

"That's exactly what it is," Kinn nodded. "I don't let people get close easily, but you're already under my skin. And what's worse... I don't want you to leave."

Their eyes locked. It was no longer just about physical closeness—something deeper was taking root, something neither of them dared to name, afraid it might change everything.

"Then it's settled," Porsche said finally. "I'll be your bodyguard. And your... whatever."

Kinn smirked and pulled him close again. "Whatever sounds perfect."

Chapter 22: First x Khaotung- Pink Dildo (littlespace)👨🏼‍🍼🩵

First-caregiver
Khaotung- little boy
- guys I am literally so busy but I am trying to post here, hope you appreciated it sorry for any mistakes I made..🤍
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It was just a little past three in the afternoon when the door to their apartment closed softly, and Khaotung, wrapped up in a fluffy blanket with Winnie the Pooh on it, curled up on the couch. He had his favorite pacifier in his mouth – the one with Pooh Bear – which he always took with him when he felt little.
First quietly approached and sat beside him. In one hand, he held a warm bottle of milk, and in the other, a plush Tigger. With a gentle smile, he settled on the edge of the couch.
"Baby, look who came to visit our little bear," First whispered, handing him the Tigger plush.
Khaotung flinched at first, but then his eyes lit up. "Tigieee!" he squeaked through the pacifier and grabbed the toy by the paw.
First smiled and stroked his hair. "Are you hungry? I made you some milk and your favorite strawberry cookies."
Khaotung nodded and reached his arms out so First could lift him into his lap. In that moment, he was nothing but a small baby, safely wrapped in the love and comfort his caregiver gave him.
First offered him the bottle, and Khaotung began to drink contentedly, still hugging his Tigger. His face was peaceful. He knew he was safe. First was always there – especially when the world felt too big, too loud, too grown-up.
"Tonight we can watch the Winnie the Pooh movie, hmm?" First whispered as Khaotung drank, snuggled against his chest.
"Pooh..." Khaotung mumbled sleepily and yawned. The bottle was already empty.
First gently tucked him into the blanket and kissed his forehead. "My little bear," he whispered. "I'll always protect you. Even when you're big... but especially when you're my little one."
And so, in the quiet of the setting sun, wrapped in love and gentle care, little Khaotung drifted into dreams – into a world where teddy bears talk, cookies never run out, and love is the safest place of all.
Night
The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a nightlight shaped like a honey jar. The air was quiet, filled with the sound of slow, peaceful breathing. First was asleep on his side of the bed, one arm loosely around Khaotung, who was curled up against his chest.
But something wasn't right.
Khaotung shifted slightly under the covers, his little fists pressing into First's shirt. His tummy was big, his legs squirming. He needed to go potty—but he wasn't wearing a diaper, and he didn't want to have an accident. A little whimpers slipped from his lips, followed by a soft tug at First's sleeve.
"Mm... First...?"he mumbled, eyes wide in the dark, pacifier slightly falling from his mouth.
First stirred. He blinked slowly, instantly alert at the sound of his little one's voice. "Baby?" he whispered gently, brushing hair out of Khaotung's face. "What's wrong, baby?"
Khaotung pressed his head closer to First's chest. "potty..." he whispered, almost embarrassed.
"Oh, sweetheart," First said softly, already sitting up. "You did so well waking me up. Good job, my brave boy."
He scooped Khaotung up into his arms, holding him close and planting a kiss on the top of his head. Khaotung clung to him, still half-asleep, his warm cheek resting on First's shoulder.
"It's okay. I've got you," First whispered as he carried him gently to the bathroom.
Afterward, First helped him wash his little hands, then carried him back to bed. He helped him back under the soft covers and tucked the Pooh blanket around him. Before laying down, First offered a reassuring smile.
"Do you want to wear a pull-up for the rest of the night, just in case?" he asked gently.
Khaotung shook his head sleepily.
"No..." he proteste pulling his shirt lower to covered his bear tummy.
First noded and gently laid Khaotung down onto the soft bed, tucking the Pooh blanket around his small frame. The nightlight still cast a warm glow over the room, turning their space into a quiet, sleepy haven.
First sat on the edge of the bed and brushed a strand of hair from Khaotung's forehead. His voice was soft, calm.
"Can you be a big boy for just a moment, hm? Just until I clean up in the bathroom?"
Khaotung blinked up at him, his pacifier slipping slightly from his mouth. He shook his head slowly, his lower lip trembling just a bit.
"No... I don't wanna be big..." he whispered. His voice was barely there, full of sleep and tiny emotions. "I want to be little boy. Just little..."
First sighed quietly—not out of frustration, but out of that mix of worry and love only a caregiver feels. He understood. Khaotung's mind was far from the adult world. Asking him to snap out of littlespace, even for a minute, wasn't fair. It didn't feel safe for him.
"Okay, baby," First whispered, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "You don't have to be big. Not even for a second."
He stood up, hesitated, then added, "I'll leave the bathroom door open. I'll be back before you even miss me, okay?"
Khaotung nodded, clutching his Tigger plush tight against his chest, eyes already fluttering closed again, trusting that First wouldn't be gone long.
And true to his word, First returned just a minute later, climbed back into bed, and pulled Khaotung into his arms. Khaotung immediately melted into him, burying his face in First's chest, a content hum slipping past his pacifier.
"I've got you, my little one," First murmured into his hair. "No big boy stuff tonight, you know only if you are big boy. Just cuddles."
————————————————————————
Next morning
The soft sound of a cartoon theme song filled the quiet morning air. Khaotung sat cross-legged on the living room floor in front of the TV, still wrapped in his Pooh Bear blanket. His pacifier bobbed gently in his mouth as he watched the colorful characters dance across the screen, occasionally giggling and hugging his Tigger plush tight to his chest.
Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting warm golden rays across the floor. The apartment smelled like home—eggs, bacon, and the faint sweetness of toast browning in the toaster.
In the kitchen, First moved with quiet ease, dressed in cozy pajama pants and a soft black T-shirt. He flipped the eggs gently in the pan, the bacon already crisping nearby. On the counter, fresh slices of tomato and cucumber waited next to a plate of warm toast.
He glanced over to the living room with a fond smile.
"You doing okay, baby?" he called softly.
Khaotung turned his head, pacifier still in, and gave an enthusiastic nod. He bounced slightly in place, pointing at the TV. "Wook! Pooh's eatin' honey!"
First chuckled and turned off the stove. "Just like you with strawberry cookies, huh?"
He plated everything with care—two sunny-side-up eggs, crispy bacon, fresh veggies, and neatly stacked toast—then grabbed Khaotung's special little plate with a bear on it and made a smaller portion just for him.
With two plates in hand, he made his way to the coffee table and sat down beside Khaotung. "Alright, breakfast time for my little honey bear."
Khaotung immediately scooted over, crawling into First's lap instead of sitting on his own. First didn't mind one bit.
He set the plate on the table, removed Khaotung's pacifier gently, and held up a tiny fork.
"Wanna feed yourself today?" he asked with a teasing smile.
Khaotung scrunched his nose and shook his head. "Nooo... you feed me..."
First chuckled and kissed the top of his head. "Of course I will, little one."
And so they sat—cartoons on, breakfast warm, love flowing quietly in every little gesture. For Khaotung, the world outside didn't exist. There was only First, Pooh Bear, bacon, and safety. And that was more than enough.

After breakfast, First gently wiped Khaotung's face with a warm, damp cloth and kissed the top of his nose. The cartoons were still playing softly in the background, but now Khaotung was snuggled into the couch with Tigger and his blanket, watching First move around the apartment as he dressed up for his work.
First had changed into work clothes—dark slacks, a crisp shirt, and a fitted jacket. He was buttoning the cuffs at the wrist when he stepped back into the living room and knelt beside Khaotung.
"Alright, baby," he said gently, brushing Khaotung's hair back from his face. "I have to go to work now, just for a little while."
Khaotung's bottom lip pushed out slightly. "Nooo... don't wanna you go..."
"I know, sweetheart." First leaned in and kissed his cheek. "But I need to go, and I need you to be my brave boy while I'm gone."
Khaotung shifted under the blanket, pulling it tighter around himself. "Can I be little...?"
First sighed softly and gave a patient smile. "It's much safer if you can try to be a big boy while I'm not here. Just for a few hours. You'll be safe, and I'll be back before you know it."
Khaotung looked unsure. He reached for his pacifier but paused.
"I'll bring you something nice when I get home," First promised, "maybe a new sticker book or some cookies from that place you like."
Khaotung's eyes brightened a little. "Cookies?"
"Yep. But only if my little guy can stay big for just a bit, okay?"
After a long pause, Khaotung gave a tiny nod. "Okay... I be big boy. But only 'til you come home..."
First smiled proudly. "That's my boy."
He stood up, grabbed his bag, and headed for the door. Before leaving, he turned back one more time and said in a soft, serious voice, "Remember—be good, stay safe, and no climbing on the counters."
Khaotung giggled. "No counters. Promise."
"I love you."
"Love you too."
And then the door closed gently behind him.
Left in the quiet, Khaotung sat still for a moment... then pulled Tigger closer and whispered, "We have to be big now. But just a little bit 'till daddy come back."
Big boy..
He sat there a long while, lost in thoughts that didn't match his usual little space world. The warm comfort from earlier was slowly giving way to something else—something heavier.
His eyes flicked again toward the bookshelf... then to the hallway... then to the empty space on the couch beside him. Then the thought....
They hadn't slept together in a long time.
Not just cuddling—but really slept together. Touched. Kissed. Been close like that.Sex.
First always took care of him. Always made sure he was safe, fed, loved. But lately it felt like their relationship had shifted into something softer, something gentler, something only about little space carrying relationship almost forgetting the fact they are in real relationship as a couple.
Did First still want him like this or not?
Khaotung stared down at his hands, fingers twitching slightly with anxious energy.
Maybe First didn't love him the same way anymore.
Maybe all he was now was someone to protect. A sweet little thing to tuck in and care for. Not a partner. Not someone to hold in the dark and kiss with heat and longing.
"Maybe..." he whispered into the quiet, "...he doesn't like my body anymore.."
His voice trembled. His chest ached.
The thought stung more than he expected. He hadn't realized how much he missed being wanted, not just needed.
Not just cared for but more than that to be in pleasure enjoying sex with your partner....
He glanced down at the soft pajama pants he was wearing—the ones with little reindeer on them—and slowly slid his hand beneath the waistband.
He gently wet his finger with his tongue, then slipped it inside.
His breath hitched—not from pleasure, but from the raw, aching loneliness of the gesture. It hurts him. It doesn't feel like it did when First touched him. This felt so strange. Empty. No pleasure—just pressure and discomfort.
He shifted with a soft whimper, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face in the pillow.
His ass remained in the air, one finger still inside, but it just... hurt.
He didn't know where that place was—the one that made him gasp when First found it.
He stayed like that for a moment, face pressed into the pillow, breathing shallow and shaky.
Then, with trembling hesitation, he tried to add a second finger.
But his body resisted—tight and very painful.
The entrance wouldn't open for him, wouldn't let him in. It almost felt like it was rejecting him.
He didn't understand why.Maybe it was because he didn't have any lube. Maybe it was because his body knew this wasn't right. He bites down on the pillow, frustration mixing with shame.
What was he even doing?!
He didn't even know where or how to press, what angle to search for, or what it would feel like if he got it right.
All he knew was that it didn't feel good.
It didn't feel like it did when First touched him.
He stood up slowly, legs unsteady, his body still aching in ways he couldn't name.
Without looking back, he walked to his room.
His fingers hesitated for only a second before pulling open the drawer by his bed.
From beneath soft blankets and little trinkets, he took out the big pink dildo— the one he'd hidden, the one he'd never really dared to use on his own.It looked too big now.Too bright. Too bold. Too much.
He sat on the edge of the bed, holding it in his hands like it might answer the questions spinning in his head. Would this make him feel closer to what he missed?
Would it help him remember how it felt when First touched him with care, with certainty, with love? He didn't know. He didn't even know if he wanted to try. But something inside him whispered: Try anyway, First won't be mad!
Because at least trying meant he was still reaching for something—
for closeness, for pleasure,
for a part of himself he felt slipping away.
His hands trembled as he reached into the drawer again and pulled out a small bottle of lube—half-used, quiet proof that once upon a time, he hadn't felt so alone. He uncapped it with a soft click and squeezed some onto his fingers, cold and slick.
He shivered at the touch as he spread it slowly over the toy, coating the pink silicone in a thin, glistening layer. Then he paused—staring at it, like it might suddenly make everything make sense.He lay back on the bed, legs bent, knees apart, the room dim and quiet around him.
With another breath, he reached down, fingers guiding the tip of the dildo toward his entrance.
It was gentle.
Careful.
The plastic nudged softly against his hole, lube easing the way, but his body tensed.
He inhaled through his nose, exhaled slowly, trying to relax.
Trying to feel something other than the ache in his chest.
The toy didn't hurt—not exactly—but it didn't feel right either.
Not wrong, not bad... just not the same.
Not like when First fucked him.Not like that type of connection they used to have.
He pressed a little harder, guiding the toy in with slow, uneven breaths.
His muscles resisted at first, but the lube helped, and eventually the silicone slid inside—inch by inch—until it rested just deep enough to feel like it should mean something.
He gave a slow, shallow thrust.
Then another.
There was a faint tingling in his stomach, a flicker of sensation that felt more like memory than pleasure. His dick remained soft, untouched, resting against his thigh like it didn't even know what he was trying to do. He kept moving the toy inside him, slow and steady, searching for that place he remembered First could always find his sweet spot but now he can't even move dildo the right way.
He layed there, still and quiet, the toy unmoving inside him, lost in the strange numbness of it all.
Then—
SLAM.
The front door crashed open, the sound sharp and violent.
"KHAOTUNG?! Where the hell are you?!"
First's voice tore through the silence like a blade, echoing through the walls.
Khaotung froze.
His blood went cold.
He scrambled up, panic rising fast in his throat.
The dildo slipped out awkwardly as he rushed to pull his pajama pants back up, his hands shaking so hard he almost dropped them.
Lube smeared cold across his skin, the bottle still open on the bed, a scene he couldn't clean fast enough.
"Shit—shit, shit—" he whispered, wiping at his thighs with the edge of the blanket, heart hammering.
The footsteps were coming closer.
Fast. Angry. Heavy.
He didn't even know what to say.
Didn't know how to hide what he'd just been doing—
didn't even know why he'd been doing it.
The door to his room flew open.
First stood there in the doorway, breath ragged, eyes wide—
and the fury in his face faltered when he saw him.
First froze in the doorway, eyes sweeping over the scene— the tossed blanket, the half-open bottle of lube, the pink toy on the sheets.
And Khaotung—knees pulled up, eyes wide and glassy, shame painted across his face.
"Khaotung..." First's voice softened instantly, panic draining from his expression.
He stepped forward, kneeling beside the bed.
"What are you doing, baby? You'll hurt yourself..."
That was all it took.
The words cracked something wide open in Khaotung's chest.
He burst into tears—loud, hot sobs that wracked his body before he could even try to stop them.
He curled into himself, hiding his face in his hands, voice breaking as he tried to speak.
"I—I can't..."
His words tangled with the sobs.
"I tried but it doesn't feel good—it never feels good—I thought maybe it would if I was a big boy again but I don't know how—"
He shook his head violently, gasping for air.
"I don't know what to do, First. I don't know how to be this. It just... hurts."
First's heart shattered.
He reached out slowly, carefully, hands warm and grounding as he pulled Khaotung into his arms.
"Shh... baby, it's okay. I've got you," he whispered, brushing his fingers gently through his hair.
"You don't have to figure it out alone. Not ever."
Khaotung clung to him, body trembling, tears soaking through First's shirt.
"I just wanted to feel wanted again," he choked out.
"Not just little. Not just safe. Wanted."
"I do want you," First whispered fiercely. "Every part of you. Little or big, soft or strong. You're mine. You always are."
First pulled back just enough to look into Khaotung's tear-streaked face, his eyes soft but determined.
Without a word, he reached for the bottle of lube and squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers.
The cool slickness glistened in the dim light.
Gently, he tugged Khaotung closer and eased him over his lap, cradling him with steady warmth.
Khaotung's body trembled against him—vulnerable and raw.
First's fingers moved slowly, carefully coating Khaotung's skin, giving silent permission and steady reassurance with every touch.
No rush. No pressure.
Only patience.
"Just breathe, baby," First murmured, voice low and soothing.
"We'll take it slow. I'm right here."
Khaotung closed his eyes, clinging to the comfort of First's touch, letting the ache in his chest soften—if only for a moment.
First pressed his lubed fingers gently against Khaotung's entrance, moving slowly, giving him time to adjust.
Khaotung's body tensed at first, then relaxed little by little under First's careful touch.
Trust flickered in his eyes—hesitant but willing.
Then, with a subtle shift, First found that spot—the place that made Khaotung's breath catch and his hips twitch.
A soft whimper escaped him, growing quickly into a sharp, breathless cry of pleasure.
His whole body trembled.
Khaotung's dick sprang to life in an instant, hard and urgent against the sheets.
The tight knot of loneliness inside him began to loosen, replaced by something warm and alive.
First stayed steady, moving his fingers with gentle precision, guiding Khaotung through the wave of sensation.
"No rush," he whispered. "Just feel. I'm here."
Khaotung gasped again, clutching First's arm, letting himself be held—not just safe, but truly wanted.
First slowly pulled his fingers out, watching Khaotung's face carefully for any sign of discomfort.
Then, without hesitation, he reached for the pink dildo again, holding it steady.
He pressed the smooth tip against Khaotung's entrance.
"Ready?" First asked softly.
"Stop! It will hurt my tummy," Khaotung protested, voice trembling with fear.
"No, it won't," First said firmly but kindly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Khaotung's forehead.
"I'm right here. I'll go slow. If it hurts, you tell me, okay?"
Khaotung swallowed hard, biting his lip, then nodded hesitantly.
First began to push the dildo in gently, inch by inch, his movements slow and steady—always watching Khaotung's reactions, ready to stop at any sign of pain.

First eased the dildo inside slowly, feeling Khaotung's muscles tense around it.
"Tell me if it hurts, okay?" he whispered.
Khaotung bit his lip, nodding again, voice small.
"It's... different. But not too bad."
First kept moving at a gentle pace, giving him time to adjust.
"You're doing so well, baby. Just breathe with me."
Khaotung let out a shaky breath, trying to match First's calm rhythm.
"I'm scared I'll mess it up."
First cupped his cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear.
"You can't mess this up. We're learning together."
A soft whimper escaped Khaotung as the toy slipped in a little deeper.
"It's... kinda nice. But I still don't know where to press."
"That's okay," First murmured.
"I'll help you find it. You don't have to do this alone."
Khaotung closed his eyes, trusting First's steady presence.
For the first time in a long while, the ache in his chest softened—replaced by something fragile and hopeful.
First's fingers pressed a little deeper, seeking that hidden spot inside Khaotung.
Then, with careful precision, he found it—the prostate.
Khaotung gasped, hips trembling as a sudden wave of pleasure rolled through him.
His breath hitched, then broke into a soft moan.
He clenched instinctively, a shudder running down his spine.
"First..." he whispered, voice shaky.
First held him steady, fingers moving gently but purposefully.
Khaotung's body tensed and then relaxed as the pleasure built, spreading warmth through him.
Suddenly, Khaotung's release came in a rush—soft, urgent, and overwhelming.
He cried out quietly, clinging to First as the waves passed.
At the same time, First shifted slightly, the hard shape pressing against his pants tightening.
He swallowed, eyes darkening with need, the tension building between them undeniable.
First stayed close, holding Khaotung gently as the waves of pleasure slowly faded.
His breath came heavier, the tightness in his pants a clear sign of his own growing need.
Leaning down, First brushed a soft kiss against Khaotung's temple.
"You're incredible," he murmured, voice thick with feeling.
"I've missed this—missed you."
Khaotung's eyes shimmered with tears and hope as he looked up at him.
"Do you still want me, First?" he whispered, voice trembling.
First cupped his face, thumbs tracing gentle circles over his cheeks.
"I want you—always," he said firmly, eyes locking with Khaotung's.
"Not just to protect you, not just to care for you... but to love you.
In your little state, and in your big state.
I still want to sleep with you. I love all of you."
Khaotung's lips trembled, a small, hopeful smile breaking through the tears.
"You really mean that?"
"Every word," First said, voice soft but sure.
"Whatever you need, whatever you feel—I'm here. We'll figure it out together."
He shifted slightly, the pressure from the dildo still teasing both of them.
Taking Khaotung's hand, First gently placed it over his own.
"Let me show you how much. You're not alone, baby. I always want you."
Khaotung nodded, breathing a little easier.
Wrapped in First's hands holding him slightly like a porcelain doll. And pressed soft kiss on his forehead.

Chapter 23: Mew x Gulf- pleasure or pressure?🔥🔞

Mew-dom.
Gulf-sub.
This one is so bad that I just wrote it like stupid.. but i really hope you appreciated it anyway..🤍🤍
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The bass beat pulsed like a second heartbeat. Eclipse wasn't a club—it was an addiction. You didn't come here for music or drinks. You came to chase whatever version of yourself the darkness would allow.
And above it all, there was him.
Gulf a night stripper.
He moved like the music had been written just for his bones. Skin like lacquered gold, eyes rimmed in shadow, and a smile that dared you to sin. His choker—black velvet, dusted with diamond glitter—spelled out his name like a brand. Gulf. It didn't just shimmer.
Mew sat in the VIP section—white silk shirt open to the sternum, collarbone sharp as his Rolex. Young, rich, bored. He had money from tech, from apps, from ideas people didn't even understand yet. But none of it sparked the way Gulf did, lit from inside like a star that knew exactly how bright it was.
He leaned over to the host.
"Ten thousand," Mew said. "Just to get him in here. For one drink."
The host blinked. Smirked. Walked away.
Mew watched Gulf spin, crouch, rise. Dancers filled the floor, yes, but Gulf... Gulf owned it. Like he didn't dance on the stage—he danced through it. Like it wasn't choreography—it was a game that Gulf played with his body.
When the host returned, he didn't speak. He just set a small obsidian card on the table. It simply read:
"He'll come. But only for 10 minutes."
Mew grinned. He liked boundaries. They made breaking them more fun.
Exactly three minutes later, the beaded curtain parted.
And Gulf stepped into the VIP lounge.
Closer now, the glitter on the choker caught every stray light, throwing shards of silver across his collarbones. He didn't sit. He didn't smile.
"Ten thousand," Gulf said softly, "for ten minutes."
"And I'd pay ten more," Mew murmured, "just to see if you'd take your choker off."
Gulf tilted his head, considering. His voice was low, calm, like he was narrating a dream.
"Everyone wants to own something they don't understand. That's why they come here. That's why you're here."
"Maybe," Mew said. "But I don't want to own you. I just want to know what it feels like... to be close to you. Without the glass and the stage."
Gulf moved then—not to sit, not to lean—but to hover. He stood over Mew like a wave about to break. His scent was clean heat and sugar musk. Intoxicating.
"You think I'm closer now?" Gulf asked.
"Aren't you?" Mew's voice was steady, but his pulse betrayed him.
Gulf bent, finally—only a few inches from Mew's lips. His hand reached out and touched Mew's chest. Not hard. Not soft. Just enough to feel the heartbeat underneath.
"You're not paying for me," Gulf whispered. "You're paying for the silence. For the way your world stops when I look at you."
Then, just as suddenly, he stepped back. Time snapped back into motion.
"Your ten minutes are up," he said, turning.
"Wait," Mew said. He almost reached out, but caught himself. "What if I wanted to talk next time?"
Gulf turned, halfway. The corner of his mouth lifted." I will just show you my dance.."
Then He danced like a pro stripper.
He rolled his hips with effortless control, a slow, hypnotic figure-eight that made Mew forget his name. Gulf's hands hovered over his own body, teasing the air just above his skin — like he was worshiping himself in front of Mew and daring him to watch.
Every move was deliberate, a message: Look, but don't touch. Crave, but don't consume.
Mew sat frozen, elbows on knees, lips parted. It wasn't just erotic—it was art. A quiet kind of power. Gulf danced like the room belonged to him, and Mew was just a guest in his fantasy.
Mew leaned back in the leather seat, the flicker of low light catching the edge of his jaw. He picked up his glass—cut crystal, aged whiskey glowing inside like amber—and took a slow sip.
The liquor hit his tongue like heat and smoke.
But it was nothing compared to the slow burn in front of him.
Gulf's hips moved like a sin wrapped in silk—slow, measured, dangerous. He didn't rush. Didn't need to. He controlled time with every sway. He was the show, the god, the fire. His hands skimmed his own waist, dipped just beneath the hem of his sheer black shirt, teasing the faint line of muscle below. He danced like he was making love to shadows.
Mew let the glass rest against his lips a second longer, eyes locked on the curve of Gulf's body. He was enjoying himself now—fully, shamelessly. He didn't hide it. He watched like he owned the night, as if everything outside this booth didn't exist.
And then, very slowly, Mew raised his hand.
Two fingers.
A slight flick inward.
Come here.
A command, not a request.
Gulf paused in his rhythm. For a moment, the room seemed to still around them. Mew's gaze was steady, calm, powerful.
Gulf tilted his head. Just slightly. A smirk played at the corner of his lips—knowing, wicked.
He walked toward Mew, hips still rolling subtly, like the dance hadn't stopped but simply adjusted its focus.
When he reached the edge of Mew's knees, he didn't kneel.
He hovered.
Mew leaned in, slowly, elbows resting on his thighs, his voice low and razor-edged.
"You know what I want," he said.
Gulf's eyes sparkled under the ambient light. The kind of sparkle that warned of dangerous games.
He slid down—not kneeling, no, but descending like royalty folding into ceremony. His hands rested gently on Mew's knees, thumbs tracing circles against the fine fabric of designer trousers.
But just as Mew started to lean back—
Gulf stopped.
Froze.
Then looked up, eyes locked onto Mew's.
"Is that all you want me for?" he asked softly.
Mew stared back, pulse thrumming. That one question, in that quiet voice, sliced through the thick cloud of tension like a clean blade.
He hadn't expected it not from him.
"No," Mew said finally. "But it's the only thing I trust myself to ask for."
A silence passed between them. Gulf smiled. Not cruelly. Not coldly.
Just with understanding.
He rose slowly, face still close, breath brushing Mew's jaw as he whispered:
"Then ask better. Want better."
Gulf moved in front of Mew and sank gracefully to the floor, sliding between his legs like water finding its shape. The soft lighting carved shadows along his cheekbones as he leaned in, letting his head rest lightly on Mew's thigh.
Mew stilled, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around the glass still in his hand.
Gulf turned his face just enough to press his cheek closer, the warmth of Mew's thigh seeping into his skin. His lips curled into a slow, teasing smirk.
"I could stay like this," Gulf murmured, voice low and honeyed. "You're comfortable, you know. Expensive. Tense."
His hand moved with slow confidence, trailing up Mew's leg until it paused just over the obvious bulge behind dark fabric. He let his palm rest there—nothing urgent, nothing rushed. Just pressure. Just presence.
Mew exhaled through his nose, eyes dark and heavy with restrained heat.
"You're playing with fire," he said quietly.
Gulf chuckled, the sound vibrating faintly against Mew's thigh. "I thought you liked the burn."
Mew reached out, fingers sliding through Gulf's hair, thumb brushing along his temple. Not forceful—just grounding. "I like control," he said. "But I forget it around you."
Gulf tilted his head, cheek brushing upward along the inside of Mew's thigh, his hand never leaving its place. "Then don't control it," he whispered. "Just want."
There was a pause. A breath between them.
Mew set his glass aside.
Mew let his head tip back against the booth, fingers flexing in Gulf's hair.
"Suckled," Gulf murmured against him, breath warm, words ghosting through the thin layer of clothing. "Is that what you wanted me to do?"
Mew let out a low sound—somewhere between a curse and a moan.
"I wanted you to come closer," he said, voice rough, threading through the air like smoke. "I didn't expect you to worship."
Gulf glanced up, eyes half-lidded, wicked. "Then you don't understand how long I've waited to taste this part of you."
Mew met his gaze, something in him cracking—just slightly.
Not just lust. Not just hunger.
Need.
Real and aching.
He leaned forward, fingers cradling Gulf's jaw now, lifting him just enough so their faces were close, breath mixing.
"Then don't waste time," Mew said. "I'm right here."
Gulf's breath hitched, caught between Mew's words and the hunger in his gaze. Slowly, deliberately, he rose onto his knees, never breaking eye contact, his hands sliding along Mew's thighs with intent.
He reached for the button at Mew's waistband.
This time, Mew didn't stop him.
The quiet click of it coming undone was somehow louder than the music in the club, louder than the world beyond their curtain. Gulf eased the zipper down with aching care, the tension between them winding tighter with every small, deliberate motion.
Fabric shifted. Skin greeted air. And then—Gulf leaned in.
His lips traced the line just above where want turned tangible. A soft kiss. A breath. A promise.
Mew watched him—jaw tight, chest rising slowly, deeply. He wasn't just aroused. He was wrecked by the way Gulf treated him—not as a conquest, but as a ritual.
"You make it hard to breathe," Mew whispered, threading his fingers through Gulf's hair again, not pulling, just holding.
Gulf smirked, the heat in his gaze deepening. "Good," he murmured. "Then you'll remember this."
He dipped lower, lips ghosting over skin that was already burning for him, the softest scrape of teeth following the warmth of his breath. He used his mouth like he was painting worship into every inch he touched—no rush, no mess of frantic need. Just reverence. Rhythm. Control.
Mew's hand tightened in his hair, the first real loss of composure. A soft sound slipped from his throat, low and broken.
"Gulf..."
Gulf looked up, lips just barely slick, pupils blown wide. "Say it," he said softly. "Say what you want."
"I want..." Mew's voice faltered for the first time.
Because he didn't just want the physical. He wanted the closeness, the power, the surrender—and something else. Something more dangerous.
"I want you." he said at last, honest and raw. "Not just like this. Not just tonight."
Gulf stilled, something in his eyes flickering—surprised, but not unwilling.
Then, without breaking that gaze, he leaned in again, slow and deep, and gave Mew what he asked for—pleasure and good mouth.
Gulf's lips wrapped around him with reverence, a slow, deliberate heat that made Mew's hips tense beneath his touch. But it wasn't just the motion—it was the intention. The control. The way Gulf used his mouth like he knew exactly how to unravel him, one inch at a time.
Mew's breath hitched sharply, fingers tightening in Gulf's hair.
"Do it more properly," he growled, voice rough, wrecked, his other hand bracing against the edge of the booth. He pushed forward—not roughly, but with unmistakable force—guiding himself deeper into the wet heat of Gulf's mouth.
Gulf didn't flinch. He met him there.
Eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and when they opened again, they were full of something dark and gleaming—devotion, defiance, desire. His hands braced against Mew's thighs as he adjusted, the angle, the rhythm, taking more. Offering more.
Mew's breath came harder now, jaw clenched, trying to keep control and losing it with every passing second.
"Just like that," he whispered, not even sure if he was speaking to Gulf or himself. "God, just like that."
Gulf tears up it was huge and thick. Slowly going down his throat, stretching it. He didn't stop. A tears slipped from the corners of his eyes. He didn't flinch. He handled it all, like he always did—like it was nothing. He was definitely used to this. Mew stared down at him, hand tightening in his black hair. "Fuck, you're gonna ruin me."
Gulf pulled back slowly, lips flushed, eyes calm. "I know." He wiped his jaw out of drools.
Mew touched his face, thumb brushing away the tear. "Tell me this wasn't just the job."
"It wasn't," Gulf said softly. "That part? That was mine."
He moved in beside Mew, close now, quiet. Mew wrapped an arm around him without thinking. Gulf didn't move away.
They sat like that, for couple of minutes till Mew started speaking.
"You're dangerous," Mew said.
Gulf smiled against his shoulder. "Yeah, that's good you know that now."
"Now be a good boy," Mew said, a smirk spreading across his face as he tugged Gulf closer, guiding him to straddle his lap. "Don't get shy on me now."
Gulf raised an eyebrow, amused—but he didn't resist
Gulf settled in, knees bracketing Mew's thighs, arms draped loosely around his neck. For a second, they just stayed there—close, breathing the same air.
Then Gulf glanced down.
He caught the obvious shift between them—Mew, already hard again. Gulf's lips curled into something between a smirk and a challenge.
"Already, so hard?" he said, voice low, teasing.
Mew leaned back slightly, eyes dark. "What can I say?" he murmured. "You make it impossible to stay calm."
Gulf's hands slid down Mew's chest, fingers pausing just above his waistband. "And here I thought you were the one who liked control."
"I do," Mew said. "But with you..."
He trailed off, eyes flicking to Gulf's mouth.
Gulf raised an eyebrow. "With me, what?"
Mew smiled—slow, dangerous. "With you, I don't mind doing it,right here, right now."
Mew's hands gripped Gulf's waist suddenly, lifting him with quiet strength.
"Up," he said, voice low but firm.
Gulf arched a brow but didn't argue. He let Mew guide him, let himself be moved. In one smooth motion, Mew turned him, laying him down on the velvet couch, his chest to the cushions, knees tucked under him.
Mew hovered behind him, hands trailing slowly down Gulf's back, then settling on his hips.
He stared, quiet for a moment, gaze locked—hungry, deliberate.
"God," he muttered under his breath, almost to himself. "You don't even know what you do to me."
Gulf shifted slightly, glancing back with a wicked little smile. "I think I know".
Mew leaned in lower, hands firm on Gulf's hips. His eyes stayed locked on the view in front of him—shameless, hungry.
He dipped his head, lips brushing the back of Gulf's thigh. Just a kiss at first—wet, warm, slow. Gulf let out a soft hiss, the tension in his spine coiling tighter.
Then Mew bit him. Not hard, not cruel—just enough to leave a mark. A claim. Something that said, mine.
"Mew..." Gulf's voice came out rough, equal parts warning and want.
Mew just smiled against his skin, breath hot. "I had to. You're too perfect to just look at."
He shifted down, dragging his mouth along the curve of Gulf's thigh. Then, with deliberate slowness, he parted him.
And licked.
Right over the entrance—slow, wet, intentional.
Gulf gasped, hips twitching. His hands gripped the cushions, breath catching in his throat.
Mew didn't stop. He took his time, tongue moving in careful, teasing strokes. Worshipful. Unrelenting.
"You taste..." Mew murmured against him, "fucking unreal."
Mew's tongue pressed deeper, slipping inside with slow, deliberate care. Each movement was precise, exploring, claiming. Gulf's breath hitched, a low sound caught deep in his throat.
At the same time, Mew's hand slid down, fingers closing around Gulf's balls with confident ease. He rolled them gently, teasing, testing—matching the rhythm of his tongue.
Gulf's body tensed, hips lifting slightly, seeking more. His hands gripped the couch harder, knuckles whitening.
"Fuck," Gulf breathed out, voice ragged.
Mew didn't rush. He held him there, between soft pressure and sharp pleasure, master of the moment.
"You're mine," Mew whispered, voice thick. "And I'm just getting started."
Mew pulled back slowly, lips brushing Gulf's in a lingering kiss—soft but charged with promise.
Without breaking the connection, Mew's hands gripped Gulf's hips, lifting him effortlessly. He guided him back onto the couch, positioning Gulf so he could straddle him, the heat between them thick and electric.
Gulf settled down, a slow, deliberate movement, eyes locked with Mew's. The tension twisted tight between them—raw, unspoken, ready to ignite.
Mew's hands stayed firm on Gulf's hips, steady and sure. "Your move," he murmured, a slow smirk playing on his lips.
Gulf shifted slowly, but then pulled back just a little, a sharp edge in his voice.
"That hurts," he said, biting his lip. "My ass... it's sore."
Mew's eyes flicked down, then back up with a slow, knowing smile.
"Good," he said softly. "Means you're feeling it."
Gulf's breath hitched. "Don't get cocky."
Mew leaned in, whispering close. "Not cocky—just honest."
Mew's hand slid lower, resting firmly on Gulf's ass. His fingers pressed gently, exploring—feeling the tension, the tightness.
He looked up, eyes searching Gulf's face for any sign of discomfort or hesitation.
"Everything good in there?" Mew asked softly, voice low but steady.
Gulf gave a slow nod, breath catching slightly. "Yeah... I'm good."
Mew's fingers lingered a moment longer before tracing slow circles, grounding them both in the moment.
Without warning, Mew's hand snapped down, slapping Gulf's ass with a sharp smack that echoed softly in the room.
Gulf stiffened for a heartbeat—then a slow, amused smirk curled at the corner of his lips.
"You like that?" Mew teased, eyes dark and daring." This is kind of bitchy attitude you have".
Gulf glanced back over his shoulder, heat flaring in his gaze. "Maybe I do."
"Move now," Mew said quietly but firmly.
Gulf's smile faded a bit, but he didn't argue
Gulf started to move, slow and deliberate, feeling every vein and muscle tense beneath him. He felt the heat of Mew's skin through his hands on his hips, the hardness pressing up against him. Every thrust sent a sharp pulse through his body, making him shiver.
His breath hitched as he rode Mew, fully aware of every sensation—the tight grip of Mew's hands, the slick friction, the way their bodies fit together perfectly. Each movement was electric, raw, and relentless.
"Slowly... you're so deep," Gulf whispered, his breath shaky. "It hurts when you poke my tummy like this."
Mew's eyes flicked down, watching the bulge forming against Gulf's stomach, rising and falling with each movement. He smirked, his grip tightening just a bit.
"Good," Mew said low. "Means you're feeling every inch."
"Hold tight," Mew said, his voice low and steady as he started thrusting faster.
Gulf gasped, the sudden change sending sharp waves through his body. He gripped the couch, trying to keep steady as Mew's movements grew more urgent, every thrust hitting deeper, harder.
The room filled with the sound of their breaths and the slick rhythm of skin against skin.
Gulf's moans grew louder, riding the new wave of pleasure that surged through him. His body tensed, breath coming in ragged gasps as the sensation built higher and higher.
Then, with a sharp, overwhelming rush, he came—squirting with a shudder that made Mew grip him tighter, pulling him closer through every tremble.
"Stop! Or I'm going to piss myself..." Gulf gasped, breath shaky.
Mew shook his head, voice calm but firm.
"No, you're not. That's just the pressure—and the pleasure—you're feeling."
Gulf moaned loudly, a sharp, raw sound. He tried to pull away, but Mew's grip held firm, relentless. His insides felt on fire—overstimulated and overwhelmed by the rough, deep thrusts.
His body trembled as the sensation pushed him to the edge, both painful and intoxicating.
Mew leaned in closer, voice low and commanding.
"You're doing so well. Just hold on."
Gulf's breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut as the intensity built. Every rough movement sent shockwaves through him, raw and consuming.
He couldn't deny the ache mixed with pleasure—burning and sweet all at once. His hands clenched the couch, nails digging in as he surrendered to the fierce rhythm.
Mew's thrusts quickened, his breath ragged. "Fuck, I'm close," he growled, pulling Gulf tighter.
Gulf moaned loudly, hips bucking. "Mew—oh God, yes..." His voice broke as the pleasure overwhelmed him.
With a deep groan, Mew finished inside, and Gulf's body convulsed, releasing like a fountain. "Ahhh! Mew!" he cried out, gasping for air.
They stayed tangled, chests rising and falling, the silence thick with the aftermath of everything they'd just shared.
Mew's movements slowed, his breath heavy and ragged. He stayed still for a moment, chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.
His eyes met Gulf's, dark and intense, filled with something fierce and satisfied.
Mew smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from Gulf's forehead.
"See? You didn't piss yourself," he teased, voice low and warm. "Just the pleasure and pressure."
Gulf chuckled weakly, still catching his breath, the tension easing between them.
"Fuck you," Gulf said, half-laughing, half-breathless, a spark of challenge still burning in his eyes.

Chapter 24: Nothing Could Separate Us, Prem! (18+)🔥

What if submission and dominance were a test you had to take?

Sub: Prem
Dom: Boun
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In a world where people are divided into Dominants and Submissives once they come of age, they're forced to live apart—unless they marry. Boun and Prem, childhood friends, find themselves on opposite sides of the system after the Test. But there's one choice that could change everything.
Prem had always known everything would change on the day of the Test Announcement. Even if they pretended otherwise, they hadn't talked about anything else for weeks. The world was brutally simple—if you're a Dominant, you live with Dominants. If you're Submissive, you live with your owns.
Prem looked at Boun, laughing in the sunlight on the schoolyard, arms behind his head like he ruled the world.  And deep in Prem's chest, a feeling settled like stone.
Boun would be a Dominant.
And he... wouldn't for sure.

On the day of the Test, Prem held his breath as he walked out of the room. A mark glowed red on his wrist. An elegant S.
Submissive.
When their eyes met, Boun already knew. A deep blue D glowed on his skin.
Dominant.
"So..." Prem whispered.
"So we're opposites," Boun said softly, and his voice held something between relief and guilt.
But that wasn't enough. The system was clear. From now on, they had to live in separate sectors. Submissives had their own dorms, schools, and jobs. Dominants had theirs. Meeting was allowed only at official events—and even then, briefly.
But there was one way to stay together.
Marriage.
"This is crazy," Prem said as they sat together one last time on the old playground. "We're young. We're just friends..."
Boun looked at him. "Are we?"
Prem met his eyes, voice trembling. "No."
Boun leaned closer. "You always knew—if the world tried to take you away from me, I'd ask it one question: What would it cost to keep him?"
Prem laughed through the tears. "And it answered: A wedding."
"Then I'm marrying you, Prem."
Silence.
Then a nod.
The next morning, they stood at the Registry Office, surrounded by the sterile hush of bureaucracy. White walls. Quiet clerks. The smell of disinfectant and cold decisions.
A woman behind the desk looked up at them through thin glasses. "You're here for a cross-role union?"
"Yes," Boun said firmly.
She didn't smile. "You understand the implications?"
"We do," Prem answered. His voice wasn't loud—but it was steady.
The woman handed over a set of documents, thick and full of binding clauses. Rules, expectations, limits. This wasn't romance. This was the state's reluctant compromise—a contract designed to contain the danger of Dom/Sub relationships outside their controlled zones.
"Both parties agree to cohabitation within a designated mixed unit."
"Violation of boundaries may result in reassignment or annulment."
"Emotional instability is monitored quarterly."
Prem's hands trembled slightly as he signed. Not from fear—just from the weight of it all.
Boun didn't hesitate. His signature was sharp. Decisive.
The woman looked at them for a long moment. Then she stamped the final page.
THUD.
The sound echoed like a door closing—or opening.
"You're now officially bonded. You'll be transferred to your assigned shared housing tomorrow. Until then, you're to return to your respective sectors."
"No," Boun said immediately. "He stays with me tonight."
"That's not allowed—"
"We're married."
A pause. Then another stamp.
"Fine. But don't make a scene."
That night, their room in the temporary housing unit felt too clean. Too quiet.
Boun sat on the bed, watching Prem pace nervously.
"We actually did it," Prem murmured, half to himself. "We signed our lives into something the world hates."
"No," Boun said, standing. He crossed the room and stopped in front of him. "We signed ourselves to each other."
Prem looked up, eyes wide and vulnerable. "What if we don't know how to make it work?"
"We figure it out."
Boun took Prem's hands gently. "You let me lead where you need it. And I'll listen where you need to be heard."
Prem laughed, shaky and soft. "That sounds like love."
"It is," Boun said.
The day they moved into their assigned housing, Boun was... different.
His words clipped. Movements sharp. He barely looked at Prem while unpacking. When Prem tried to ask where to hang their shared clothes, Boun replied coldly:
"Why ask me? You're the Sub, figure it out."
Prem blinked, taken aback. "I just thought we'd decide together."
Boun scoffed. "There's nothing to decide. You're a wife in this relationship, aren't you?"
The words stung like ice on skin. Not because of what they meant but because of who was saying them. And it definitely hurts.
In the days that followed, it only got worse.
Boun started issuing commands instead of suggestions. He criticized how Prem folded the blankets. Dismissed his opinions with a wave of his hand. He even started locking his side of the wardrobe.
"I'm not your servant," Prem finally snapped one night, voice trembling with restrained hurt.
"You're my Sub," Boun said without emotion. "That's what the world decided."
Prem stared at him. "No. That's what you're deciding."
Silence.
"I thought you were different," Prem whispered, eyes searching his. "You held my hand at the registry. You said you loved me."
"I did."
"Then what is this?"
Boun turned away, jaw tight. "This is how Doms are supposed to act. This is how they expect me to be."
Prem stepped closer, voice quiet but furious. "And since when have you ever cared about what they expect?"
Later that night, Prem sat alone on the balcony, curled up in Boun's oversized hoodie, trying not to cry. The city lights below blurred as he blinked too hard.
He didn't hear Boun approach, but he felt him. The warmth of him standing just behind. Not touching.
"I'm sorry," Boun said finally.
Prem didn't answer.
"I've never know I will be a Dom. And I thought... if I act like the ones  like ruthless dominant, maybe no one will question us. Maybe they won't tear us apart."
Prem turned. "So you'd rather lose me than let someone else take me?"
Boun's face crumpled, raw. "I didn't know how else to protect us."
Prem stood and walked up to him, placing his hand flat on Boun's chest. "Then start by actually act like a partner and my husband not some kind of stupid jerk."
Silent.
And then Boun broke.
"I'm sorry, i didnt meant to make you cry."
He pulled Prem into his arms—tight, trembling, like a dam finally giving way.
"No more masks," Prem whispered. "I didn't marry a Dom. I married you."
And for the first time since the Test, Boun held him like he meant it. Like he remembered who he was.
Boun's arms tightened around him. Like Prem was something fragile and precious like a porcelain doll.
In the silence that followed, Boun leaned back just a little and looked into Prem's eyes.
"I want to start over," he said, voice low. " Not as some system's idea of who I'm supposed to be. Just... as your Boun."
Prem swallowed hard. "Then show me."
And Boun did.
He slid his arms under Prem's knees and back and lifted him off the chair in one smooth motion—bridal style.
Prem gasped, arms instinctively circling Boun's neck. "What are you doing?"
"Carrying my husband," Boun said simply, with the ghost of a smile.
Prem rested his head against Boun's shoulder. "You're ridiculous."
"I know." He pressed a kiss to Prem's forehead. "But I'm yours. Ridiculous and all."
Boun carried him through their tiny apartment. in Boun's arms, for the first time since the world divided them, Prem felt whole again. Boun lower him on couch. And cuddles for a while till the night came.
Later that night, the room was dim, lit only by the city glow bleeding through the curtains.
They lay together on the bed, still half-clothed, tangled in warmth. They legs was interwined.
Boun brushed Prem's hair back from his forehead, fingers lingering. His thumb traced down the side of his face, over his cheekbone, like trying to memorize him with touch.
Prem looked up at him, eyes searching. "You're sure?"
Boun nodded. "Only if you are."
Prem gave the faintest smile and leaned into his touch. "I trust you."
That was all it took.
Boun's hand slide down slowly, gently—across Prem's chest, along the curve of his waist—until it rested over his flat stomach. His palm warm, grounding.
Then, softly:
"We need to use a condom... or you'll get pregnant."
Prem blinked, momentarily startled. "Right. I almost forgot... it's possible now."
"Because of the bond," Boun said, his voice low and calm. "The hormonal shift. Some Submissives—after formal union—it just... happens. Especially when it's someone you're truly bonded to."
Prem placed his hand over Boun's, fingers lacing together over the space that could one day hold a future. A heartbeat not yet imagined.
"And would that be so bad?" Prem whispered.
Boun looked down at him, gaze softening. "No. Not bad."
He leaned in, resting his forehead against Prem's.
"Just... not yet. I want our first nights to be about us."
Prem nodded, smiling shyly. "Me too."
They stayed like that a while, breathing in sync, hearts calm. There was no need to rush anything—not love, not bodies, not futures.
Boun's hand was still resting over Prem's stomach.
Then, Boun shifted—slowly, deliberately—and leaned down.
He kissed Prem on the lips. Like he'd been waiting not just days, but years to do it like this. His mouth moved gently against Prem's, then with growing pressure, letting him feel everything he couldn't say.
Prem melted into it, fingers curling into the fabric of Boun's shirt, pulling him closer with a soft sound that wasn't quite a moan, but close.
Boun pulled back for just a second and pressed a kiss to Prem's forehead. "You have no idea how much I wanted this. You."
Then another kiss, softer, right between his eyebrows.
And then his lips moved again, down.
A kiss to the corner of Prem's mouth.
To his jaw.
His throat.
His collarbone.
Everywhere his lips landed, Prem felt branded in the best way.
Boun's hands moved with the same reverence—fingertips ghosting over skin like each inch deserved its own attention. His lips trailed over the slope of Prem's shoulder, down to his chest, then paused, just to look up at him.
Prem's breath hitched. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
His fingers brushed against the waistband of Prem's pants, hesitating for a moment before gently slipping under the fabric.
Prem's breath caught softly, his body responding quietly small shivers running through him, his chest rising and falling a little faster.
Boun looked up, meeting Prem's eyes full of trust and something shy but eager. He gave a small, reassuring smile.
"You're so beautiful," Boun whispered.
Prem blushed, his heartbeat quickening.
Boun's gaze softened as he noticed the subtle way Prem's body responded the slight twitch of his chest, the gentle shivers that told him how much Prem wanted this.
Without words, Boun pressed a tender kiss over Prem's skin, careful to move at a pace that felt right.
Prem's hand found Boun's, holding tight, grounding them both.
"Is this okay?" Boun asked quietly.
Prem nodded, voice soft. "Yes. Please."
And then Prem blinked, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he pulled back just enough to look at Boun really look.
"You're still wearing your shirt," he said, voice low, but with a sharp edge of teasing annoyance.
Boun looked down, then back up with a guilty grin. "I... got distracted?"
Prem sat up slightly, the sheet sliding down his chest. His brows arched. "Distracted?"
"Well," Boun said, brushing a hand through his hair sheepishly, "you're very distracting."
Prem rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Seriously, Boun? I'm half-naked and you're out here still in jeans and a belt."
Boun laughed, finally kicking off his pants and pulling his shirt over his head. "There. Happy?"
Prem's gaze swept over him slowly, pointedly. "Getting there."
Boun leaned forward, catching Prem's mouth in a kiss again, this one a little messier, a little more honest hands now unbound by fabric or hesitation. And as they tangled closer together, both bare, skin to skin, Prem whispered against Boun's lips with mock gravity:
"Next time, take your damn shirt off first."
Boun chuckled, brushing their foreheads together. "Yes, sir."
Prem watched, flushed and already breathless, as Boun moved between his legs with purpose now—no more teasing. His hands were firm on Prem's thighs, spreading him open gently.
Then Boun leaned in, his mouth hot and wet as he took Prem's dick between his lips, slow and steady. Prem's breath hitched, a sharp gasp escaping him as he gripped the sheets, his back arching.
Boun moved with care, his tongue tracing every line, every vein, sucking with just the right pressure, making Prem moan with each pass of his mouth. But even as he pleasured him, Boun's other hand slid lower, fingers brushing lightly around Prem's hole.
He circled it slowly, teasing the rim, and then pressed just enough to feel the tension there. His eyes flicked up to Prem's face, watching for any sign of hesitation.
Prem met his gaze, cheeks flushed and lips parted. "Please," he whispered.
That was all Boun needed. He slipped a finger in gentle, deliberatewhile his mouth stayed on Prem's cock, sucking him in deeper.
The combination made Prem shudder, overwhelmed by the fullness of it—the mouth on his dick, the finger easing into his hole, the intimacy of it all.
He moaned louder, thighs trembling around Boun's shoulders. "Fuck, Boun..."
Boun hummed in response, the vibration adding another wave of sensation that made Prem nearly lose it. He was undone body wide open, pleasure washing over him in slow, crashing tides.
"God! Boun~" Prem gasped, his voice cracking on the edge of a moan. His thighs trembled, trying again to close around Boun's head, desperate to feel him tighter, closer—but Boun had taken him so deep, so completely, that there was no closer. He was already swallowed whole.
"Fuck, your mouth—" Prem's fingers curled in Boun's hair, tugging, not to push him away but to hold on, to anchor himself. His hips rocked helplessly, chasing every movement of Boun's lips. "So good—shit—you're so good at this."
Boun responded with a low hum, the vibration sending a shock through Prem's core. And then—he felt it—Boun's second finger sliding in beside the first, slow, firm, stretching him open with care but no hesitation.
Prem cried out, head falling back against the pillows. "Ah—fuck—Boun!"
The stretch was delicious, overwhelming—his body tightening around the intrusion and then yielding, melting as Boun's fingers moved, pressing deeper, curling just right. He was full in both places now, stuffed and shaking and so close he could barely think.
"Your fingers—oh god, I can feel—both," Prem whimpered, breath catching in his throat. "You're stretching me open—fuck, I'm—I'm gonna come—"
Boun's pace didn't change. His mouth stayed deep, his tongue stroking along the underside of Prem's cock, fingers working him open with a steady rhythm that pushed him right to the edge.
"Please," Prem begged, voice breaking, hips lifting. "Don't stop—don't stop—please, I'm so close—Boun—!"
His moans turned breathless, desperate, body winding tighter and tighter. He was right there, held open, filled completely, trembling with the kind of pleasure that felt like it would break him apart.
Boun just gripped his thigh tighter, grounding him, swallowing him deeper.
And Prem let go.
With a sharp cry and a full-body shudder, he came—back arching, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut. The world fell away. There was only heat, pulse, and the sound of Boun breathing him in like a promise.
When it passed, when he finally collapsed back into the bed, panting and wrecked, he could barely find words. Only one came out, quiet and awed:
"Holy fuck."
Prem was still trembling, his breath shaky and uneven, when Boun gently pulled away. The loss of his mouth and fingers made Prem whine softly, but before he could protest, Boun's hands were guiding him—firm, unrelenting.
"Turn over," Boun said, voice low and commanding.
Prem obeyed, dazed and breathless, letting Boun position him on his knees. His cheek pressed into the pillow, arms tucked beneath him, while his ass was lifted high, completely exposed.
"Stay like this," Boun said, dragging a hand over the curve of his ass. His touch was slow, possessive, almost reverent—until the next words came out, laced with dominance. "Good. Good boy."
Prem flushed deep, skin prickling at the praise. His heart was still racing, his hole slick and pulsing from the stretch of Boun's fingers.
But then—
Smack.
A sharp sting landed across his ass, making Prem jolt with a startled cry.
"Ah! Boun!"
Boun leaned over him, hand resting on the now-warm spot, his lips brushing against the shell of Prem's ear.
"Stop cursing," he murmured. "You can moan all you want, beg all you want—but keep that pretty mouth clean. Got it?"
Prem bit his lip, nodding quickly. "Y-Yeah—yes. Got it."
Smack.
Another slap, firmer this time. "Yes what?"
Prem gasped, his hands tightening in the sheets. "Yes, sir!"
Boun smiled, trailing his fingers down the crack of Prem's ass, teasing the sensitive, already-open entrance. "That's better. You listen so well when you're like this—on your knees, quiet and ready."
Prem whimpered, arching back into the touch. His mind was hazy, every nerve ending lit up. "Please..."
Boun's finger pushed back in—slow, firm—stretching him again. Then another joined, his movements steady, patient, pushing deeper with each curl.
"You're still so tight," Boun murmured, almost to himself. "Gonna open you up nice and slow. Want you relaxed, dripping, begging for more."
Prem moaned into the pillow, his whole body throbbing with heat and anticipation. "I am begging," he whispered. "Please... Boun..."
Boun leaned down, kissing the base of his spine, hands keeping him steady, ass still high in the air like he wanted. "Good boy. Keep begging. I'm not done with you yet."
Boun stood up behind him, eyes tracing every line of Prem's body—his back arched just right, his ass lifted and waiting, flushed from the smacks, glistening slightly from the stretch of earlier.
"You look so good like this," Boun murmured, almost reverent.
Prem shivered, gripping the pillow tighter, his legs trembling with anticipation. "Don't make me wait..."
Boun chuckled softly, reaching into the cabinet nearby. He pulled out a small bottle of lube and a condom, his movements unhurried, deliberate.
"You think I'm going to rush this?" he said, snapping the bottle open. "Not when you've been so good for me."
He knelt back down, spreading Prem's cheeks wider. The first touch of the cold lube made Prem gasp—then moan when Boun's fingers spread it carefully over his entrance.
"Boun—please—" he breathed, pressing back into the touch.
"Shhh," Boun said, leaning close, his lips brushing against the small of Prem's back. "Let me take care of you."
He worked the lube in with slow circles, massaging the sensitive skin, dipping a finger back inside to coax Prem open again. Once satisfied, he rolled on the condom with one hand, his other still gripping Prem's hip firmly, possessively.
Prem felt his body respond immediately—arching back, pushing into every touch, wanting more.
"You ready for me?" Boun asked, voice rough, thick with need.
Prem nodded fast, breathless. "Yes—God, yes. I need you."
And then Boun guided himself into position, pressing the tip against him, slow and steady, giving Prem time to feel everything.
Boun exhaled slowly as he pressed the tip against Prem's entrance, his hands steady on the younger man's hips.
"Breathe, baby," he murmured, leaning over to kiss between Prem's shoulder blades. "Let me in."
Prem nodded into the pillow, heart pounding, body trembling with need. "I'm ready... I want it," he whispered, voice shaking but full of trust.
With one slow push, Boun began to slide in—inch by inch—giving Prem time to stretch around him, to feel every deliberate movement.
Prem let out a shaky moan. "Ah—fuck..."
"Hey," Boun said firmly, smacking his thigh again, not hard, but enough to bring him back. "What did I say about cursing?"
Prem bit his lip, eyes fluttering. "S-Sorry, sir..."
"That's better." Boun's voice softened, but the grip on his hips stayed firm. "You're doing so well. Just like that. Let me take care of you."
Once he was buried fully, Boun stilled, giving them both a moment to breathe. The heat, the tightness, the connection—it was overwhelming in the best way. He brushed his hands slowly down Prem's back, grounding them both.
"You feel incredible," he murmured, almost reverently.
Prem whimpered, body adjusting, clenching around him instinctively. "So full... it's so much..."
"I know," Boun said, rolling his hips slowly, just a gentle grind that made Prem shudder. "But you can take it. You were made for this. Look at you—already so perfect like this, open and begging for me."
He pulled back slightly, then pushed in again, slow and deep.
"Ah—please," Prem gasped. "More..."
"Say it right."
"Please, sir..."
That earned him a low groan from Boun and a firmer thrust that made Prem arch into it.
The rhythm began to build—slow, deliberate strokes that filled Prem again and again, Boun's grip tightening as he kept him in place, praised him, pushed him just where he needed.
"You take me so well," Boun whispered, lips near his ear. "Such a good boy for me."
And Prem could only moan in response, lost in the feeling, in Boun's voice, in the way their bodies moved together—nothing but heat, praise, and the slow build of something that felt just as emotional as it was physical.

Chapter 25: Should i breastfeed my baby?(Incest,18+)

Sub: Book
Dom: Force
This story contains sex, incest between two brothers.. if you don't like it just ignore this story...🤔
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Book sat alone at the back of the bus, his knees pressed together, backpack hugged tightly to his chest. The ride home was always the worst part of the day every bump in the road shook not just his body, but the words that echoed in his skull.
"Freak." That's how his classmates saw him.
"Why do you even talk like that?"
"Try not to cry again tomorrow, baby Book."
He'd learned to bites his tongue, to press the tears down until they curled up like paper in his stomach. He'd learned to shrink.
When the bus hissed to a stop, Book slipped out as quietly as he could, head down.
Finally home! No more abuse!
Book pushed the door open with his shoulder. The house smelled like fried onions and something burnt.
"Yo, there he is!" Force called from the kitchen, holding a pan in one hand and a spatula in the other like he was hosting a cooking show. "Thought I'd make you onion rings or whatever. You ate at school?"
Book hesitated. "Yeah. Thanks."
Force ruffled his brother's hair, grinning. "What's up with your face? You look like you saw a ghost."
Book flinched. His hand went to his cheek instinctively. It still stung where Jared had shoved him into the locker.
"Just tired," he mumbled and shuffled toward his room.
Force didn't follow.
Later that night, Book stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. There was a faint purple mark forming on his shoulder. He tugged the collar of his hoodie up. His skin didn't matter. What mattered was that Force didn't know about anything that's happening.
If Force knew, he'd do something stupid. Fight someone. Get suspended. Blame himself. That's what Force did—he acted. Book... didn't.
The next day, it happened again.
They'd thrown his backpack in the trash. Jared said it was just a joke. The others laughed. Book dug through the garbage while they watched. He told himself he didn't care. He'd already memorized the sound of their laughter.
Hating them so much; it was because of one thing Jared sees Book kiss his older brother Force goodbye, misinterprets it, and uses it as ammo for bullying. This version digs deeper into that misunderstanding and its emotional impact on Book.
Days was always like same bullying,pain,suffering and bigger pain.
It was Friday when it broken.
Force had picked Book up from school because it was raining, and Book hadn't answered his texts. He found his brother sitting under the overhang near the back gym doors, soaked, shivering, eyes red.
Book didn't speak when he climbed into the car.
Force didn't start the engine.
"Book."
Silence.
"Who did it?"
More silence.
"Look at me."
Book did. And Force saw it—the bruised lip, the red ring around his eye, the tiny tremble he tried to swallow.
"You said you were tired," Force said, his voice low, not angry—scared. "You said nothing was wrong."
Book's lips parted. "Because I didn't want you to know."
Force blinked. "Why?"
"Because if you knew, you'd do something stupid."
The car filled with the sound of rain. Force looked away. His hands clenched on the steering wheel.
"You're my brother," he said. "Let me be stupid for you."
Book laughed through his tears, and it cracked open something inside him.

That night, they sat on the floor in Force's room. The only light came from the cracked door and the soft hum of the hallway lamp. Book was curled in on himself, arms around his knees, speaking in fragments—truths he'd swallowed too long.
"They laugh when I walk into class. Sometimes they kick my chair. They put stuff in my locker, and yesterday someone wrote on my jacket. I just... I didn't want you to know."
Force said nothing. He didn't get angry. Didn't storm off. He just sat there, still and solid, listening with a weight that made Book feel like maybe, for once, he wasn't carrying it all alone.
Book's voice dropped. "And when they saw me kiss you goodbye... they started saying things. That I was into you. That I must be—" He paused. "They act like it's something to humiliate me with. Just because I'm soft. Because I don't fight back."
Force blinked slowly, jaw tight with restraint. Then his voice came, low and steady: "You don't have to fight like me to be strong."
Book looked down.
"And Mom would've said the same thing."
Book's breath hitched.
Force's gaze softened. "She'd be proud of you, you know. For how you're handling this. For still being kind. Still being you."
Book didn't speak for a long time. Then, in a small voice: "You think so?"
"I know so." Force's voice cracked, just slightly. "She always said you had the biggest heart out of the two of us. She was right."
Book leaned in, head against Force's shoulder. Neither of them said much after that.
They didn't need to.
The next morning, Force stood by the door, backpack slung over his shoulder.
"I'm walking you to school, today."
"You don't have to," Book mumbled.
"I want to," Force said. "For your sake."
They walked through the quiet neighborhood where every corner still held a memory of their mother. Her garden, still half-alive. The crack in the pavement where she'd taught Book to ride a bike. Force glanced at his brother—smaller, quieter, but standing a little straighter.
When they reached the school gates, Jared was there.
But this time, when Book walked past, he didn't flinch. Force walked beside him, not like a shield—but like proof that Book wasn't alone anymore.
Jared looked up—and looked away first.
After work, Force found a note on the fridge that says:
"Got a B on the science test. Ate the last piece of lasagna. Sorry, not sorry. Also—I didn't feel scared today. Not once . Also I got my piano lesson so I will be late.– Book."
Force smiled, then tucked the note beside an old photo on the fridge: the one of their mom hugging them both, caught mid-laugh.
"Yeah," he whispered. "You'd be proud of him."
————————————————————————————————————————-
Late evening. A quiet apartment.
The door opened softly, the handle barely making a sound. Book slipped inside, breathing in the familiar scent of home — a mix of old wood, soap, and something warm he could never quite name, but always meant safety.
He kicked off his shoes and dropped his bag by the wall. Piano class had run late. His teacher had gone on about Chopin again, about how emotion lived in every note, every pause. And while it was beautiful, Book was exhausted. His body longed for rest. His soul, too.
He stepped into the kitchen and stopped.
On the table, under a covered plate, was a folded napkin with a short note scribbled in Force's handwriting:
"Heat it up. "
A small smile touched Book's lips.
He sat down, warmed up the food, and ate slowly in silence. Every bite grounded him, loosened something in his chest. It wasn't just food — it was care, quiet and unspoken.
Afterward, he showered. The warm water slid down his back like it was rinsing off the day — the pressure, the stares, the loneliness he didn't always talk about.

The door was cracked open of Book's room.
Force lays on his side, phone in hand, face dimly lit by the screen. His eyes were already half-closed, heavy with sleep.
Book stepped in quietly, wearing a clean shirt, hair still damp. He didn't say a word — just climbed into the bed next to him and tucked his head against his brother's shoulder. He breathed slowly, eyes fluttering shut. His body remembered this feeling from childhood — warmth, safety, brother.
Force didn't put the phone down. But his free hand moved automatically, tracing lightly down Book's back, the way their mom used to do.
"Was the lesson good?" he murmured.
Book nodded. "Yeah. We played Chopin."
"Sounds like something that'd put me to sleep in five seconds."
"Exactly," Book whispered with a smile.
Silence.
"Sometimes," Book said softly, "when I play... it kind of feels like Mom's there."
Force opened his eyes and looked at him.
"Maybe she is."
Book nestled in closer, his fingers curling into the fabric of Force's shirt.
"Thanks for dinner."
"You're home," Force said, pressing a kiss to his brother's hair. "That's all that matters."
And even though no more words were said, they both fell asleep knowing something fragile in them had stayed whole — because they had each other
In middle of the night Book joints violently from his weird dream. It was about Force and him as they had sex, Force was mercifully thrusting into him and Book was moaning loudly.
Book covered him mouth he was blushing so much. Knowing his brother is hugging him from his sleep and he can't even move, his pajama pants was wet from his arousal that form from the wet dream. He was so embarrassed but he can't move or do something about it because of Force. He tried to moved and pushed Force's hands away but his grip was just way too strong.
"Force?" Book whispered. He really needed to do something about this till Force started to get suspicious or saw it.
"Force, can you let me go ? I need to use the bathroom," he tried to sound normal. Force mumbled something, pulled him closer and pressed his crotch against his ass.
"ahh~" Book covered his mouth strong, this wasn't happening, he needs to get rid of that bulge right now!
Book moved quickly but not too fast. Force takes his hips and changed their position taking Book's leg to the air, his crotch thrusting through pants against Book's pajamas pants.
" Did you really think I will not figure this out?" Force said kissing and nibbling Book's neck.
"Noo..." forming pleasure inside Book was getting so much uncomfortable.
"Let me see how bad it is~" he uncovered their shared blanket and take a look on hard bulge that was forming under Book's pants.
" I got wet dream, it's not my fault!"
"Hehe, really? Was it about me?" Force turned his young brother's head toward himself to look him in the eyes. Book nodded and smile weakly.
" Hmm, what should I do with you now?" Force takes his own chin rubbing it as sign of deep thinking even though the answer was obvious from the start.
" I don't even need to used my fingers or stroke you, because you ass is so used to my cock that you can come just from me thrusting inside you,baby~" he nibbled his cheek and his hand explores his bare chest, touch was so soft and provocative.
Force sighs pulling his cock out of his pants position himself behind Book while they lay back to back. Book whimpered inpatient. Force pulled Book's pants down and shoved it deep inside.
"Aaaaa!" Book arched his back on that sensation it was so deep..
"Very nice, little brother". Force thrust inside with deep strokes moving his hips fast, he knows everything about Book and his body. His sweet spot, his tastes in man, everything.
Force takes Book's leg and holds it in the air to get better access. He got even deeper..
"S-so...deep~" Book moaned his hand gently stroking himself, his thumb gently strokes his tip.
"Hey! I didn't allowed you to do that!"He undo his hand from his cock and moved even faster. Book comes on their sheets tighten around Force's cock, doesn't giving him any chance to move more.
"Fuck!You are so tight ". Force said pulled out and strokes himself till he found his own release.
"Come here~we are not done yet." Force pulled Book by his hips closer to his body. "Tell me, do you really like me?" Force brushed his lip against Book's ear.
" I really like you..." I promised.Book said opens his mouth. Force turn his head to sucked his tongue with, his hand lower sliding one finger inside.
" now that I think of it, I've never done it for you with my hands". He said fucking him with his finger. And licking his cheek.
" What should I do, it seems like you really like men dicks this much, hmm?"
"Ahh, Ah," Book screamed loudly he tried to pushed Force away because he was still so sensitive from the first time.
" oh I know what you want~" Force smirked pulling Book into his chest to suckled his chest.
"You want to drink your brother's milk, should I breastfeed my baby?" Force laughing pulling out his finger and pressed Book's head more on his chest.
" that's it suckle more properly", Force said as Book licked his chest and suckled his nipple.
"Heup!" Book made a little protest and that pulled away. "Stop with this bullshit".
" yeah, sorry". Force laughed.
"I just love you".
"Me too."

Chapter 26: Earth X Mix- only you in my frame 18+

Hey everyone! I hope you enjoy my stories! Thank you so much for the amazing support — I really appreciate it. Lately, my brain's been a bit tired, and sometimes I don't know what to write, so please bear with me.

I'm thinking this series will have about 60 parts, and then there will be a Part 2 with more oneshots!

Enjoy reading! 🥰📚✨
Dom:Earth
Sub:Mix
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The studio smells like fresh coffee and paper. Sunlight streams through the windows in golden stripes, landing on the black backdrop and lighting up the scene where Mix stands.

He's wearing a light blue pleated skirt and a white oversized shirt tucked loosely into the waistband. He's barefoot, waiting for his shoes to be handing to him.

Earth lowers the camera and looks at him over the lens.

"Stay like that," he says softly. "You look like you walked out of a movie about a love no one saw coming."

Mix giggles. "That's exactly what you said last time—when I wore the plaid one."

"Because it's true." Earth clicks another shot. The lens catches the faint smile that flickers on Mix's lips. He pulled his collar higher. "Fuck! It's hot in here."

Earth loves this part of the job the most—not the lights, not the composition setup, but the moment when Mix stops posing and just... is surfing in girl's clothes in front of him.

And he loves it even more when Mix wears a skirt. Not because of some fetish. But because of how Mix moves in it—free, graceful, confident. And because Earth always catches himself glancing at the hem.

This time, he doesn't resist. Between shots, he steps closer and reaches out toward the skirt. Gently, not flirtatiously, but curious. "Can I?"

Mix nods. "I know you like it."

Earth smiles, fingers brushing through the fabric. "I do. And you know what I like even more?"

"What?"

"When you pretend you're only wearing it for the shoot."

Mix breathes in, lips parting slightly. "And what if... I'm not just doing it for the shoot?"

Earth says nothing. He sets the camera down and looks straight into his eyes. "Then I'd want you to wear it... even when we're not shooting."

"And what if I want to?" Mix tilts his head, voice soft and testing.

Earth reaches out again, fingers playing with the edge of the skirt, circling gently around Mix's waist. "Then I'd be the happiest photographer in the world."

Click.

Earth picks the camera back up and snaps the shutter. That moment—Mix's gaze, the hint of a smile, Earth's hand on the hem, light pooling around him—was exactly what he wanted to capture.

"Try that pose again," Earth murmured, tilting his head as he looked through the viewfinder. "The one where you looked over your shoulder... yeah, just like that."

Mix turned slightly, lifting his chin with effortless elegance, one hand resting at his waist, the other gently playing with the hem of his skirt. His bare legs caught the golden light, and Earth swore he could hear his heart skip a beat through the silence.

"Now sit on the stool," Earth instructed, his voice low and warm. "But not stiff—like you're waiting for someone you're in love with."

Mix laughed under his breath and dropped onto the stool, one leg crossed over the other. The skirt folded beautifully over his knees. He leaned his elbow on the edge of the backrest, resting his cheek against his palm, eyes fluttering shut.

Click. Click.

Earth captured it all—the light in Mix's hair, the soft curve of his jaw, the peacefulness that radiated from him when he wasn't performing for the camera, but simply being himself.

"Now try one more for me," Earth said, stepping a little closer. "Stand by the window. Let the curtain fall behind you—yeah, hold it like that."

Mix did as told, his fingers gathering the thin white curtain as he posed like a boy in a daydream, half in sunlight, half in shadow. The skirt swayed gently with each subtle movement.

Earth couldn't help it. He walked up and touched the fabric again, brushing his knuckles lightly across Mix's thigh.

"You're so beautiful, it's almost unfair," Earth whispered.

Mix looked at him with those soft, almond-shaped eyes. "Then take another shot. Before it disappears."

Click.

They were closer now. The camera dangled loosely from Earth's neck. He wasn't even sure he was breathing properly. "You know... we've done dozens of shoots, but this one feels different."

"Because I'm wearing a skirt?"

"No," Earth said, "Because this time, you're not pretending."

Mix let the curtain slip from his fingers, stepping forward. "And what if I'm not?"

"Then I'm in trouble," Earth said, reaching out to gently tug at the hem of Mix's skirt again, his fingers brushing the inside of Mix's wrist.

Mix smiled. "You're always playing with that hem."

"You make it impossible not to."

They stood there, barely a breath apart. Outside, the city went on. But inside the studio, it was just them—the quiet hum of connection, the soft glow of light, and the skirt that had somehow turned into a symbol of comfort, attraction, and everything unsaid between them.

"Hold still for a second," Earth said, setting his camera down on the table. Mix had just bent over to reach into his bag when Earth noticed his skirt had ridden up slightly on one side.

Silently, he walked over and gently caught the fabric with his fingers, tugging it back into place. "Your skirt... it hiked up a little."

Mix straightened and met his eyes. "Really?" He smiled, but there was a flicker of embarrassment in his expression.

Earth was about to say something when his gaze accidentally fell on Mix's boxers—blue, comfy, completely ordinary, but oddly cute in contrast with the soft black skirt.

"So... boxers under the skirt?" Earth smiled, his tone more amused than judging.

Mix bit his lip. "It's... more comfortable, okay?" He adjusted the skirt slightly and looked away. "I'm not exactly used to this. But you wanted skirt photos, so..."

Earth reached out and gently fixed the hem again, slower this time. "And I'm glad you did. You know why?"

Mix shook his head.

Earth tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "Because it shows me another side of you. One you don't show just anyone. And that's... sexier than anything else."

Mix laughed softly, still a little flushed. "Even in boxers?"

Earth grinned. "Especially in boxers."

For a moment, there was silence. Then Earth added, "You know, when you play with the hem of that skirt like that, it killsme."

Mix looked up, feigning innocence. "Really?"

Earth leaned in closer. "So much that I'm seriously debating whether I should keep photographing you... or finally kiss you."

Earth stepped even closer, his hand still resting gently on Mix's waist.

"You really have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, voice low and rough around the edges.

Before Mix could reply, Earth pulled him closer, their bodies brushing. With one hand still playing idly with the hem of Mix's skirt, he leaned in and pressed a slow, wet kiss against Mix's lips.

Then another.

And another.
"Ahh~" Mix moaned softly because Earth was rubbing himself against him.The kind of kiss that made Mix's knees weaken just a little.
Mix's breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut as Earth cupped his cheek, brushing his thumb lightly against the skin. Their mouths moved together in sync—hot and gentle, like they'd been waiting for this moment through every stolen glance and every skirt-flipping tease.
When Earth finally pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against Mix's, he whispered, "You're even more beautiful up close."
"Do something about this", he pointed at the forming bulge inside Earth's pants, it was eyes catchy.
"Yeah, I will..." he said and pushed skirt to side out of Mix's tights.
" let me have a little taste of your beautiful feminine tights," Earth kneeled infront of Mix and his cheek gently brushed on Mix tights, he kissed and licked his tights as it was the sweetest thing in the world, he nibbled softly on pale skin.
"Mhmm~" Mix covered his mouth his tights were so sensitive on touch.
Earth then pulled away, taking Mix into his hands and picking him up.
" What the hell-" Mix quickly hugged Earth around his neck, he doesn't expect this kind of behavior at all.

"Calm down..." Earth murmured, guiding him over to the desk. He lifted Mix up and sat him down on top of the scattered documents, gently easing him back until he was lying across the papers.

He kissed him again — slower, with more certainty, as if he wanted to remember him forever. Meanwhile, his hand slid over Mix's stomach, fingers gently tracing every line of skin. Then, without a word, he took off his own shirt, and right after, he pulled Mix's off as well. His gaze paused for a moment on the exposed skin, as if he were mesmerized by it.

Mix kissed him back, this time with no hesitation — his fingers curling lightly against Earth's skin, his body arching into the touch. There was no need for words; the way he looked at Earth, the way he moved beneath him, said everything. He was ready — completely, willingly, undeniably his.

Earth reached for the condom he had ready in the drawer. He tore it open with a swift motion, his eyes still fixed on Mix, and then rolled it on, his hands never losing their gentle touch.

"We've done this so many times, I don't think you need any prep anymore," Earth murmured with a faint smile.
But Mix cut him off immediately: "I'm ready, please... but I'll never get used to your size."

Earth sighed. "Alright then," he said, running his hand over his already eagerly hard length. He spread a bit of lube onto his fingers and carefully slid them into Mix.
"Fuck... you're still so tight I can't even feel my fingers," he breathed out softly.

"Even your balls are so hard..." Mix whispered, his voice thick with desire. "It feels that good, doesn't it?"

Mix moaned, pulling his legs closer together—and got a sharp smack on his ass.
"Don't do that anymore," Earth said firmly, "listen to me properly and spread those legs wider."

"All right, that's enough. You're all wet. Turn around and spread your legs nice and wide." Earth wiped his hand to his shirt that was laying on floor. And turn back to now bending Mix over his work desk with his hands spreading his booty cheeks to side.

"It's quite the sighs..." Earth growled, his tip rubbing against Mix's hole, provoking a sharp shiver from him.

Earth's breath hitched as he pressed a little deeper, the friction making both of them tremble. Mix's body tightened around him instinctively, soft moans escaping as Earth's tip teased just inside. Every movement sent sparks through them, the tension building until it felt like they might ignite.

"Just like that," Earth murmured, his voice low and rough, "you're driving me crazy."

Earth held his breath as his tip slowly pushed inside, sending a subtle tremble through both of them. But then he pulled back, gathering strength, and thrust into him hard and fast, stretching him almost unnaturally.

Mix let out a painful whimper, his muscles tightening, his face twisted with a mix of pain and pleasure.

"God, that really hurts... no," he breathed softly, his eyes still fixed on Earth.

Earth leaned over him and gently lifted his head with two fingers. "Make sure you're breathing when I go in," he whispered into his ear. "Because this way, I come fast. Okay?"
Mix nodded softly, resting his head on the table. "My stomach hurts, it's so full."
"You're whining all the time. Why can't you be as good as when you're posing?" Earth teased, then thrust inside.

"I'm so sorry," Mix said softly, making Earth roll his eyes.
"Okay, I'm sorry too, alright? So calm down and relax, or we'll be here like this all day."

Earth lifted one of Mix's legs onto the table, gaining better access. He started thrusting slowly and rhythmically, just the way Mix liked it. He tried to find that sweet spot that would give him the most pleasure.

Soft gasps and quiet moans filled the room as Earth's steady rhythm found Mix's sweet spot. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure rippling through Mix's body, his breathing growing heavier, punctuated by little sighs and sharp intake of breath.

"Ah... Earth..." Mix whimpered, his voice trembling with need.

Earth's own breath hitched, his grip tightening gently as the sounds encouraged him to keep going, slower, deeper — savoring every reaction, every sound escaping from Mix's lips.

Mix's moans grew louder, mixing with soft, ragged breaths as Earth's movements became more confident. The subtle slap of skin and the rhythmic shifting filled the quiet room, punctuated by Mix's whispered pleas and Earth's low, steady growls.

"Fuck, that feels so good," Mix gasped, his fingers digging into Earth's shoulders for support.

Earth leaned closer, his lips brushing against Mix's ear. "You're mine," he murmured, voice thick with desire.

The tension between them built with every movement, every sound a promise of release drawing near.

Earth suddenly quickened his pace, thrusting faster and harder. The room filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing and urgent movements.

"I think I'm gonna pee!" Mix gasped, his voice both shocked and breathless as the intensity overwhelmed him.

Earth smirked against his skin. "Hold on, we're almost there," he whispered, tightening his grip and driving deeper.

Mix's breath hitched, panic flickering in his eyes. "Nooo! Let me go," he gasped, struggling slightly against Earth's hold.

Earth paused for a moment, concern flashing across his face. "Don't worry, it's just your imagination," he murmured softly, easing his grip but staying close.
"No, I really need to..." Mix gasped, voice trembling with desperation.

Earth's eyes softened with understanding. "Okay, okay, just breathe. We'll take a break," he said gently, letting go to give Mix some space.

Earth rolled him over so Mix could lie down, still staying inside him.
"Listen, you don't need to pee right away," he whispered.
"That's just because you like it when I'm stimulating your insides. Do you understand?"

"What if it's too much? What if I pee?" Mix asked nervously.

Earth gave him a gentle smile and pulled him closer. "Don't worry, it happens. If it does, it's okay. I care about you, not about what happens."

Mix took a deep breath, slowly relaxing. "Okay, let's try again."

Earth nodded and started moving gently, being careful to make it comfortable for Mix.

He penetrated him again, hitting his prostate with precision.

"I'm really going to pee!" Mix said, tears welling up at the edge of his eyes from how badly he needed to go.
Earth smirked, not slowing down, pushing just a little deeper, feeling Mix tighten around him. Suddenly, with a shuddering gasp, Mix let go—his body convulsed as he squirted, warm waves spilling out all at once.

Earth laughed softly, a low, amused sound. "See? Nothing to worry about."

He held Mix close, both of them panting, the room filled with the sound of their ragged breaths and quiet laughter.

"It wasn't pee, it was your cum, see?" Earth said softly, wiping a drop from Mix's face.
"It's okay... and you taste delicious," he added with a teasing smile.

Earth pulled him closer, their breaths mingling in the quiet room. Mix slowly calmed down as Earth gently stroked his wet cheek.

"You're amazing," Earth whispered, "and I don't want to let you go."

Earth and Mix both caught their breath thoroughly. Then Earth slowly pulled away, took out his penis, and rolled off the used condom. He tied it around Mix's skirt.

"Good thing you're not dirty with your pee," Earth laughed. "After all, you said it wasn't pee!"

Mix just grinned and shook his head. "Well, at least I surprised you today," he muttered with a laugh.

Earth smiled and looked at Mix's skirt. "Let's finish taking those photos with the skirt before it gets dark."

Mix laughed. "Alright, but you're responsible if I look ridiculous."

"Don't worry, you'll look amazing," Earth smiled and took Mix's hand.

Chapter 27: Zee x Nunew- My royalty to Prince Zee👑🔞

Top: Zee
Bottom: Nunew
Guys! Did you already see their new serie? I am so in love!🥰🙏🏻.
————————————————————————————————————

In a distant kingdom cloaked in mist and whispers, where names were spoken only in hushed tones, lived a young prince named Zee. He was the son of a feared king — a ruler whose iron fist and merciless heart ruled with dread.
After his father's death, everyone expected Zee to inherit the same cruelty. His name spread through the palace like a warning. Every servant trembled at the thought of earlier death, or possible punishment. That can happened very soon.
But Prince Zee was different. He never struck anyone. He never punished with violence. Silent and watchful, he ruled with quiet dignity, a calm presence amidst the storm.
At his side was Nunew — his servant, but more than that, his shadow and right hand. Nunew understood every subtle gesture the prince made. Though just a servant, he carried a quiet pride and guarded secrets that could change the fate of the realm.
In the palace's dark corridors, where whispers of blood and betrayal lingered, the story of two souls—closer than any dared imagine—began. In a kingdom where kindness was often mistaken for weakness, they were an anomaly.
One misty morning, the stillness of the royal halls shattered. The castle steward was found collapsed at dawn — lips tinged blue, eyes wide and unseeing, breath faint and shallow.
"It was poison," growled the local giant — a broad-shouldered guardian who served as both protector and judge in the outlying provinces. His voice rumbled like distant thunder as he addressed Prince Zee. "The steward drank spiced wine before sunrise. Only the kitchen servants had access."
He gestured toward a line of ten trembling servants dragged from the kitchens. Among them was Nunew. Pale-faced but steadfast, Nunew's eyes locked on Zee's with quiet determination.
Fear filled the air. Everyone knew the punishment for poisoning a royal steward — death. No trial. No mercy. One nod from the prince, and heads would roll.
But Zee said nothing. He rose with slow, deliberate grace, his gaze sweeping over the ten kneeling figures. The silence stretched unbearably. Even the guards shifted uneasily.
Finally, his voice cut through the stillness — quiet, but firm:
"Lock them in the southern chamber. No one is to be harmed until I find the truth."
Gasps rippled through the court. No prince had ever stayed an execution in living memory. Yet Zee turned away, his royal cloak trailing behind him, ignoring the whispers.
Nunew, still kneeling, exhaled shakily. He did not thank the prince — he knew this wasn't mercy. It was something far more dangerous.
Zee would investigate himself.
That evening, torches flickered low along the stone halls, casting long shadows. The ten servants were locked in the cold southern chamber under guard — no food, no water, only fear.
Zee moved alone through the silent corridor, his boots barely making a sound. His guards had tried to follow but were dismissed with a sharp glance. Some things needed seeing without noise, without fear.
He entered the kitchens — a large arched room heavy with the scent of spices and boiled broth. The hearth fire was cold, the space untouched since the poisoning.
He stepped forward, eyeing the wine decanter resting on the wooden table. He lifted the stopper and sniffed. To most, nothing seemed wrong — but Zee was no ordinary observer.
"Show yourself."
A soft rustle. From behind sacks of grain, a slim figure emerged in servant robes.
Nunew.
"I slipped away during the guard change," Nunew said calmly, voice low. "You shouldn't be here alone."
Zee narrowed his eyes. "Nor should you."
Nunew's gaze flickered. "Then order me back."
Zee did not. Instead, he moved past Nunew, inspecting shelves lined with herbs and spices. "Whoever did this knew exactly what to use. Enough to kill quietly... slowly."
Nunew stepped beside him. "Then it wasn't one of the new servants. Only someone who's worked here long enough would know that." He hesitated. "You don't really think it was one of us, do you?"
Zee turned, expression unreadable. "If I did, you'd be dead already."
A tense silence hung between them. Then Zee whispered, "I know it wasn't you, Nunew. But someone wants to turn this palace against itself. And they began with the steward."
Nunew clenched his fists. "Let me help. Let me find who did this."
Zee nodded once. "You already are. Tomorrow, return to the servants' quarters. Listen. Watch. They'll be nervous now. We only need one mistake."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice even more.
"And if anything happens to you... they'll wish I was the cruel prince they fear."
The next morning, the palace felt colder than ever — the kind of chill that seeps into your bones. Nunew walked the servants' corridor with purpose. Eyes avoided him. Whispers followed like shadows. Servants always talked — about who the prince favored, and who might lose their head next.
But today, the venom was sharper.
"So you're the little pet who spreads his legs for the prince, huh?" hissed a voice behind him.
Nunew froze. He turned slowly to see Nat — an older kitchen servant, leaning against the wall with crossed arms. Thick with envy and pride, Nat had always hated Nunew — for his silence, for his closeness to the prince, and now, for the trust he was given. Nunew said nothing. His stare was cold, unreadable.
Nat chuckled darkly. "What's the matter? Got no words without your master's protection?"
"I need no protection," Nunew replied evenly. "Especially not from insects that bite when scared."
Nat stepped forward, jaw tight. "He'll tire of you, you know. Every prince does. Then where will you be?"
Nunew leaned in, voice steel wrapped in silk. "Still standing."
Turning away, he ignored the curses Nat spat after him. But a fire had ignited inside.
Someone wasn't just trying to poison the steward — they wanted a war of suspicion. And Nunew was the next target.
Hours passed as Nunew watched Nat from the shadows. He moved silently through storerooms, courtyards, kitchens — observing every gesture, every exchange. But Nat was too calm. No flinches, no avoided eye contact. No guilt.
Something was wrong.
At dusk, Nunew spotted another servant — Yim. Quiet, nearly invisible, always in the background carrying plates or scrubbing glasses. No one noticed him, and that was why Nunew did.
He saw Yim whispering in the courtyard with a cloaked stranger — a man who had no place in the palace. When Yim thought no one watched, he tossed a small dark vial into the kitchen fire.
A chill ran down Nunew's spine.
"Not Nat," he whispered. "Yim..."
If Nunew was right, Yim was a pawn — a tool of someone more powerful, someone bent on shattering the palace's fragile peace... and perhaps overthrowing the prince himself.
Nunew strode to Prince Zee's chambers. Two guards recognized him and silently opened the door. Inside, steam filled the royal bath — vast white marble with gold accents — scented with moss, herbs, and honey. In the hot pool, Zee sat half-submerged, wet hair slicked back, eyes closed. "Speak, Nunew," Zee said softly without opening his eyes. "Did you come to admire the scent or with news?"
Nunew swallowed, stepping closer, lowering his voice.
"Your Highness, I believe I know who poisoned the steward. And it wasn't Nat."
Zee opened his eyes — cold, focused. "Speak."
"Yim. Tonight I saw him with a cloaked stranger. He burned something in the kitchen fire. He's not acting alone."
Zee rose slowly, steam rising with him. Calm menace laced his voice.
"Someone dared toy with death inside my palace."
He faced Nunew.
"Find proof. Bring it to me. And if you discover who controls Yim... I want every detail."
Nunew followed Yim as he headed to the lower floor, a cup of cold water in one hand and a cleaning cloth in the other. Nunew stepped before him, blocking his path.
"Where are you going?" Nunew asked, voice low but firm. Startled, Yim masked it quickly. "Just to clean the ground floor. What's it to you?"
Nunew narrowed his eyes. "That's what I intend to find out." "What's your problem? I'm just doing my job." Nunew stepped closer, gaze unyielding. Suddenly, he pressed Yim against the cold stone wall, blocking escape.
"Did you poison the steward?" Nunew demanded. Yim stared silently.
Nunew's eyes darkened. "You know the punishments for betrayal. You risk your life with every step you take."
At the mention of punishment, Yim's facade cracked. His shoulders slumped.
"Yes... I did it."
Nunew tightened his grip, voice cold and steady.
"Why? Who sent you?"
Yim glanced nervously.
"I was desperate. Someone promised safety. If I helped, they said they'd protect my family."
Nunew's heart clenched. The poisoning was only the beginning. The palace was on the edge of chaos. Back in his chambers, Nunew reported everything to Prince Zee, who listened without interrupting. When Nunew finished, Zee stood slowly.
"The traitor is inside the castle walls."
He turned, eyes blazing with quiet fury.
"Prepare the guards. We end this before the poison spreads any further."
"But first, come here and sit down," Zee said quietly but with irresistible authority. He pointed to one of the heavy, antique chairs right in front of a large mirror on the wall.
Nunew slowly sat down, his eyes wandering around the room until they stopped at Zee's silhouette reflected in the mirror. In the shadow, it was clear to see what most would expect to be hidden — Zee's firm, though not fully erect penis, which hinted at his masculinity and strength, even if at that moment it wasn't fully hard. The air between them thickened; it wasn't just about politics or connecting clues. There was something more. Tension that couldn't be described with words, something personal, intimate, that had long been growing between them but was never openly acknowledged.
Zee leaned closer and his voice changed to a low, almost melodic whisper:
"Tonight, I'll show you that power doesn't have to be cruel. It can be... gentle."
Nunew trembled but didn't move. He knew this wasn't just a game — this was a moment that could change everything.
Zee moved closer to Nunew and placed his penis gently into Nunew's hands. His voice was low and commanding.
"First, make me hard."
Nunew hesitated for a moment, his hands trembling slightly as he cupped Zee's length. He was inexperienced, unsure of exactly how to respond. Carefully, he traced a gentle circle along the tip, feeling the warmth beneath his fingers.
Zee's breathing hitched slightly, watching Nunew's careful movements. "Slowly," he whispered, "there's no rush."
Nunew swallowed nervously but obeyed, his fingers trembling slightly as they moved. Zee's eyes never left him, patient and encouraging.
"Breathe," Zee whispered, stepping closer, the warmth of his body grounding Nunew's nerves.
The moment was charged with quiet trust—an unspoken promise between them, delicate and new.
Zee looked down at him — eyes darkened with desire, yet still filled with quiet tenderness. His fingers gently brushed Nunew's cheek, though his breathing had grown heavier.
"Not so fast," he whispered, leaning in, brushing a thumb along Nunew's lower lip.
"Start with your tongue... feel those veins?"
He guided Nunew's hand with a soft touch.
"Lick along them. Watch how I react. And then... take me back into your mouth — slowly. No teeth. Just soft lips and your breath."
Nunew's cheeks flushed, but he obeyed. He leaned forward again, more deliberately this time. His tongue traced along the sensitive veins just beneath the skin — slowly, carefully, feeling every flicker of Zee's breath.
Zee bit his lip gently, saying nothing. He was there — fully present, focused, surrendering to the moment.
Only then did Nunew take him back into his mouth — cautiously, without teeth, exactly as he'd been told. It was unpracticed, but sincere. In that mix of learning and desire, they created something raw and quietly sacred.
Zee placed a hand in Nunew's hair and leaned closer. His voice was deep and soft:
"Just like that... now you know. Now you feel it."
Nunew choked slightly, his breath catching for a moment, but he didn't move away. His hands rested on Zee's firm, muscular thighs, feeling the tension beneath his palms.
Zee took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, a faint smile playing on his lips. His voice was low but steady, thick with the kind of tension that left no room for doubt:
"Okay. That's enough," he murmured. "He's hard now."
For a brief moment, their eyes met in the mirror — the reflection of two bodies in the warm half-light of the room. Then Zee reached out and gently, but firmly, pulled Nunew up by the shoulder into a standing position.
"Stand up... now we wil switch," he added, his voice rough around the edges — a promise of what was to come.
Zee then pulled him close, guiding Nunew to straddle him. Nunew settled on his lap, thighs pressed on either side of the prince's hips, their bodies flush with warmth and tension.
Zee's length rested against Nunew's lower back.
Nunew blushed, a deep flush rising to his cheeks as he glanced toward the mirror.
Zee gently lifted Nunew by the hips, their bodies still pressed closely together.
"Tonight, you'll see," Zee whispered with quiet authority, "how your hole skillfully and obediently takes everything I give you."
Nunew held his breath, his eyes meeting Zee's in the mirror — full of anticipation and something new, both feared and desired.
"Are you ready?" Zee asked, his voice leaving no room for lies.
Nunew nodded, gripping Zee's shoulders firmly.
"Then let's begin," Zee whispered, thrusted inside.
Nunew let out a loud moan as the wave of sensation overwhelmed him, his body tense and breath broken.
Zee firmly took his chin, lifting his face to meet his eyes in the mirror reflection.
"Look how deep it's gone inside you, sweetheart," he whispered with praise in his voice. "Very good."
Zee's eyes flickered down to Nunew's stomach, where a clear bulge formed—proof of how deep he was inside. A slow, satisfied smile curved Zee's lips.
"You're taking me so well," he murmured, voice low and warm. "Every part of you is responding."
Nunew felt his body opening up, receiving every movement Zee made, every thrust sinking deeper and deeper inside him. He focused intently on how Zee set the rhythm and direction, and he himself absorbed his energy, adapting and learning.
With each thrust, he felt Zee's strength penetrate deep within him, their breaths mingling, and every connection filling him completely. He was not just a passive receiver, but an active participant who sensed and absorbed every nuance, every wave of feeling.
His body responded to every gesture Zee made — his heart raced faster, his hands clenched Zee's thighs, his lips parted slightly in a quiet moan.
Zee gently grabbed Nunew's hips and pressed him closer. "I can feel how you've learned to read my body," he whispered with satisfaction. "I ask, and you answer."
Nunew nodded, immersed in the moment, in the connection that was more than just physical. It was a dance of trust, learning, and mutual surrender.
"It hurts doing it like this"he said softly and shakes his head.
"No don't worry, its okay." It will go inside and outside very nicely. Zee said pulling Nunew's body back down.
"No, it won't," Nunew said, his voice strained, soft noises escaping him — not pleasure, but discomfort. His brows drew together, and his fingers trembled against Zee's arm.
Zee froze.
He could feel the tight clench around him, too tight. His own body was pulsing with heat, with want — but Nunew's reaction pulled him straight out of that haze.
Zee stands up with Nunew hitting his body against mirror and pulled his dick only to part when his tip was inside.
" Is this better?"  Zee asked, voice low, but touched with concern.
Nunew's lips parted, a soft gasp escaping. He nodded faintly, one hand clutching Zee's shoulder for support. "It's... better. Less pressure."
Zee kissed him — slow and grounding — while his hands steadied Nunew's hips.
"Tell me if it changes," he murmured into the kiss. Nunew nodded and resting his head on Zee's shoulder. Zee thrusting inside only with his tip to not hurt Nunew even though he wants to be deep inside he holder back for him.
"Ahh!" Nunew cried out, voice high and breathless, as he came again, spilling across both their stomachs.
Zee chuckled lowly, eyes gleaming. "So cute~" he murmured, still stroking Nunew gently while his hips moved faster, chasing his own edge.
"You said... only the tip," Nunew whimpered, though his voice cracked with pleasure, not pain.

"I know," Zee groaned, sweat dripping down his temple, "but you're taking me so well... and it's not hurting anymore, is it?"

Nunew gasped, head falling back. "N-no... it feels good—too good—"
He'd already finished twice, body trembling, the mess between them sticky and warm. But Zee didn't stop. He held Nunew close, one arm around his waist, thrusting deeper until his own release finally overtook him with a low, ragged moan.
"Shit," he exhaled, slowly pulling out and carefully lowering Nunew to the bed. He caught his partner's weakened body before it could slump too far, cradling him close.
Nunew curled into Zee's side, flushed and exhausted, his body still twitching with aftershocks. He buried his face in Zee's neck, clinging to him in the thick quiet that followed.
"That was... intense," he whispered.
Zee smiled, brushing damp hair away from Nunew's forehead. "You were perfect."
A few quiet seconds passed. Then Nunew mumbled, "My gut kinda hurts..."
Zee's expression softened immediately. His hand slid down to rest gently on Nunew's lower belly, feeling the slight swell there — not alarmed, just present.
"Too much?" he asked quietly, concern flickering beneath the post-pleasure haze.
Nunew shook his head against Zee's chest. "Just sore... but I'm okay."
Zee kissed the top of his head. "We'll take it slow next time. I've got you."
"Let's clean you up," Zee said softly.
Without waiting, he scooped Nunew into his arms, bridal-style. Nunew let his head rest against Zee's shoulder, his body heavy with exhaustion but trusting.
Zee carried him through the quiet halls into the grand royal bathroom. Steam drifted in the air, the scent of herbs and oils soft and calming. The bath was already warm, waiting.
He lowered Nunew into the water carefully, his hands steady, gentle. Then, kneeling by the edge, he picked up a cloth and began to wash him. Every touch was slow, as if he was washing away more than just sweat — like he was trying to ease the tension from his skin, his soul.
When they finished, Zee wrapped him in a thick towel and lifted him once again, bringing him back to the bed. He laid him down gently, pulled the blankets over him, tucking them up to his chin.
"Tomorrow," Zee said quietly, brushing Nunew's damp hair from his forehead, "we can look for Yim. And make sure he pays for what he's done."
Nunew didn't reply, just looked at him with half-lidded eyes. There was trust in his gaze, something soft and silent that didn't need words.
Zee stayed beside him until he drifted off, watching over him like a quiet promise.

Chapter 28: 🖤 Part I: The Silence No One Hears ❌

⚠️ INTRO – TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️

Hi. This won't be a beautiful story. It won't be sweet. It won't heal.
It will hurt. It'll crawl under your skin and maybe stay there long after you close the screen. This collection isn't about love that saves.
It's about love that suffocates. Love that destroys — slowly, silently, and with a smile.

❗ If you're sensitive to dark topics like:
- domestic abuse
-manipulation
-blood or toxic relationships where love isn't a refuge but a weapon...
-Please don't read.
- Protect yourself.

For those who stay...
be ready. Because this ending won't be happy.
Anyway:
Top: Sailub
Bottom: Pon
———————————————————————————————————

"Don't cry. Don't cry, or it'll be worse."
Pon repeated it like a command, not a comfort.

From the outside, his father's house looked perfect — clean, cold, controlled. Inside, silence screamed.

Pon dressed carefully, hiding the bruises on his ribs. His father didn't hit out of rage. He hit out of disappointment.
And his disappointment was constant.

"Why do you walk like that?"
"Why do you always look like a girl?"
"No real man draws in a damn notebook."
The belt. The fist. The silence afterward.
Pon learned early that his pain was quieter than his father's shame.

One memory always returned in pieces — blurred around the edges like something his brain tried to bury.

He was thirteen. His hair had grown long. He liked the way it framed his face. It made him feel... soft. Safe. Almost like someone else.

But that night, his father came home drunk.
Not just angry. Gone.

He stormed into Pon's room without knocking. His breath reeked of liquor and smoke. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, but still burning.

"Why the hell do you look like that...?"
"You think you're pretty? Is that what this is?"
"You trying to tempt me, you little—"
Pon didn't understand what was happening until it was too late.
His father grabbed him by the hair, yanked him down to the floor. He was too stunned to scream.

Rough hands. The sound of a belt unbuckling.
And then — nothing. Just cold air, and the shaking of his own body.

He managed to bite down on his own tongue to stay silent.

By some twisted mercy, his father collapsed — passed out mid-breath.
Pon lay there on the floor, frozen, bleeding from his lip, heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst through his ribs.

The next morning, they never spoke of it.
But Pon never let his hair grow again.

At school, he felt invisible.
A ghost passing through the noise of normal lives.
He never laughed. Never made plans. He just drew — obsessively, frantically.
As if trying to trap parts of himself on paper before they disappeared completely.

And that's when Sailub noticed him.

Older. Confident. Dangerous in a way that felt like safety.

"You're the one who draws and never speaks," he said one day, his voice low and smooth.

Pon nodded.

"I like quiet things," Sailub smiled. "They're easier to keep."
From then on, Sailub was everywhere.
He brought him milk, sketch pens, a hoodie Pon hadn't asked for. He always touched him lightly — like claiming him piece by piece.
One day, Sailub slipped a silver ring onto Pon's finger.
"Keep it. I want people to know someone sees you."
Pon didn't answer. But something inside him... warmed. Or maybe just cracked.

At home, things only got worse.
His father now ignored him entirely — until he didn't.
And when he didn't, it always hurt.

One night, after his father shattered a plate near his head and screamed that Pon should've been born dead, he locked himself in the bathroom.

He didn't cry but he trembled a lot, hoping for better days to come.

He only texted one person.

"Can I come over?"
"The door's open."
That night, on Sailub's balcony, wrapped in a blanket, he said nothing.
And Sailub didn't ask. Just touched his back — right where the bruises bloomed beneath the fabric.

"Don't go back there."
"You don't belong to him. You belong to me now."
Pon didn't reply.
But he let Sailub hold his hand.

Not because he trusted him.
But because, for once, no one was trying to break him open —
at least, not yet.

He knew this wasn't safety.
It was something else entirely.
Maybe the start of something new.
Or maybe just another version of the same story.

Maybe history doesn't repeat itself.

Maybe it just changes its face.

Chapter 29: Part Two: Under His Wings❗️

At first, Sailub's care was like a warm shelter — a soft promise that Pon might never have to face the cold alone again. He brought gifts constantly: new sketchbooks, favorite snacks, hoodies to keep Pon warm. He whispered gentle words that made Pon feel seen, wanted, even safe. Sailub's touch was light and careful, like handling something precious.

But safety soon turned sharp.

One afternoon, Pon didn't answer Sailub's calls. Just for an hour. But to Sailub, it felt like a lifetime. When Pon finally appeared at school, Sailub's eyes were wild — a storm barely contained.

"Where were you?" he hissed, voice low but shaking with anger.
Pon swallowed hard. "I— I was with friends."
Sailub's jaw clenched. "Friends? You didn't tell me. You lied."
Pon's throat tightened. "I just wanted some time."
"Time? Without me?" Sailub's hand struck Pon's cheek sharply, the slap echoing louder than Pon's surprised gasp.

"Don't lie to me," Sailub snarled. "You're mine. You don't do things behind my back."

Pon touched his stinging cheek, tears threatening, but swallowed the pain. He hated himself for lying, hated Sailub's fury, but more than anything, he feared what might come next.

Later that night, Sailub came home drunk after his friend's birthday party. The smell of alcohol clung to him, and his eyes glinted dangerously.

Pon tried to keep quiet, hoping Sailub would pass out. But instead, Sailub grabbed a loaded gun from the drawer — a terrifying weight in his hands.

"Don't think you can just disappear," Sailub said, pressing the cold barrel against his temple, voice low and cracked. "You don't go anywhere without telling me. Understand?"

Pon's heart hammered in his chest. He nodded, too scared to speak.

Sailub laughed darkly. "Good. Because I'm watching. Always."

Days blurred into nights filled with endless phone calls. Sailub's voice was everywhere—pleading, angry, demanding.

"Why didn't you answer? Are you with someone else?"
"I'm outside. Open the door."
"Don't ignore me. I'll find you."

Pon started to avoid leaving the house. The few times he managed to sneak out, he'd find Sailub waiting—just around the corner, a shadow with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Every gift became a chain, every sweet word a trap. Pon was caught between the nightmare of his past and the cage of his present.

And no matter how much he wanted to run, Sailub's grip only tightened.

Pon was beginning to lose himself. Every day with Sailub was like walking on a knife's edge — caught between a longing for affection and the terror of his outbursts. When Sailub was kind, Pon felt maybe he wasn't completely lost. When Sailub was cruel, all his old wounds tore open again.

One time, when Pon dared to disappear for a few hours without explanation, Sailub tracked him down, found him on the street, and almost shouted:
"Where were you? Who were you with? What did you say to him?!"
Pon trembled but tried to stay calm: "Please, I just needed to breathe... a little space."
Sailub hissed: "Space? You're mine, Pon. You don't get space without my permission."

Sometimes Sailub held his hand so tightly his fingers ached; other times he sent messages that shifted from "I love you" to "If you run away, you'll lose everything."
Pon felt trapped between love and fear — and didn't always know which was which.

One night, Pon hid in the bathroom with tears running down his face.
Sailub knocked quietly on the door and said softly:
"You don't have to be afraid. I'm here. I'll never leave you."
Pon pressed his hands to his eyes and whispered quietly:
"But I'm scared..."

But Sailub was changing. From help, he became the master of Pon's life.
When Pon said something Sailub didn't like, anger would flare suddenly and unexpectedly. Once, after a single inappropriate word from Pon, Sailub lost control and hit him.
"No more insults," he said coldly, "or you'll lose everything."

Pon knew he was drowning.
His father tormented and abused him his whole life, but Sailub — who was supposed to be a refuge — was becoming another prison.
Every day he tried to find a little light, but something always pulled him back into the darkness.

Pon closed his eyes and remembered the night Sailub held a gun to his head, warning him like a madman.
"You will never leave my wings," Sailub whispered, "without my knowledge."

And although Pon resisted inside, he knew he wasn't ready to move yet. Not yet.
"This is your new space," Sailub said, opening the door to a small, windowless room.
Pon stepped inside and saw there was no bed—only a cold, worn-out rug lying on the floor.
The air felt heavy, the silence pressing in from all sides.

Sailub roughly pushed Pon inside the room and slammed the door shut behind him.
The heavy lock clicked into place, sealing him in.
Pon sank to the cold floor, the worn rug barely offering any comfort. Hours stretched on in silence — no food, no water, only the oppressive stillness pressing down.
Pon pressed himself against the cold wall, his body trembling from the cold and hunger gnawing at him from within. The door was firmly shut, locked tight. His heart pounded in his chest, his voice breaking as he began to whisper:
"Sailub... please... open the door... just for a moment..."

Again and again he repeated his pleas, though he knew he was just losing his voice in vain.
"Just a little water... I'm starving... I can't..."
Tears ran down his cheeks, but he tried to hide them in the darkness of the room.

His voice was weak, almost hopeless, but he didn't want to give up the last hope that somewhere out there, someone was still listening to him.

"Sailub... I... I'll do whatever you want... just let me out... please..."

Silence echoed back his words, but the door remained unmoving and cold.

Pon sank to the floor, curling into himself as exhaustion began to take over. Minutes stretched into hours, and the silence around him grew heavier, suffocating.

Outside the door, Sailub's footsteps faded away, leaving Pon alone with the cold and the emptiness.

He whispered once more, barely audible:
"Please... don't forget me..."

But there was no answer.

Pon's mind drifted into memories—brief moments when Sailub's smile had felt like warmth, like a promise. Now, those memories only deepened the ache inside him.

The cold rug beneath him offered no comfort, and the darkness wrapped around him like a shroud.

He closed his eyes, trying to hold on to any flicker of hope — but all he felt was the growing weight of loneliness.

Pon's trembling body finally gave in to exhaustion, and he fell into a restless sleep on the cold rug.
Slowly, he felt something soft and warm pressing gently against his lips.
His eyes fluttered open to see a small bowl of porridge held carefully before him.

Sailub's voice was low and quiet, almost hesitant:
"Eat. You need to keep your strength."

Pon blinked, surprised by the sudden kindness after the long silence.
Though weak, he managed to take a few spoonfuls, the warmth spreading through him like a fragile thread of hope.

Sailub gently lifted the bowl away and reached out to help Pon sit up.
Pon's body ached, but he allowed himself to be pulled into a sitting position.

Sailub's eyes were cold, his voice firm but calm:
"This was your punishment—for leaving the dishes unwashed."

Pon swallowed hard, the weight of Sailub's words pressing down on him heavier than the hunger.
He nodded silently, the sting of the cold room still lingering in his bones.
Pon said nothing.
Sailub looked at him sharply and said,
"If you don't obey me and follow my rules, you'll go back to your father—or spend two days without food."
Pon swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper as he thought to himself,
I want to be good... so I can have a life like a king's.

Chapter 30: Part 3 :You Deserved This, Pon!❌

Okay I decided you can voted for one of this:

Sad end😭

 

Happy end 👨‍❤️‍👨

Both👨‍❤️‍👨😭

———————————————————————-
For three whole months, Sailub didn't even look at him. No kisses. No words. Not even a glance. Pon was still there — quiet, obedient — but to Sailub, it was as if he had completely stopped existing.

Sometimes he'd leave food by the door. No note, no comment. Other times he didn't come home at all, and Pon would lie on the thin mattress Sailub had once thrown into the room like a leftover gesture of kindness. In the darkness, surrounded by four windowless walls, he began to forget the sound of his own voice. The colors. Who he used to be.

On the other side of the wall, he heard Sailub talking on the phone, laughing, walking up and down in polished shoes as if the whole world belonged to him. He spoke names Pon didn't recognize. Made appointments. Negotiated deals. And through all of it, he passed by Pon's room like there was nothing inside — just emptiness. Just a forgotten shadow.

In those quiet days, Pon didn't even cry. There were no more tears left, and no reason for them. He stopped drawing. He stopped eating more than what was absolutely necessary. Every day he just lay there, counted the hours by the sounds of Sailub's life, and waited. Waited for maybe a door to open again. Maybe a touch to return. Maybe anger. Anything would have been better than nothing.

And in that emptiness, he began to understand — this was the real punishment. Not the slaps. Not the locking away. But being invisible. Being no one. And somewhere deep inside, a dangerous thought began to form — maybe he was never worthy of love to begin with.

And Sailub? He just kept living. With crisp shirts, expensive cologne, strangers' smiles, and a world where Pon no longer had a place.

One cold night, just as the clock struck midnight, the silence was broken by laughter.

Sailub opened the front door to three men dressed in sharp suits and silk shirts. Their watches glittered. Their shoes never touched dirt. They walked in like they owned the world — men of influence, money, and something darker behind their smiles. Sailub welcomed them with a smirk, his own tailored coat still draped over one shoulder.

Pon sat in the shadows, knees pulled to his chest, listening from the small room where he'd spent the past months in silence. He barely dared to breathe. The sound of polished leather against tile echoed through the hallway. Glasses clinked. Expensive liquor poured.

Laughter.

Talk about deals. A whispered name that sent chills through Pon's spine.

"That kid still here?" one of the men asked.

Sailub's voice came after a pause, casual — too casual.

"Locked away. Silent as ever. Obedient."

The man chuckled. "Must be nice. One less thing to manage."

Pon felt his heart crawl up to his throat.

He knew this wasn't just another business night.

Not with four men.

Not with the way Sailub's voice had changed — low and unreadable.

Not with the way one of them said, "So, you're really not using him? That's a waste, Sailub. He's beautiful. Too quiet for his own good, though."

And Sailub's response?

Just a slow exhale.

Then, chillingly:
"We'll see

Pon's breath hitched the moment he heard the tone shift in Sailub's voice. It was the kind of low, drunken drawl that always came before something bad. He didn't need to see their faces — he could feel the danger crawling through the floor like smoke.

He slipped out of the hallway silently, heart hammering in his chest, and hurried back to the small room Sailub had locked him in for so long. It wasn't safe. But it was the only place he knew. The only door he could close.

As quietly as he could, he shut it behind him and turned the lock from the inside.

Their laughter still echoed down the corridor, louder now, messier. Glass shattered somewhere. One of the men shouted something incoherent. Another one laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Pon trembled.

He backed away from the door and slid down the wall, curling into himself. The memory of Sailub's hand on his neck. The sting of punishment for simply breathing wrong. If they found him now — all of them drunk, cruel, bored — he wouldn't walk away the same.

Maybe he wouldn't walk away at all.

He pressed both hands over his ears as Sailub's voice rang through the house again, laughing, slurred:
"Let's go see the little pet. He's always been shy, but maybe he just needs encouragement."

Pon's heart dropped.

He scrambled across the floor, pulled the rug away, and pressed his body into the corner behind a broken dresser — a space barely big enough for his frame. His breathing became shallow, quiet. Almost not there.

Footsteps came closer.

The handle rattled.

Then a loud bang against the door.

Another one.

"Pon!" Sailub slurred, voice low and heavy. "Don't play games now. You don't want me to break the door again, do you?"

Another slam.

Pon clutched his knees to his chest and shut his eyes, silently mouthing to himself:

Don't cry. Don't cry, or it'll be worse.

Outside, the drunken voices argued — too many egos, too much alcohol, too little patience.

Eventually, the footsteps retreated.

The laughter faded.

And the house fell quiet again.

But Pon didn't move.

Not for hours.

Because sometimes, surviving meant knowing when to stay hidden — even from the one who said he loved you.

The morning sun filtered weakly through the high windows of the living room. The house still smelled of expensive alcohol, sweat, and ash. Someone had left a half-burnt cigar on a crystal tray. One of the guests from last night was passed out on the leather couch, snoring softly with his jacket half-off.

Pon hadn't slept.

He'd spent the night curled up behind the dresser, shaking and praying the lock would hold. His muscles ached. His throat was dry. But somehow, the silence was worse than the chaos. It meant only one thing: something was coming.

He waited.

And then he made a mistake.

He tried to sneak out.

The hallway was empty — or so he thought. He stepped quietly, barefoot, toward the back exit, hoping maybe he could disappear before Sailub woke up.

But before he could even reach the kitchen...

"Pon."

The voice was quiet.

Deadly quiet.

He froze.

He turned slowly, and there he was — Sailub — standing barefoot on the marble floor, shirt unbuttoned, a cigarette lazily burning between his fingers. His eyes were bloodshot, but alert. Very alert.

One of the other men was beside him, already smoking again like the night had never ended. Both of them stared at Pon as if he were an animal that had dared leave its cage.

Sailub exhaled a thin stream of smoke, tilted his head, and said:

"Again, you didn't listen."

Pon didn't answer. His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. What could he say? That he was scared? That he thought he might be hurt? Sailub wouldn't care. Or worse — he'd care in all the wrong ways.

The man beside Sailub gave a low chuckle, not looking away from Pon.

Sailub stepped closer, the smoke still curling around his hand.

"You keep breaking little rules, Pon. Do you think I don't notice? Do you want me to remind you again what happens when you don't obey?"

Pon shook his head, just barely.

But Sailub smiled.

And that smile said he'd already decided.

Sailub grabbed Pon roughly, his grip like iron. Without a word, he hauled him toward the staircase leading down to the basement. Pon struggled weakly, but Sailub's strength was overwhelming. Then, with a harsh shove, he threw Pon down the cold, unforgiving stairs.

Pon tumbled down, each step scraping and bruising his body. Pain exploded through his limbs, but worse was the cold, dark silence waiting for him below. He lay there for a moment, breathless, the sting of betrayal and fear sinking deep.

Above, Sailub's footsteps faded away, leaving Pon alone in the shadowed basement — a prisoner of his torment.

Pon let out a sharp, stifled cry as pain radiated from his bruised side. Warm blood trickled slowly down, staining his shirt. The cold basement walls seemed to close in around him, and with each breath, the ache deepened—not just from the fall, but from the crushing weight of despair. Alone in the dark, Pon curled up, trembling, tears mixing with the blood on his skin.

Later, the heavy footsteps echoed down the basement stairs. Sailub appeared at the top, his shadow looming over Pon like a storm ready to break. In his hand, he gripped a baseball bat, worn but menacing. His eyes locked onto Pon's bruised form with cold calculation.

Without a word, Sailub raised the bat, his grip tightening as a cruel smile flickered across his face. Pon's heart pounded fiercely—fear and helplessness crashing over him like waves. The basement air felt heavier, charged with threat and silence.

Sailub's voice finally broke through, low and chilling:
"You think you can not listen to me and do whatever you want? Think again."

Pon's voice trembled as he whispered, barely audible through his fear,
"I will listen... I promise, I promise!"

His words shook with desperation, a fragile plea hanging in the cold, heavy air.

Sailub sneered, eyes cold and unforgiving.

"No, no, no. Empty words again," he spat.

"I don't believe you, Pon. Not this time."

His grip on the baseball bat tightened, the threat clear in his voice — promises meant nothing anymore.

Sailub stepped forward, his expression darkening. With a sudden, harsh motion, he grabbed Pon's hair, yanking his head up. The cold metal of the baseball bat pressed firmly under Pon's chin, forcing him to meet Sailub's piercing gaze.

"I've had enough of you," Sailub growled, his voice low and dangerous.
"No more lies. No more games."

Sailub swung the bat hard, striking Pon's stomach with a sickening thud. Pon gasped, the breath knocked out of him as pain exploded through his body. He doubled over, clutching his aching side, the world spinning around him.

Sailub unleashed himself on Pon mercilessly, his eyes filled with anger and cruelty. Every strike was hard and without mercy — fists hitting Pon's face and body like bolts of pain breaking him from inside. Pon fell to his knees, but Sailub showed no mercy.

Then he lifted the baseball bat. One, two, three blows struck Pon's ribs and back with sickening force. Each hit echoed in the silence of the basement as if the whole place was breathing his suffering.

Pon tried to catch his breath, but his body was weak and broken. Sailub didn't spare him even for a moment.

Then he dragged him to a small basin of cold water — water dripping from the roof full of holes, drops falling slowly like the ticking of a clock measuring pain. Sailub grabbed Pon and forcefully pushed him under the surface; water filled his lungs, bubbles rising to the top.

Pon struggled for air, his hands waving helplessly in the water. Sailub held him firmly, not rushing to let go. Finally, he pulled him out; Pon gasped, water streaming from his hair and nose, his heart pounding in his chest like never before.

Sailub stared at him with a cold expression, without a single trace of mercy.
"This is what happens when you think you can run away," he said quietly, "and think you're stronger than me."

Pon lay on the cold floor, powerless, hurt, and broken — but alive.

Sailub wasn't finished yet. He grabbed Pon roughly by the hair, dragging him up just enough to spit in his face. Then with brutal force, he slammed Pon back down onto the cold concrete floor. Blow after blow rained down — fists pounding Pon's body until he felt like nothing but broken bones and fading breath.

Pon's head lolled limply to one side, neck exposed and trembling. His eyes were wide open but vacant — dead, as if the light inside had long since left him. He barely moved, his body a shell of what once was.

Without a word, Sailub reached for a heavy tarp nearby and threw it over Pon's battered form, covering him completely.

Pon lay still, eyes fixed ahead into nothingness, unmoving — a ghost trapped in a living body.

The silence that followed was deafening.

As Pon lay under the tarp, his mind drifted in and out of pain and numbness. Somewhere deep inside, a cold, bitter thought started to take shape. Maybe this is what I deserve.
The bruises and cuts covered his body, his clothes soaked with blood that pooled beneath him. His breath was shallow, every inhale sharp with pain.

He could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth, and when he dared to move his tongue, he felt the uneven edges of his broken teeth scattered inside, some lost forever on the cold floor.

The room was silent except for the faint dripping of water and the echo of his ragged breathing. His mind wandered over the images of the beating — the cruel strikes, the bat hitting his ribs, the cold water flooding his lungs.

I deserved it, he repeated quietly, trying to convince himself through the agony.

Yet somewhere beyond the pain, a small part of him screamed to live, to fight, but it was faint — almost swallowed by the darkness closing in.

His body throbbed with unbearable pain, every muscle and bone screaming in agony. Each breath was a struggle, sharp stabs radiating through his battered ribs. The dull ache from countless bruises pulsed relentlessly, while the raw wounds burned like fire against the cold air. Even the slightest movement sent waves of torment crashing over him, yet he was trapped beneath the tarp, powerless to escape the suffocating weight of his own suffering.

Chapter 31: Part 4: It was never about love💔🖤

Love was just a word Pon heard in soap operas, on posters, or from the mouths of people who never knew what it meant to be a silent target — someone who learns to survive by forgetting how to breathe out loud.

Sailub once told him he was "adorable when he sat quietly."
Back then, Pon thought it was a compliment.
Now he knew it was a warning.

Three months of silence had been like dying slowly — not from the beatings, not from starvation, but from being invisible. Like a ghost. Something that takes up space, but isn’t worth looking at. And when the pain finally came, it was so familiar it surprised him that he was still afraid of it.

But fear didn’t leave.
It just changed.

Into anticipation.
Then numbness.

And finally — acceptance.

When Sailub pushed him down the stairs into the basement, Pon’s body screamed, but his soul stayed quiet. He lay there, with shattered thoughts, blood in his mouth, and anger that had turned inward.

Maybe I deserved this.

Maybe this is fate.
Maybe if he were prettier, smarter, less afraid — someone else — maybe someone would have loved him once.

But all his life he had been “that quiet boy,” “the one who doesn’t talk much,” “the one who always lets people hurt him.” And maybe, if you act like that long enough, the world stops seeing you as a person. It starts seeing you as a container. For rage. For frustration. For other people’s needs.

That’s how Sailub saw him.

Never a person.

Just a body. Silence. Empty eyes that didn’t resist.
So he hit.
So he laughed.
So he locked him away.

And the world kept turning, never once stopping to ask:
"What about Pon?"

Lying in the basement, under a filthy sheet, swollen cheek and blood trickling from his nose, Pon thought of his childhood dream. He wanted to go to university. He wanted to study psychology, or maybe literature. He wanted to read books, learn languages. He wanted to sit by a library window and feel... normal.

He wanted to be someone.

Not a victim. Not a shadow. Not something people cover up when guests come over.

He remembered the first essay he ever wrote in high school. It was about how even broken people could become strong. Back then, he thought he believed in hope. He thought love would fix everything.

And then Sailub came.

Beautiful. Convincing. Dangerous.

At first, gentle. With gifts. With touches that warmed.
Then demanding. Then more demanding.
And finally… just cold.

Like ice water on shattered ribs.

When Sailub shoved his head under that cold puddle and held it there until he started choking, Pon felt something inside him finally break. Not a rib. Not skin. Not something physical.

Something that had held his faith together.

When Sailub threw him back to the floor like a rag doll, Pon knew he wouldn’t die today. Not yet.
But he also knew that he’d never really live again.

He was just a body.

A tool.

And when the last punch landed in his ribs, he didn’t even cry out anymore. He just stared at the ceiling. No tears. No words. Just one thought echoing in his head:

"Why did I ever think I could be more than this?"

The sheet Sailub threw over him was heavy and damp. He smelled it — something between mold and rust.
And the silence that followed was louder than any scream.

Pon lay under it, motionless, breathing raggedly, and waited.

For nothing.

Not rescue. Not forgiveness. Not love.

Because he knew by now none of it would come.

And maybe he deserved it.

Maybe this was fate.

Because every time he tried to become something more, the world took it away.
His father broke him.
Sailub beat him.
And in between, no one listened when he said he had dreams.
That he wanted to live differently.
That he didn’t want to be just a thing.

And maybe… if someone had ever loved him, maybe none of this would’ve happened.

But no one ever did.

Sailub never loved him.

Not once.

Not when he smiled at him on the first day.
Not when he promised he’d “never make him cry again.”
Not when he whispered, “you’re my only one.”

Never.

It had all been lies.

Like a spiderweb — beautiful, but made to trap prey.

When morning came and Sailub dressed himself in a clean suit, hair combed, expensive watch gleaming on his wrist — no one would guess he had left behind a dead or dying boy in the house.
No one asked where Pon was.
No one even knew Pon existed.

And maybe that was the worst part.

That when Pon finally stopped breathing, the world didn’t even notice.

His last breath was quiet.

No witnesses.
No name.
Just one boy under a filthy sheet.
With his eyes open into the dark.
With a soul that had left long before the body gave out.

And so he remained there.

In silence.
In cold.
Forgotten.

-End.

Chapter 32: 🍼SatangWinny: Lost Pacifier🍼(A Littlespace Story)

The living room was bathed in golden light from the morning sun. A cozy blanket fort was set up near the couch, and a soft melody filled the air — the Winnie the Pooh cartoon had just started playing on the screen.

"Pooh bear!!" Winny squealed in delight, bouncing on his knees, but suddenly paused. His little hands pat-patted his cheeks, then his hoodie pocket, then the blanket.

His paci was gone.

"Ta-Tang!" he whined, voice trembling with panic. "Paci's gone!"

Satang, who had just brought in a cup of warm milk with a little bendy straw, blinked and tilted his head. "Gone? Where'd he go, baby bear?"

"I dunno!" Winny sniffled, on the verge of tears. "He was here! My blue paci—the one with stars!"

Satang crouched down, brushing Winny's soft bangs back with a gentle thumb. "Shhh, shhh, it's okay. We'll find him, I promise. We can't let Pooh start without your starry paci, can we?"

Winny shook his head, a tiny pout forming on his lips.

Satang nodded like a brave explorer. "Alright! Operation Paci Rescue: Commence!"

First stop was the blanket fort. Satang peeked inside, lifting plushies like they were top-secret treasure chests. "Nope... just Mr. Waffles and Bunnybun."

Winny crawled after him, sniffling less now, distracted by the excitement. "Try couchie?"

"On it!" Satang rolled dramatically to the couch, sticking his head underneath. "Dust bunnies, crumbs, a sock—hey, is this your dinosaur sticker?"

"Dinooo!" Winny giggled, taking it.

They checked under cushions, inside the toy box, even behind the curtain where Winny sometimes hid snacks.

Finally, Satang paused. "Wait... when was the last time you had it?"

Winny's brows scrunched. "When we were coloring! I remember 'cause I made Tigger orange-y weird!"

Satang gasped. "The coloring table!"

They both scrambled over to the corner. Satang pulled aside the stack of crayons... and there it was. The starry blue pacifier, half-hidden under a doodle of Piglet.

"Ta-da!" Satang cheered.

Winny's eyes lit up. "Paci!!!" He popped it into his mouth and immediately relaxed, leaning his head on Satang's shoulder. "Thank yooou..."

Satang wrapped an arm around him and tugged him onto the couch. "Pooh bear's waiting. Let's cuddle and watch, hmm?"

Winny nodded, warm and safe now, his paci bobbing gently as he watched his favorite characters on screen. Satang kissed the top of his head, whispering, "Mission complete, baby bear."

The final song of Winnie the Pooh played softly as the credits rolled. Winny's eyes were half-lidded, his head still resting on Satang's chest. The pacifier moved rhythmically as he sucked, completely calm now.

"Pooh's done," Satang whispered, stroking his fingers through Winny's fluffy hair. "That means it's milk time, baby."

Winny blinked slowly. "Mmh... milk?"

Satang smiled warmly. "Yep. Warm, vanilla milk. Just how you like it. In your favorite sippy."

Winny nodded sleepily and sat up with a stretch, his hoodie sleeves falling over his little hands. He let out the tiniest yawn, then reached up wordlessly — his silent way of saying carry me please?

"Of course," Satang murmured, lifting him with ease.

He carried Winny into the kitchen, swaying just a little as he walked, because he knew Winny liked the motion. The sippy cup was already on the counter, with the little bear-shaped lid and stars around the sides. Satang poured in the milk and warmed it gently, swirling in a few drops of vanilla extract just like always.

While they waited, Satang bounced Winny lightly on his hip. "Such a sleepy cub," he cooed. "Did your brain get all honey-full from watching Pooh?"

Winny giggled behind his paci. "Yuh-huh... I like when Pooh says 'Oh bother.'"

Satang chuckled. "You say that too sometimes, you know."

The microwave beeped. Satang tested the milk on his wrist, then handed Winny the sippy. "All ready."

Winny took it with both hands and drank deeply, the softest "mmm" escaping from him. Satang carried him back to the couch and settled down, Winny curled in his lap like a koala, sippy in hand and paci hanging from a clip on his hoodie.

"You're the best milk maker," Winny mumbled, sleepier now.

Satang kissed the crown of his head. "Only for my baby bear."

Soon, the sippy cup was empty, and Winny gave a quiet hiccup. Satang gently burped him, rubbing his back in soft circles until Winny gave a satisfied sigh. He felt heavy in Satang's arms now, his breathing slow and even.

"Nap time?" Satang whispered.

Winny just nodded, eyes already closed, pacifier back between his lips.

Satang tucked the blanket over both of them and let his hand rest protectively over Winny's back. As Winny slipped into a warm, milk-drunk nap, Satang whispered one last thing:

"Lost pacifier or not... I'll always find what makes you feel safe."

And with that, the living room fell into peaceful silence — filled only with the soft sound of a sleeping little and the gentle hum of love.

The room was dark now, lit only by the soft glow of a nightlight shaped like a honey jar. Winny was curled up in bed, wrapped in his favorite fuzzy blanket with tiny bears on it. His pacifier bobbed slowly as he slept, arms wrapped tightly around his plush bunny named "Tao."

Satang sat nearby, reading a book with the lamp on low, keeping watch like he always did.

Outside, the wind had picked up. Leaves rustled against the window, and the first low rumble of thunder echoed in the distance.

Winny stirred.

His tiny brows scrunched in his sleep, and he made a soft noise — somewhere between a whimper and a sigh. Then came a louder crack, and this time he woke with a start.

"Ta-Tang...?" he called out, his voice small, shaky.

Satang was already there, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I'm here, baby. Just thunder."

Winny sat up, clutching Tao tighter. "I don't like it... it's loud..."

Another boom. Winny jumped and crawled straight into Satang's lap without asking.

"Oh, baby bear," Satang murmured, scooping him up and rocking gently. "Shhh, you're safe. Thunder can't get you. Not when I'm here."

He reached for the paci that had fallen beside the pillow and gently offered it back. Winny took it instantly, needing that comfort again. His little hands clung to Satang's hoodie now, knuckles pale.

"Want me to tell you a story?" Satang whispered.

Winny nodded against his chest.

So Satang began, his voice soft and low:
"Once upon a time, there was a brave little bear who didn't like thunder. But he had a very special friend — a protector prince named Satang — who always stayed by his side..."

Outside, the storm rolled across the sky, but inside the room was a bubble of safety. Winny's breathing slowed. He hiccuped once, then relaxed again in Satang's arms.

The story continued, full of soft meadows, magical hugs, and a glowing shield that protected the little bear from scary noises. Satang kept his voice like a lullaby, never stopping the gentle swaying.

Eventually, Winny whispered around his paci, "Can I sleep with you tonight...?"

Satang smiled and kissed his forehead. "Of course, baby."

He carried him to the big bed, laid him down first, then tucked the blanket over them both. Winny curled into his chest, paci secure, Tao squished between them.

The thunder continued outside, but it no longer mattered.

Because in Satang's arms, Winny felt invincible.

Sunlight peeked through the curtains, casting golden stripes across the big bed. The storm had passed. The room was quiet, except for soft breathing and the faint chirping of birds outside the window.

Satang stirred first, opening his eyes slowly. Winny was still tucked against him, pacifier still in, cheek squished against Satang's chest, his bunny Tao nestled close between them.

Satang didn't move at first. He just watched the rise and fall of Winny's breathing and brushed a few strands of hair off his forehead.

Then—Winny wiggled slightly.

And then... his eyes flew open. Wide.

He sat up so fast his pacifier popped out of his mouth.

"Ta-Tang!!" he gasped. "Potty—!"

Satang blinked. "Okay okay, baby—go go go!"

Winny scrambled down from the bed, bare feet padding quickly on the floor. His oversized hoodie flopped behind him as he zoomed to the bathroom, yelling back, "Hold my bunnyyyy!"

Satang couldn't help but laugh. "Got him!"

A few moments passed, and then a muffled little voice called out, "I made it in time!"

Satang clapped lightly, still in bed. "Good job, my clever baby!"

Soon, Winny came trotting back, looking proud, paci back in his mouth, and hands held up for a carry.

Satang opened his arms without question. "C'mere, little thunder hero."

Winny clambered into his lap with a dramatic sigh. "It was so close," he mumbled, paci muffling his words. "But I won."

Satang kissed his cheek. "You always win. Especially when it comes to making it on time."

He pulled the blanket around them both again, warm and soft.

"You want five more snuggly minutes or should we make pancakes?"

Winny's stomach grumbled loudly.

They both looked down.

Satang grinned. "Okay, okay. Pancakes it is."

After the potty victory and snuggles, Winny followed Satang into the kitchen, dragging his plushie bunny Tao behind him and still wearing his soft blue hoodie — the one with bear ears on the hood.

"Wanna help?" Satang asked as he pulled out the pancake mix and eggs.

Winny blinked, rubbing his eyes. "Can I play cars instead...?"

"Of course, baby," Satang smiled, already pouring batter into a bowl. "You go vroom-vroom, I'll handle the pancake magic."

Winny clapped softly and scampered off to his play mat in the corner of the room. There, he pulled out his favorite little red car — the one with the chipped paint and lightning sticker on the side.

He started zooming it across the mat, making exaggerated engine sounds:
"Vrrroooommm! Beep beep! I'm Speedy Winny, the fastest in the land!"

From the stove, Satang glanced back and watched with a warm smile as Winny pushed the car around pillows and stuffed animals like they were mountains and bridges.

"Speedy Winny, reporting for pancake patrol!" the little called out proudly.

"Well, Captain Speedy, the pancakes are coming in hot!" Satang called back, flipping one with a satisfying sizzle. "You want them bear-shaped or heart-shaped today?"

Winny thought for a second, chewing his paci thoughtfully. "Bearrrr! 'Cause I'm a baby bear!"

Satang chuckled. "Bear pancakes it is."

While the pancakes cooked, Satang added slices of banana and tiny chocolate chip eyes to make them look like real bear faces. Behind him, he could hear Winny narrating a dramatic scene where his car had to rescue Bunnybun from a pretend lava river made out of a blanket.

Satang plated the pancakes and called out, "Breakfast time, baby bear!"

Winny immediately dropped his car, running over with a huge grin and arms outstretched. "Carry meeee!"

Satang scooped him up, lifting him into his booster seat at the table.

In front of Winny was a plate with three fluffy bear-face pancakes, banana ears and syrupy smiles. His sippy cup of milk sat nearby, already filled.

Winny gasped. "Taaang! They're so cute!"

"Not as cute as the one they're for," Satang said with a wink, tucking a bib around Winny's neck.

Winny giggled through his pacifier, cheeks glowing pink.

And as he picked up his fork and took the first bite, he mumbled, "Bestest day ever."

Winny was finishing the last bite of his pancake, syrup sticking to the corners of his mouth, when he looked up at Satang with wide eyes.

"Ta-Tang?"

Satang looked over from rinsing dishes. "Yes, sweetheart?"

Winny swung his legs under the table, his pacifier bobbing slightly as he spoke around it. "Can I go play outside...?"

Satang dried his hands and walked over, crouching beside Winny's chair. "Hmm... the sun's out, the grass is dry... no more thunderclouds in sight." He gently poked Winny's nose. "I think that's a yes."

Winny beamed. "Really?!"

"Really really. But first, we gotta wipe that sticky syrup face."

Winny held still like a good boy while Satang cleaned his cheeks with a warm cloth. Then Satang helped him into his favorite outdoor clothes — little soft shorts, his sunshine-yellow shirt with a cartoon car on it, and the tiniest velcro sneakers.

"And don't forget your hat," Satang said, plopping a floppy bear-eared cap on Winny's head. "The sun's out, and we don't want a toasty nose."

Winny nodded seriously. "Toasty noses are bad."

Satang packed a little water bottle and a small snack bag with mini crackers into a tiny backpack, then handed Winny his favorite toy car. "Alright, baby bear. Off you go. Backyard only, okay? I'll be watching from the kitchen."

"'Kay!" Winny chirped, clutching the car and running toward the back door. "Zoom zoom outside!"

As the door opened, warm air rushed in, and Winny giggled, feeling the sun on his face.

He zoomed across the grass, his toy car flying over little garden stones, around flower pots, and through make-believe tunnels made out of sticks.

From the window, Satang watched — arms crossed gently over his chest, smiling like only a proud caregiver can.

And just outside, under the bright morning sun, Speedy Winny raced through his adventures, knowing that Satang's eyes were always on him... and that home was only a few steps away.
The sun was high, and Winny was still zooming around the backyard, making soft "vrrrmm" noises as his car sped over the grass.

From the doorway, Satang peeked out with a soft smile. "I'm just going to the corner store to grab a new water bottle, baby. I'll be two minutes, okay? Backyard only, and no talking to anyone."

Winny looked up, hugging his plush bunny close and nodding. "Yes, Ta-Tang. Promise!"

"Good boy," Satang said, kissing the top of his bear hat. "I'll be quick."

As Satang slipped out the front gate, Winny went back to driving his toy car over a log, mumbling to himself about lava monsters and tiny bridges. He was deep in his little world, innocent and sweet — until a voice crept in.

A gruff, unfamiliar voice.

"Well hello there, little fella."

Winny blinked and turned toward the fence. An old man stood just beyond it, in a coat far too warm for the weather, holding a striped candy in his hand.

"Whatcha playing with, huh?" the man asked, his smile too wide. "I've got more toys at my place. You want some? Or maybe this candy?"

He held it through the slats.

Winny froze.

Satang's voice echoed in his head:
"No talking to anyone."

Winny backed up a little, clutching his car tightly. "N-No thank you..." he whispered, his pacifier falling to the grass.

The man stepped closer. "Come on now, don't be shy. I won't hurt you. I got chocolate too. Just open the gate, and we can walk together."

Winny whimpered, stepping further back. His bottom lip trembled.

Then — the gate creaked.

"HEY!"

The old man turned.

Satang was storming through the yard, his face pale with fear and voice sharp with fury.

"Get AWAY from him."

The old man's eyes widened, and before he could say a word, Satang was already there, scooping Winny into his arms protectively.

The man took a few steps back and quickly turned, hurrying down the street.

Satang held Winny close, one hand cupping the back of his head, the other rubbing his back firmly. "It's okay, baby. You're safe now. I'm here."

Winny clung to him, burying his face into Satang's neck. "He... he said he had toys..."

"I know. You did the right thing," Satang said softly but firmly. "You didn't go with him. You said no. I'm so, so proud of you."

Winny sniffled. "But I was scared..."

Satang carried him inside, locking every door behind them. He set Winny on the couch, wrapping him in a fuzzy blanket, and picked up his pacifier from outside, cleaning it gently before giving it back.

"Being scared is okay," Satang whispered, sitting beside him and pulling him into his lap. "But you were smart and brave. I should've never left, even for a second."

Winny nestled close, calming now. "You came back in time..."

"I'll always come back in time," Satang promised, kissing his forehead. "No one will ever take you away from me, baby bear. Not ever."
Then come back home to snuggles...

-End.
( this story was for those who needs something soft in their life also I preferred WinnySatang but this ship can switch I don't mind)
Anyway what is your favorite ship of Thai actors?

-Love you guys !😍 thanks for 5K.❤️❤️

Chapter 33: A Little Goodbye (For Now)

Hey everyone!
I hope you're all doing well. Unfortunately, I've decided to end things here for now. I've been struggling with inspiration lately, and the feedback has gone a bit quiet.

I just want to say a huge thank you to everyone who took the time to read, vote, or leave a comment—whether positive or even critical. Every bit of it meant something to me.

I'm truly grateful for all the support.
I'll return to writing someday... just not right now.

Until then, take care and thank you again. 💛

-your Author:Guwluse.🩷🫰🏻

Chapter 34: Pavel X Pooh- Clash of Alphas

PavelPooh
Title: “Clash of Alphas”
Genre: Dark romance / fantasy / power struggle
Theme: Two equals. One surrender. Both still kings.
Dynamic: fighting for dominance , dominant alpha x submissive alpha, power-bottom Pooh
Sub- Pooh Dom-Pavel The Northern Ridge had known war before — but nothing like this. The pack watched from the shadows of frost-laced trees, breath held, waiting to see which alpha would claim the ruined crown.
Pavel stood like a carved statue, eyes of steel, control coiled in every movement. His reputation ran ahead of him like blood in snow — cold, merciless, sharp as winter itself.
Pooh, by contrast, burned. His energy was untamed, his presence commanding. He laughed in the face of authority and led with fire in his fists. No one could bring him to his knees. Not willingly.
And yet… when they fought, it wasn’t just power that clashed — it was need.
They met not on ceremony, but in a storm.
Pavel had tracked Pooh down after the failed summit, where Pooh had defied him in front of the elders. They clashed in an abandoned watchtower, lightning in the distance, thunder in their throats.
"You think just because you fight wild, you lead better?" Pavel snarled, pushing Pooh against the wall.
Pooh's grin was feral. "You think because you're calm, you know control?"
"I don’t need to prove myself to the others."
"No?" Pooh leaned in, chest heaving. "Then why did you follow me here like you were hunting prey?"
Pavel’s hand slammed beside Pooh’s head. "Because prey doesn’t look me in the eyes like that."
The first punch came fast.
Pooh struck Pavel square in the jaw, his knuckles splitting open on impact. Pavel staggered back half a step, wiped the blood from his mouth, and grinned.
“So that’s how it’s gonna be?”
Pooh didn’t answer—he charged again, and they collided like wolves, muscle against muscle, bone against bone.
They grappled, slammed each other into the cold stone walls of the tower. Dust rained from the ceiling with every blow. Pavel’s fingers twisted into Pooh’s shirt, tearing it as he threw him to the floor. But Pooh rolled, kicked Pavel off, and lunged like fire itself.
“I won’t kneel to you,” Pooh growled, pinning Pavel’s wrists for a heartbeat.
“You won’t have to,” Pavel hissed, shoving him off and flipping their positions. “I don’t want your submission. I want your respect.”
Their bodies strained—chests heaving, teeth bared, hearts pounding with adrenaline and lust alike. Neither willing to yield. Neither able to stop.
Lightning struck outside, illuminating their tangled forms. Pavel’s hand slid up Pooh’s throat, gripping—but not choking—just holding.
Pooh’s lips curled into a crooked smile. “This what it takes to get your attention?”
Pavel leaned in close, breath hot. “You’ve always had it. You just wouldn’t shut up long enough to feel it.”
Their mouths crashed together—not like a kiss, but like a war. Bruising. Claiming.
They weren’t just fighting anymore.
They were consuming each other.
Pooh lunged again, fists wild, but Pavel sidestepped with practiced precision. He caught Pooh’s arm mid-swing, twisted, and in one brutal motion—slammed him down onto the stone floor.
The impact echoed through the watchtower.
Pooh grunted, wind knocked from his lungs, but his eyes flashed with challenge even as he lay there, chest heaving.
Pavel stood over him, not gloating—but grounded, dominant, panting hard as his boot nudged against Pooh’s thigh.
“I told you,” Pavel growled, voice low, “you fight wild. But wild doesn’t always win.”
Pooh spat blood to the side, laughing darkly. “And what now? You gonna claim victory like some alpha king?”
Pavel knelt slowly, one knee pressing to Pooh’s chest, pinning him down with just enough weight to say you’re mine now, without saying a word.
He brushed a thumb over the bruise blooming on Pooh’s cheek. “No. I’m going to remind you who’s strong enough to take you—without needing to break you.”
Pooh’s breath hitched.
Pavel leaned in closer, his hand pressing firmly on Pooh’s chest to keep him down. His voice was low, almost ceremonial, but laced with heat.
“You know how it works, don’t you?” he whispered against Pooh’s ear.
“To show respect… to prove loyalty… you have to give me your virginity.”
Pooh’s breath caught in his throat.
“You want to claim me?”
Pavel’s eyes burned into his.
“Not want. Need.”
He slid his hand down, fingers curling against Pooh’s belt.
“Honor the King, Pooh. Give me what no one else has touched.”
There was silence—charged, electric, violent.
Pooh didn’t look away. He licked the blood off his bottom lip and smirked.

Pooh’s smirk faded, and for a moment, something ancient and primal flared in his eyes. He gritted his teeth, lifted his chin, and growled through clenched jaw:
“Never. I’ll never give that to you.”
He pushed up against Pavel’s chest, voice deep and raw.
“I’m tier alpha. I’m strength itself. I’m no one’s to claim.”
A pause—his breath shook, but his pride didn’t waver.
“I was born a king. I die a king. Even if I’m beneath you, don’t ever think you’ve broken me.”
Pavel didn’t move. His gaze stayed locked on Pooh’s, no anger—just the quiet hum of respect and heat.
“Good,” he murmured finally, lips brushing Pooh’s ear.
“I don’t want a broken king. I want one who fights back.”

Pooh lunged again, teeth bared, body burning with fury.
Pavel was faster.
He dodged, then slammed his fist into Pooh’s ribs, driving the air out of him. Pooh staggered—but didn’t fall. He growled, spit blood, and swung again.
Pavel caught him mid-motion, twisted, and threw him hard against the wall.
The stone cracked. Dust rained down.
Pooh hit the ground on all fours, coughing, but still smiling.
“That all you’ve got?”
Pavel’s eyes darkened. He walked over, grabbed Pooh by the back of the neck, and dragged him up against the wall, forearm crushing across his throat—not choking, just asserting. Holding.
“You think I won’t break you just because you grin like a wild dog?” Pavel hissed into his ear.
“You want to be strong? Then endure me.”
He spun Pooh around and shoved him forward, chest against the stone, holding him there with a brutal grip at the back of his neck. Pooh’s body tensed, muscles corded, breath ragged—but he didn’t resist.
“Go on,” Pooh spat, voice rough. “Show me how an alpha claims power.”
Pavel growled. His hand slid down Pooh’s spine, slow, claiming every inch of territory like it was a battlefield. He yanked Pooh’s pants down in one rough motion and grabbed a handful of flesh, squeezing until Pooh hissed.
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m burning.”
“Good.”
Pavel stepped in close, body pressed flush against Pooh’s back, teeth grazing his neck. His voice dropped:
“Then burn for me.”

Pavel pulled back just slightly, his teeth still wet from Pooh’s skin. He had left a brutal, throbbing mark — unmistakable.
Pooh was breathing hard, face turned away, but his body stayed taut, coiled like a weapon.
Pavel grabbed his jaw and forced him to look, eyes blazing with possession.
“See that mark?” he rasped. “That’s proof. You don’t belong to yourself anymore.”
Pooh snorted, defiant fire still in his eyes.
“Shut the fuck up.”
Pavel smirked—dark and dangerous.
“No.”
“You’re mine now.”
His hands clamped onto Pooh’s hips, squeezing hard enough to bruise. “You mark land when it’s yours. You mark prey when it’s under you. And you…” His voice was low, like thunder waiting to strike.
“…you’re my prey now, darling. Whether you like it or not.”
Pooh braced against the wall, arms shaking, but still refused to lower his head.
“Then take me,” he growled, “but I’ll never break for you.”

Pavel grabbed Pooh by the hair — a ruthless, possessive tug — and yanked him backward, forcing him to stumble.
“Come,” he growled in his ear.
“To the kingdom that was meant to be shared.”
Pooh gritted his teeth, but didn’t resist. He followed, half dragged, half walking on his own — because this wasn’t surrender. This was war.
They crossed the shattered field, lightning flickering behind them, the storm far from over.
The old gates of the ruined palace creaked open with a push.
“This was supposed to be ours,” Pavel muttered. “But you’d rather die than bow your head.”
Pooh turned sharply, snarling. “And you’d rather rule alone than let anyone stand beside you.”
They stood there, breath heaving, rage and desire burning in their blood.
“Then maybe only one of us survives tonight,” Pooh hissed.
“Unless,” Pavel whispered, stepping into his space again, “we stop pretending this isn’t more than a power struggle.”
Pooh’s eyes narrowed.
But he didn’t move away.
Pavel’s hand slid from Pooh’s jaw down his chest, over the bruises, the bite marks, the heat.
“I’d rather claim you than kill you,” Pavel said, voice dark with warning.
“Then prove it.” Pooh challenged. “But don’t expect me to kneel.”
Pavel smirked. “No. You’ll scream my name standing.”

Pavel’s breath was hot against Pooh’s neck. He didn’t go for the side he had already marked — no, he tilted Pooh’s head the other way, exposing the untouched skin beneath his ear.
“One mark isn’t enough,” he growled, fingers digging into Pooh’s hips. “You don’t get to walk away with half of me.”
Before Pooh could speak, Pavel sank his teeth into the other side of his neck, firm and deliberate. Not cruel — but claiming. The kind of bite that didn’t ask for permission. The kind that said, you are mine, and everyone will know it.
Pooh’s breath hitched. His hands clenched at Pavel’s back, fingernails dragging down his spine.
“You think a few bruises will tame me?” he muttered, voice shaking with defiance and arousal.
Pavel didn’t pull back. His lips moved against the fresh mark, low and hot:
“No. But I want you marked on both sides, so whichever way you turn… you remember who made you tremble.”
Pooh’s chest heaved. He hated how much he wanted it — hated how deep the fire burned in his stomach.
“Then stop talking,” he hissed, twisting his fingers in Pavel’s shirt. “And finish what you started.”
Their mouths crashed together, rough and bruising, neither of them yielding. Bodies locked, breath stolen — a war that would never end in surrender, only in sweat, heat, and the echo of their names burned into skin and memory.

Pavel stood close to Pooh, their bodies flushed from both the fight and desire. The tension between them was thick enough to cut.
"You think you can resist me forever?" he asked in a low voice, trailing his hand along Pooh’s jaw until he gripped his throat—not to hurt, just to remind him of his strength.
Pooh didn’t move, but his eyes softened—just for a moment.
"I’ll never kneel for you," he growled.
Pavel stood so close that Pooh could feel his breath on his neck. His hands gripped Pooh’s hips tightly, his gaze sharp and unrelenting.
“For you to truly submit to me,” he growled, “I have to come deep inside your body. So deep you’ll still feel it when you limp down the hallway tomorrow.”
A shiver ran down Pooh’s spine.
"Rough way to claim loyalty," he muttered, though his voice no longer held the same defiance. It was a fight he was slowly, painfully starting to lose.
"Not loyalty," Pavel replied, his hand sliding to Pooh’s hips,
"truth."
"And what’s the truth?"
But Pavel leaned in even closer, lips brushing his ear as he whispered:
“Because the truth is… I’m the dominant alpha. Not you.”
“Fuck you!” Pooh spat, pushing against Pavel’s chest with all his strength.
But Pavel didn’t move. His body was a wall—unshakable, burning with dominance.
“You’re trying,” Pavel growled, catching Pooh’s wrists mid-struggle, slamming them back against the cold stone wall. “But you’re not fighting me. You’re fighting what your body already knows.”
Pooh snarled, teeth bared, breath ragged.
“I won’t let you—”
Pavel leaned in, voice dark and low.
“You already have.”

Their bodies collided fully, with no space left for resistance.
They were the same height. They’d always known that when facing each other. But now... now Pavel seemed taller. Not in inches, but in presence, in dominance, in the way he loomed like a stormcloud waiting to strike.
“You think you’re not afraid of me,” Pavel whispered, his lips just barely brushing Pooh’s ear. “But your body says otherwise.”
He leaned in, his tongue tracing slowly along Pooh’s neck, right where he could feel the pulse beating fast beneath the skin. Slow. Teasing. Not pain—at least, not yet. Just the suffocating tension of what was to come.
And then Pavel pressed even closer. His hips ground forward, pressing his hard length firmly against Pooh’s body—shameless, commanding.
“Feel that?” he murmured into Pooh’s throat. “That’s what you do to me. Your defiance... drives me wild.”
Pooh shut his eyes. His fist clenched in Pavel’s shirt—not to push him away, but because his knees were going weak.

“I’m not yours,” Pooh breathed, but the words already lacked conviction.
Pavel smirked, his lips brushing along Pooh’s jawline.
“Not yet.”
Pooh gasped as Pavel pressed closer, his hard length grinding against his back, slick warmth spreading as release smeared between them and dripped slowly down Pooh’s own arousal.
“Are you a virgin?” Pavel murmured against his neck, inhaling deeply. “I hope so.”
Pooh didn’t answer. He felt… conflicted. In their world, if another dominant alpha took interest in you, it meant you were seen as lower—submissive. And that meant something more dangerous than just sex. It meant surrender. Ownership.

Pavel yanked Pooh’s pants down in one swift motion, exposing him like he already belonged to him.
Pooh flinched. “Don’t touch me!” he snapped, but his voice trembled.
Pavel chuckled darkly. “You don’t want me to touch you?” he murmured, his hand settling firmly on Pooh’s hips. “Then why are you this hard? Your body’s a better liar than your mouth.”
His fingers trailed along Pooh’s inner thigh. “You feel that?” he whispered, voice husky. “How you clench when I so much as graze you… Like you want me to fill you up—every inch.”
Pooh shut his eyes, breath catching in his throat. He didn’t know what was worse—the things Pavel was saying, or the way his body responded.
“Say it,” Pavel demanded, lips brushing against his neck. “Say you want me to fuck you. Deep. Harder than anyone ever has.”
“I…” Pooh trembled. His body burned, but his mind screamed.
Pavel gripped him tighter. “You’re not mine?” he growled, grinding against him. “Then why is your ass begging for me like that, huh?”

“Oh my… you are a virgin,” Pavel murmured, a twisted grin curling on his lips as he spread Pooh’s cheeks, exposing the tight, untouched pink of him.
He ran a thumb lightly over it, watching Pooh tense under the contact.
“Fuck… look at this,” he breathed. “So tight. So perfect. No one's ever been here before, huh?”
Pooh bites his lip hard, trying not to whimper, trying to hold onto what little control he had left.
“You’ve been saving this for someone?” Pavel whispered, leaning closer, voice like velvet and smoke. “Too bad. It’s mine now.”

Pavel pressed his cock against Pooh’s entrance, guiding the thick tip to the untouched ring. He groaned low as he felt how tight it was—hot, trembling, resisting him.
“Shit…” he muttered, breath hitching. “You’re so tight—fuck, it’s like your body’s trying to keep me out.”
He pushed, slow but firm, the pressure building as Pooh let out a sharp gasp, his fingers clutching at the sheets, body instinctively trying to pull away.
“It won’t fit,” Pavel growled, voice thick with lust and frustration. “You’re squeezing me like a vice.”
He spat into his hand, then onto Pooh, rubbing it in with rough fingers. “Relax, baby. Or this is gonna hurt a lot more.”
Pooh’s heart pounded. It was too much—his body wasn’t ready, but Pavel wasn’t stopping.
Pavel leaned over him, lips brushing his ear. “You're gonna take it. Every inch. And when I’m inside, you won’t everforget who owns you.”

Pooh whimpered as Pavel pushed harder—pain shot through him like a blade. It burned, stretched too much, too fast. His hands flew back, palms pressing against Pavel’s stomach, trying to push him away.
“Get off me… stop,” he gasped, voice shaking with pain.
Pavel growled low, gripping Pooh’s hips tightly. “Your body’s lying to me,” he hissed, though his movements slowed just a little. “I know what you really want.”
Pooh trembled beneath him, chest heaving. Tears threatened to rise, but he bit them back. “It hurts… I don’t want it like this,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

But Pavel didn’t stop.
Even as Pooh’s hands pushed at his stomach, even as his voice cracked with pain, Pavel only hissed through his teeth and pressed in harder.
“Stop…” Pooh gasped, twisting beneath him, legs trembling. “Please, it hurts—”
Pavel’s grip only tightened on his hips. His breath was ragged, jaw clenched, but his movements stayed firm. He spat again, rubbing it between them with rough fingers, then shoved in deeper.
Pooh cried out, back arching from the sting. It felt like his body was being split open—too much, too fast, no control.
He tried to crawl forward, to escape, but Pavel held him in place, forcing him to take it.
“You’ll stretch,” Pavel muttered under his breath, almost like he was convincing himself. “You’ll fucking take it.”
Pooh’s fingers dug into the sheets, eyes clenched shut, chest heaving with silent sobs.
And still—Pavel didn’t stop.
Then, with one brutal thrust, Pavel forced himself inside.
Pooh let out a sharp, broken cry, his palms pressed flat against the cold wall, nails scraping against the surface as his body jolted forward from the impact. The pain was immediate and blinding—burning deep, tearing at him.
He felt it—hot and wet—blood trickling down the inside of his thigh.
Pavel groaned behind him, breath heavy against the back of his neck. “Fuck… so tight.”
Pooh trembled, forehead pressed against the wall, struggling to breathe. His legs shook beneath him, the shock locking his voice in his throat. He couldn’t speak—could barely think.
And then Pavel moved again. Slow, punishing, relentless.
Tears welled in Pooh’s eyes, but he bites down on his lip, forcing himself not to make another sound.
The wall was the only thing holding him up now.

Pavel looked down as he drove into him, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re already wet like an omega,” he muttered with a dark chuckle, gripping Pooh’s hips tighter.
But then he saw it.
The streak of red sliding down Pooh’s thigh.
His grin faded.
“Oh… shit,” he muttered, breath catching. “That’s—blood.” A pause. “My bad.”
He didn’t stop.
His voice dropped lower, rougher. “You’ll get used to it.”
Pooh’s breath hitched, forehead still pressed against the cold wall, body trembling—painful, helpless, silent.
And Pavel just kept moving.

Pooh tried to adjust, to breathe through it, to force his body to accept the intrusion—but it was useless.
It felt like he was being split open, like something sharp was piercing deep inside, grinding against places that weren’t meant to be touched. Every movement sent a wave of agony through him, like his insides were being torn.
“Stop it,” he gasped, voice raw and cracking. “It hurts—please—it hurts.”
His fingers clawed at the wall, leaving faint marks as his legs threatened to give out beneath him. His body trembled violently, every nerve on fire.
But Pavel didn’t stop.
Didn’t even slow.

Pavel’s thrusts stayed relentless, unforgiving. Pooh’s pleas fell on deaf ears.
Then Pavel grabbed him by the jaw, fingers digging into his cheeks as he yanked his head back, forcing Pooh to face him.
“You know who the dominant alpha is now, don’t you?” Pavel growled, eyes burning into his, voice dark and breathless.
Pooh’s lips parted, but no words came out—only a broken gasp as the pain throbbed deep inside him. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, his body trembling, overwhelmed.
“You feel me inside you,” Pavel continued, his grip tight, possessive. “You’ll remember this every time you try to act like you’re stronger than me.”
He gave another hard thrust, pulling Pooh closer against him.
“Say it,” he ordered. “Say who owns you right now.”

Pooh was trembling all over, unsure if it was from the cold spreading inside him or the tension pulsing through every muscle. Pavel didn’t pull back—not even a little. On the contrary, his movements were rough, relentless, as if trying to push past every limit Pooh still had left.
And even though Pooh tried to summon some resistance, some final spark of defiance, Pavel didn’t allow it. He held him tight, forcing him to feel every harsh thrust deep inside—deeper than anyone should ever go.
It was like he wanted to reach the most secret, hidden corners of him. To leave his mark there. He stirred up in Pooh both revulsion and a twisted craving he didn’t want to admit.
“Too deep…” Pooh rasped, barely audible, his voice broken.
But Pavel didn’t stop. If anything, he moved harder. He heard it—and it only made him more determined to drag Pooh into the kind of desperation he craved to see.

Then Pavel yanked him even closer, one arm wrapped tightly around Pooh’s waist, locking him in place. And that’s when Pooh felt it — the slow, undeniable swell inside him.
His breath hitched.
No. No, this couldn’t be happening.
It was growing. Expanding. Knotting.
The pressure was unbearable, every nerve in his body lighting up in panic and disbelief. It hurt. Sharp, tearing, overwhelming.
“Ah—! No, Pavel… it’s too much,” Pooh gasped, voice shaking, pain rippling through him like fire.
An alpha couldn’t knot another alpha.
It was impossible.
Unnatural.
Wrong.
But it was happening.
Pavel’s knot was swelling inside him, locking them together, forcing Pooh’s body to accept what should never have been possible.
And still, Pavel held him there, his breath hot and heavy against Pooh’s neck, growling low, satisfied.
“You feel that?” he murmured, biting down just enough to make Pooh flinch. “No one else will ever do this to you. Only me.”

“It hurts—let me go!” Pooh screamed, voice cracking as he struggled against him, palms flat against Pavel’s chest, pushing, squirming.
But it was useless.
The knot held. Deep. Tight. Unmovable.
Pavel didn’t flinch. Didn’t ease up. He only smirked darkly, brushing his lips against Pooh’s ear.
“Baby,” he murmured, voice low and thick with dominance, “I can’t let you go. See?”
He ground his hips forward just a little, just enough to make Pooh cry out again, trembling beneath him.
“I’m inside you. Locked. And I’m not pulling out until I cum,” Pavel whispered, his hand sliding over Pooh’s lower back, possessive. “Everything... every drop’s staying inside you. You know that, right?”
Pooh shook his head, desperate, breath shallow, fingers clutching at Pavel’s arms. “No—no, please, this isn’t—!”
“This is how it works,” Pavel cut in, his tone unyielding. “You wanted to play alpha? Then learn what it means to be submissive.”
He kissed him then—rough, claiming—while Pooh’s body stayed bound, trembling and helpless, as Pavel took his time proving every word.
Pooh gasped sharply, his fingers clawing at the wall, body arching with every shallow movement Pavel made. He could feel it — all of it — a thick, swollen pressure lodged deep inside, pulsing like a heartbeat. Hard. Immense. Too much.
It felt like it was pressing against everything — crushing him from the inside, hitting places it wasn’t supposed to. Like it was bruising his organs, dragging him past the edge of what any body should endure.
“It hurts,” he whimpered, voice hoarse, broken. “I can’t take it—let me go, please…”
Pavel’s brows furrowed as he looked down at him, breath heavy, sweat on his brow. For a moment, he didn’t speak — then, wordlessly, he shifted their position, wrapping Pooh’s legs higher around his waist, adjusting the angle.
Pooh gasped again — but this time, it was different.
The pain dulled. Still intense, still raw, but it wasn't stabbing anymore. Pavel had found the right spot — that sensitive point deep inside, that when touched just right, made the hurt blur into something... else.
“There,” Pavel murmured, pressing in slow, deliberate. “Feel that? Told you I wouldn’t break you. Not unless you wanted me to.”
Pooh’s chest heaved, heart racing as his mind spiraled, torn between resistance and the terrible relief of that shift. The knot still held him in place, still too big, still foreign — but now each grind sent sparks instead of knives.
He hated it.
And hated even more that it was starting to feel good.

Pooh’s breath hitched as Pavel moved — arms slipping beneath him, lifting him up effortlessly, their bodies still locked, still joined by the knot that pulsed deep inside him. Pooh whimpered, the movement sending fresh waves of discomfort through his core, but he couldn’t stop clinging to him, couldn’t stop shaking.
“Shh,” Pavel murmured, voice low, soothing yet possessive. “I’ve got you.”
He carried him through the dim hall like he weighed nothing, bare skin against bare skin, their breaths uneven and tangled. Every step reminded Pooh of how deeply he was still filled, the knot refusing to shrink, holding them together as though nothing in the world could tear them apart.
And then Pavel pushed open the grand doors of the royal chamber — their chamber.
The king’s bed waited, massive, luxurious, meant to be shared.
Pavel laid him down carefully on the silken sheets, never breaking their connection, easing him back into the plush bedding as he hovered above him.
“We’re not sleeping in that pathetic guest room anymore,” Pavel murmured, brushing Pooh’s damp hair back from his forehead. “This is our bed now. Yours and mine.”
Pooh’s eyes flickered, still foggy with exhaustion and disbelief. “We can’t— We’re still—”
“Knot’s not going anywhere yet,” Pavel said, softly but firmly. “So relax. Let it settle. You’re not going anywhere, Pooh.”
He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the side of Pooh’s throat, now gentler, more claiming than brutal.
And so they lay there — two alphas, bound in defiance of nature, hearts beating in uneven rhythm, tangled in sweat, heat, and something far more dangerous than lust.

Pooh stirred slowly, lids fluttering open as the golden light of late morning filtered through the tall windows. For a moment, he didn’t move — body sore, limbs heavy, head foggy.
But then he realized.
He was alone in the bed.
His eyes widened, hand flying down instinctively between his legs — and he froze.
He felt... empty.
The overwhelming fullness that had held him captive for what felt like hours was gone. The knot, the burn, the unbearable stretch — all of it. Replaced by a strange absence, a strange hollowness that made his chest tighten.
And he was clean.
Perfectly, carefully cleaned. His skin no longer sticky with sweat, no trace of the mess that should have lingered, no proof of how deeply he’d been claimed. The sheets beneath him were fresh, soft. His legs, once shaking, were tucked under the blankets, warm and tended to.
He sat up slowly, breath catching as a dull ache settled low in his spine. The soreness was still there — a memory written in his muscles — but everything else had been... erased.
Or hidden.
His thoughts spiraled. Did he do it while I slept? Why would he clean me? Was it guilt—or control?
The bedroom door creaked open.
Pooh turned his head sharply.
Pavel stood in the doorway, bare-chested, a towel slung over one shoulder, hair still damp from a bath. He met Pooh’s gaze without flinching.
“You’re awake,” he said simply, voice unreadable.

Pooh didn’t answer right away — his eyes were still clouded, chest tight with too many questions and a lingering, ghostly ache. But then he asked quietly, “The knot… why is it gone?”
Pavel crossed the room, his steps measured, calm. “It wouldn’t go down,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Even hours later.”
Pooh blinked, breath catching. “What?”
“I had to use a suppressant,” Pavel continued, sitting on the edge of the bed. “A powdered inhibitor. Strong dose.”
Pooh stared at him, unable to hide the flicker of confusion and fear in his expression. “Why…? That’s only for—”
“For when nature refuses to obey,” Pavel finished for him, voice steady, controlled. “You think I wanted to risk injuring you worse? We were locked for too long. Your body was starting to strain.”
Pooh turned away, throat dry. He hated how that made sense. Hated the flicker of... something in his chest — relief? shame? gratitude? — at the fact that Pavel had done something to end it.
“You shouldn’t have needed to,” he muttered. “This shouldn’t have happened.”
Pavel reached out, his hand brushing Pooh’s shoulder. “But it did. And your body took me. Perfectly.”
Pooh shivered under his touch, unsure whether from anger or from the ghost of what they had done.
“I didn’t do it just for control, you know,” Pavel added, voice lower. “I cleaned you. Used the best oil. Put balm on your thighs. Because even when I ruin you…” his fingers slid along Pooh’s jaw, “I still take care of you.”

Pooh didn’t speak at first. He just sat there, eyes fixed on the bedsheets, chest rising and falling with slow, uneven breaths.
But then… he nodded.
Barely. A small, almost invisible movement — but Pavel saw it.
And he smiled.
Something in Pooh had changed. Not just his body — not just the soreness or the silence that lingered between them — but deeper. Something fundamental had shifted.
He was still a king.
Still royal by blood, still powerful, proud.
But under Pavel…
He was submissive.
And now, he knew it.
He had felt it — when Pavel pushed him to his limits, when his knot had locked them together, when nothing in Pooh’s strength or status could stop what was happening. When Pavel finished inside him and claimed him not just physically, but completely — something had cracked inside the crown prince.
And what spilled out was obedience.
Not the kind born of fear.
The kind born of being claimed.
Pooh’s voice came soft, quiet. “I’m still a king.”
“You are,” Pavel said, watching him closely.
“But under you…” He swallowed. “I’m not the highest one anymore.”
Pavel reached out, fingers brushing Pooh’s chin, lifting it gently so their eyes met.
“No,” he murmured. “You’re not. Not when you're under me.”
And Pooh didn’t argue.
Because deep down, he knew it was true.

Chapter 35: Joong x Dunk: I Got Pregnant by My Roommate?!🧑‍🍼❤️

Dunk x Joong | fluff, mpreg, chaos, college AU
Dunk- pregnant
( this story is just for fun nothing serious just oneshot full of little part of Dunk's pregnancy, don't take it too seriously, please!)
Enjoy~🫰🏻
————————————————————————————
Dunk was hunched over the toilet bowl in the shared bathroom he and Joong used, seriously considering whether drowning himself in it would be the easier way out.
His forehead was pressed against the cold tiles, and his stomach was flipping like it had a circus going on inside.

"Damn it..." he muttered as another wave of nausea hit him.

That party had been awful. The music was too loud, someone had mixed alcohol with instant noodles (why?), and someone had definitely messed up the wine—because otherwise, there was no reason he should still be feeling this sick three days later.

But no—he remembered everything.

Every single detail.
The beer pong match, where he crushed Joong's entire football squad.
The laughter with Joong, like they were the only two people in the world.
The kiss.
And then... having sex with Joong. On his desk. Among microeconomics notes.

"Oh god, I'm not thinking about that right now!" he groaned and covered his face like he could scrub the memory out of existence.

He met his own gaze in the mirror—red eyes, messy hair, and the look of a desperate student in the middle of a crisis. The classic Monday morning vibe.

Just then, the bathroom door creaked open, and Joong peeked in, wearing nothing but boxers and brushing his teeth.

"Still sick? You got, like, a stomach bug or something?"

Dunk slowly turned to face him, still kneeling like a fallen angel.
"I think I'm... pregnant."

Joong froze. The toothbrush and toothpaste foam dropped from his mouth.
"...What did you just say?"

Joong choked. Like actually choked.
Not just a little gasp—he nearly inhaled half the toothpaste foam and stumbled backward, coughing like he'd just been poisoned.

Dunk leniently watched as Joong wheezed dramatically by the sink.

"Two weeks!" Joong finally blurted, still half-spitting toothpaste. "That party was two weeks ago! How can you still feel... whatever this is?! Pregnant? That's not even— That's not possible."

Dunk rolled his eyes and slowly got to his feet, wiping his mouth with a towel.
"I thought the same. Believe me. But then I threw up three mornings in a row. And yesterday, I cried because we ran out of strawberry jam."

Joong blinked. "Okay... that's just you being weird."

"And then I nearly fainted because someone opened a tuna can in the hallway," Dunk added, crossing his arms. "I'm telling you—something is very wrong with my body. Or... right. Depending how you look at it."

"Okay, no. No, no, no." Joong raised both hands, as if physically trying to push the idea away. "Guys don't get pregnant. That's, like... a one-in-a-billion medical fluke!"

Dunk stared at him.
"...Exactly."

Joong looked genuinely terrified now. "You mean... you're that fluke?"

"I took a test," Dunk said quietly, eyes dropping to the floor. "Not the usual kind. The one they sell under the counter at that weird organic pharmacy next to the library. It lit up like a damn Christmas tree."

Joong sat down on the closed toilet seat, looking like he'd just failed his entire semester.
"So we had drunk, chaotic sex one time... and you ended up— You're seriously telling me..."

"I'm pregnant with your baby, yes," Dunk said flatly. "Would you like some tea?"

Joong blinked at him like he'd spoken in another language. Then:
"...Can you even drink tea while pregnant?"

"I Googled it. Herbal only." Dunk sighed. "Joong. This is real. I'm freaking out. And you're the only person who knows. Please don't tell me I imagined it all."

Joong ran a hand through his hair, visibly panicking. "No! I mean— I remember! The party... the desk... the broken lamp... Shit, Dunk."

"Yeah," Dunk muttered. "Shit."

They sat in silence for a moment. The bathroom light flickered overhead. Somewhere in the apartment, a neighbor was playing heartbreak ballads at full volume.

Finally, Joong said, very softly:
"...So what do we do now?"

Dunk looked down at his still-flat stomach. "I guess... we grow up fast."

"I don't know how to change a diaper!" Joong suddenly shouted, shooting up from the toilet seat like it was on fire. "I don't even know what babies eat! Do they eat, like... soup? Do they eat rice? I don't know what to do, Dunk—oh my god, I think I'm gonna throw up!"

Dunk blinked at him.

"You're more pregnant than me right now," he said dryly.

Joong ignored him, pacing the bathroom like a man on trial. "My mom said I can't even keep a cactus alive! I left one on the window last year and it died in a week, Dunk. A cactus! Cactus!"

Dunk leaned against the sink, arms crossed, watching him spiral.
"I thought I was the one supposed to be emotional."

"I am emotional! You're pregnant with my child! What if it comes out and hates me? What if it has your sarcasm and my eyebrows?!"

Dunk gave him a look. "That... sounds adorable."

Joong groaned and sat back down, burying his face in his hands. "I'm not ready for this. I don't know how to do this. I'm just a dumb college guy who can't even cook rice properly—how am I supposed to raise a baby?!"

Dunk sighed, stepped closer, and awkwardly patted his shoulder.
"I don't know either," he admitted. "But... we'll figure it out. Together."

Joong peeked up through his fingers. "Even if I pass out during childbirth?"

"You're not the one giving birth."

"Oh. Right."

They both burst out laughing—half hysterical, half on the verge of a breakdown.

"Okay," Joong said breathlessly. "We need a plan. Step one: prenatal vitamins. Step two: tell literally no one. Step three: figure out if babies can eat rice."

"Still no," Dunk muttered.

"Step four: don't die."

"That's always a good one."

They sat in silence for a while. Then Joong leaned his head on Dunk's shoulder, completely defeated.

"We're gonna be horrible at this, aren't we?"

"Absolutely," Dunk said.
"But at least we'll be horrible together."

The Next Morning
Joong sat on a plastic chair outside a café, still mildly sweating from this morning's panic, clutching a cup of coffee that wasn't doing anything to calm his nerves.
Across from him sat Pond—his best friend and a professional-level rant-machine.

"...I'm telling you, Joong, it's been three days in a row! I need to use the bathroom in the morning, my intestines are like a school timetable! And Phuwin? He locks himself in there for thirty minutes. Thirty! And what does he do? Skincare and Taylor Swift, like he's getting ready for Paris Fashion Week! And me? I'm dying, Joong. I'm outside the door, crying, holding the wall—"

Joong nodded absently, eyes drifting into the void.

"—and do you know what he said when I finally confronted him? 'Maybe you should get up earlier, Pondie~'" Pond mocked him with an exaggerated voice. "Excuse me for wanting basic human rights, Phuwin! Sorry, Your Royal Highness!"

Joong bit his lower lip. Dunk's voice from the shower still echoed in his head:
"Joong, there's only one yogurt left. If anyone touches the peach one, I swear I'll erase you from the birth plan!"

"—and don't even get me started on how he took my last towel! I think he used it! And now I have to dry myself with a Pokémon towel I got when I was nine. Nine, Joong! That's not childhood, that's trauma!"

Joong inhaled slowly. "Pond..."

"Yeah?" Pond finally paused.

"You know what real trauma is?" Joong leaned back, glaring into his coffee cup.
"It's when your roommate tells you he's pregnant with your baby before you've even had breakfast."

Pond stared at him.

"Wait. That's a joke, right?"
Joong sipped his coffee in silence.
"...That's a joke, right?"
Joong looked up.
"It's not a joke."
Pond dropped his phone on the table.
"JOONG, WHAT?!"

"JOONG, WHAT?!" Pond shrieked so loudly the table next to them turned to stare.

Joong cringed. "Could you please—lower your voice?"

"Lower my voice?! You dropped a life-altering bomb on me over coffee and expect me to be quiet?!" Pond flailed dramatically. "You got Dunk pregnant?! Like—accidentally? Or was this, like, a 'you up?' text gone too far?!"

Joong groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Pond, for the love of sanity..."

"No. No. Don't even try to calm me. This is major. This is soap opera level. This is—wait, who knows? Just me? Does Phuwin know?"

"No."

"GOOD. He'd make a TikTok series out of it," Pond huffed. Then he slammed both hands on the table. "Alright. Listen. We need a plan."

"A plan?"

"Yeah. First of all, gender reveal. We need balloons, maybe some kind of cake that explodes? Something dramatic. Oh! Glitter cannons."

Joong blinked at him. "You're planning a gender reveal and I haven't even survived the first trimester yet."

"Too bad, this is happening. Also—have you thought about names? I feel like something modern but classy, like Elio. Or, like, Cloud."

Joong stared. "You're naming my unborn child?"

"Well, you clearly need help!"

Joong sighed into his hands again. "I haven't even told my parents. Dunk's pretending everything's fine by folding baby socks he panic-ordered online. I'm having stress dreams about diapers. Diapers, Pond."

Pond blinked. "Wait... do you even know how to change one?"

"No."

"Oh my god. This baby is doomed."

Joong gave him a look.

"I mean—we are doomed," Pond corrected quickly. "As your unofficial fairy god-uncle, I will step in. I'll learn how to change diapers. I'll read blogs. I'll attend parenting classes. Hell, I'll watch fifteen hours of mom YouTube. We've got this, okay?"

Joong couldn't help but laugh, despite everything. "You're insane."

"I prefer 'emotionally invested.'"

Later That Day – Back at the Dorm
Joong unclocked the door to their dorm room, exhausted from Pond's dramatic breakdown (and five unsolicited name lists later). He pushed it open—

—and froze.

The entire place... sparkled.

Not like "cleaned" sparkled. Like "hospital sterilization" sparkled. Every surface gleamed, even the corners under the desk where no human had willingly looked in a semester.

"Dunk?" Joong called, cautiously stepping in.

From the bathroom, he heard aggressive scrubbing and a very out-of-breath, muttered:
"Out, out, filthy bacteria demons—OUT!"

Joong peeked inside—and had to physically stop himself from screaming.

There was Dunk. On his knees. Meticulously scrubbing between the tiles with... Joong's toothbrush.

Joong gaped. "Is that my—"

"Shhh!" Dunk held up a hand, eyes wide and wild. "This bathroom was disgusting. There was dust behind the mirror. DUST, Joong! Do you know what dust can do to a developing baby?!"

Joong blinked. "Give it allergies?"

"EXACTLY!"

Before Joong could respond, he noticed something even more alarming:
Strapped across Dunk's chest was a bright pink baby carrier, and nestled inside it—

—was a full-sized watermelon.

"...Why," Joong began carefully, "is there a melon... in a baby carrier?"

"I'm testing the weight distribution," Dunk said matter-of-factly, still scrubbing. "It's important to support the baby's spine. And mine. I'm not trying to throw my back out at twenty-one."

Joong opened his mouth, closed it, then sat slowly on his bed, staring.

"...You stole my toothbrush."

"I sterilized it in boiling water first. I'm not insane." Dunk gave him a look like he was the one acting irrational.

Joong put his head in his hands. "Okay. Okay. You're nesting. This is fine. Totally normal."

Dunk popped up like a meerkat. "OH! And I organized all the baby clothes by fabric softness and color gradient. Also, I may have ordered a breast pump."

Joong's head snapped up. "You don't even have—!"

"It was on sale!"

Joong lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "I take it back. We are doomed."

Dunk huffed, hands on his hips, baby carrier melon bouncing slightly.
"We are going to be excellent parents."

Joong laughed—half terrified, half in love.

"...Can I at least get a new toothbrush?"

Dunk blinked. "...Maybe."

A Few Days Later – At the Clinic
Joong sat on a plastic chair in the waiting room, his leg nervously bouncing and constantly knocking into Dunk's. Dunk was unusually quiet, holding the little medical card like it was a contract with fate. Under his shirt, his small baby bump was starting to show – and today, they were supposed to find out who was growing inside him.

Next to them sat Pond and Phuwin. Pond wore a pink hoodie that said "Funcle – fun uncle" and held a camera like a full-time paparazzi. Phuwin was glued to his phone, but didn't miss a thing.

"Just saying – there's still time to name him Pond Junior," Pond chirped sweetly.
Joong didn't even glance at him.
Dunk muttered, "If this baby gets your name, he'll be born delivering a dramatic monologue instead of crying."
"And probably addicted to TikTok," Phuwin added, not lifting his eyes from his screen.

Suddenly, the door opened.
"Dunk Natachai? You can come in now."

Inside the exam room, everything felt still. Dunk lay on the examination table, lifting his shirt to reveal the small curve of his belly. The doctor applied cool gel and pressed the ultrasound wand gently to his skin. Joong held his hand. Pond had somehow snuck in with the excuse of being "family support," and Phuwin whispered into his phone, "It's happening."

A fuzzy black-and-white image appeared on the monitor. All four of them leaned in like they were watching a championship game.

"Well then..." said the doctor with a smile. "Looks like it's going to be a boy."

Silence.

A very long silence.

Pond was the first to react.
"AAAAAAaaaaAAAA—"
Phuwin calmly shoved an empty coffee cup into his mouth.
Joong chuckled.
Dunk just stared at the screen, his eyes suddenly glassy.

"A boy?" he repeated softly.
Joong leaned in and gently stroked his hair. "Yeah. A little... you, actually."

Dunk took a shaky breath. "What if he doesn't like me? What if he turns out cool and I'm just... me?"
"He'll love you because you're you," Joong said firmly. "And if he doesn't, Pond will buy him a puppy."
"TWO!" yelled Pond through the cup.
"No," Phuwin added. "He'll get him a cat. And teach him how to ignore you like a pro."

The doctor smiled — clearly used to weird family dynamics.

Dunk turned back to the screen, and as he saw the baby's tiny legs wiggle, his expression shifted entirely.
From fear... to wonder.

"Hey there, little guy," he whispered, pressing his fingers gently against the monitor.
Joong held his hand and smiled.
"Guess it's getting harder to pretend you're just super full of pizza, huh?"
Dunk let out a breathy laugh.
"Do you know what you just adopted along with this baby?"
"What?"
"My hormones. I cried this morning because my toast fell on the floor."

Later That Night – Name Chaos Begins
The dorm room looked like a battlefield.

Sticky notes covered the wall, the desk, and somehow even the mini fridge. Each one had a different name scribbled on it, some with hearts, some angrily scratched out. Dunk was lying on the bed with a pencil behind his ear and a baby name book in hand. Joong was sitting cross-legged on the floor with his phone and a frustrated face.

"Okay," Joong said, reading from his screen, "what about something classic? Like Thanapat? Or Anan?"

Dunk snorted. "We're naming a baby, not a 50-year-old CEO."

"Fine," Joong grumbled. "What do you have then?"

"Renji," Dunk said proudly.

Joong blinked. "Isn't that from an anime?"
"It sounds nice. And it means 'lotus love' or something like that!"
"That's not even close to the actual meaning."

"Okay, then what about Akiro?"
"Still anime."
"Joong, it's Japanese. That's not illegal."

Pond, who had appeared from nowhere with chips and a camera, chimed in, "You're all missing the obvious answer: Pond Jr."
Dunk threw a pillow at him. "Absolutely not."
Phuwin peeked in from the doorway, toothbrush in mouth. "Name him something neutral. Like Cloud."
Joong looked up. "Cloud?"
"Yeah. Floaty. Mysterious. Kinda like Dunk when he's hormonal."

Dunk sighed dramatically. "You all suck at this."

Joong leaned back on his hands. "Okay, let's make rules. No anime names, no names of food, and no names inspired by... whatever Pond watches at 2 a.m."

"I was gonna say 'Dragon,'" Pond mumbled.

"No dragons," Dunk said firmly.

There was a beat of silence before Joong's voice softened. "What about something meaningful?"

Dunk looked at him. "Like what?"

"Well... something that reminds you of where we started. Or something you want him to grow into." He glanced down, smiling a little. "Like Hope."

Dunk blinked. "Hope...?"

"Or maybe Liam. It means protector. Or—"

"Wait," Dunk sat up suddenly, eyes wide. "What about Narin?"

Joong tilted his head. "Narin?"

"It means gentle. And brave." Dunk smiled shyly. "I think... I'd like that for him."

Joong looked at him for a long second, then nodded, voice soft.
"Narin. I love it."

Pond loudly gasped. "YOU'RE MAKING ME CRY."
"You're literally eating chips," Phuwin said, rolling his eyes.

Dunk gently rested a hand on his bump, whispering,
"Hi, Narin. Guess that's you now."

Joong leaned over and kissed his temple.
"Our gentle little warrior."

Two Months Later – The Waterfall Incident
The dorm was oddly peaceful.

Joong was folding tiny onesies on the bed with laser focus, organizing them by color, pattern, and "level of cuteness." Dunk stood in front of the mirror in an oversized T-shirt that barely covered his belly, trying to see if his ankles still existed.
(They didn't. Not really.)

"I swear this child is kicking my bladder on purpose," Dunk mumbled, waddling toward the bathroom for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.

"You've peed four times in the last hour," Joong said without looking up.
"And I'm about to make it five, so move."

Just as Dunk reached the bathroom door, he froze.

Blink.
Another blink.

Then—
"Oh."
Pause.
"Oh no."

Joong looked up. "What?"

"I think... I just peed myself."
"That's fine, go change—"
"No. No, Joong. It's not pee. My water just broke."

There was a silence.

Then Joong shot up like he'd been electrocuted.
"WHAT?!"

"I'M LEAKING, JOONG! LIKE A FAUCET!"

Cue chaos.

Joong ran in circles for two seconds before yelling, "Okay okay okay, hospital! We need a bag! Where's the bag?!"
"It's by the door!" Dunk groaned, gripping the wall. "WHY ARE YOU LOOKING UNDER THE BED?!"
"I PANICKED!"

Pond burst into the room still wearing his bathrobe.
"Who's dying?!"

"THE BABY'S COMING!" Joong shouted.
Phuwin walked in sipping coffee. "Okay. Deep breaths. No one faint. Joong, keys. Pond, shut up. Dunk, sit down—no, wait, don't sit—just... exist calmly!"

"I CAN'T EXIST CALMLY I'M LEAKING AND IT'S WARM AND WEIRD."

Pond tossed a towel at Dunk like it was a grenade.
Joong shoved their overnight bag into his own arms, forgetting he was supposed to give it to someone else.

Dunk hobbled toward the door, groaning through clenched teeth.
"Tell the nurse I'm not naming him Pond Junior no matter how much this hurts."

As Joong supported him, pale and shaky but determined, he whispered,
"We're gonna meet him. We're really gonna meet him."

Dunk looked at him, in between contractions, and said,
"If you pass out in that delivery room, I will punch you."

At the Hospital – Welcome, Narin
The delivery room felt like another planet.

Bright lights. Too many voices. The constant beeping of machines. Dunk was gripping Joong's hand with terrifying strength, sweaty and red-faced, growling through his teeth like a man possessed.

"YOU. DID. THIS. TO. ME!"
Joong nodded frantically. "I know! I'm sorry! I love you!"
"I SWEAR TO GOD, JOONG, IF YOU PASS OUT—"
"NOT GOING TO! I'm solid. I'm grounded. I'm—oh my god I'm gonna throw up—"

"You both need to breathe," the nurse muttered, entirely unimpressed.

Outside, Pond and Phuwin were pacing. Pond had tried to sneak into the delivery room twice. Phuwin tackled him both times.

Inside, Dunk was nearing the end. The pain was sharp and endless—but so was the adrenaline.
Then—
A cry.

A real, tiny, loud baby cry.

Everything stopped for a heartbeat. Then two.

And then the doctor said softly, "He's here."

Dunk collapsed back against the pillow, tears in his eyes, breath shaky. Joong stood frozen, wide-eyed and pale, until the nurse gently placed a swaddled bundle in his arms.

Joong stared down.

A round, pink face. Puffy cheeks. A wrinkly little nose.
Their baby.
Narin.

Dunk looked over weakly. "He's chubby."
Joong laughed, choked up. "He's perfect."

Dunk held out his arms and Joong carefully placed the baby in them. As soon as Narin was in his chest, Dunk melted.
"Hi, baby," he whispered, brushing a fingertip across his soft forehead. "Hi, my little love."

Narin gave a sleepy squawk and promptly fell asleep.

The nurse smiled. "He's healthy. And definitely knows how to make an entrance."

Joong leaned down and pressed his forehead against Dunk's. "You did it. You're amazing."

"I know," Dunk said with a sleepy grin. "Remind me in a year when he throws food at our faces."

Just then, Pond cracked the door open, eyes wide.
"Is he here? Is he ugly? Do we love him anyway?"

Phuwin shoved him aside. "I brought donuts. For emotional balance."

They both stared when they saw him—this tiny human, asleep in Dunk's arms.

"Guys," Joong whispered, eyes shining. "Meet Narin."

Pond burst into tears. "HE HAS A NOSE. A REAL LITTLE NOSE."

Dunk laughed softly, cuddling Narin closer. "Welcome to the world, baby boy. We're a mess. But you're so loved already."

End of this chaotic family.
Hope you like this little story❤️‍🔥

~ with love Guwluse.

Chapter 36: 🖤 My new story is out now! 🖤

just posted a brand new book about Pond and Phuwin – a dark, intense tale about control, obsession, and twisted love.

🎭 Theme? Stockholm Syndrome.
Pond is a rich and respected art teacher. Phuwin is his troubled student with no one to rely on. Slowly but surely, Pond begins to control every part of his life... and Phuwin, the victim, gives in to it all.

💔 What happens when love isn't really love—but something far more dangerous?

🔗 Go check it out now and step into a story where pain and affection blur beyond recognition.

Excerpt:

"You don't have to be afraid," Pond whispered, brushing his fingers gently across Phuwin's cheek. "Your daddies won't hurt you again. You're safe... with me."

Phuwin didn't respond. His eyes were empty, but he didn't resist.
He had long stopped asking what was right.
He had learned that love sometimes hurts – and that silence is the only way to survive.

Pond's smile faded. His hand moved to Phuwin's chin, gripping it just enough to make him look up.

"I said..." His voice lowered, sharp now. "You're supposed to answer me."

Phuwin swallowed hard, his lips parting hesitantly.
"...I know. I'm safe with you."

And Pond smiled again, satisfied. "Good boy."

Chapter 37: Dew x Tee - Tape roll used as barricade🫄🏼🔞

( Mpreg already with one child)
Tee- Sub
Dew-Dom
Anyway Tee is pregnant with their second son..☺️🫄🏼
Guys! I did wrote this fic just because i saw this posted I was laughing so hard like what the hell. Tee showing to camera Covid test? I am not sure. But everyone thought it was pregnancy test. So let’s stick to it. And enjoy. 🤣🤣🤣🤣
——————————————————————————-

"It's positive," Tee said softly, eyes on Dew's chest where JJ lay, nursing peacefully. "We're going to have another baby."

"What... how the hell—ohh!"
Dew froze mid-step as the realization sank in. He blinked at the pregnancy test Tee held up with one hand—calm, almost amused.

With the other arm, Tee gently cradled little JJ, their four-month-old son, who was latched at his chest, nursing contentedly.

"It's positive," Tee said softly, his voice calm, like he was simply reading the weather.
Dew stared at him.
"You're breastfeeding... while being pregnant... again?"
Tee shrugged slightly, brushing JJ's soft hair as the baby suckled.
"Apparently. I thought I was just tired from the night feedings. Turns out—" he held up the test again with a crooked smile, "—I'm tired and pregnant."
Dew dropped onto the couch like the air had been knocked out of him.
"JJ's only four months old. We haven't even figured out his nap schedule!"
JJ let out a tiny sigh against Tee's skin, still nursing peacefully, completely unaware of the drama.
Tee walked over, sitting beside Dew, balancing JJ with practiced ease.

"It'll be chaos," Dew muttered, rubbing his face.
"It's already chaos," Tee replied with a tired laugh.
He leaned his head on Dew's shoulder, their son nestled between them, warmth and weight and new life.
Dew looked down at JJ, then at Tee's belly—still flat now, but not for long.
"God help us," he whispered, and Tee chuckled.
"We'll need it."
Dew walked slowly to him, staring at the test like it was some kind of glitch in reality.
He stopped just in front of Tee, who was still calmly nursing JJ, his eyes soft and unbothered.
"The doctor said there is a small chance, that this could happened," Dew said, his voice low and stunned.
"Tee... you gave birth just four months ago. Four."
His hands gestured vaguely toward JJ, who was still latched and suckling peacefully.
Tee met his gaze, a little tired, a little amused.
"I know what he said," he murmured. "But this—" he lifted the test slightly, "—this says otherwise."
Dew let out a sharp breath, raking a hand through his hair.
"We haven't even figured out how to sleep through one night. You're still breastfeeding!"
"I know," Tee replied softly, glancing down at JJ. "And I'll be breastfeeding two before the year's over."
Dew just stared at him. He didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or faint.
"You're serious?"
"Dead serious," Tee said, then added with a small smirk, "And apparently... still fertile."
JJ made a soft cooing sound and shifted in Tee's arms, completely unbothered by the storm of panic in the room.
Tee reached out and pulled Dew's hand into his lap, holding it gently over his still-flat belly.

"We didn't plan this, I know. But it's real. And it's happening."
Dew sank to his knees in front of them, resting his forehead against Tee's hand.
"We're going to have another baby..." he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
Tee nodded.
"Yes. Again."
Dew slowly stood up from the floor, as if gravity itself didn't want him to process what he had just heard. He took a deep breath, looked at Tee and JJ—who was still nursing peacefully, as if the world wasn't falling apart around them.
"Alright," he mumbled, reaching out his hands.
"Give me that little troublemaker."
Tee raised an eyebrow.
"JJ?" he asked, smiling.
"Yes, JJ. The one already driving us crazy. I need to hold something that makes sense right now."
Tee chuckled, gently unlatching JJ from his chest and handing the baby over to Dew. JJ wriggled a bit, but as soon as Dew cradled him, he relaxed immediately, resting his tiny head on Dew's shoulder.
"There we go," Dew whispered, rocking him softly.
"At least you're not trying bawled your eyes out."

Tee leaned back on the couch, placing a hand on his belly where nothing showed yet, though they both knew something was already growing there.

"Not yet," he murmured with a teasing glint in his eyes.

Dew looked over at him, holding JJ who clung to him with tiny arms and slow breaths.
—————————————————————————————-
One week later

Tee was hunched over the bathroom sink again, the awful sounds of retching echoing through the hall. Dew stood in the doorway, bouncing JJ on his hip, the baby wide awake and gnawing on his fingers like it was the most exciting morning of his life.

"You're okay?" Dew asked softly, but the answer was obvious. Tee's skin was pale, eyes half-shut from nausea and lack of sleep.

"No," Tee croaked, wiping his mouth with trembling fingers. "Everything smells like garbage. Even you."

Dew raised an eyebrow. "Even me?"
"Especially you," Tee groaned, leaning over the sink again.

JJ cooed and drooled happily, grabbing a fistful of Dew's shirt.

Dew looked at his son. "Well, your other dad is officially useless this week."

He stepped inside and gently rubbed Tee's back with his free hand.
"You go lie down. I'll handle JJ, breakfast, laundry, and maybe cry in a corner later."

Tee gave him a faint smile. "You're the best."

"No," Dew smirked. "I'm just surviving. With a baby who pooped three times before 7AM and a partner who thinks I smell like a dumpster."

Tee chuckled weakly.
"I love you."
"Yeah, yeah. Just don't throw up on me."

He kissed the top of Tee's head before walking out, JJ babbling in his arms.

"Come on, little troublemaker," Dew muttered as he headed to the kitchen.
"We've got a day full of spit-up, screaming, and survival. Let's go be heroic."
———————————————————————————-

It was late. Everyone already deep in sleep except in their bedroom, where the night never really ended.

JJ was finally asleep in his crib, his soft breaths steady and peaceful.

Tee lay on his side in bed, facing Dew, one hand resting gently on his rounded belly. The second pregnancy was showing faster. His eyes were half-closed, his body aching with fatigue and nausea.

"He is kicking again," he whispered.

Dew blinked sleepily beside him, already half-drifting.
"Now?"

Tee sighed and nodded, wincing a little as a sharp jab nudged from inside.
"It hasn't stopped all evening. Like he is training for a dance recital."

Dew reached over, sliding his hand over Tee's bump, fingers splaying across the warm skin beneath his shirt.

Thump.
The baby kicked again, hard enough that Dew felt it right under his palm.

He laughed quietly. "Okay, that's not a dance. That's a rebellion."

Tee groaned softly and turned into Dew's chest, seeking comfort.
"How can something so small move so much?"

"Genetics," Dew murmured, stroking Tee's back.
"Definitely your side. JJ was a sleeper. This one's a night owl already."

They lay there in silence for a moment, just the rhythm of their breathing and the occasional jab from inside Tee's belly.

"Do you regret it?" Tee asked suddenly, voice small.

Dew kissed the top of his head immediately.
"Not even for a second. Not the sleepless nights. Not the spit-up. Not even the kicks."

A soft smile played at Tee's lips.
"Even when I cry because I dropped a spoon?"

"Even then."
Dew grinned.
"Though I'll never look at spoons the same way again."

Tee let out another sigh as the baby kicked again, right beneath Dew's hand.
"He's been at it for hours..." he murmured.
His voice was exhausted but warm, full of quiet love.

Dew smirked, eyes still half-lidded with sleep.
"Maybe~ we can put him to sleep," he said teasingly, shifting just a little closer.
His hand gently rubbed Tee's belly in slow, soothing circles.

Tee arched a brow. "Oh really? You got a magical sleep switch in those fingers?"

"Something like that," Dew whispered, dipping his head and pressing a soft kiss to the spot where their unborn child had just kicked.
"Hey, little troublemaker. It's bedtime. Let your mommy rest, yeah?"

Tee chuckled tiredly, running a hand through Dew's messy hair.
"If that works, I'm giving you full night duty for the rest of the pregnancy."

"Deal," Dew murmured, moving his palm slowly over the curve of Tee's belly, his voice low and rhythmic.
"You hear that, baby? Sleep now. We'll play again in the morning..."

The room was quiet now.

The baby had finally stopped kicking, and Tee could feel a moment of peace settle over him. Dew's hand still rested on his belly, warm and steady, thumb brushing slowly in lazy circles.

Tee sighed, eyes half-lidded, lips barely moving.

"Maybe you can..." he murmured.

Dew blinked. "Hmm?"

Tee's gaze slid down to Dew's fingers on his stomach. His voice was quieter now, lower, edged with something that wasn't entirely innocent.

"...Maybe you can put me to sleep too."

Dew raised an eyebrow, a slow grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Oh?"

Tee didn't answer at first—just looked at Dew's fingers, the ones that moments ago calmed their unborn baby, and let the silence say what he was too tired—and maybe too shy—to put into words.

Dew followed his eyes, then chuckled under his breath.
"You're really thinking about that now?"

Tee turned his face away just a little, flushed. "I mean... it's been a while. And you were being sweet. And your hands..." He trailed off, embarrassed.

Dew leaned in, his lips brushing against Tee's temple, his voice a whisper:

"I know exactly where my hands want to be."

Tee shifted slightly on the bed, the dim light catching on the curve of his belly. He looked at Dew, eyes soft but determined.

"You can do it," he said quietly, almost like he was reminding himself.

Then, with a slow breath, he reached down and lowered his pants, revealing the boxers he'd borrowed from Dew—loose, comfortable, and far larger than his usual size.
They rested gently below his belly, not squeezing or digging in. Tee had stopped wearing his own weeks ago.

"Yours feel better," he murmured, avoiding Dew's eyes for a moment.
"Mine are too tight now, and I hate when my belly feels... trapped."

Dew smiled, reaching out to run a gentle hand along the side of Tee's hip, his touch feather-light.
"Then keep wearing them. I like seeing you in my clothes anyway."

Tee's cheeks flushed, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned back onto the pillows, his belly rising and falling with slow, steady breaths.

Dew hovered above him, eyes tracing every inch—not with hunger, but with reverence. With love. With something so full and quiet it didn't need to be said out loud.

"We don't have to do anything intense," Dew whispered, kissing the soft skin just below Tee's navel.
"Just... let me help you relax."

And Tee nodded, eyes slipping closed as the room filled with the sound of breath and comfort—and love, in all the ways it could be shown.

Tee narrowed his eyes when he noticed Dew quietly reaching into the drawer.

"Wait... what are you doing?" he asked, suspicious.

Dew froze for a second, then casually pulled out a condom.

"Just being careful?" he offered, almost too innocent.

Tee blinked. Then he sat up slightly, raising an eyebrow.
"Seriously? A condom? Huh?"

He pointed to his own belly with a dramatic sigh.
"You do realize I'm already pregnant, right? What exactly are you trying to prevent now?"

Dew looked caught, a little sheepish.
"Force of habit?"

Tee scoffed.
"Seriously, you never wear one?" he muttered, then flopped back on the pillows.
"Okay, I suppose, it doesn't even matter"he added under his breath.
"You're the one who did this to me already."Tee said softly.
Dew leaned over, grinning.
"And I'm proud of my work."
Tee climbed into Dew's lap slowly, his hands resting on Dew's shoulders, steadying himself.
Everything felt warm. Intimate. Until his eyes landed on something unusual hanging from Dew's waist.
He blinked.
"Wait... what is that?"
Dew followed his gaze—and casually lifted the small roll of tape hanging by a string like a ridiculous charm.
"Oh. That? Safety measure," he said with a completely straight face.

Tee stared at him, jaw slightly open.
"You... hung a roll of tape like a necklace... around that?!"

"Technically, it's more of a stopper," Dew explained.
"You said you didn't want it too deep. So... it blocks the base."

Tee blinked again, stunned.

"That's not romantic. That's engineering."

Dew just grinned.

"I prefer to call it being respectful toward you and our baby."

Tee shook his head, trying not to laugh.
"You're ridiculous."

"And yet," Dew whispered, pulling him closer,
"you love me anyway."

"Tee lowered himself carefully, slowly, until he felt the tape stretched across his ass press against him — a barrier, exactly where it was meant to be. It wouldn't let him go any deeper. Only half of Dew's cock was inside him. Tonight, we're using just the half..."

Tee moved gently, slowly — with his pregnant belly, it was harder and more exhausting than he expected. He tried to find that sweet spot of his, but it was difficult.

"It's been so long, Dew... I can't find it," Tee said softly, disappointed.

"I'll help you, baby," Dew said gently as he took hold of Tee's cheeks and spread them apart. Tee laid down on his chest, and Dew started thrusting into him — as much as the tape would allow.

"Aaaah~ so good!" Tee moaned, his breath hot against Dew's skin as his teeth sank into his shoulder. Dew let out a low grunt, the sting only fueling his rhythm. He tightened his grip on Tee's hips and pushed in again — slow, deep, controlled, just until the tape pulled taut again, blocking him from going further.

"Fuck... still so tight," Dew growled, his voice rough with restraint. "Even carrying my baby... you're still squeezing me like that."

Tee whimpered softly, pressing his forehead against Dew's neck. His swollen belly made it harder to move, but the friction, the stretch, the pressure — it was driving him wild.

"Don't stop... please, Dew," he whispered, voice trembling. "I want to feel everything, even with just the half..."

Dew kissed his temple, then shifted slightly, angling his hips just right. The next thrust hit deeper — perfectly — brushing that spot Tee had been searching for.

"There," Dew muttered against his ear. "That's it, right? That's what my baby needed?"

Tee cried out, body tensing, his legs wrapping tighter around Dew's waist.

"Y-yes! Right there, don't stop—!"

"This... this isn't enough," Tee whimpered, voice muffled as he clung to Dew's shoulders. "I need more..."

His hips rocked forward in tiny, desperate motions, trying to take more of Dew inside him despite the tape's stubborn resistance. His pregnant belly pressed between their bodies, warm and heavy, adding to the helplessness of his need.

"Please," he begged, his breath hitching, "rip it off... give me all of you. I want it— I need it, Dew!"

Dew's hands trembled slightly as they gripped Tee's hips tighter. He groaned, torn between restraint and the primal urge clawing at his control. The sight of Tee — flushed, panting, begging — was almost too much.

"You know what happens if I go too deep," he warned, voice low, almost shaking. "You're full with my baby already... I don't want to hurt you."

"I don't care," Tee gasped, grinding down harder. "I'm yours. Just... just take me."

That was all it took.

Dew's fingers tore the tape free with one swift motion, and Tee cried out as his body dropped lower, finally taking Dew in to the hilt — all of him, thick and hot and pulsing deep inside.

Tee's back arched, his mouth falling open in a silent moan as the stretch overwhelmed him. His belly trembled, the weight of it shifting as Dew began to thrust, slow at first, savoring the fullness they'd both been denied.

"F-fuck, so deep," Tee whimpered, nails digging into Dew's back. "It's too much— but don't stop, please, don't stop!"

"You're taking it so well," Dew groaned, his thrusts picking up pace. "Such a good boy for me... swollen with my baby and still begging to be bred again."

Tee's body shook with every thrust, his belly jiggling softly between them, sweat clinging to his skin. He could feel every inch of Dew, every pulse, every snap of hips — as if Dew was marking him from the inside out.

Tee was shaking, his body pushed past its limits, every nerve on fire. His belly tensed under Dew's possessive grip, his thighs trembling as the thrusts grew faster, rougher — each one hitting that same sweet, swollen spot deep inside him.

"D-Dew— I'm gonna—" he gasped, voice breaking, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

Dew didn't slow. His breath was hot and ragged against Tee's neck, hips slamming into him without mercy, the bed groaning beneath them.

"That's it, baby," Dew growled, teeth grazing Tee's jaw. "Cum for me. Milk my cock like you're made for it."

Tee cried out, his back arching sharply as his orgasm hit — sharp and overwhelming. His entire body tensed, clamping down hard around Dew, his release spilling untouched between their bellies as he sobbed out Dew's name.

That tight, spasming heat was all Dew needed.

"Fuck— gonna fill you up again—" he snarled, slamming in deep one last time and staying buried to the base.

He came hard, deep inside, hot pulses flooding Tee's already stretched hole, thick and endless. Dew's arms wrapped tight around Tee's shaking body, holding him close as he emptied everything into him, not stopping until Tee could feel it dripping out around him.

They stayed like that — panting, locked together, sweat-slicked skin clinging in the dark warmth.

Dew finally leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Tee's temple, his voice rough but soft.

"You did so well, sweetheart... carrying our baby, taking all of me like that."

Tee whimpered, exhausted and trembling, but safe in Dew's arms.

"Mmh... love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," Dew murmured. "Now rest. I'll keep both of you safe."

As their breathing began to slow and the heat of the moment faded into a heavy, comforting silence, Dew carefully slipped out of Tee, murmuring something soothing as Tee whimpered from the loss.

He pressed a kiss to Tee's sweaty forehead, then sat up, stretching slightly. His eyes drifted to the small bassinet nearby.

Their little boy was still sleeping peacefully, tiny chest rising and falling in soft, rhythmic breaths. One tiny hand was curled into a loose fist beside his head, the other clutching the edge of his soft blanket.

Dew smiled.

"Good boy," he whispered under his breath, affection swelling in his chest. "Didn't even stir..."

He padded over quietly, grabbing a towel from the chair beside the bed. Muscles still buzzing from release, he wiped himself down with lazy movements before returning to Tee.

Tee had shifted onto his side, hair stuck to his damp forehead, one arm cradling his belly protectively.

Dew sat beside him, wrapping the towel gently around Tee's hips, wiping away the mess with surprising tenderness.

"Still leaking," Dew murmured with a smirk. "I really did fill you up, huh?"

Tee groaned in sleepy protest, burying his face into the pillow.

"Stop teasing..."

Dew chuckled, then leaned down to kiss the curve of his belly.

"Rest now," he said softly. "You earned it, both of you."

Outside, the night was quiet. Inside, everything was warm — tangled sheets, soft breath, and the hum of a family being held together in the most intimate way

Chapter 38: Aou x Boom- Naughty puppy boy~ (BDSM)🔞🐶

Aou- (Master)- Dom
Boom- (puppy boy)- Sub
( Guys, how are you doing? I want to tell you we are near end of this oneshots, hope you will come to my profile for part 2!!)
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Boom knelt in silence on the soft carpet in the living room. His hands rested on his thighs, palms facing upward—just as Aou had taught him. The long tail attached to the plug rested on the floor behind him, gently trembling with every subtle shift of his body. It hurt. It burned. But Boom loved the pain. Because it meant he belonged.
Today was the day of their renewal. Exactly one year since he had first submitted to Aou—not with ink and paper, but with devotion. With conscious surrender.
Aou stood behind him. Boom couldn't see him, but he could feel him. His presence filled the room like the calm before a storm. Boom's heart was racing, but he didn't move an inch.
"Do you remember what today is, Boom?" Aou's voice broke the silence—calm, yet laced with unshakable authority.
"Yes, Master," Boom replied quietly, head bowed. "Today, I renew my submission."
Footsteps approached slowly. Aou's polished black shoes stopped just inches from Boom's face. A single touch—a gloved finger under his chin—lifted his gaze. Boom looked into his Master's eyes, dark and uncompromising.
"Say it again," Aou whispered, his voice thick as smoke. "Just like you did a year ago."
Boom swallowed and spoke, loud and clear:
"I give myself to you, Master Aou. Willingly. With my body, my mind, and my soul. I am yours. Today, again, and forever."
Aou smiled gently. That look was both a gift and a sentence. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Boom's forehead, leaving an invisible mark. A seal of ownership. A seal of love.
"Good boy," he murmured against his ear. "You're mine again. And I'll make you exactly what I need."
Boom shivered and closed his eyes. He was ready. Again. And completely.
Aou's voice was low, deliberate, every word like a command etched into Boom's skin.
"Today," he said, running a gloved finger slowly down Boom's spine, "you're my puppy."
Boom's breath caught. He didn't move—he knew better than that.
"No cumming," Aou continued, his tone dark and almost teasing. "No words. Not a single sound from that pretty mouth."
He crouched beside him now, his presence enveloping Boom completely.
"If you speak..." Aou's fingers slid under Boom's chin, gripping it tightly. "If you come without permission..."
He paused, lips brushing the shell of Boom's ear.
"Master will spank you. Hard. You know that, don't you?"
Boom nodded—once, quickly—his eyes wide and obedient. He didn't dare speak, though the heat rising in his cheeks and the ache inside him grew deeper.
Aou smiled.
"Good pup. Stay just like this. Beautiful and silent. Show me you can behave."
And with that, the training began.
Aou leaned down, his gloved hand gripping the base of the tail. Slowly, deliberately, he began to pull the plug out of Boom's sore hole, the silicone sliding with quiet resistance. Boom shuddered, biting down on his lip—but a small gasp escaped him.
Aou's hand snapped across his cheek in an instant. The slap echoed in the room.
"I said no sounds," he said coldly, his voice sharp but calm, like ice on skin. "Did my pup forget how to follow simple rules?"
Boom whimpered—but caught himself before a second sound escaped. He lowered his eyes in shame, the sting of the slap blooming warmly across his face.
Aou stood up and walked away without another word. Boom stayed still, his muscles trembling slightly. Then he heard the soft clink of ceramic.
When Aou returned, he was carrying a small dog bowl. He set it down in front of Boom without ceremony. Inside was milk, and floating in it—chocolate cereal balls.
"For my disobedient little pup," Aou said, kneeling before him again. "Eat. From the bowl. No hands."
Boom hesitated only for a second. Then he leaned forward on all fours, lips parting obediently as he began to lap the milk, his cheeks burning in humiliation—and pleasure.
Aou watched him closely, one hand stroking Boom's hair with a twisted sort of tenderness. "Quiet now," he whispered. "Or the next punishment won't be so gentle."
Boom was trying his best. He leaned over the dog bowl, lapping up the milk, but the chocolate balls kept slipping away. No matter how carefully he moved, he couldn't catch them with his tongue. It was frustrating. Humiliating.
Finally, with a quiet grunt of defeat, Boom lifted one hand and tried to push a few of the cereal pieces toward his mouth.
Wrong move.
Aou saw it instantly.
Without a word, he stepped forward, grabbed the tail plug—and rammed it back into Boom with full force.
Boom gasped, his body jolting forward in shock.
Aou didn't stop there. He grabbed Boom by the arm and yanked him up onto his knees, towering over him now.
"Well, well," Aou said, voice cool and mocking. "Looks like someone's excited."
He glanced down at Boom's flushed, trembling body—especially at the thick bulge straining with no sign of going soft.
"That cock's standing so proudly, it's like the block means nothing to you."
Boom's lips trembled, eyes wide with a mix of fear and desire, his breathing ragged.
Aou leaned in, voice low. "Did you forget the rule, pup? No hands. No sounds. No cumming."
His hand trailed down Boom's torso—slow, menacing.
"Seems like someone needs to be reminded what happens to bad puppies."
"Since you can't follow simple rules," he said coldly, "you'll count for me now."
Without warning, he landed a sharp smack across Boom's bare backside. The sound cracked through the air, and Boom flinched.
"That's one," Aou said. "But you will be the one counting."
He grabbed a thin wooden cane from the nearby table—light but unforgiving.
"I want to hear you this time. Loud and clear. Turn around, bend over," he ordered, his voice laced with authority and amusement. "Show me that pretty ass, puppy."
Boom obeyed immediately, face flushed, body trembling. He bent over, presenting himself, the tail still snug inside, adding pressure with every breath.
Aou smirked, tapping the cane lightly against Boom's reddened skin.
"This will be ten. And you will count each one. If you miss even one... we start over."
Crack!
"One, Master!" Boom gasped.
Crack!
"Two, Master!"
Each strike was sharp, precise, and echoed with control. The pain stung deep, but so did the warmth—humiliation and pleasure mixing like fire under Boom's skin.
Aou watched with cool satisfaction, eyes never leaving his submissive's trembling form.
"Louder," he growled after the fifth stroke. "I want the whole house to know who you belong to."
"It hurts!" Boom cried out, voice cracking between sobs. His thighs trembled, knees digging into the carpet. Tears streamed down his flushed cheeks, but even as he shook, his cock betrayed him—leaking steadily, the tip glistening with need.
Aou didn't flinch.
He stood calmly behind him, the cane resting at his side. Watching.
"Does it?" he asked softly. Not mockingly—but with sharp precision, eyes burning into Boom's back. "Then say your safe word."
Boom's breath hitched.
Aou stepped closer, crouching down beside him. His gloved hand brushed gently across Boom's cheek, smearing a tear with his thumb. "If you can't take it, say it. I'll stop. Right now. But if you don't..." His voice dipped lower. "Then we continue. You want this, don't you?"
Boom bit down on his lip, chest rising and falling rapidly. The pain was real. But so was the need. The craving. The weight of submission. He could stop it. Aou would stop instantly if he heard the word.
But Boom didn't say it.
Instead, he shook his head—barely—but enough.
Aou smiled. Not cruelly. With pride.
"There he is," he whispered. "My strong little pup."
He stood up again, raising the cane.
"Five more. You can take them. Count for me."
Crack!
"S-Six, Master!" Boom sobbed.
And deep inside, through the tears and the burn, he smiled too.
"Ten!" Boom cried out, voice trembling—raw and cracked from pain, but steady.
The final stroke echoed in the room. His body shook, skin flushed and burning, but he didn't hesitate. He turned, eyes shining with tears, and crawled—slowly, humbly—into Aou's lap.
He buried his face against Aou's thigh, arms wrapping loosely around him like a pup seeking shelter.
"Thank you, Master..." Boom whispered, voice barely audible but full of emotion. Gratitude, submission, pride.
Aou exhaled slowly, his gloved hand reaching down to stroke Boom's damp hair with tenderness. No more commands. No more punishments.
"You did so well, Boom," he said, soft now. "My brave little pup."
Boom melted into the praise, body softening completely against Aou's touch. The pain still pulsed through his skin, but it no longer hurt—it burned with purpose.
Aou lifted Boom gently, cradling him into his lap as he sat back on the couch. He pulled a blanket over his trembling form and kissed his forehead.
"You took every strike for me. Didn't run. Didn't safe out. That deserves everything."
Just when Boom thought he could melt into Aou's arms and drift off, he was suddenly lifted—easily, like he weighed nothing—and tossed gently back onto the bed.
He landed on his stomach with a soft gasp, the warmth of the blanket replaced by the coolness of the sheets. Before he could even turn around, Aou was behind him again, settling between his legs.
"Don't relax yet, pup," Aou murmured darkly, but with a wicked softness. "Master's not done with you."
Boom's sore cheeks twitched as Aou's hands spread them apart carefully, exposing the reddened skin he'd just punished.
Then something unexpected—a warm, wet tongue pressed to one of the tender welts. Boom jolted, moaning into the sheets, surprised by the sudden tenderness.
Aou's tongue moved slowly, gently, licking over the punished flesh as if soothing it with reverence. He kissed each sore spot with slow, almost worshipful precision.
Then he parted Boom's cheeks wider, and his hot breath rolled over the most sensitive place of all.
Boom tensed.
"Still tight as hell," Aou murmured with a grin, voice low and full of praise. "Such a perfect little hole..."
He leaned in and licked.
Boom let out a choked gasp, gripping the sheets as Aou's tongue pressed against his entrance—slow, thorough, savoring him like a reward he had earned. Lapping, teasing, circling.
Soft, wet, delicious torture.
Every flick of Aou's tongue sent shivers down Boom's spine, pleasure rippling through the raw ache in his body. His cock throbbed helplessly beneath him, leaking into the sheets, untouched and desperate.
And still, Aou devoured him with patience and skill, tongue dancing over the one place Boom could never hide from him.
Aou's eyes darkened as he watched Boom writhe beneath him, the sight of his swollen, leaking cock and trembling form igniting something primal.
He stroked himself slowly, gaze fixed on Boom's stretched entrance glistening from his own tongue.
"Maybe I want to see you break today," Aou murmured lowly—not cruel, but possessive. "See how far my perfect little pup can go for me."
He leaned down, his chest brushing Boom's back as he whispered, "You're going to take all of me. Every inch. No holding back."
Then, without warning, Aou pressed in.
Hard.
Boom cried out, his hands clenching the sheets as Aou's thick cock forced him open, stretching him wider than before—so wide it bordered on painful. His body fought to adjust, the plug had kept him tight, too tight.
"A-Ah—Master!" Boom gasped, half-cry, half-moan.
"Shhh," Aou growled against his ear, his hips pressing forward relentlessly. "You can take it. I know you can."
Boom's body trembled beneath the force, his muscles burning with the stretch, but his mind swam in obedience, in surrender. The pain was real—but so was the desire. His cock throbbed between his thighs, untouched, desperate.
Aou bottomed out inside him, staying still only for a breath.
Then he pulled back—and slammed forward again.
The bed creaked. Boom screamed into the mattress, and still didn't say the safe word.
Because this was where he belonged. Being used. Being claimed. Being pushed to his edge—for him.
For Master Aou.
Aou pushed into him again, this time so deep that Boom cried out, his fingers clawing at the mattress, his entire body tensing.
"Ah—M-Master!" it came out like a plea, a warning, and a craving all at once.
Aou gripped his hips tightly, his breath rough and primal.
"Too much?" he whispered near his ear. "Say the word, Boom... just one word and I stop."
But Boom shook his head, cheek pressed to the bed, tears slipping down his face—but his eyes were steady. He wantedthe pain. He wanted to feel Aou everywhere. Aou knew it.
"Good boy."
With that, he began to move again—not with violent thrusts, but with deep, raw grinding, making Boom feel it in the pit of his stomach. Every push stretched him more, burned, made him ache to his core. Aou was hard, strong, and big—Boom felt like he might fall apart. But that was exactly what he needed.
"So tight... still fighting me," Aou growled, hunched over his back. "But you're mine. Every inch of you."
Boom sobbed in response, his cock pulsing between his thighs, untouched, aching—but still, Aou hadn't let him touch himself.
Aou grabbed his hips again, pulled him closer, and began a rhythm of slow, deep thrusts, feeling Boom's body gradually adjust, yielding to him. The pain blended with pleasure, sharp and addictive.
"Breathe through it," Aou murmured. "That's it... let me in."
And Boom did. He closed his eyes, surrendered. Aou took all of him—roughly, but with the knowing trust that Boom was his. That what was happening wasn't destruction, but devotion—harsh, painful, and real.
He gently wiped blood from his cock as he pulled out a little. Fuck. It's bleeding a lot. Aou slowly pulled back inside again knowing this gonna be hard to take for Boom.
Aou felt his breath quicken as Boom's body trembled beneath him, still shaking, but obedient. He gripped his hips and thrust in one final time, fully buried inside.
He came deep inside him, groaning through gritted teeth, his whole body shuddering with release. Boom moaned softly into the pillow, feeling the warm pulse fill him—proud and shy at once that Master had finished inside him.
Aou stayed still for a moment, leaning over him as they both caught their breath. Then, slowly, he pulled out. Boom flinched a little—not from pain, but from the sudden emptiness.
A bit of cum slipped from his stretched hole, and without a word, Aou reached for a soft cloth he had prepared beside the bed. He knelt beside him, placing a steady hand on Boom's back.
"Don't move, little one," he said gently.
With delicate care, he began wiping him clean, dabbing away the mess, his fingers brushing over his sides with quiet tenderness. Boom whimpered—not from hurt, but from the overwhelming gentleness after such rough intensity.
Aou stood up, walked to the nightstand, and returned with a soothing cream. He sat beside Boom's exhausted body and gently massaged the ointment into the sore skin around his backside and lower back.
"You're all red," he murmured. "But you took it so well. I'm proud of you."
Boom slowly turned his head, drained but smiling faintly through the haze. "Thank you, Master..."
Aou pulled him close, letting Boom rest his head against his chest, and wrapped the blanket around them.
"Rest now. Your Master is here."
Boom nestled closer into Aou's chest, his body sore but safe, wrapped in his Master's warmth. The deep rhythm of Aou's breathing calmed him, but he felt a small ache in his heart — not from pain, but from longing.
"Master..." he whispered, his voice sleepy and soft.
Aou tilted his head down, brushing fingers gently through Boom's hair. "Hm? What is it, little one?"
Boom hesitated, then murmured with a slight pout, "I... I want cuddles. And... and kisses, too."
Aou let out a soft, low chuckle — a rare sound, deep and warm. "Is that what you need now, my sweet pup?"
Boom gave a tiny nod against his chest, cheeks flushing.
Without another word, Aou shifted them both, pulling Boom fully into his lap. He wrapped his strong arms around him and leaned down to place a tender kiss on Boom's temple. Then another on his forehead. Then his cheek.
Boom tilted his face up, eyes fluttering open — and Aou met his lips.
It was soft. Slow. The opposite of everything that had happened before. His mouth was warm, his touch gentle, fingers cradling Boom's jaw as if he was something precious — because to Aou, he was.
When the kiss broke, Boom was breathless, his eyes wide and sparkling.
Aou smiled faintly and whispered, "You've been so good today. You deserve every kiss. Every touch. Every moment of this."
Boom curled into him tighter, like a kitten finally finding its home, letting out a soft hum of contentment.
"I love being your puppy," he whispered.

Chapter 39: THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT 💕

Hey my lovely readers! 💌
I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart. For every comment, every like, every read or share. You have no idea how happy it makes me to know that someone is reading my stories, feeling the emotions with the characters, and most importantly – that you're here, supporting me even when I don't have as much time to be active like I used to.

Writing for you gives me purpose. And whenever I start doubting whether I should keep going, it's you who reminds me why I do this. Your words, your support, and your love help me so much and give me the energy to continue.

And now to the main point.
As some of you may know – this book is slowly coming to an end. I'm planning to write the final 20 ships, which will close this chapter. But honestly... I don't really have time to follow everything like before. I'm out of the loop, and that's why I NEED YOUR HELP!

❤️ Comment down below and tell me your favorite ship – the one you'd love to see written before this book ends.
It can be romantic, sad, crazy, dark, or just pure fluff – it's up to you. I want to know what you love, what you're craving, and what would make you happy. I'm writing this final part for you. ✨

Thank you again to each and every one of you.
You're the reason I keep going.
With love, Guwluse💖

Chapter 40: Off X Gun - Fucked up obsession🔞⚠️

Characters:

Gun Attaphan – 32-year-old literature teacher, known for his composed demeanor, always wears glasses and tailored suits. He taught Off's class years ago — and unknowingly became his first obsession.

Off Jumpol – 25, newly named head of his mafia family after his father's death. Unstable, violent, and beautifully unhinged. Gun used to tutor him in secret when Off was 15. Now Off is back... and he wants what was always his.

The air was heavy with fresh scent of cigarettes and memories

Gun stood at the front of the classroom, wiping the board. The lights flickered above. Rain smeared the glass windows.

A sharp knock.

He turned — and froze.

The man leaning against the doorframe wasn't supposed to exist like this.

Long black coat. Ringed fingers. Lip split. Gun recognized those eyes instantly.

"Off."

"Hello, Professor," Off purred, stepping inside like a shadow. "Miss me?"

Gun adjusted his glasses. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Off didn't answer. He crossed the room in slow steps, stalking. Predatory.

"I thought about you every fucking night," he said, voice quiet, almost reverent. "While my father's men trained me to kill. While I slit throats for territory. You were the only good thing in my rotten life."

Gun swallowed.

"You were a child—"

"Fifteen. I knew what I wanted. And I still do."

Off reached into his coat. For a second, Gun tensed — but instead of a gun, Off pulled out a folded piece of paper. A drawing.

Gun unfolded it slowly.

It was him. Sketched in ink. Being in his bedroom in his own house. He did indeed stalked him.

"When...?" he choked.

"I've been watching you for years, Gun," Off whispered. "You didn't notice me, so I decided to become someone you can't just easily ignore."

Gun backed into the desk, but Off followed — close now. The air between them buzzed with danger.

"You can't threaten me," Gun said, low.

"I don't want to threaten you." Off leaned in, nose brushing his neck. "My dick missed you."

Gun slapped him. Off only laughed. Eyes shining with animal hunger." That's what i was craving the most."

Off pushed Gun flat onto the desk.

"Still grading essays, huh?" he mocked, brushing papers aside. "Let's see how good that mouth is when it's not giving speeches."

Gun's protests turned to gasps as Off yanked his belt free. And tied his hands with it.

"I could ruin you right here. Fuck you in the middle of this classroom. Make you scream my name like a prayer."

Gun cursed under his breath — but he wasn't stopping him.

Off pulled a pistol from his coat, cold metal against Gun's thigh as he kissed his way up. "One noise and I'll paint these pretty windows red. So stay quiet, Professor."

Gun shook, legs still trembling, shirt half-open.

"I told my men not to kill your little boyfriend," Off said casually. "The one who picks you up in the green car. But if he touches you again..."

Gun's eyes narrowed. "He's my colleague."

"I don't care." Off turned.

Gun opened his mouth to protest.

Off raised the gun — and kissed him instead.

Soft.

"I don't need your consent," he whispered. "I just need you to stay alive."

Off licked the line of Gun's hipbone as he dragged the teacher's slacks lower, just enough to expose soft, trembling skin. Gun's thighs were tense, pressed together like he could still keep dignity trapped between them.

He couldn't.

Off pressed the barrel of the pistol higher, sliding it under Gun's thigh and grazing the inside. Cold steel on hot flesh. Gun's breath hitched.

"Still so obedient," Off murmured. "Even now, with your desk shaking, papers all over the floor, and your cock already hard from just the threat of me."

Gun hissed through his teeth. "You're insane, Psychopath."

"Mm. But I'm yours." Off nipped at Gun's stomach, biting hard enough to bruise. "And you're mine."

He set the gun down beside Gun's ribs — still close, still a warning — then slid his hands up his thighs, spreading them with firm pressure.

"You always sat with your legs crossed in class," Off murmured, lips brushing his skin. "Didn't want anyone to see how pretty you are when you're weak. But I saw."

Gun's fingers gripped the edge of the desk so tight they turned white. He arched when Off's mouth closed around him without warning.

Gun groaned deep and low, one hand instinctively going to Off's hair — only for Off to grab his wrist and slam it down onto the desk, holding him in place.

"Don't move," he growled, mouth still full.

Gun's body betrayed him, hips lifting just a little, helpless. Off sucked harder in response, groaning around him like he was devouring a meal he'd waited years to taste.

Gun gasped, "Stop—s-stop, someone could come—"

Off pulled off with a wet sound and stared up at him. "Exactly. Let them."

Then he was back, sucking with feverish hunger, tongue relentless, pace merciless. Sucking on his balls as well.

Gun whimpered.

That sound broke something in Off.

He stood suddenly, kicked the chair away. One arm under Gun's back, the other grabbing him by the throat, just firm enough to choke a little breath.

"I should fuck you right now," Off growled, biting the shell of his ear. " I should split you open until you forget your own name."

Gun was panting now. Sweating. Legs wrapped loosely around Off's waist.

Off ground against him, teeth bared.

"You'll never get rid of me. I'll follow you home. I'll break your windows just to crawl into your bed. I'll kill every man who even tries to touch you."

Gun choked on a moan as Off's hand slipped lower, between his thighs.

"Say it," Off snarled.

"N-no..."

"Say it." His grip tightened, the gun rattling beside them.

Gun's eyes fluttered open — wide, glassy, trembling.

"...I'm yours."

Off smirked. Dark, triumphant. "That's my good professor."

Gun didn't even get the words out before Off slammed into him.

Just heat and force and pain — blinding pain — tearing through him as Off thrust deep and fast, burying himself to the hilt.

Gun screamed into his own sleeve, biting the fabric, the edge of his glasses crooked on his face.

"Fuck," Off snarled, head thrown back. "You're still so fucking tight. It's like your body was waiting — aching — for this."

Gun writhed beneath him, legs shaking around Off's waist. "S-stop—Off—"

But Off didn't stop. He gripped Gun's hips so hard it would bruise for days, yanked him back into every brutal, punishing thrust.

"You don't get to say stop now," Off growled. "Not after you kissed me back. Not after I dreamed of fucking you over this desk since I was fifteen. This is mine. You are mine."

Gun cried out again — sharp, helpless.

Books lay in chaos around them. Chalk dust filled the air. The edge of a fountain pen stabbed into Gun's lower back, unnoticed through the overwhelming burn of Off slamming in over and over again, rough and relentless.

The gun lay next to his head. Silent. Watching.

Off leaned over him, body hot and sweat-slick. He grabbed Gun by the hair and forced him to look up at the blackboard — where Gun's own name was still faintly written from class.

"Look at it," Off whispered in his ear. "Look. That's you. My perfect teacher. Getting wrecked by your former student like a common slut."

Gun whimpered, a broken, shameful sound.

"Does it hurt?" Off hissed, biting down on his shoulder. "Good. It's supposed to."

He pulled back and slammed in again — hard enough to rattle the desk legs.

"You made me wait ten years. You wore suits, and glasses, and never once looked at me like a man. Now I'm gonna fuck the lesson into your spine."

Gun shook with every thrust. His fingers clutched the edge of the desk, knuckles bloodless, and still he didn't push Off away.

He couldn't.

Not anymore.

Not when Off had already carved himself into every crack in Gun's resolve.

Gun gasped, voice hoarse. "Fucker."

Off kissed the sweat from the back of his neck. "And you love it."

And Gun—horribly, shamefully—did.

He came undone with a strangled cry, heat bursting through his body like a flood. A moment later, Off followed with a deep, savage groan, collapsing onto him, panting against the side of his face.

Silence.

Only the sound of rain outside.

Only Gun's body still trembling from the aftershock.

Only Off's soft laughter against his throat.he pulled out cigarette.

"You're not leaving me after this," Off murmured, still inside him. "Ever."

Gun said nothing.

He couldn't.

Not when Off's warmth filled him, when his whole body ached and throbbed and belonged to the man above him.

Gun woke up to silk sheets and a headache sharp enough to split his skull.

His mouth was dry. His body ached. He tried to move—but found his wrist cuffed to the headboard.

"What the f—"

The door creaked open.

Off stepped in. Dressed in black, fresh from the rain, sleeves rolled up, gun tucked at his waistband like it was a fashion accessory.

"Good morning, Professor."

Gun pulled at the handcuff. "You fucking drugged me."

"I did," Off said, smiling like it was cute. "You passed out in the classroom. I figured you were tired."

"You kidnapped me—!"

Off clicked his tongue, slowly approaching the bed. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Gun's breathing quickened. The room wasn't just luxurious — it was soundproofed, sealed, and clean. No windows. Just shadows, silk, and the hum of danger.

He looked down.

His shirt was gone. He was only in his underwear. His thighs still sticky from what Off had done.

"You're sick," Gun whispered.

Off sat on the edge of the bed. Brushed sweaty strands from Gun's forehead.

"Maybe," he murmured. "But I'm loyal. And I never stopped loving you."

"You don't even know what love is."

"Oh, but I do." Off leaned closer, voice soft and cold. "Love is killing for someone. Love is burning down your whole world just to keep them warm. Love is ripping them apart so no one else can ever have them."

Gun tried to pull back, heart hammering.

Off grabbed his jaw. "And love is owning what's yours."

He stood up and stripped off his belt in one smooth motion.

Gun's eyes went wide.

"Don't—"

"You need to learn, Professor." Off's voice was quiet. "You always taught me patience, self-control, restraint."

He walked to the wall.

Hung the belt on a hook beside a pair of handcuffs. A knife. A blindfold.

"But now it's your turn. I'm your lesson."

Gun didn't even have time to brace himself before Off climbed back on top of him, hand already reaching beneath the waistband of his underwear.

"No—Off, please—!"

"You're begging?" Off smirked, voice thick with arousal. "Good. I want to hear you beg every single night."

Gun twisted violently, trying to throw him off. Off grabbed his throat.

"Fight me all you want," he whispered, lips grazing his ear. "That just makes it better."

Off's body pressed heavily against him, still holding him down like he was some fragile animal caged under power.

The handcuff clicked again. Tighter this time.

Gun didn't fight.

Not anymore.

Because the moment Off leaned in and whispered, "You look better when you stop pretending to be strong,"
—something inside him shattered.

A raw, animalistic sob tore out of Gun's throat.

"Stop it...!" he screamed suddenly, his voice echoing inside the sealed room. "Please, stop! I can't—I can't take this—!"

Tears flooded down his face, hot and helpless, wetting the pillow below him.

Off froze.

For the first time since this began, Gun wasn't arguing.

He was crying. Loudly.

Gut-wrenching, gasping sobs wracked his chest. He pulled at the cuff on his wrist so violently that his skin went red and raw.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Gun sobbed. "Why are you ruining my life—why didn't you just leave me alone—?!"

Off leaned back, watching him fall apart with something unreadable in his eyes.

Gun curled in on himself, trying to hide his face, but Off caught his chin and forced him to look up.

Tears smeared his cheeks. His lips trembled. He looked like a broken porcelain doll, shaking, humiliated, and exposed.

"I was happy," Gun cried. "I had peace. I had control. You took all of that—! You ruined it—!"

Off was silent for a long time.

Then: "You looked so beautiful pretending you didn't need anyone."

Gun's chest heaved.

"But you're even more beautiful like this," Off whispered, wiping a tear with his thumb, "when you finally stop lying."

Gun tried to turn away.

Off didn't let him.

Instead, he climbed back on top of him slowly — gently this time — and kissed the tears from his cheeks like he could drink them.

"I'll never let you go," he said, voice low, soft, and sickeningly sweet. "But I'll hold you every time you cry."

Gun broke again.

Cried harder. Louder. Desperate, aching sobs that came from somewhere deep inside.

And Off stayed there — arms around him, cock still hard, obsession glowing in his eyes — as if this was love.

As if ruining Gun completely was just part of a twisted fairytale only he understood.

Chapter 41: Earth x Mix- Fluffy Smut❤️‍🔥🔞

Requested!!⚠️
Pairing: Earth × Mix
Earth: Top
Mix:Bottom

Genre: Fluffy smut (slow burn start)
Btw i really think they should get married like right now..🥰❤️
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The door slammed shut.

Mix looked up from the couch. He was wrapped in a soft blanket, holding a mug of hot chocolate. It had been raining all day, but he hadn't expected Earth to come home this soaked.

"Whoa..." he gasped as Earth stepped inside. His hair was dripping into his eyes, his jacket clinging to him, and his shoes squelched with every step on the floor.

"You look like you swam home."

Earth gave a tired smile. "I forgot my umbrella. And then the metro stopped."

Mix jumped up instantly. "Don't move. Let me get that off you."

He carefully unzipped Earth's wet jacket and tossed it straight into the bathtub. Then he pulled off the damp hoodie and paused a moment, eyes lingering on Earth's chilled, bare chest. He was shivering slightly.

"Mix..." Earth began softly.

"Shower. Hot water. Right now," Mix interrupted. "I'll make something warm and grab you dry clothes."

Earth gave him a small smile and gently touched his cheek. "You're too sweet."

"I'm actually mad," Mix mumbled, "but wet stray kittens like you always get a pass." He nudged Earth toward the bathroom.

A few minutes later, Earth returned, his hair still a little damp, wearing a soft t-shirt and sweatpants. Mix was already waiting on the couch, the blanket opened, a second mug of cocoa in hand.

"Come here," Mix said softly. "Warm up."

Earth sat down beside him, and Mix immediately wrapped the blanket around them both, pulling him close until their bodies fit perfectly together.

"Better?" Mix murmured, his lips near Earth's neck.

"The best," Earth whispered back and kissed the top of his head.

Mix's fingers slipped under Earth's shirt, tracing warm skin, pausing at his waist. He pressed in closer, chest to chest.

"Mix..." Earth began again, this time with a soft edge of desire in his voice.

"Hmm?" Mix hummed, brushing his lips along Earth's jawline. "Want to get even warmer...?"

Earth smiled, eyes a little darker now. "I want to warm up with you."

Mix didn't say anything else.

He just leaned in and kissed Earth—slowly, lazily, like they had all the time in the world. Their lips moved together in that soft, familiar rhythm they knew by heart. No rush, no pressure. Just warmth.

Earth sighed against Mix's mouth, his hand resting on the curve of Mix's hip under the blanket. "You always smell like vanilla and something sweet," he murmured.

"Probably because I've been baking cookies all afternoon," Mix smiled, grazing his lips along Earth's neck. "But you're not getting any unless you behave."

"I'm trying..." Earth whispered, tilting his head back to give him more access. "But you make it hard."

Mix chuckled, low and warm. His hands slid under Earth's shirt again, this time more confidently, fingers splayed across his stomach as he pushed the fabric up and over his head.

"Better?" Mix asked, biting back a smile at the way Earth's breath caught.

"Much," Earth nodded, his cheeks flushed—not from embarrassment, but from how good Mix made him feel with just a few careful touches.

Mix tugged off his own shirt and tossed it aside. The blanket slipped down their shoulders, baring warm skin to the cool air—but they didn't feel cold. Not when their bodies were pressed together like this.

Mix climbed onto Earth's lap, knees straddling his thighs, chest against chest. Earth's hands instinctively found his waist, gripping just tight enough to feel grounding.

Their mouths met again, deeper now. Slower. Mix rolled his hips, barely moving, but enough to make Earth let out a soft, shaky breath.

"I missed you today," Earth admitted, his voice muffled against Mix's collarbone.

Mix kissed the corner of his mouth. "I missed you too. That's why I want to take my time."

His fingers found the waistband of Earth's sweatpants, tugging gently, asking for permission with nothing more than a look. Earth nodded once, and Mix eased them down, kissing his way down Earth's chest, soft and careful.

Everything felt like a quiet kind of worship—like Mix wasn't just touching Earth's body, but his heart. There were no fast movements, no harsh breaths. Just the creak of the couch, the whisper of rain against the window, and their names on each other's lips.

When Mix finally sank down on him, he gasped, clinging to Earth's shoulders. Earth's hands cupped his face, brushing away the hair that clung to Mix's sweaty temple.

"You okay?" Earth asked gently, stilling inside him.

Mix nodded, his eyes shining. "Yeah. You feel... really good."

They moved together slowly, almost like dancing—rocking in sync, their foreheads pressed, lips brushing but never quite kissing. Every thrust was unhurried, every touch full of meaning.

Earth whispered little things—you're beautiful, I love you so much and Mix answered with soft moans, with shivers, with arms around his neck like he never wanted to let go.

Their high came quietly, almost reverently—Mix first, crying out Earth's name into his shoulder, trembling all over. Earth followed moments later, arms locked tight around Mix's back as he groaned low and deep into the crook of his neck.

They stayed tangled on the couch, catching their breath. Mix's cheek rested against Earth's chest, still flushed and glistening with warmth. But Earth wasn't quite done.

He brushed his fingers down Mix's back, tracing lazy circles. Then, quietly, with a small smile, he murmured:

"What a waste..."

Mix blinked sleepily. "Hm?"

Earth sat up slightly, one hand sliding down to Mix's ass. He leaned in, kissing his shoulder, and said with a quiet hum, "Letting it spill out like this."

He ran his fingers gently between Mix's thighs, wiping away the warm mess that had begun to drip out of him. Mix shivered.

Earth's voice dropped. "Turn over."

Mix bites his lips and did as he was told, rolling onto his stomach, still drowsy from their first round. Earth slid a pillow under his hips and bent down, pressing a kiss to the small of his back.

"You're such a mess..." Earth murmured, almost to himself, as he used a soft cloth to clean Mix with care. But his touches soon turned from cleaning to caressing—palms smoothing over the curve of his ass, thumbs pressing in slow circles into his skin.

Mix whimpered softly. "You're the one who made me like this..."

"And I'm the one who's going to take care of you," Earth replied, voice low and steady.

He kissed down Mix's spine, slow and deliberate. His hands spread him open gently, admiring him, teasing the tender spot with his tongue—slow, wet, and warm.

Mix gasped, pressing his face into the cushion. "Earth...!"

"You're so sensitive now," Earth whispered, grinning against his skin. "Perfect like this."

He took his time—fingertips tracing, tongue flicking, lips pressing kisses to every inch of soft, trembling skin. And when Mix was writhing under him, clutching the couch cushions and panting for more, Earth finally pushed inside again—slowly, smoothly, filling him to the hilt.

Mix moaned out loud. "You feel even deeper this time..."

Earth leaned over him, chest to his back, lips grazing his ear. "Because I am deeper. You take me so well."

This round was slower. Intense. Earth rolled his hips in long, deep thrusts, one hand gripping Mix's waist, the other laced with his fingers.

Mix trembled beneath him, lips parted, every breath heavy with pleasure. Earth didn't let up—he kept the rhythm steady, precise, every movement purposeful.

They weren't just fucking—they were making love again, with more heat, more rawness, but still wrapped in that same warm safety.

When Mix came again, it was with a broken cry, his whole body arching under Earth's. And Earth followed shortly after, hips stuttering, arms wrapped tight around Mix's trembling body.

They collapsed together, Earth still inside, breathless.

————————————————————————————————-

Mix was already half-asleep, his body loose and warm, still tucked beneath Earth's arm. Their legs were tangled under the blanket, skin against skin, the soft weight of Earth's hand resting protectively on his waist.

Outside, the rain had softened into a quiet drizzle, tapping gently against the windows like a lullaby.

Earth looked down at Mix and smiled. His cheeks were pink, lashes fluttering every few seconds as he drifted somewhere between dreaming and consciousness.

"You okay?" Earth asked softly, brushing Mix's damp hair back from his forehead.

"Mmm..." Mix gave a sleepy nod. "Feel like... pudding."

Earth chuckled under his breath. "That good, huh?"

Mix peeked one eye open and whispered, "You always make me feel soft inside."

Earth kissed his forehead gently. "That's the point. You deserve to feel safe. Every day. Always."

There was a pause—just the sound of their breathing, the quiet rhythm of the rain.

Then Mix mumbled, "Can we stay like this forever?"

Earth pulled the blanket higher around them, tugging Mix even closer until their foreheads touched. "Forever sounds perfect," he said. "I'll keep you warm, I'll cook you breakfast, I'll run you a bath... I'll do anything."

"You'd make me pancakes?" Mix asked with a tiny smile, eyes still closed.

"I'd make you pancakes shaped like hearts. With blueberries and way too much syrup."

Mix giggled softly and wrapped his arms around Earth's chest. "That's how I know you love me. You always give me too much syrup."

Earth kissed the tip of his nose. "Because you're the sweetest thing I've ever had."

Mix's voice was just a breath now. "I love you..."

Earth didn't hesitate. "I love you more."

They fell asleep like that—curled together on the couch, hearts slow, bodies close, the storm outside forgotten. And even though the night was cold, neither of them noticed.

Because inside this moment, in each other's arms, they were home.

Morning

The world was quiet.

Soft golden sunlight spilled through the windows, casting warm lines across the rumpled blanket and the tangled limbs underneath it. The rain had stopped sometime during the night, leaving the city hushed and washed clean.

Mix blinked awake first.

He was still curled against Earth's chest, their legs woven together, the blanket barely clinging to their bodies. Earth's arm was draped protectively around him, his face relaxed in peaceful sleep, mouth slightly parted.

Mix smiled to himself.

He reached up and gently poked Earth's cheek. "Hey... wake up. You promised me pancakes."

Earth stirred with a sleepy groan. "Too early..."

"It's ten."

"Still illegal," Earth mumbled, nuzzling into Mix's neck. "Come back to sleep."

"Nope," Mix grinned, slipping out from under the blanket. "I'm going to stand in the kitchen and look adorable until you give in."

Earth cracked one eye open, watching as Mix padded across the room, completely naked except for one of his oversized shirts barely covering his thighs. He yawned, stretched, and scratched his head like a sleepy cat.

"Okay," Earth mumbled. "You win."

Ten minutes later, Earth was in the kitchen, hair a mess, flipping pancakes while Mix sat on the counter, sipping orange juice with his feet swinging.

"You look domestic," Mix teased, biting into a slice of fruit Earth had handed him.

"You look like trouble," Earth said, leaning in to kiss a little syrup off the corner of Mix's mouth. "And I love it."

After breakfast, they ended up back in bed—not to sleep, but to cuddle under clean sheets with full stomachs and warm hearts. Earth spooned Mix from behind, arms wrapped tightly around him, their fingers laced together.

"Let's never have a night without each other again," Mix whispered.

"Deal," Earth replied, kissing the back of his neck. "Every storm, every sunrise... I want them all with you."

————————————————————————————————-
-hope you guys like it! Even if it's not something dark🫣

Chapter 42: ZeeNunew - Bunny idol hybrid🐰⭐️

Zee- Top
Nunew-Bottom
Requested🌕🌸
————————————————————————————
It was supposed to be a quick stop.

Just groceries.

Zee thought it would be fine — the small organic market, mid-morning, barely anyone around. Nunew had tugged on his oversized hoodie, ears tucked beneath the soft fabric, his hand laced with Zee's as they entered the store.

But even with the soft music and low chatter, something was off.

Too many eyes on him.

A sharp laugh from behind the fruit aisle.

The sound of a camera shutter.

Nunew froze. His grip on Zee's hand tightened.

Zee looked down immediately. "New?"

Nunew's head was low, his hoodie shifting slightly — and under it, Zee could see the shape of his ears beginning to droop to the sides. His little nose twitched rapidly, like a scared rabbit hiding in a storm.

He clutched the fabric of Zee's sleeve tightly, his voice just a whisper.
"Zee... can we go?"

Zee didn't hesitate. He dropped the basket, pulled Nunew into his arms protectively, and wrapped the hoodie tighter around him.

"Let's get out of here," he whispered.

They stepped outside, the cold air hitting their faces. Nunew stuck close, following so closely behind Zee that their steps were perfectly matched. His small body trembled slightly as they reached the safety of the car.

As soon as they got in, Nunew curled into Zee's side.

"I-I'm sorry..." he whispered. "I didn't mean to—"

"Shhh." Zee pulled him close and gently tugged the hoodie down, revealing the soft, drooping ears and that twitchy little nose. "You don't have to apologize for feeling scared."

He kissed the top of Nunew's head.

"You're allowed to have moments like this. You're not alone."

Nunew nuzzled into Zee's chest, still trembling. "I hate how my ears do that in public..."

"I don't," Zee said quietly, brushing a thumb behind one ear. "They're honest. They tell me exactly what you need."

"Which is...?"

"You need me to hold you like this. And remind you you're safe."

Zee smiled gently and leaned in. "And maybe later... you need me to feed you grapes and tell you how cute your little bunny nose is when it twitches."

Nunew giggled weakly. "You always make fun of my nose..."

"I'm in love with your nose," Zee said dramatically. "And your ears. And every single hop-step you take when you're following me around the apartment."

"I don't hop," Nunew huffed.

"You literally do."

Nunew blushed and buried his face in Zee's hoodie again.

Zee just held him tighter, whispering softly.

"My bunny. My brave little shadow."

By the time they got back to the apartment, Nunew was clinging to Zee's arm like a sleepy little shadow — ears low, nose twitching gently, still recovering from the public scare.

But as Zee unlocked the door and pushed it open, a warm scent drifted out to greet them.

Nunew stopped in the doorway. His nose twitched once, twice—

"...Apple pie?" he whispered, lifting his head.

Zee smiled. "Yeah. Your mom dropped it off this morning. Said it's your favorite."

Before Zee could even say another word, Nunew darted past him, his little slippers tapping on the floor as he hopped straight into the kitchen. His ears perked up instantly, standing tall again, and his tail wiggled ever so slightly beneath his hoodie.

Zee followed, chuckling softly.

On the counter sat a foil-covered dish, still faintly warm. Nunew had already climbed onto one of the stools, practically bouncing with excitement.

"She even added extra cinnamon," he said, voice full of wonder, eyes wide as he inhaled again, nose twitching fast and happy now. "Zee, this is the real kind — the kind she made on rainy days when I was sick."

Zee leaned down and unwrapped the pie, slicing two warm pieces. He handed one to Nunew and kissed the top of his soft, fluffy head.

"I figured you could use a little home today," Zee said gently.

Nunew took the fork and nibbled the first bite — then melted right there, a soft whimper escaping his lips.

"It's perfect..."

"You're perfect," Zee whispered back, watching his little bunny eat with contentment finally on his face. "Even when you panic, even when you hide — you're always my softest, strongest little love."

Nunew's ears flicked shyly at the compliment. "I still feel bad about earlier..."

"You followed me through a storm of people and flashing cameras. You kept your ears hidden for years. And still, you came home, sniffed out pie like a pro, and hopped to the kitchen faster than a delivery drone."

Nunew giggled, cheeks pink. "You make me sound like a superhero."

"You are," Zee said. "A tiny, twitchy-nosed, apple-pie-fueled superhero."

Nunew laughed out loud now, tail wiggling again as he leaned into Zee's side.

The morning light filtered through the curtains in soft gold. Nunew stirred quietly under the thick blankets, one ear flopped over Zee's chest, the other lazily twitching at the sound of birds outside.

Zee, still half-asleep, ran a slow hand through his boyfriend's hair, thumb brushing the base of one bunny ear gently.

"Morning, little one," he whispered.

Nunew hummed, rubbing his nose against Zee's collarbone like a sleepy bunny burrowing deeper into safety.

But then—

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Zee's phone lit up on the nightstand. Once. Then again. Then rapidly — a flood.

Nunew flinched. "Zee...?"

Zee reached for the phone, squinting at the screen.

20+ new messages.
3 missed calls from manager-hyung.
#Hybrid doll's trending.

His blood ran cold.

He opened the first news alert, heart thudding.

📸 BREAKING: Famous Idol Nunew Spotted in Supermarket — with Bunny Ears?

An anonymous shopper claims to have seen popular singer Nunew on a quiet grocery run — but what's shocking is what she says she saw: a "slim boy with long white ears, twitchy nose, and small stature clinging to another man."

The woman, who shared blurry photos with our outlet, believes the man was none other than Professor Zee, the youngest lecturer at Larnvin Private University.

Fans and reporters are demanding answers...

Zee cursed softly under his breath.

Nunew sat up slowly, blinking in confusion. "Zee... what is it?"

He turned the phone toward him.

Nunew's eyes widened. His ears dropped to the sides. His nose twitched — once. Twice.

Then, shakily: "T-They know..."

Zee sat up, pulling him into his lap immediately. "It's blurry. They're guessing. Nothing is confirmed."

"But they saw my ears! The woman saw them! What if—what if the agency kicks me out? What if they demand I hide again? Or worse—what if they try to take me away from you?"

Zee held him tighter. "They won't. I won't let them."

Nunew trembled in his arms, whispering, "They'll say I lied... that I faked being human... I'll lose everything. Again."

Zee placed both hands on his cheeks, gently forcing his eyes to meet his own. "Look at me. I don't care if the whole world sees your ears, your nose, your tail. You are not going back into hiding. You don't deserve to live like a secret."

"But I'm scared."

"I know." Zee kissed the tips of his ears one by one. "But we'll face this together. And if they try to cancel you... I'll cancel them."

Nunew's lips trembled.

Zee smirked gently. "Let the world know. My boyfriend's a bunny. And he's the most magical person I've ever met."

Zee didn't let Nunew overthink it for long.

The moment he saw that trembling nose again, those soft ears flattened with worry, he leaned forward — and gently pushed Nunew down onto the bed.

"Z-Zee?" Nunew blinked up at him, surprised.

Zee hovered above, eyes full of warmth but also mischief. "You've been panicking since the news broke. I think you need something else to focus on," he murmured, brushing back a strand of Nunew's hair and kissing his forehead gently.

Nunew's heart skipped.

Zee leaned down, lips grazing the shell of his ear. "I think my bunny needs some love."

His hands were slow, tender as they slid under Nunew's shirt, fingertips trailing over soft skin. Nunew gasped softly, the warmth of Zee's touch grounding him, calming the chaos in his mind.

Then Zee smirked a little. "But if we're doing this..." He reached over to the nightstand drawer and pulled out a small packet.

"...we're using protection. I'm not ready for a house full of tiny bunny babies."

Nunew's cheeks flushed a deep pink, ears twitching upward. "Zee!!" he squeaked, half-laughing, half-mortified.

Zee just grinned and leaned in for a slow kiss, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"I'm serious. One slip, and you'll be nesting by next spring."

Nunew slapped his chest lightly, still giggling through his blush. "Stop teasing..."

Zee cupped his face, softening. "Never. You're the cutest thing in the world when you pout."

He kissed him again — deeper now, full of quiet affection and unspoken promises. Their bodies pressed close, legs tangling under the covers. Nunew clung to him, slowly melting into every touch, every whispered word.

"I will be the best daddy ever," Zee said again between kisses.

As the tension slowly melted from Nunew's body, his ears relaxing and his hands tangled in Zee's shirt, he gave a quiet little whimper — soft, content, safe.

Zee shifted lower, pressing soft kisses along the curve of his back, moving with care, with purpose. He knew how fragile Nunew could feel after panic like that... and he also knew the perfect way to ground him again.

And then—

Zee kissed the small, twitching ball of fur at the base of Nunew's back.

Right where his bunny tail peeked out beneath his shirt.

Nunew gasped, his cheeks flushing pink immediately.

"Zee...!"

But Zee just smiled, lips still brushing the soft fluff. "You don't know how long I've wanted to do that."

Nunew buried his face in the pillow. "You're obsessed..."

"With you," Zee said simply. "Especially this soft, wiggly part of you."

He kissed it again — slower this time, watching how Nunew's tail twitched at the touch. "You're adorable when you're flustered."

"I'm not—!" Nunew tried to huff, but his ears betrayed him, flicking shyly. "You're such a mean boyfriend."

Zee laughed quietly, wrapping his arms around Nunew and pulling him close from behind.

"Maybe. But I'm your mean boyfriend. The one who'll kiss your ears, your tail, your cheeks, your nose—every single spot that makes you feel like yourself again."

Nunew turned his head slightly, his eyes glassy but calm now, breathing more steady.
"And you promise... you'll still love me even if the world sees all of me?"

Zee pressed a kiss right between his shoulder blades.

"I loved you before the world knew. And I'll love you long after they forget. Bunny tail and all."

Nunew's breath hitched as Zee hovered above him, fingers interlaced with his, lips brushing over the shell of his ear.

"You're so warm," Zee whispered, voice low and velvety. His fingers slowly explored, gently preparing him with the care only someone deeply in love could give. "So soft... so wet. Are you sure you're not in heat?"

Nunew's entire face turned red. His ears twitched violently.

"I-I'm not!" he squeaked, covering his face with the back of his hand. "D-Don't say it like that..."

He leaned down, lips grazing the base of Nunew's neck before placing a kiss there. Nunew arched slightly, overwhelmed by the tenderness and heat of it all.

Zee's voice softened further. "I'll be gentle. You tell me if anything hurts, okay?"

Nunew nodded, teeth catching his lower lip — and when he moaned, unable to hold it back, two tiny bunny teeth showed in the heat of the moment.

Zee stared.

"...You are the cutest thing I've ever seen," he said breathlessly.

Nunew hid his face again, ears flopped down in full embarrassment.

Zee only smiled as he rolled the condom on slowly, never taking his eyes off the boy beneath him. With a final kiss to Nunew's flushed cheek and another on his shoulder, he teasingly rubs himself against Nunew's entrance just to provocated him, before pushing inside.
Nunew rolled his eyes in pleasure.

As their bodies moved together in quiet sync, Nunew scratched Zee's shoulders.

As Zee slowly moved, careful not to hurt him, Nunew's breath hitched again — his ears twitched, and his fingers clutched Zee's arm tightly.

Then it came — a soft, broken sound from deep in his throat:

"Nnnh~ Zee... ah..."

His moan was sweet and breathy, barely more than a whimper, but Zee heard every bit of it. His heart clenched.

And when he looked down — he saw it.

Nunew's flushed cheeks... his glistening eyes... and those two little bunny teeth peeking out between parted lips as he moaned again:

"Ah-hh... mmmh~"

Zee leaned down and kissed him slowly, possessively, whispering against his lips,

"My sweet little bunny... You sound so perfect when you say my name like that."

Nunew's moan turned into a shaky gasp, his body trembling beneath the weight of love and sensation.

"Z-Zee... more..."

Zee's kisses drifted lower, his lips warm and loving against Nunew's skin. He paused at Nunew's chest, gently suckling at his nipple, savoring the soft sound that escaped from Nunew's lips.

"A-Ahh~ Zee..." Nunew moaned, voice trembling, cheeks flushing deep pink. His ears twitched, caught between shy and overwhelmed.

Zee glanced up with a soft smile. "You're so sensitive tonight, little bunny."

One hand stayed on Nunew's chest, comforting and close, while the other slowly slid down between them. His fingers wrapped carefully around Nunew's dick, stroking with the same tenderness he'd shown all evening knowing Nunew loves feeling stimulation from both sides.

Nunew arched slightly, his small gasp catching in his throat as he whimpered again, "Z-Zee... I can't..."

"You can," Zee whispered, kissing his chest again, lips brushing over his nipple once more. "I've got you."

Their rhythm was slow, deeply intimate. Zee's touch was steady — not rushing, not overwhelming, just guiding Nunew through every wave of sensation like he was the only thing that mattered.

And to Zee, he was.

Nunew's hands gripped Zee's shoulders tightly, his body trembling, little moans spilling past his lips — soft, breathy, and high-pitched.

"Hh—ah... mmnh~"

Zee leaned in close, nuzzling against Nunew's cheek.

"You're so perfect when you fall apart in my arms."

Nunew's reply was lost in another cry, his bunny teeth peeking out again as he gasped and clung to the only person who made him feel truly safe.

Zee moved with slow, steady care — every motion deliberate, every kiss grounding. He knew Nunew's body like a melody, and tonight, he wanted every note to be perfect.

As he shifted his angle, Nunew gasped sharply, fingers digging into Zee's back.

"Ah—Z-Zee!"

His ears stood up straight, twitching wildly, his breath caught in his throat. A soft tremble ran down his spine.

Zee stilled for just a second, his lips brushing Nunew's temple.
"...There?"

Nunew nodded frantically, his voice breathless.
"T-There! Please—don't stop—"

Zee smiled against his skin and adjusted just enough to hit that spot again, his thrusts gentle but precise, hand never leaving Nunew's own need. His fingers curled around it, moving in sync, perfectly matched.

And then it happened — Nunew's back arched, his body tightening all over, tail twitching uncontrollably as his voice broke into helpless, high-pitched moans.

"Ahhn~! Z-Zee... I'm—!"

His moan turned into a soft cry as he came, his body trembling under the overwhelming wave of sensation. His head fell back into the pillows, cheeks flushed, eyes shimmering with tears of release.

Zee held him through it all, never letting go. He kissed Nunew's shoulder, then his chest, whispering gently:

"You did so well... You're amazing, my little bunny."

Nunew clung to him, dizzy and warm, heart pounding against Zee's chest. All the fear and tension from earlier — gone. All that remained was the safety of Zee's arms... and the lingering pleasure that still tingled through him.
Nunew then fall asleep into peaceful slumber full of cartoons dreams.

Chapter 43: Joong x Pond- Rough sex with Vampire ❤️‍🔥🔞🧛

Joong (Top Vampire) x Pond (Human)
Genre: Dark, Rough Smut, Hurt/Comfort
Warning⚠️⚠️:Blood play, dirty talk, rough sex, forced proximity, overstimulation, biting, humiliation kink, power imbalance, submissive!Pond, possessive!Joong
—————————————————————————————————

Pond's wrists ached in the silver cuffs, rubbed raw from how hard he'd tried to pull free.

The vampire hadn't touched him in days—not with more than eyes. But tonight... the door slammed shut, heavy boots echoed on the stone floor, and something in the air shifted. Heavy. Dangerous. Starving.

"Still here," Joong murmured, licking his lips slowly. "I was starting to think you'd rot before I fucked the fight out of you."

Pond's breath caught. "Touch me and I'll rip your fangs out."

That earned a dark, amused chuckle.

"You can barely lift your head, little human," Joong said, undoing his long dark coat. "But don't worry. You'll lift your hips just fine when I make you."

Joong was on him in a blur. Cold fingers gripped his jaw, forcing him to look up. Pond spat in his face.

Joong wiped it off slowly. Smiling.

Then he slapped him—hard, across the cheek.

The pain lit fire in his skin.

"Try that again," Joong growled, eyes glowing crimson, "and I'll fuck your mouth until you pass out. Is that what you want?"

Pond glared, blood on his lip. But he didn't spit again.

"Good boy."

In one brutal motion, Joong tore open his shirt, buttons flying. Then the pants—ripped down the seams, leaving Pond completely bare, legs spread, cock soft and leaking humiliation.

"You're pathetic," Joong hissed, crouching between his thighs. "Look at you. Shivering, hard, leaking for the monster you hate."

"I hate you," Pond spat.

Joong smirked. "Then hate me while you moan."

He didn't waste time.

Two fingers were shoved inside him dry. Pond screamed—back arching, body convulsing in pain.

"Hurts?" Joong sneered. "Good. You deserve to be ruined for lying to yourself."

"F-Fuck you—!"

"You will."

Joong pumped his fingers cruelly, stretching him roughly, no softness, no mercy. Pond thrashed in the cuffs, sobbing against his will.

"You're tight like a virgin," Joong whispered into his neck. "Let me guess... never let a boy near you? Never trusted anyone to fuck you like you need?"

Pond choked on a gasp when he hit a spot inside him that made his hips jerk.

"That's it..." Joong murmured. "Right there. I'll split you open on my cock until that's the only thing your body remembers."

He pulled his fingers out, slick with blood and spit. Pond trembled, chest heaving, shame burning in his gut.

Then he watched—wide-eyed—as Joong slowly stroked himself to full hardness, fangs glinting as his cock slapped against his stomach, thick, long, flushed at the tip.

"Open your legs wider," Joong ordered.

"No—"

The vampire gripped his thighs, forced them open with a strength that made Pond cry out, and lined up with his hole.

"No, no—!"

"Oh yes," Joong snarled—and thrust in.

It was too much. Too big. Too deep. Pond screamed as he was split open, back arching, tears flooding his eyes. It hurt. It burned. It stretched.

"F-FUCK—!"

"That's it," Joong grunted, bottoming out inside him, holding him down by the throat. "Take it. Feel how deep I am? You're fucking mine now."

He started thrusting—vicious, punishing, flesh slapping against flesh, balls smacking against Pond's ass with each brutal snap of his hips.

Pond whimpered, cried, cursed—but his cock was hard again, twitching with every stroke.

Joong noticed.

"God," he groaned, licking his throat. "You're getting off on this? You filthy little human whore."

He leaned down, whispering filth in his ear between thrusts.

"Gonna breed you full of cum. Gonna fuck you until you sob for more. You want that? Want to be my bloodbag and cock warmer?"

"N-No..."

"Yes," Joong snarled—and bit into his neck, hard.

Pond screamed—but not just from pain.

His cock spilled between them.

He came hard, untouched, body clenching around Joong's cock as the vampire rutted into him, moaning as he drank, hips stuttering.

Joong came with a guttural groan, spilling deep inside him, hot and thick, his teeth still buried in Pond's skin.

They lay there, panting.

Pond's thighs were sticky. His hole throbbed. His neck bled. He wanted to cry. But he also—

He also never wanted to feel this full again. And that terrified him.

Joong withdrew slowly, watching his cum drip from the ruined hole.

Then... he leaned down and kissed him.

Soft. Real. Different.

Pond flinched.

"Why..." he whispered, voice cracked. "Why are you being soft now?"

Joong cupped his cheek. "Because next time... I want you to kiss me back."

Pond barely had time to catch his breath.

His body was still twitching—cock soft now, but oversensitive, every nerve screaming. His neck throbbed where Joong's fangs had torn into him, blood matting his hair, lips raw from sobbing.

But the vampire wasn't done.

Joong rose slowly to his feet, cock still half-hard and glistening with both their fluids. His muscles rippled, pale skin smeared with blood, sweat, and power. And then—

Then he gripped his cock again.

Pond's breath caught. "W-What are you—?"

Joong didn't speak.

He stared down at the ruined, trembling boy chained to the bed. His eyes were glowing faintly red again—darker now, deeper, laced with something that wasn't just lust.

It was claiming.

It was obsession.

He stroked himself slowly—once, twice—until his cock stiffened fully again, veins bulging, tip swollen and flushed. And then he stepped right up to the bed... right to Pond's face.

"Open."

Pond shook his head weakly. "No..."

"Don't make me ask twice."

Still, Pond clenched his jaw, trying to turn his face. He couldn't—not fully. The chains held him just where Joong wanted him.

So the vampire simply chuckled darkly... and gripped his own cock tighter.

He jerked himself hard—fast, brutal strokes—until he was panting again, moaning low in his throat, tip flushed purple with bloodlust.

"You'll take it like a good little cumdump," Joong growled. "Or I'll fuck your throat until you gag on it and drown."

"Joong—!"

Too late.

He came again with a groan—thick, hot streaks of cum splashing across Pond's cheek, nose, and finally—

—his lips.

Joong rubbed the tip against them cruelly, smearing more of his release across his mouth as Pond whimpered.

"Open. Your. Mouth."

Trembling, disgusted, flushed with shame and something worse—need—Pond finally parted his lips.

Just a little.

That was enough.

Joong grunted, guiding the head of his cock inside, just past the lips. Not deep. Just enough for Pond to taste him—salty, thick, bitter with power.

"Good boy," he muttered, breathless. "Swallow."

Pond did. Slowly. Hesitantly. His face burned crimson.

When Joong pulled back, a strand of cum still connected his tip to the boy's lips.

The vampire didn't look away.

He reached down with one pale finger and smeared the last of it over Pond's lower lip. Then—

He knelt.

Brought his face close.

And licked it off.

Tongue slow. Sensual. Possessive. Like a cat cleaning its favorite toy.

Pond's eyes widened, trembling violently.

"You hate it," Joong murmured, "but your cock's already up again."

"I hate you," Pond whispered, tears threatening again.

"I know," Joong smiled cruelly. "That's why you're so perfect for me and my desires."

He leaned down, kissed him again—deep, slow, tongue exploring every inch of his broken mouth. The taste of blood, cum, and shame swirled between them.

Then he whispered:

"Next time, I'll fuck your throat first. Then your ass. Then maybe... if you beg... I'll let you sleep."

And with that, Joong stood and left him chained, sticky, and trembling.

Pond turned his head away, lips swollen, thighs trembling, seed leaking from his ruined hole.

And hated how badly he wanted to be touched again.
Aftercare

The door hadn't even fully closed before Joong turned back around.

Pond, still chained and trembling, flinched when he saw the vampire return. He expected more—more pain, more use, more humiliation. But...

Joong didn't touch him right away.

He knelt.

He lowered his eyes.

And then, with a slow, cold hand, he wiped the sticky mess from Pond's stomach. His expression wasn't mocking. Not cruel. Just... quiet. Focused. Reverent, even.

Pond didn't understand it. "Why are you—"

"Shh."

Joong reached for a basin—metal, cold, filled with warm water this time—and a dark cloth. He dipped it in, wrung it out, and began gently wiping between Pond's legs.

Pond gasped softly—not in pain this time, but from how tender the vampire was being.

"You don't get to cry and then act like it meant nothing," Joong said, voice softer now. "You came. Twice."

Pond flushed. "I didn't want to—"

"But you did." Joong's tone wasn't teasing. He didn't smile. "And you bled. So I'm cleaning you."

The cloth moved between his thighs, over the ruined rim of his hole, soaked with blood, cum, sweat. Pond whimpered quietly, legs twitching.

"I'll use balm later," Joong added. "To stop the sting. But this... this part is mine."

Joong cleaned him slowly, meticulously—cool hands cradling his hips, cloth dragging gently over abused skin, avoiding sensitive spots when Pond hissed. It wasn't seductive. It was intimate. Shameful, in a new way.

And somehow... warm.

"I hate you," Pond whispered.

Joong leaned up, brushed blood-matted hair from his face, and pressed a slow kiss to his temple.

"I know."

Another kiss. The corner of his eye.

"I still hate you."

Joong kissed his lips. Light. No tongue. Just pressure.

"You keep saying that," the vampire murmured, "but you're not telling me to stop."

"I should."

"Then say it," Joong challenged.

Pond opened his mouth. Closed it. His throat tightened.

Instead, he looked away. "Take the cuffs off."

Joong hesitated. "You'll run."

"I can't walk."

"...Fair."

The chains clicked loose, and Pond collapsed into the pillows with a weak grunt, arms sore, wrists bruised and raw. Joong caught them gently in his cold hands and lifted each to his mouth.

He kissed the bruises.

Left no trace of mockery.

Pond didn't speak. Just stared. Disoriented. Too much pain. Too much tenderness. It was overwhelming.

Joong climbed into bed beside him—bare, still smeared with blood—and pulled Pond into his lap. He held him, arms strong but careful. One hand moved to stroke his hair.

"You smell like me," Joong murmured against his scalp. "Inside and out."

"You're disgusting."

Pond flinched. "Don't say that."

"Then don't tremble every time I touch you like you've been waiting for me your whole life."

Silence.

The vampire laid back, pulling Pond gently with him—so that the boy rested on his chest, legs tangled, breath shaky. He didn't try to kiss him again. Just... held him.

One hand tracing lazy circles down his spine. The other brushing his thigh.

"Tomorrow," Joong said softly, "I'll hurt you again if you want."

Pond swallowed hard.

"But tonight, I'll hold you until your nightmares about me shut up."

A beat.

Then, barely audible:

"Okay."

And Pond—bleeding, sore, used, confused—let himself fall asleep against the monster's heart.
Not because he trusted him.But because, somehow, it was the only place that felt warm.

Chapter 44: ThirdKai - It was supposed to be me!⚠️🔞TW, TW

⚠️ CONTENT WARNING / TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️

This story contains graphic depictions of kidnapping, sexual violence, psychological abuse, and trauma recovery. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
The material may be disturbing or triggering to some audiences, especially survivors of abuse or assault.

If you are sensitive to topics involving non-consensual acts, manipulation, or emotional distress, please proceed with caution or consider skipping this story entirely.

Your mental health and well-being matter.
If you or someone you know is affected by such experiences, please seek support from a trusted source or professional help.

Anyway.... Enjoy❤️✨
——————————————————————————————————-
Khai never expected to be the target of a twisted revenge plot.
One quiet evening, as he walks alone through the city, he's abducted by two strangers — a cold, detached boy named Hanul and a girl with fire in her eyes: Heiri. She used to love Khai. She used to dream of being with him. But now he belongs to someone else — to Third.
Heartbroken and consumed by jealousy, Heiri convinces Hanul to help her kidnap Khai. Not to kill him, not to hurt him permanently — but to make him afraid, vulnerable, and alone. To make him suffer the way she did when he chose someone else.
Hanul doesn't do this out of loyalty or anger. He does it because Heiri promised him something he wanted. Something unclear, perhaps dangerous.
Khai is caught off guard, drugged, and taken to an unknown place. The last thing he sees before the darkness swallows him is Heiri's face — once full of love, now cold as ice.
This isn't about love anymore.
It's about revenge.
Khai woke up in a cold, dimly lit room — hands bound, mouth dry, head spinning.
Hanul sat nearby, cleaning his nails with a switchblade.
"Where's... Third?" Khai croaked.
Hanul didn't answer.
Then Heiri entered.
She looked at Khai with something between hatred and heartbreak. "You don't deserve him," she said softly. "You don't even see how lucky you are."
Khai stared at her, heart pounding. "This is about him?"
"You stole him from me," she hissed. "He was mine. Before you."
Khai tried to sit up, wincing. "He never loved you."
A pause.
Then a bitter smile. "Maybe not. But he could have."
Silence hung heavy in the room. Somewhere, far away, Khai hoped Third was looking for him. Hoped he wouldn't stop until he was found.
But here, in the dark, only Heiri's voice echoed.
"Let's see how long he takes," she said. "Let's see how much you really mean to him."
She turned to Hanul.
"Keep him alive. But just barely."
And as the door slammed behind her, Khai was left alone — tied, broken, and afraid that love might not be enough to save him.
Hanul didn't answer right away.
He just stood there, eyes distant, the news about Third settling into his head like fog. Then, slowly, deliberately, he pulled out his phone.
"Time to move things up," he murmured.
Khai's pulse spiked.
Hanul tapped the screen, placed a call, and turned his back to Khai.
"Yeah," he said after a moment. "Bring the tools. And bring Jino and Ryeok. Now."
A pause. Then a quiet, "We've got company sniffing around. I want this tied up before it gets messy."
He ended the call, slid the phone into his pocket.
Then, without a word, he reached into a black duffel bag resting by the wall.
Snap.
He pulled on his gloves again. The sound was sharp, surgical. Intentional.
Khai flinched, every muscle tensing as Hanul flexed his fingers inside the latex, stretching them like he was about to perform something clinical — something clean and cruel.
"Why?" Khai whispered, his voice cracking. "What do you even want from me?"
Hanul turned, tilting his head slightly. "You're not the target, Khai. Not really."
He stepped closer.
"You're the message."
The door opened behind him. Two more boys entered, one tall and silent, the other chewing gum like this was just another day. Both wore black. No masks this time.
Hanul nodded toward Khai. "Tie him tighter. No marks we can't cover."
The tall boy moved behind the chair without a word, yanking the ropes harshly, causing Khai to groan as the cords dug deeper into his already raw wrists.
The other one opened a metal case — the kind that didn't belong in any normal setting — and began laying out items with quiet precision.
Tape. Wires. A small camera.
Khai's breathing turned ragged.
He wasn't just a prisoner anymore.
He was a statement. A warning.
And somewhere, out there, Third was searching for him — but time was slipping through his fingers like sand.
Hanul leaned in one last time, his voice calm, measured.
"If he loves you," he said, "he'll come."
A pause.
"But he'll never forget what he finds."
Khai barely had time to process the tools being laid out before Hanul stood up and walked toward him — slow, precise, his gloves creaking faintly with each movement.
"Up," he said flatly.
Khai didn't move.
Hanul's hand shot out, grabbing him by the collar. In one rough jerk, he dragged Khai — chair and all — across the concrete floor. The metal legs scraped painfully, the ropes biting deeper into Khai's skin.
"Where are you—?!" Khai gasped, but Hanul didn't answer.
They passed through a rusted door, down a short hallway lined with peeling paint and hanging wires. The smell hit first — mold, rust, rot. Then the cold air.
Hanul kicked open a door at the end of the hall.
The basement bathroom.
If it could still be called that.
A cracked mirror hung above a broken sink. The tiles were blackened with age and filth. The single light above flickered like it was trying to die. But the centerpiece was the toilet — a yellowed, grime-coated thing that hadn't been flushed in what felt like a decade.
Hanul yanked Khai out of the chair, cut the ropes around his torso with a quick flick of a blade, and shoved him forward — straight toward the toilet.
Khai stumbled, nearly collapsing.
Hanul grabbed him by the hair.
"You want to talk about love?" he muttered.
Then he shoved Khai's face down.
Straight toward the toilet bowl.
Khai thrashed, gasping, the stench making him gag before his face even touched the water. His knees scraped the tile. Hanul's grip was iron.
"This is what you are to her," Hanul said, pressing down harder. "Filth. A stain she can't scrub away."
Khai coughed, choking back bile. "She's insane," he hissed. "She won't get him."
Hanul held his head just above the waterline. His voice was barely audible.
"She doesn't want him anymore," he said. "She just wants you broken."
Then — finally — he released him.
Khai collapsed against the tile, coughing, shaking, his face wet from sweat and fear and shame. His whole body trembled. His mind screamed for Third. For escape.
By the time Hanul dragged Khai back from the bathroom, the room had changed.
The two boys — Jino and Ryeok — had laid out a stained, sunken mattress in the corner of the basement. No sheets. Just yellowed foam with cigarette burns and dark, unnameable stains. It smelled of old sweat and mold.
"Drop him," Jino muttered, cracking his knuckles.
Hanul didn't bother with words.
He shoved Khai forward — hard.
Khai hit the mattress chest-first, his weak arms unable to stop the fall. His breath hitched as the air knocked out of him. The filth of the fabric clung to his skin, to his hair, to the part of him still holding on.
Hanul stood above him, breathing steady.
Then — without warning — his fist slammed into Khai's gut.
A deep, sickening thud.
Khai's body folded inward with a wet gag, and then he vomited.
Right next to his face.
His cheek scraped the edge of the mattress, and he turned his head away from the mess, eyes red, throat burning, body shaking in waves of nausea and pain.
Jino wrinkled his nose. "Disgusting."
Hanul shook out his gloved hand like he was brushing off dust. "He's getting too soft. We need him scared, not numb."
Ryeok lit a cigarette, exhaled slowly. "He's already broken."
"Not yet," Hanul replied, cold. "Fear is temporary. Shame lasts."
Ryeok crouched beside the mattress, the cigarette now gone, replaced by a length of rope.
"He wants it tight?" he asked quietly.
Hanul nodded once. "Spread his legs. Tie each to the bolts."
The basement floor had iron hooks drilled into the concrete — old, rusted, remnants of whatever this place had been before it became a prison. Ryeok moved quickly, looping the rope around Khai's ankle, then yanking his leg outward toward one of the side bolts.
Khai groaned, too weak to fight back.
The other ankle followed.
By the time Ryeok finished, Khai lay with his arms still bound behind him, legs pulled apart and tied down, his body stretched across the mattress in a position designed not just for restraint — but humiliation.
Hanul's gloved hands moved carefully as he pulled the black plastic bag closer and unzipped it fully.
Khai, still tied down, turned his head slightly to look — and instantly regretted it.
Inside the bag were objects he couldn't quite identify at first glance: sterile packets, surgical gloves, small vials with cloudy liquid, zip ties, a voice recorder, and what looked like a sealed plastic wrapper filled with unused medical supplies. Tubes. A digital thermometer. Something metal that caught the light.
But what made his stomach turn was the sight of a handful of unopened condom wrappers—tossed in carelessly, as if they were just another tool in Hanul's twisted collection.
Hanul noticed the way Khai's body stiffened.
Perfect.
He slowly picked up one of the wrappers and turned it over between two fingers.
"Do you know," he said calmly, "how fast something can spread when you share space like this? Fluids. Sweat. Blood."
Khai's eyes widened.
Hanul didn't smile. His face was a blank canvas.
"I mean, you look healthy," he added, almost casually. "But we don't really know, do we? What if you've got something? Something dormant."
He placed the wrapper beside Khai's cheek.
"What if he gets it too?"
A pause.
"Third."
Khai shook his head weakly, voice hoarse. "You're lying."
Hanul tilted his head. "Am I?"
Hanul then squeezed his throat tightly. Khai widen his eyes. No.No. I can't breath! I can't!
"Let go..Hic...!" Khai tried to make out those words but it was extremely hard.
"Today, you are fucking dead.." Hanul let go of his throat, making Khai gasping sharply for air.. he eyes were full of tears. Hanul kneeled between his legs.
" we have lot of time for fun things~ Shall we start?" His smirk widen, as he unbuttoned his pants. He pulled out his dick slowly rolling down condom.
Hanul shoved two of his fingers inside Khai's hole. Ryeok squeezed his chest and pinched his nipple with his nail. Digging roughly into it.
" it hurts! I said it hurts!!" He screamed out scarily, he hated it so much, he just wants to go home and enjoy night with Third by watching movies.
"Wow! It's going in better than I thought" Hanul said stretching his hole.
"You like this spot don't you~" Ryeok teased while bitting his other nipple without even a slight care. "Hahaha, his tits are so plump it's like they are begging for something on them."
Jino laughed and lean down to shoved his dick to Khai's mouth. "Oh, sweetheart~ licked Daddy's milk, come on~" Khai tried to bites him but he got another punch to his gut instead.
" don't you dare do this again!!" Jino said pushing his dick in sync with Hanul inside Khai's body. Khai was feeling so dizzy it hurts him so much, he was crying, he really wants to die right there. Hanul fucked him for 6 round without break. Jino has never ending bond as he was fucking roughly his mouth, corner of his mouth already ripped. Hanul moved the way it hurts him the most, no pleasure at all. Ryeok finds his position between his thigh and his calves as it was tied together he was rubbing his dick there.
" Ahhh~" Hanul come again. He pulled out and pulled off condom looking on his sperm.
" Are you hungry~" Hanul looked on totally devastated body of Khai, lying there barely conscious. Jino finally let him breathe and pulled out of his mouth. Khai vomit all sperm next to himself.
"Aa! No.No. It's a precious gift." Hanul said taking vomit sperm on his two fingers shoving them deep back down inside Khai's throat. Khai doesn't even react how humiliating he was, he prays to die.
" Here. Have some more, it will help you grow~" Hanul said sweetly turning full condom upside down, as it slides into Khai's mouth. Hanul closed his mouth holding them close.
"Swallow. Be a good boy and we will stop." Khai tears up again and obediently swallowed as finally Hanul let him go. Looking on the piece of hurt and disrespect person they left.
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Khai flinched.
His whole body ached, every muscle burning. His eyelids felt heavy, but something pushed him to open his eyes. Warm light... soft blankets... someone breathing beside him.
Panic surged.
His heart pounded.
Someone was holding him. Someone... had their arms around him.
"N-no...!" he choked out, starting to tremble. He tried to pull away, to escape, to wriggle free from the hold—but suddenly, a voice stopped him.
"Khai... it's me."
A voice he knew.
"It's me. Third. You're home. You're safe."
Khai gasped for air, eyes darting around. He was in bed. His bed. Quiet. Pillows. The window slightly open. No darkness, no chains, no Hanul. Just... Third.
He sat beside him, holding him from behind, hands gently resting on Khai's chest. Calm. Soothing. So close, yet not forcing anything.
"It's over," Third whispered in his ear. "You're home. You're clean. The hospital took care of you. It's all gone. I promise."
Khai's body slowly stopped trembling. Tears welled up in his eyes again—but this time, they were different. Quiet. Real. The pain was still there—but for the first time... there was hope.
"You won't leave me?" he whispered.
Third held him tighter.
"Never."
Khai broke.
The tears came hard — deep, gasping sobs that wracked his chest and spilled from his throat like a wound torn open. He clutched at Third's shirt desperately, fingers trembling, as if afraid he might disappear.
Third didn't flinch.
He shifted slightly, pulling Khai fully onto his lap, wrapping both arms tightly around him, holding him against his chest. One hand moved in slow, soothing circles along Khai's back, rubbing gently, grounding him. The other cupped the back of his neck, protective, steady.
"I've got you," Third whispered, lips brushing Khai's temple. "I've got you. I'm right here."
Khai sobbed harder at the sound of his voice. There was grief in it. Shame. Fear. But also—relief.
Third kissed his damp cheek. Then his forehead. Then his jaw. Over and over, whispering between each kiss:
"You're safe. You're clean. You're mine."
Khai buried his face in Third's shoulder, and his voice cracked as he finally spoke:
"It was Heiri."
Third stilled.
"She—she did this," Khai choked. "Because of you. Because you chose me."
Third blinked. "What...?"
"She said you used to be hers. That I stole you. And when you turned her down—because of me—she got Hanul involved. She hired them. All of them."
Khai's voice cracked under the weight of the truth.
"They did it... because she wanted to break me. To make you hate me. To punish me for loving you."
Third's arms tightened instantly.
"No," he whispered fiercely. "No one punishes you for that. Not now. Not ever."
He held Khai closer, heart thundering with rage and love.
"I'll make sure she answers for this. Every single one of them will."
But Khai only cried harder, as if purging something toxic that had been buried too long.
And Third—he never let go.

Chapter 45: First x Khaotung - lets try the smallest didlo🔞( littlespace x BDSM)

Khaotung (bottom): little-space syndrome ( age regression-8)
First- (Top): sadistic but soft to his baby Khaotung
Hi, so I decided to write this story about little space but then I thought about BDSM so I then decided to combine it together after all BDSM you won't see in all form in the story which I am truly sorry also I will edit this chapter later on because I don't feel it's that good🙌🏻
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The room was designed with BDSM intentions.
The walls were a deep matte black, lit only by soft amber lighting and the faint flicker of candles set in iron holders. On the far wall, a rack displayed a meticulous collection of implements—silk ropes, leather paddles, metal chains, textured gloves, blindfolds, gags, clips, and vibrating toys from the smallest pink ones to bigger one sized of hands.
At the center of it all knelt Khaotung—his small frame dwarfed by the space, fragile and lovely in a half-unzipped pastel onesie decorated with clouds and bears. His wrists were bound gently behind him with braided red silk rope, his eyes shielded by a velvet blindfold. The soft whir of ambient music filled the silence with subtle beats that echoed through the dark.
First towered over him—barefoot, in black, exuding calm power.
He circled slowly like a shadow, fingers grazing Khaotung's skin, measuring every breath, every twitch. A feather swept over his shoulder. Then a chain, cold and coiled. Then silence again.
"Tonight is mine," First said, voice low and even. "Your job is simple: obey your daddy, nicely. Don't speak unless I say so."
Khaotung nodded, the gesture barely perceptible.
He loved this ritual. It emptied his thoughts and filled the space with sensation. But tonight felt... deeper. The edges sharper. Every whisper of touch echoing through his chest like thunder.
First began the sensory dance: cool gel on his arms. Heat against his back. A soft flogger trailing over thighs, a kiss pressed to the nape of his neck. Then a pause. The sound of a drawer opening. A different hum this time—familiar, but lower.
Then came the vibration.
It started soft—pressed teasingly to his hip, then his lower back. Khaotung arched toward it, a whimper slipping from his lips.
"Shh," First murmured. "You took it nicely last time."
The toy slides lower.
Khaotung flinched. The hum changed—buzzing not against skin now, but inside him. Lube trickling down his thighs. It was big dildo. He gasped, body tensing against the ropes. First's hand steadied him at the small of his back.
"Breathe, baby. Breathe."
The vibrations pulsed deeply—intimate, inescapable. Khaotung whimpered, his face twisting in a mix of heat and helplessness. It was too much. Not the pain. The invasion. The fullness. His body trembled, trying to accommodate, trying to keep up with sensation that pushed past pleasure and into something raw.
His thoughts unraveled.
His breath came faster.
"Just feel the pleasure ," First whispered. "That's all I want from you."
But Khaotung couldn't. Not now. The buzzing inside him blurred everything. It wasn't pain exactly—but it pierced through his mind like a scream. His vision behind the blindfold stung. The air felt too close.
He shook.
"...Mango."
Everything stopped.
The toy pulled away from his rear. The hum died. Silence swept through the room like fog.
Then: warm hands pulled him into hug. The blindfold was removed slowly, reverently. First's face came into view—his eyes no longer commanding, but wide with concern.
"You did so well, so so well baby," he said, voice gentle and grounding. "I've got you. I heard you said your save word."
The ropes were untied, hands kissed and cradled. Khaotung sagged into his arms, the tension in his small body finally breaking.
"You're safe now."
And he was. Because First always listened.
Khaotung collapsed into him not a submissive now. Just a trembling boy in the arms of the man who adored him so much.
He nuzzled against First's chest, voice tiny. "...Daddy?"
"Yes, baby."
"I wanna be little now..."
"You already are in your babyspace."
First carried him out of the shadows and into the nursery— safe place full of soft colors and softer things. Plushies and blankets. Pillows and coloring books. His favorite stuffed bear, Mr. Boba, waited patiently on the bed.
First helped him change—slowly into his comfortable pajamas. Socks. A warm bottle. A pacifier placed gently between his lips.
Khaotung suckled it quietly, curled under a blanket, still trembling but safe.
"Daddy?" he whispered.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Next time... maybe just the feather and gel again."
First smiled and brushed his hair back, kissing his forehead.
"Anything you want, baby. Daddy always listens to your commands."
The bottle was empty now. Khaotung lays nestled in a cocoon of pillows and soft blankets, Mr. Boba tucked against his chest, his pacifier bobbing gently with each breath. The nursery glowed with warm lamplight, and the world felt slow again.
First sat beside him on the edge of the bed, brushing fingers lightly through his hair.
Khaotung blinked up at him, still quiet, but calmer.
"Daddy... can we tried it one more time, pwease?" he murmured, voice small but steady.
First smirked." Alright, everything you wished for is my pleasure to do".
Atmosphere change into quiet, light comes out only by the golden flicker of a single candle. Khaotung lay trembling in First's arms, cocooned in a blanket, his pacifier bobbing gently with each shaky breath. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes glassy—not with tears but with sweat how he was excited to let his daddy do things to him.
First stroked his soft thighs in small, careful circles.
"You're doing so well, baby," he murmured, voice like warm velvet. "I'm right here. You're not alone."
Khaotung whimpered around the pacifier, his small fingers clutching at First's sleeve. He didn't speak, but the sound was clear - neediness.
First felt it in his chest. That fragile little tremble. The ache of trying to be brave.
So he didn't ask for more. Not right away.
Instead, he pressed a kiss to Khaotung's temple and whispered, "You're safe. You're such a good boy. We don't have to do anything. You just stay right here, in Daddy's arms."
But Khaotung shifted softly, blinking up at him through long lashes.
"Daddy..." he mumbled, barely audible around the pacifier. "C-can we try... just a little? One of the soft ones? The small toy... please?"
First paused—not from hesitation, but from love. He wanted to be sure. To hear everything between the words.
He tucked a strand of hair behind Khaotung's ear. "Are you sure, sweetheart? We don't have to push. You already gave me everything just by telling me how you felt with the big one."
Khaotung nodded slowly. "I wanna try... I wanna be good...and tried the small one, it's like baby banana"
First's heart squeezed. He leaned in and kissed Khaotung's cheek—soft, slow, grounding.
"Baby, you already are good," he said. "Trying doesn't make you good. And I promise—we'll go slow. One toy. The smallest. You'll stay in my arms the whole time. If anything feels weird or bad, you say your safe word and I will. Right away."
Khaotung's lips pressed gently around the pacifier. He gave a tiny nod, his fingers still trembling, but no longer afraid.
First moved carefully. No rush. He retrieved the smallest toy—sleek, curve, designed like banana . He held it up in the candlelight for Khaotung to see, then set it beside them.
"Just this. And I'll hold you. I'll talk to you. You don't have to be anything but my baby. Okay?"
"Okay..." Khaotung breathed.
First applied a generous amount of warm gel to his fingers and to the toy, then wrapped Khaotung even tighter in the blanket, cradling him close against his chest.
"You'll feel my hand first," he whispered. "Nothing else."
And he was true to his word—slow, featherlight touch. Just exploring. Reassuring. Every moment guided by Khaotung's breath, every pause laced with affection.
Then the toy. Gently. Just the tip. Just enough.
Khaotung tensed, whimpering—but not from pain. From the feeling of being seen, held, and known. He buried his face in First's shirt, letting out a little mewl.
"Shhh," First cooed. "I've got you. That's it, sweetheart. You're doing amazing."
The toy settled in, barely humming. Just a little pulse. Just enough to feel.
Khaotung arched faintly, his breath catching—but he didn't pull away. His fingers found First's hand and gripped it tight.
"Daddy..." he whispered, voice trembling.
"I'm here," First said. "Say the word and I'll stop."
But Khaotung didn't. Instead, he let out a tiny moan—soft and shaky—and nestled deeper into the blankets.
"Just like that," First praised, kissing the top of his head. "You're so brave. So soft for me. That's all I ever want from you."
The toy pulsed gently, no more than a heartbeat's rhythm. It didn't overwhelm. It didn't invade. It simply was—a quiet presence, an echo of Khaotung's trust.
And when his breaths grew shallow again—when the trembling started to creep back in—First stopped it. Turned it off. Removed it with care.
He didn't ask why. Didn't need to.
Instead, he pulled Khaotung close again, wrapping both arms around him, pressing his forehead to Khaotung's.
"You don't have to go farther than that," he whispered. "Ever. I love you just like this."
Khaotung let out a shaky sigh, his pacifier falling to the side. "I didn't hate it," he mumbled. "But I just... I wanted to stop."
"And you did," First said gently. "That's what makes me proud. Not how far you go—but that you tell me. That you know I'll always stop when you need me to."
Khaotung's eyes fluttered shut, and for the first time in a while, he smiled.
"...Thank you, Daddy."
"You're welcome, baby."
There was no more pressure. No more toys. Just quiet.
First rocked him gently in the low light, whispering stories about brave bunnies and sleepy bears until Khaotung's breaths evened out and his hands relaxed.
Wrapped in warmth, with no expectations left to meet, Khaotung fell asleep—not as a submissive, not as someone trying to prove anything—but as a boy, loved and safe, in the arms of the man who listened to every word his body spoke.
Khaotung was still curled against First, his body limp with sleep, pacifier still tucked between his lips. His onesie was back on, clean and zipped halfway, a blanket draped over both of them like a soft cocoon.
First hadn't moved. Not once.
He'd held Khaotung all night, fingers moving slowly through his hair, occasionally brushing his cheek or squeezing his hand. The room still smelled faintly of lube and sweat and lavender lotion—but there was nothing dirty about it now. It was quiet. Sacred. Still.
Khaotung stirred with a small sigh, his legs shifting under the blanket. Then he blinked up sleepily at First, his eyes heavy and puffy but clear.
"Hi, baby," First whispered, smiling down at him. "Good morning."
Khaotung didn't answer right away. He just pressed his cheek closer into First's chest and sucked the pacifier twice before letting it fall to the bed.
"...I don't wanna move," he whispered.
"You don't have to," First murmured, kissing his forehead. "We've got time. All the time you need."
Khaotung was quiet for a while, his fingers toying with First's shirt. Then he asked, barely above a whisper:
"...Was I good?"
First looked down at him with eyes full of heat and heartbreak.
"You were perfect," he said. "You gave me everything. Your voice. Your body. Your trust. And you knew when to tell me to stop. That's what makes you strong."
Khaotung's face crumpled a little—not in shame, but from being seen. Fully, lovingly seen.
"I was scared," he whispered.
"I know," First said. "But you did it anyway. And when you didn't like it anymore, you told me. You didn't push yourself to please me. You listened to yourself. That's what makes you brave, baby."
Khaotung wiped his nose on First's sleeve. "I just... I want to be good for you. I wanna try new things but... sometimes I feel little and I don't know what's okay..."
"You're always good for me," First whispered. "And your littleness is not a problem. It's not something to push past—it's something I honor. When you're little, I'll take care of you. When you're curious, I'll guide you. When you're scared, I'll stop. And when you're ready again... I'll be waiting."
Khaotung let out a shaky breath.
"Daddy..."
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"...Can I touch you next time?" His voice trembled. "I wanna make you feel good, too..."
First smiled softly, deeply, heart swelling with pride.
"You do make me feel good," he said. "Every sound you make. Every time you shake and moan and hold onto me... it turns me on so much, baby. You don't even know."
Khaotung's cheeks flushed red. He squirmed slightly, pressing his thighs together beneath the blanket.
"I wanna try..." he mumbled. "Maybe next time... I could suck you, Daddy...?"
First exhaled slowly, deeply, like he was grounding himself in the moment. He cupped Khaotung's jaw gently, tilting his face up.
"You can," he said. "When you're ready. Not as a reward. Not to prove anything. But because you want to. And only then."
"I do want to," Khaotung whispered. "I think about it sometimes when I'm all squirmy... I think about your voice when you groan..."
First gave a soft, low chuckle that rumbled through his chest.
"Oh, baby," he said, kissing his hair. "When the time comes, I'll guide you. I'll show you how to make Daddy feel good... and I'll still take care of you, even then."
Khaotung looked up, eyes shining.
"Can we stay like this all morning?"
"We can stay like this all day."
And they did—for a while, at least.
Eventually, First helped him sit up, helped him change into a fresh pair of soft footed pajamas. He brought warm toast and honey to the bed, along with a new bottle filled with warm milk. Khaotung giggled sleepily when he saw Mr. Boba tucked between the pillows again, as if he'd never left.
First fed him bites between sips, wiped crumbs from the corners of his mouth, and kept him curled in his lap the entire time.
And even when the light grew stronger, and the world slowly returned to motion, First never stopped touching him. Never stopped whispering praise.
Never stopped being the Daddy that made every part of Khaotung—big, small, scared, curious, brave—feel like the most loved boy in the world.

Chapter 46: Pond x Dunk: Stolen Dignity or virginity?😩💥

Pond: Top
Dunk: Bottom

The metal door shuts with a heavy clang, locking Dunk inside the gray-walled interrogation room with their new suspect.
Across the table, handcuffed to a steel loop, sits Pond — legendary art thief, known for slipping through security like smoke. Now bruised, breathing slow, but smiling. Always smiling.
Dunk doesn't sit. Doesn't speak.
He only observes Pond like some random object. Analysis.
Pond tilts his head. "You're prettier when you frown."
"Shut up," Dunk says, voice clipped. He tosses a file on the table. It lands hard.
Pond flicks his eyes to it, then back up. "So what's in there? Evidence? My sins? Or are you hoping it'll keep you from looking at me too long?"
Dunk's jaw tightens. "You were caught red-handed. The museum. The diamond. You had it in your pocket."
"And you had me in cuffs." Pond leans back, the chains rattling. "Congrats, detective. First collar. I bet they cheered back at the station."
"They did." Lie.
Pond smirks. "But not for long. Because now you're here. With me. Alone."
Dunk finally sits. Across the table. Cold eyes meeting warm ones. "Why'd you do it? Why'd you stop running?"
Pond shrugs. "You interested in answers, Dunk? Or just the sound of my voice?"
Silence. A standoff.
Then Pond leans forward, elbows on the table. "I knew you'd be there. At the museum. You're the only one who's been following me like you care."
"You're a criminal. That's my job."
"Liar." Pond grins, voice softening. "You liked the chase. You liked me."
Dunk doesn't respond.
"I watched you, you know," Pond continues, almost gently. "Coffee at 6:05. Gym at 8. Alone. Always alone. You wear that badge like armor, but it's just paper. You're not like the others."
Dunk finally speaks. "You think you know me."
"I do," Pond says. "You're new. Eager. Smart, but not street-smart. You cuffed me, sure. But you didn't check the mirror behind the safe, did you?"
Dunk's eyes flash. "What?"
Pond's grin widens. "That's where the real diamond is. What I gave you? Replica. Worth thirty bucks."
Dunk stands, furious, fists on the table. "You're lying."
"I'm not. You're just too pretty to notice."
He leans in — close now. His breath is warm. "Check it, Dunk. Right now. And when you do, you'll have to come back here and ask me nicely for where I've hidden the real one."
A tense beat.
Dunk doesn't move.
And that's when Pond's voice drops to a whisper:
"Or maybe you already knew. Maybe that's why you haven't called your captain yet. Maybe you want to be here alone with me. Just as much as I wanted to be caught."
The words sting because they're true.
Because Dunk hadn't called it in yet.
Because part of him does want Pond here — caged and smiling, a puzzle he doesn't want to solve this case too fast.
Because no one looks at him the way Pond does.
Like he's not just a cop. Like he's something else.
"I could break these cuffs," Pond says suddenly. "You know I'm strong enough."
Dunk nods slowly.
"Then why don't you?" he asks.
Pond looks him dead in the eyes.
"Because I'd rather stay and pissed you off."
A long silence.
And then Dunk leans across the table — just slightly. His voice low, careful.
"You really want to play this game, Pond?"
Pond smiles, soft and dangerous.
"Detective," he whispers, "I invented it."
Pond's smirk didn't waver — not until Dunk stood up.
Not until the chair scraped back.
Not until heavy footsteps moved around the table — slow, deliberate, like a warning bell before a storm.
"Detective?" Pond mocked, chin tilted up. "You gonna lean closer? Whisper sweet threats?"
Instead, Dunk grabbed him by the back of the neck — fast, brutal — and slammed his face down against the cold metal table.
Clang.
The cuffs rattled. Pond grunted, blood blooming from his lips.
Dunk leaned over him, voice ice-cold.
"Don't you want a lawyer to save your ass?"
Pond laughed — even with his face pressed to the steel, even with blood between his teeth.
"Mmm. You offering, baby?"
Dunk's grip tightened.
"I'm offering a chance to stop this shits and save time for myself later," he growled.
Pond's smile returned — twisted now, bleeding, thrilled.
"I knew you had it in you, Dunk. That darkness. That anger."
He turned his head slightly, enough to glance up at Dunk with one glassy, half-lidded eye.
"But you don't scare me. You excite me."
Dunk froze. Just for a second.
Pond felt it. The hesitation. The heat.
He licked the blood from his lip.
This makes me horny, sweetheart."
Dunk didn't move.
Pond tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something wicked. "You slam me into the table, threaten to arrest me, flex those righteous little morals — and I just keep getting harder for you."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
Dunk's jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
"You think this is a game?" he growled.
Pond licked the blood from his lip and smiled. "Oh, no. I think it's a dance. And you're not bad at it... for someone who still sleeps alone."
Dunk grabbed him again — by the shirt this time — yanking him forward so fast the cuffs clinked.
Their faces were inches apart.
"Keep talking," Dunk hissed. "See what happens."
Pond's voice dropped into a whisper, breath brushing over Dunk's mouth.
"You'll either hit me again... or kiss me."
Beat. Dunk's breath caught.
"Either way," Pond added, "I win."
And then he saw it.
He looked down — just a flicker of a glance — and there it was.
A tent, straining against Pond's pants. Obvious. Bold. Unashamed.
Dunk's grip loosened.
Pond noticed.
He laughed, low and full of teeth.
"You gonna arrest me for that too, Detective?"
Dunk's eyes snapped back to Pond's — darker now. Clouded.
"You're sick."
Pond's voice dropped, sultry and sharp.
"Maybe. But I'm not the one who's still holding me like he doesn't want to let go."
Dunk's hands finally let go. Slowly. Like they didn't want to.
He stepped back, but his eyes lingered — just for a second too long.
Pond leaned forward, the chain clinking again.
"You don't know if you want to punish me... or being fucked by me."
Dunk turned sharply, pacing to the far side of the room, trying to catch his breath. To think. To not look back.
But Pond's voice followed him like a heatwave.
"I'll behave, Detective," he whispered, "if you come closer."
Dunk stopped. Still facing the wall.
And for the first time — he wasn't sure who the prisoner was anymore.
He stood still, his back faced Pond, breathing hard.... He barely had time to catch his breath when he heard the chair scrape.
Too late.
Pond moved like a shadow—fast, silent, explosive. Dunk turned just in time to see the broken cuffs fly from his wrists as Pond closed the space between them.
And then—slam—Dunk was pinned against the wall.
Forearm across his throat. Body pressed tight. The table now behind them, the room suddenly too small, too hot.
"You really thought you were in control, detective?" Pond murmured, eyes locked on Dunk's. "That's cute."
Dunk struggled, but Pond was strong. Unreasonably strong. The kind of strength born from street fights and rooftop escapes, not gym reps and police drills.
"You're—" Dunk started, but Pond pressed in harder, cutting the words off with the weight of his body and the heat of his breath.
"Hard again?" Pond purred into his ear. "You tried to dominate me back there. Rough me up. Pretend you're the one who writes the rules."
He dragged his lips across Dunk's jaw—slow, deliberate. And Dunk shivered.
"But you don't even know what you want, do you?"
Dunk swallowed thickly.
"You want to be the hero," Pond whispered, "but your body wants something else. You want me to take it from you. Power, control... your breath, maybe."
Dunk turned his head, trying to stay cold.
But Pond grabbed his jaw and forced it back, locking their eyes again.
"Look at you," he said, softer now. "Flushed. Breathing hard. So easy to bend."
Pond leaned in — not for a kiss, but just to watch Dunk falls apart under him.
"Say it," Pond demanded, low and dangerous. "Say you want this."
Dunk's voice cracked.
"I—"
But he didn't finish.
Pond didn't need him to.
He could already feel the way Dunk's hips responded. The tension in his thighs. The helpless pull of want in every breath he took.
"That's what I thought," Pond said, voice silk over steel.
And then he pushed Dunk harder against the wall, hands wandering low, making him arch, making him submit without even realizing it.
"Now," Pond whispered into his neck, "I'm going to make sure you never forget who caught who."
Dunk grunted — Pond's hand splayed firmly across his upper back, rubbing his nipples in provocative manners.
Pond roughly pulled down Dunk's clothes in one swift moment. His belt was somewhere on the floor, the button of his slacks popped, shirt halfway torn.
"You're not in charge anymore," Pond whispered against his neck.
"So stop pretending you ever were."
Dunk squirmed, breath ragged, jaw clenched. But Pond was stronger. Smarter. And so, so much more dangerous than Dunk had prepared for.
"Look at you," Pond said, voice low and hungry.
"Pinned against the wall, flushed, shaking. You think this is punishment?"
He leaned over, grinding in close, making sure Dunk felt how deep he was in this.
"It's exactly what you needed."
Dunk's fingers curled as he arched involuntarily, body betraying everything his mind still resisted.
He wanted to say no.
He wanted to stay silent.
But what left his mouth was a broken, helpless sound — half curse, half moan — as Pond took control completely.
Slow. Unrelenting.
And Dunk let him.
He leans there like biggest slut, panting, held down and undone, while Pond murmured filth into his ear, taking everything Dunk didn't know he was desperate to give.
Dunk bend lower holding on wall knowing this will be quick and intense. His skin slick with sweat, his nipples and dick stands arousal with excitement . His breath came in heavy, uneven pulls, fogging the cold steel beneath his cheek. Pond holds his hair as he slammed into him roughly. Their skin hits each other with every movement. Pond doesn't care if Dunk was in pain or not. He only thinks about his pleasure about his dick deep inside Dunk's virgin hole.
His thighs were sticky with sperm and blood, trembling so much. Knowing they will gave up. With the last few thrusts Pond finished deep inside pulling out.
His breathing was steady. Satisfied.
A belt slithered as it was looped slowly back through belt loops. Zippers hissed. Fabric whispered against skin as Pond dressed, each sound sharp in the quiet room.
click.
The sound of Pond fastening his last button echoed too loud.
Dunk still hadn't moved. His chest rose and fell in deep, shallow bursts. His hands were flat on the wall, fingers splayed like he was holding onto it to keep from falling again.
Pond's boots clicked softly as he stepped closer. Dunk tensed when he felt fingers comb gently through his hair, damp and sticking to his forehead.
"You were loud," Pond murmured, brushing sweaty strands back. "But not with words."
He dragged his fingers down the back of Dunk's neck — slow, possessive — and leaned in close.
"You gasped. Moaned. Bit your own damn arm. You shook when I—"
He chuckled darkly.
"Well. You remember."
Dunk tried to speak. His lips parted, but no sound came. His voice was somewhere buried under the weight of shame and need.
Clink.
Pond picked up the broken handcuffs from the floor, spinning them around his fingers before tossing them carelessly onto the table. They landed with a dull metallic thud.
"You're still hard," Pond said quietly.
Dunk flinched. It was true.
He hated that it was true.
Pond's hand ghosted over his lower back, tracing him like art. Like he was the masterpiece. Or the weapon. Or both.
"I could do it again," Pond whispered. "Right now. No questions. No resistance."
Dunk pressed his forehead harder to the metal, breath catching in his throat. His whole body ached — not just from what had been done to him, but from what he wanted done again.
"You're supposed to be the one in charge, Detective," Pond said as he leaned down, mouth inches from Dunk's ear. "Yet here you are. Full of my children ."
His lips brushed over skin, warm and devastating.
"I didn't break you. You bent for me."
He kissed the corner of Dunk's neck — slow and deliberate — then pulled away, footsteps receding.
Pond reached the door, pausing only to look back once. Dunk was still sitting on ground facing wall, still breathing hard, with his ass hurt.
"Don't worry," Pond said, voice soft, wicked. "Next time, I'll take my time."
Then he was gone.
The door creaked shut.
And the silence left behind was louder than anything Dunk had ever heard.
Dunk finally pushed himself upright, every inch of his body tight, sore, and still burning. He adjusted his pants with shaking hands, not bothering to rebutton his shirt. There were bites marks on his chest. His neck. His hips... inner thighs as well..
Marks no one else would ever see.
He left his prisoner left like he was supposed to showed him into the jail... not this, this was not supposed to happened.
Was it?

Chapter 47: Boss x Nouel : I’ m scared to go pee!✨ ( littlespace, trauma)

⚠️ Content Warning:
This story contains graphic themes of childhood sexual abuse, psychological trauma, and its lasting impact into adulthood.
The main character, Nouel (18), is a survivor of long-term sexual abuse by his father. The narrative explores the emotional, developmental, and physical consequences of this trauma, including:
* Age regression (Nouel often behaves as though he is around 4 years old during episodes of stress),
* Bladder control issues tied to trauma,
* Shame and confusion around bodily responses and consent,
* Psychological conditioning (his abuser manipulated him into believing that urination during abuse equated to pleasure),
* And his journey toward healing, safety, and reclaiming agency, through the care of Boss, a loving, protective figure.
While the story does not depict explicit scenes of abuse, it contains strong references to past sexual violence, emotional conditioning, and coping behaviors developed in response to abuse.
Reader discretion is strongly advised.
If you are a survivor, or sensitive to these topics, please take care while reading. Your mental and emotional wellbeing matters more than any story.

The office was quiet, the only sounds the ticking of the wall clock and the steady rain brushing against the windows. Nouel sat stiffly on the examination table, swallowed by an oversized medical shirt. His legs dangled over the edge, not quite touching the floor. Boss sat nearby, arms folded, gaze calm and steady.
Dr. Lemaire placed the cold stethoscope against Nouel's chest. The boy flinched but didn't pull away. The doctor's brow furrowed.
"Heart's racing again," he muttered. "More than last time."
He stepped back, removed his gloves, and gestured toward the door to the private bathroom.
"You need to use the restroom," he said, voice flat and brisk. "Your bladder is visibly distended. If you don't go now, you'll wet yourself again, and I'm not cleaning it up."
Nouel's head snapped down. He clutched the hem of the shirt with both hands and shook his head violently.
"No," he whispered. "I don't want to."
Dr. Lemaire sighed, visibly frustrated. "Look, Nouel, you're not a baby. You're old enough to walk to the bathroom. There's no reason to—"
Boss stood up.
"That's enough," he said sharply, voice low but firm.
The doctor blinked, surprised. Boss walked over and placed a hand gently on Nouel's shoulder — no pressure, just presence.
"He said no. You'll respect that."
Dr. Lemaire raised a brow but said nothing. He picked up Nouel's file again, flipping through the pages while muttering to himself.
"I'm just trying to be—" Then he stopped.
His eyes settled on a few lines of text in the medical history section. His mouth tightened. He read them again, slower this time. A shift passed through him — subtle but unmistakable.
"Oh," he said quietly. "I... I didn't realize."
He looked back at Nouel, who now sat frozen, breathing carefully as if trying to disappear into the oversized shirt.
"I wasn't aware of the full trauma history," the doctor added. "That's... my fault. I should have reviewed the file more thoroughly before speaking."
Nouel didn't answer, but his fingers trembled in his lap.
Boss gently crouched beside him. "We'll go when you're ready," he said. "No one's rushing you."
Dr. Lemaire cleared his throat. "Nouel, I'm sorry for the tone I used. That wasn't right." He hesitated. "If you ever want help managing things like this — there are ways. Quiet ways. No pressure. I'll note it for future visits."
Nouel gave the smallest nod, not looking up.
And Boss, still beside him, made sure his voice was steady and warm as he said, "You did well. Better than anyone knows."
The sky outside had turned a soft shade of violet. The rain had stopped, leaving the streets slick with reflection. Boss's car rolled to a slow stop in front of a quiet, nearly empty pharmacy. The kind that stays open late, where the lights buzz gently and the shelves are always a little uneven.
Inside the car, Nouel sat curled up in the passenger seat, wrapped in Boss's jacket, the sleeves far too long for his hands. He stared ahead, silent.
"We don't have to," Boss said softly. "Not unless you want to."
Nouel didn't respond at first. Then, very quietly: "I don't want to keep waking up wet."
Boss gave a slow nod. "Alright. Let's go in together."
They walked inside, the automatic door giving a tired little beep. The pharmacy was warm and smelled like soap and paper. Nouel stayed close to Boss's side, almost brushing against him with every step.
Boss didn't make a show of it. He didn't sigh or hesitate. He walked calmly to the back, to the aisle where the incontinence supplies were.
Nouel's fingers clutched the hem of Boss's coat as they stood there in front of the shelves.
"Which ones?" Boss asked, voice low, just for him.
Nouel bit his lip, then pointed timidly toward a small pack with a cartoon moon on the front — discreet, soft, made for nighttime.
"These," he said, barely audible.
Boss reached for them without comment, checked the size, and tucked them under his arm like he was picking up a box of tea.
They made their way to the checkout. The cashier, a bored-looking man in his twenties, barely looked up. Boss paid, said thank you, and placed a hand gently on Nouel's back as they turned to leave.
Outside, under the dim glow of the streetlamp, Nouel stopped.
"I thought you'd be... embarrassed," he said.
Boss looked down at him. "Why would I be?"
"Because it's... weird. I'm weird."
Boss shook his head.
"You're not weird. You're brave. You're trying, and that's more than most people ever do."
Nouel looked away, blinking fast. "You don't mind buying diapers for a boy who acts like a baby?"
Boss bent down slightly, just enough so Nouel could see the truth in his eyes.
"I don't see a baby," he said. "I see someone who survived things he shouldn't have had to. And who still has the heart to ask for help."
Nouel looked up. He didn't smile — not quite — but his eyes softened.
And when they got back in the car, the package resting quietly between them, Boss turned the radio on low. Just music. No words. Because some nights, safety sounds like silence and a warm seat beside someone who stays.
The apartment was quiet when they returned, save for the faint hum of the heater and the soft creak of the wooden floorboards under their feet. Boss slipped off his shoes by the door, but Nouel hovered, clutching the pharmacy bag tightly in his hands.
"You wanna take a shower first?" Boss asked, keeping his tone light, non-pushy.
Nouel shook his head, eyes low. "I'm... I think I'm tired."
Boss gave a small nod. "Alright. Let's get you changed, then."
Nouel followed him into the bedroom, the familiar soft gray blankets and the scent of eucalyptus balm making the space feel safer somehow. Boss took the bag gently from Nouel's hands and opened it, placing the items down on the neatly made bed.
There was a pause.
"You okay if I help?" Boss asked softly.
Nouel looked up at him — wide eyes, cautious but trusting — and gave the smallest nod.
Boss didn't rush. Every movement was slow, announced, and careful. He laid out a clean shirt, the softest cotton shorts, and the package of night-time protection Nouel had chosen himself.
"It's not weird," Boss said gently as he opened the package, just loud enough to fill the silence. "It's just something your body needs while your mind is still healing."
Nouel's hands trembled a little as he sat on the edge of the bed. Boss knelt beside him and offered a warm smile.
"Lie back. I've got you."
There was no shame in the way Boss moved — only care. He unfolded the soft diaper and helped Nouel settle into it, like it was just another part of a quiet routine. No comments. No staring. Just the same kind of attention someone might give to a bandage, or a blanket tucked under a chin.
Once Nouel was comfortable, Boss pulled the comforter over him and sat at the edge of the bed, brushing a lock of hair gently from Nouel's forehead.
"Better?"
Nouel didn't answer immediately. Then he whispered, "I didn't think anyone could make this feel okay."
Boss's voice was steady. "You make it okay, kid. Every time you speak up, every time you trust me — that's you being brave."
Nouel blinked fast, tears gathering but not falling.
Boss reached out and squeezed his hand. "Get some rest. I'll be right here."
He stayed sitting there until Nouel's breathing slowed, his small hand still curled in his.
Sunlight poured gently through the curtains, soft and gold, warming the edge of the bed. Nouel blinked awake slowly, his body curled in the safety of soft sheets and the lingering scent of eucalyptus.
Boss was already awake, sitting in the armchair by the window with a book resting on his knee and a steaming mug in his hand. The moment Nouel stirred, Boss looked over and smiled.
"Hey, sleepyhead," he said softly. "How'd you sleep?"
Nouel rubbed his eyes and stretched a little beneath the blanket. His face was quiet — not quite calm, but not panicked either. "Okay," he said.
Boss set his mug down and came to sit beside the bed.
"Feel up to trying something today?" he asked gently.
Nouel hesitated, his fingers twisting in the hem of his blanket. He already knew what Boss meant — and the idea sent a familiar tension through his chest.
"The bathroom?" he asked in a whisper.
Boss nodded. "Just to look. Not even to go inside unless you want to. But I'll be right there."
Nouel's throat felt tight. But the memory of last night — of being held, changed, cared for without shame — gave him the smallest spark of courage.
"Okay," he whispered.
The bathroom was quiet. Soft, warm light spilled in from the hallway, and Boss kept the door half-open, just enough to keep the shadows from creeping too far in.
Nouel stood in front of the toilet, small hands gripping the waistband of his pajama shorts. He shifted on his feet, tense. His lower lip trembled.
Boss knelt a short distance behind him, careful not to crowd him.
"You don't have to force it," Boss said gently. "We're just trying. That's all. You're already doing so good."
Nouel didn't answer. His shoulders curled inward, and his breath hitched. "I... I wanna do it like a big boy," he whispered. "But... it's not working. It feels stuck."
Boss nodded, calm and steady. "Okay. That's alright. Your body remembers things, that's not your fault."
Nouel clenched his hands into little fists. "I tried to be big," he said shakily. "But when I'm in here... I feel little again. Like I'm not allowed to go unless— unless—"
He cut off, choking on the words. Boss waited.
"Unless he was watching?" Boss asked softly, not pushing.
Nouel nodded once. His throat bobbed.
There was a long pause.
Boss slowly stood and approached, careful and slow, until he was beside Nouel. He placed one hand gently on his back, the other near his shoulder — just enough contact to say I'm here, without making him flinch.
"Do you want me to stay close?" Boss asked.
Nouel nodded again, more urgently this time. "Please."
"Okay," Boss said. "You're okay. No one's watching but me and I'm only here to help you feel okay."
A shaky breath escaped Nouel. "Can you... help me a little? Not like before. Just... so it doesn't hurt?"
Boss crouched a bit, keeping his hand steady on Nouel's back. "Only what you ask for. Only what feels safe. You're in charge, kiddo."
Nouel swallowed hard. "Maybe... maybe you can put them inside. Maybe that'll help me relax."
Boss widen his eyes but then smiled softly. "Of course."
He moved wirh his hand in slow, gentle circles on Nouel's lower back. He wet his fingers with water and then shoved them inside lubricated condom. Boss gently pushed inside.
" I-" Nouel tried to make some sentence out of his mouth, but Boss was quicker and stops him.
"Shhh, it's totally normal it will fell good and you will know it's good to go pee here from now on."Nouel closed his eyes, breathing deeper now, he moans little he knows he will go to toilet soon . He tried to grounding himself in the rhythm.
A few minutes passed in silence.
And then — the faintest sound. Relief. Not much, just enough to feel like a beginning.
Nouel opened his eyes, blinking, as if surprised. "I... I did pee-pee a little."
Boss beamed and pulled outside his fingers. "You did."
Nouel turned to him, eyes watery but proud. "Can we... try again tomorrow?"
Boss nodded. "Every day, if you want. And every time, I'll be right here."
Nouel blushed. " they felt good inside, they doesn't hurt me." Boss smiled lovingly on his partner.

Let me know if you want part how his dad abused him? And how he met with Boss!!

Chapter 48: Joong x Dunk: Knocked Up Under the Rink Lights🔞✨🫄🏼👨🏼‍🍼

Joong × Dunk | NSFW | Photographer AU | Single Dad AU | Romance, Heat, Emotional Slow Burn
Joong- Top
Dunk- Bottom
———

Joong had always hated unnecessary noise. The rink was his escape — cold, quiet, rhythmic. The scrape of skates on ice, the thud of a puck, the sweat in his eyes — that was real.

So when he saw someone lurking near the edge of the closed session, camera in hand, his first reaction was instinctive annoyance. He ripped off his helmet, skated to the boards, and stormed toward the intruder.

"You're not supposed to be here," Joong barked.

The guy flinched visibly. He was smaller than Joong expected, dressed in a hoodie that looked like it had seen better days, with a camera dangling from his neck.

"I—I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to disturb anything," the man stammered. "I just... I needed a few shots."

Joong narrowed his eyes. "This is a closed practice. Who let you in?"

"No one." The stranger looked panicked now. "I wasn't trying to steal anything. I just— I've got a kid. Three years old. I'm behind on rent. I needed something to sell. Just one photo."

The words froze Joong mid-breath.

A kid?

He looked at the man more carefully. Slim. Tired eyes. Hungry. Desperate, but not malicious.

"What's your name?"

"...Dunk."

Joong exhaled, torn between irritation and something else — sympathy, maybe. He muttered, "Wait here," and disappeared.

Dunk stood stiff as stone, thinking security would show up any second. But instead, Joong returned with a protein bar and water.

"Eat."

Dunk hesitated, then took it. Their fingers brushed. Something passed between them. Quiet. Unspoken.

That was the start.

Over the next week, Dunk returned. This time with permission — Joong had spoken to the manager and arranged for him to shoot candid portfolio shots during warm-ups and practices. "He's not press," Joong had explained. "He's just... trying."

And Joong couldn't stop watching him.

Dunk would sit on the bleachers, lens focused, lips pursed in concentration. His hoodie would fall off one shoulder, exposing delicate collarbones. He'd mumble thanks whenever Joong skated near.

Joong caught himself looking too long. Too often.

Then one afternoon, Dunk said it:

"Korn. My son. He's a hurricane in toddler form. Won't eat unless I pretend I'm a T-Rex feeding him."

Joong grinned. "Sounds like a menace."

"He's my whole world," Dunk replied quietly. "I just... I want to give him something better. I'm not good at much. But I'm good at seeing things — through the lens."

That night, Joong wired him grocery money. He didn't say anything. But the next morning, a homemade sandwich waited at his locker with a note: "Trade."

And that's how it began — small kindnesses becoming rituals, shared glances becoming touches.

Joong started finding excuses to talk to Dunk.

"You always blush when I look at you like that," he once said after a particularly hard skate, towel slung around his neck.

Dunk blinked. "Maybe it's because you're... looking at me like that."

Joong stepped closer, until only inches separated them. "Maybe I want to."

Their first kiss came after Joong's championship win. He was high on adrenaline, sweat cooling on his skin. Dunk waited outside the locker room with his camera, eyes bright, smile shy.

"Come with me," Joong murmured.

They ended up in a hallway, dim and cold. The kiss was rough — unplanned — like tearing through weeks of tension in one motion. But Joong didn't take him that night.

He wanted to wait.

When they finally made love, it was in Joong's apartment. The lights were low. Dunk stood in Joong's bedroom, shirt discarded, lips parted, eyes unsure but burning.

"You okay?" Joong asked, brushing his fingers along Dunk's jaw.

"I've never done this with someone who made me feel..." Dunk exhaled. "Safe."

Joong kissed him — slow, deep — and undressed him with care. He laid Dunk out on the sheets, taking his time. He kissed down his chest, lingered at his hips, worshipped every reaction.

Dunk arched, panting, as Joong's fingers worked him open slowly — coaxing, easing — murmuring sweet things between kisses.

When Joong finally pushed inside, Dunk clung to him, nails in his back, whispering his name like it was a prayer.

Joong moved deep, rhythm slow, kissing Dunk through every roll of his hips.

"You're mine," he whispered. "Let me take care of you."

Dunk cried out, body trembling as pleasure overtook him, collapsing into Joong's arms as he came, shaking. Joong followed with a deep moan, burying himself to the hilt and spilling inside.

After, as they lay tangled and sweaty, Dunk whispered into Joong's chest: "You feel like home."

They didn't stop with one night.

Joong kept taking him — sometimes fast, sometimes sweet. Against the kitchen counter. On the couch. Bent over the edge of the bed, Dunk moaning his name like it was the only word that mattered.

But there was one moment — quiet and sharp — when Dunk paused.

"Don't finish inside," he said softly one night, after Joong had kissed down his spine and pressed in close.

Joong stilled. "Of course."

"I love Korn. I wouldn't trade him for anything. But the pregnancy? The recovery? I can't... I can't do that again."

Joong kissed his back. "I'm not here to put anything on you. I'm here to take things off your shoulders."

That night, Joong held back. But after they finished — Dunk lying sprawled, dazed and flushed — he whispered: "You could've stayed in."

Joong blinked. "You told me not to."

Dunk smiled sleepily. "But I trust you."

Joong's heart cracked wide open.

He cleaned Dunk gently, wrapped him in warm sheets, and pulled him close. "If I ever want kids again," he said, voice low, "I'll buy a goldfish. Or plant a cactus."

Dunk laughed into his neck. "You're ridiculous."

"You're perfect."

—

Weeks passed.

One morning, Joong found Dunk asleep on the couch — camera by the table, tiny dinosaur plushie tucked against his chest. Korn had left it behind.

Joong sat beside them and reached for Dunk's hand.

He didn't expect this.

He didn't plan for love.

But sometimes love skates right past your defenses — like a quiet photographer sneaking into your rink — and crashes into your life before you know how to stop it.

And if you're lucky, you catch it.

Even when the ice melts.

Joong didn't expect to be nervous.

He could handle full-blown brawls on the ice, post-game press traps, even rough training camps in freezing rinks — but this?

This made his palms sweat.

"He's just a kid," Dunk said calmly as he unlocked the apartment door, bag slung over his shoulder. "Not a dragon."

"I'd rather fight a dragon," Joong muttered.

Dunk smiled softly and leaned closer. "Just be yourself. He's three. If you give him a banana and say he looks cool, he'll think you're the best person on Earth."

The lock clicked open. There were the soft sounds of cartoons from the living room, and the faint smell of something sweet — strawberries and baby shampoo.

Joong stepped inside cautiously.

Then he saw him.

Tiny legs curled under him, sitting on a blanket surrounded by scattered dinosaur toys. Dark hair in soft curls. Big, alert brown eyes locked on the screen — until he noticed Joong in the doorway.

Korn blinked.

Joong blinked back.

Then, slowly, Korn pointed at him and said, "You're big."

Joong cleared his throat. "Uh... thank you?"

Dunk set his bag down, trying not to laugh. "Korn, that's Joong. He's my... friend."

Joong didn't flinch at the hesitation in Dunk's voice, but he felt it.

Korn stood up and walked right over to him — totally fearless.

"Do you eat cookies?"

"...Yeah."

"Do you know how to draw dragons?"

Joong thought about it. "I can try?"

Korn squinted at him for another second like he was trying to scan him for threats.

Then — completely out of nowhere — he reached up and handed Joong a small green T-Rex toy. "Okay. You can stay."

Joong took the toy carefully, like it was a signed contract.

Dunk mouthed from behind, You passed.

An hour later, Joong was sitting cross-legged on the floor, wearing a glittery sticker on his cheek (a "fire badge," apparently), with Korn in his lap showing him how to use crayon swords.

Dunk watched from the kitchen, arms folded across his chest, something soft in his chest unraveling.

Joong — the tough, distant athlete who growled at reporters — was now pretending to roar like a stegosaurus while getting tackled by a toddler in mismatched socks.

He'd never seen anything hotter in his life.

Later that evening, after Korn was asleep, Joong stepped onto the tiny balcony with Dunk, two mugs of tea between them.

"You okay?" Dunk asked gently.

Joong nodded. "He's... incredible."

Dunk leaned against the railing, tired but smiling. "Yeah. He's chaos. But he's mine."

Joong reached out and took Dunk's hand. "I didn't know if I could do this. Be around a kid. Be enough."

"You were more than enough," Dunk said softly, fingers brushing Joong's. "He doesn't warm up to anyone like that. I think he likes you."

Joong hesitated. Then, carefully, he said:

"I like him too."

And when Dunk turned to him — eyes soft, mouth parted — Joong kissed him under the stars. No heat. No rush. Just quiet affection, and the smell of strawberries in the air.
- 18+

Bangkok at night was quiet, but in their bedroom, the only silence was between ragged breaths and the low sound of skin slapping skin.

Dunk lay fully naked, legs spread wide, hands clawed into the sheets. His body trembled under Joong, who knelt between his thighs—naked, thick, flushed hard, panting.

"Stay inside me," Dunk whispered, voice rough and breathless. His lips were swollen from kissing, cheeks flushed pink, pupils blown wide.

Joong didn't answer with words.

Instead, he leaned over and lined himself up, guiding the tip of his cock to Dunk's slick hole—already loose and eager from their foreplay. With a sharp, fluid thrust, he sank in all the way.

Dunk cried out, head thrown back.

"Fuck—Joong!"

"You're so fucking tight," Joong groaned, bottoming out, burying himself deep. "Your hole just pulls me in, baby."

Dunk whimpered, wrapping his legs around Joong's waist, heels digging into the small of his back.

"I want it. Give it to me. Fill me the fuck up."

That lit something in Joong. He started moving—not gently. Not tenderly. He pounded into Dunk, each thrust brutal, heavy, perfect. Dunk's body rocked beneath him, taking everything with helpless moans and gasps.

"You're such a fucking mess under me," Joong hissed into his ear. "You want me to cum inside this needy little hole?"

Dunk's fingers dug into his back, nails dragging red lines.

"God, yes—inside. Don't pull out."

Joong slammed into him harder. "You want me to breed you, is that it? Stuff you so full of cum it leaks out while you sleep?"

"Yes, fuck, yes," Dunk sobbed, lost in it. "If I get pregnant again... I want it to be you."

Joong growled and pinned Dunk down, his hips snapping hard, deep. The bed was shaking, the sound of their sex filthy and wet.

"You're gonna take it all," Joong groaned. "Every fucking drop. You'll be dripping with me."

When he came—he did it deep—grinding his hips down hard into Dunk's ass as he spilled inside him with a low, broken moan. His cock pulsed inside Dunk, thick warmth spreading in his belly.

And he didn't move.

He stayed buried in him, breathing hard, sweat dripping onto Dunk's chest.

Dunk's body was limp under him, still shaking.

"Stay," he whispered. "Don't pull out. I want to feel you leaking in me."

Joong brushed sweaty hair from his face and kissed him. "It's staying in, baby. Gonna let it soak. Maybe give our boy a sibling."

After a long, slow moment, Joong finally pulled out.

His cum spilled out immediately, running in a thick stream from Dunk's wrecked hole.

Joong smirked.

"Still full of me..."

He ran two fingers through the mess, gathering the creamy fluid.

Then pushed it back in.

Dunk shivered.

"Fuck... Joong—"

"You're mine," Joong whispered. "Every part of you. Even your womb, if it means we make something beautiful again."

" let's just go one more round, just to be sure". Joong said, rubbing his cock...

The sheets were already ruined, soaked through with sweat and lube, twisted under Dunk's trembling thighs.

Joong had him folded — legs pressed back, knees almost to his chest, while his cock slammed into him relentlessly, wet sounds echoing in the room.

"You like this?" Joong grunted through clenched teeth. "Getting fucking bred like a needy bitch?"

Dunk moaned — high, helpless, eyes glossy and mouth open.

"Yes—fuck, yes—keep going—fuck me open—"

Joong leaned down, tongue dragging over Dunk's sweat-slick neck. His cock shoved in deep, kissing the back of Dunk's guts. The stretch was so good it was driving Dunk out of his mind.

"Your cunt's swallowing me," Joong snarled against his skin. "Clamping down like it wants me to cum in it."

"Do it," Dunk begged, voice cracking. "Fucking knock me up. Use me."

Joong pulled almost all the way out — just the head pressing at that swollen rim — then shoved in with a brutal thrust that made Dunk scream.

"Oh my god—fuck—Joong!"

"That's it," Joong growled, one hand wrapped tight around Dunk's throat. Not choking, just owning. "This slutty little hole was made for me, wasn't it?"

"Yes! Yours—only yours—"

"Say it."

"I'm your cum dump. Your fuckhole. Fill me. Fill me again."

Joong's breath stuttered. His rhythm got rougher. He grabbed Dunk's thighs, slamming into him so hard the bed banged against the wall.

"You're dripping from the last load, and you still want more? Greedy little thing."

Dunk couldn't speak — only moaned, tears sliding down his cheeks from overstimulation. He was cock-drunk and glowing with need.

Joong spat on his cock and kept going, the sound of their bodies slapping wet and loud, nasty. Filthy.

"I'm gonna fucking fill you again, Dunk. Gonna fuck it so deep it sticks."

"Please," Dunk gasped. "Do it—breed me again—don't stop—fuck, Joong—fill my fucking womb!"

Joong snapped his hips in three final, vicious thrusts — and then groaned, low and deep, as he shot hot cum into Dunk's raw hole. He kept fucking through it, riding the high, pushing it in deeper with every thrust.

His cock throbbed inside Dunk's guts, and when he pulled out, thick white cum poured out like it couldn't stay in.

Joong grabbed Dunk's cheeks and spread them wide, groaning as the mess leaked out.

"Fucking hell. Look at that."

Then he pushed two fingers in, slow and firm, shoving the cum back inside.

"Can't waste it. You're gonna soak in this, baby."

Dunk was shaking — ruined, crying softly from how good it felt.

Joong crawled up and kissed him, filthy and full of heat.

"You're mine. Gonna keep you knocked up forever if you let me."

Chapter 49: “No Holes Left Clean”Two mouths. Two asses. Four cocks. No mercy. 🫣🔞👅

Special episode for my fans🫦🫶🏻 because I love your support ❤️🔞
Joong × Dunk × Phuwin × Pond | NSFW | Double Penetration (Phuwin) | Overstimulation | Filthy Dirty Talk | Breeding Kink | Spit-Roasting

⚠️ WARNING – FOR HORNY SOULS ONLY
This story contains explicit sexual content intended for mature audiences (18+). Expect:

Double Penetration (Phuwin)
Cum play & licking
Breeding kink
Toys & overstimulation
Spit-roasting
Cross-dressing boys (Dunk & Phuwin in short dresses)
Lots of filthy, degrading, and possessive dirty talk
Multiple partners (Joong × Dunk × Phuwin × Pond)
Dazed, obedient, and very messy bottoms
Aftermath full of leaking holes and finger-licking cum
If you're into soft boys getting ruined and loved at the same time, welcome home. If not... run. 💦
———————————————————————————————————-

The music pulsed like a heartbeat in the dark, velvet-draped walls of Club Siren — a high-end nightclub known for its exclusivity, mystery, and scandalously attractive performers.

Tonight, the two most anticipated names were on stage:
Dunk, in a red satin dress slit up to the hip, glittering under the spotlight.
And Phuwin, barely contained in a black lace number, thighs flashing as he moved to the beat.

They didn't dance.

They seduced.

Their heels clicked with confidence. Their gazes dripped with challenge. Their routines left everyone breathless.

Especially the two men in the VIP box above: Joong, tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in all-black, eyes locked on Dunk like he owned him. And Pond, looser, golden chain around his neck, fingers absently twirling a whiskey glass as he bit his lip watching Phuwin sway.

"Which one do you want?" Pond asked, voice dark.

Joong didn't take his eyes off Dunk. "Who says I'm picking just one?"

Down below, Dunk glanced up.

Saw them.

Froze for half a second — just enough to smirk. And then he bent over, deliberately flashing a tease of bare ass beneath the hem of his tiny dress. Phuwin, catching the same energy, slid his hand down the inside of his thigh while locking eyes with Pond.

They knew what was coming.

They'd been invited.

Later, in the velvet private room behind the stage, Joong and Pond waited — seated on the long couch like kings.

When Dunk and Phuwin entered, it was a shift in the air. They didn't walk. They sauntered, dressed now in just silk robes barely covering anything, skin dewy with the last of their stage sweat.

"You two looked good up there," Pond murmured, eyes flicking over Phuwin's thighs.

Dunk stopped in front of Joong. "We're not just for show, you know."

Joong stood, towering.

"No?" His fingers slid under Dunk's robe, tracing bare skin. "Then show me."

Dunk gasped when Joong grabbed him, mouth crushing over his in a filthy, claiming kiss.

Phuwin giggled breathlessly as Pond tugged him onto his lap, hands roaming under the robe without hesitation. "Been dreaming about this," Pond whispered, biting at Phuwin's neck. "That tiny ass in that dress? Fuck..."

What followed was chaos — heat, sweat, tangled limbs and moaned names.

Joong pressed Dunk onto the couch, tongue licking down his chest, voice low. "Gonna ruin you, baby. Gonna split you open while they watch."

Phuwin, already riding Pond's thigh, whimpered, "I want to see. I want to see him cry on your cock."

Joong didn't disappoint.

He had Dunk moaning, legs thrown over his shoulders, drilling into him with filthy precision while Pond fingered Phuwin beside them, whispering, "You hear that? That's what you're getting next."

Phuwin came first — with a sharp cry as Pond worked three fingers inside him, kissing him breathless.

Dunk wasn't far behind, sobbing Joong's name as Joong fucked him harder, deeper, thumb circling his hole as he filled him up, hot and thick.

But it didn't end there.

Because Joong wanted them all.
And Pond wasn't done watching.

Dunk was still twitching under Joong, legs spread wide and leaking thick cum when Pond gave a low whistle.

"Fuck, Joong," he grinned. "You broke him."

Dunk whimpered, hips lifting pathetically. "N-not broken..."

"Oh?" Pond stood, dragging Phuwin by the wrist, and knelt beside them. "Then you won't mind if I put you on my cock next."

Joong smirked, backing off slightly, his hand still gripping Dunk's jaw.

"You okay for more?" he asked, breath hot against Dunk's cheek.

Dunk's answer came as a shaky moan. "Don't stop. I want both—want all of you—"

Phuwin giggled, straddling Joong's lap without warning. "Then I'll ride this one."

Joong groaned when Phuwin sank down onto his cock, tight and slick, thighs spread wide and back arched. "Holy shit," Joong hissed. "You're so fucking snug."

"Am I your little fucktoy now?" Phuwin whispered, grinding slow and dirty, biting Joong's earlobe. "You gonna use me till I cry?"

Joong grabbed his ass, thrusting up into him with a grunt. "You better."

Meanwhile, Dunk was already back on his knees, Pond's cock nudging his lips.

"Open up, sweetheart," Pond purred, tapping it against Dunk's cheek. "Show me how bad you want it."

Dunk moaned and took him deep, barely hesitating, eyes teary and lips stretched wide.

"Fucking hell," Pond groaned. "That pretty little mouth's made for cock."

He fucked Dunk's throat slow at first, but it didn't take long before his pace got rougher. Dunk gagged, spit dripping down his chin, hands clinging to Pond's thighs.

"Gonna cum in your throat if you keep suckin' like that," Pond growled. "You want it? Huh, baby? Want me to paint your stomach from the inside?"

Dunk whimpered around his cock and nodded, eyes fluttering.

Behind them, Phuwin was crying out, bouncing on Joong's cock while Joong growled curses into his neck.

"Can feel you squeezing," Joong grunted. "You trying to milk me, you needy little slut?"

"Yes," Phuwin gasped. "Fill me up, please—fuck me full, Joong—I want your cum dripping down my legs—"

"God damn," Joong snapped, thrusting up hard, slamming him down again and again until Phuwin screamed through his orgasm, shaking in his arms.

"Switch," Pond groaned. "I want that ass."

They all changed places again—Dunk straddled Pond this time, body slick and glowing with sweat, while Joong grabbed Phuwin and shoved him against the couch, lifting one leg up.

"I'm gonna fuck the cum out of you," Joong whispered darkly into Phuwin's neck.

"Yes—yes—use me again—"

Pond's fingers dug into Dunk's waist, guiding him down onto his cock. "Look at you, baby," he moaned. "Still greedy for more after two loads."

Dunk was beyond words now, moaning, skin flushed, as he rode Pond hard — the slap of skin on skin echoing through the velvet room.

Joong thrust into Phuwin from behind, one hand around his throat, the other on his belly, keeping him still. "Fucking perfect hole," he snarled. "You were made for this."

Phuwin sobbed. "Don't pull out—don't waste it—fuck me full again—"

"Wanna get bred again?" Joong growled. "Beg for it."

"Please, Joong—fill me up—want to be leaking when I walk—fuck—cum in me now—"

Joong slammed in deep, holding him tight as he spilled inside him again. Phuwin trembled under the weight of it, boneless in Joong's arms.

Pond wasn't far behind.

"You gonna cum too, Dunk?" Pond gasped, cock buried deep. "Cum with me—come on, sweetheart—"

Dunk cried out, shaking as he came untouched, cock spurting over his belly. Pond groaned, pulled him down hard, and came with a shudder, stuffing Dunk full.

They collapsed together—sweaty, panting, dazed.

No one moved for a moment.

Then Joong leaned back, hair messy, voice hoarse.

"Who wants another round?"

Phuwin and Dunk raised their hands.

"Me."

The room reeked of sex.

Their bodies were covered in sweat and traces of each other. Dunk lay between Joong and Pond, breathless, his thighs still twitching. Phuwin was curled up against Joong's side, but his fingers kept drifting—teasing the slick mess leaking from between Dunk's thighs.

"Still dripping," Phuwin whispered with a grin, finger sliding through it. "You're so messy, baby."

Dunk whimpered, rolling onto his back, thighs open like he was offering himself up again. "Didn't say stop."

Pond chuckled darkly. "You're insatiable."

Joong leaned over Dunk, gaze hungry. "Then we'll break you tonight."

He got up and crossed the room, rummaging through his coat. When he came back, he was holding a sleek black silicone dildo, long and curved, already slick with lube.

Dunk's breath caught.

Phuwin giggled. "Ohh, he's bringing out the toy box now."

Joong grabbed Dunk's thighs and pulled him closer. "Lift up."

Dunk obeyed instantly, spreading his legs wide. Joong leaned in, kissed him softly—sweet and dizzying—then whispered, "You want both of us in you tonight?"

Dunk nodded quickly, voice shaky. "Please, want it so bad—wanna be stuffed—wanna feel full—"

Pond groaned. "You hear that, Joong? He wants to be ruined."

Joong smirked and kissed Dunk's stomach. "Then hold still."

He pressed the toy in first—slow, steady, working Dunk open. Dunk gasped, thighs trembling.

"Oh my god..."

"You okay?" Joong asked, watching his face.

"Yes, more, please—don't stop—"

Once the dildo was halfway in, Joong pushed in a bit deeper, curling it until Dunk let out a loud cry. Then he left it there, buried, twitching inside him.

Then Joong knelt between Dunk's legs.

"You're gonna feel both of us," he growled. "Me—and this."

He lined up and pressed in, right alongside the dildo.

The stretch was obscene.

Dunk choked on a moan, head thrown back.

"Too much?" Pond asked from above, watching with hunger.

"No—fuck—yes—keep going—"

Joong pushed in deeper, groaning as Dunk's walls clenched desperately around both cock and toy.

"So fucking tight," he growled. "You're gonna break."

Phuwin slid in behind Dunk, cradling his head. "That's it, baby. You're taking it so well. Look how full you are."

Dunk could barely breathe.

Every thrust from Joong shoved the dildo deeper, hitting spots Dunk didn't even know he had. His body was on fire, sweat pouring, hands gripping the sheets like he was being dragged under.

"I'm gonna cum—oh fuck—please—"

"Not yet," Joong warned, fucking him slow and deep. "You'll cum when I say."

Phuwin slid his fingers down Dunk's chest, teasing his nipples, whispering in his ear. "You're our toy now, aren't you? Our perfect little cumdump."

Dunk moaned brokenly. "Yes—fuck me—use me—don't stop—"

Pond moved behind Joong then, eyes burning. "Switch."

Joong pulled out slowly, leaving Dunk quivering and clenching around the toy still stuffed inside him. Pond took his place, lining up, pushing in beside the dildo again.

"Still tight," Pond muttered. "Still hungry."

Dunk sobbed with pleasure, shaking from head to toe.

Joong leaned over him, watching Pond slam into him. "Look at you. Stuffed full. Shaking for it."

Phuwin leaned in, kissing Dunk as Pond fucked him harder, the toy rocking with every thrust.

Then Joong reached down, twisted the dildo gently as Pond bottomed out — and Dunk came instantly, untouched, screaming.

His whole body convulsed.

Hot cum shot across his chest, muscles locking, mouth open and eyes rolled back.

"That's it," Phuwin whispered, kissing his temple. "Cum for us, baby."

Pond kept going, fucking him through the aftershocks until he filled Dunk again, cock pulsing deep inside.

By the time he slid out, Dunk was trembling—legs still open, dripping with a mix of cum and lube, the toy slowly sliding free.

Joong looked down at the mess and smiled.

"Still want another round?" he teased.

Phuwin slid closer and kissed Joong with a dirty grin. "Now it's my turn."

Phuwin had been watching Dunk get wrecked—cock hard, thighs trembling, breath catching with every slick slap of skin. His body begged to be next.

So when Pond pulled out of Dunk and Joong backed away, spent but still hard, Phuwin crawled onto the mattress like a little predator offering himself up.

He dropped to his knees between them, back arched, dress hiked to his waist, no underwear, hole already glistening from how much he'd been grinding against the sheets.

"Please..." he whispered, looking over his shoulder at both of them. "I want it. I want both."

Joong was already stroking himself back to full, eyes glued to that perfect curve of Phuwin's ass. "You sure?" he asked, voice thick and low. "We'll split you open."

Phuwin bit his lip, nodded. "Want to be ruined."

Pond was already lubing his cock, his eyes dark with hunger. "Get on your elbows, baby. Keep that ass high."

Phuwin obeyed instantly, moaning as Joong's fingers spread his cheeks. "Fuck, he's wet already," Joong murmured. "Like he's begging for cock."

Pond slid in first, slow but firm, groaning deep in his chest. "God—tight little hole—clenching like a fist—"

Phuwin whimpered, eyes squeezed shut, fists gripping the sheets.

Then Joong knelt behind Pond, slicking himself up, and lined up carefully.

"You ready for two, baby?"

"Yes," Phuwin gasped. "Please, fill me—want to feel both of you stretch me open—"

Joong pushed in.

The stretch was insane.

Phuwin cried out, entire body shaking as Joong slowly worked his cock in beside Pond's. Their shafts rubbed together inside him, stretching his tight hole wide, heat rolling through his belly.

"Fuck," Pond grunted. "You're squeezing so fucking hard—he's gonna break—"

"Not yet," Joong hissed. "He can take it."

Phuwin moaned, back arching as they both began to move. "Oh my god—oh my god—so full—can't think—don't stop—"

Joong and Pond set a rhythm—one thrusting in while the other pulled out, rocking him between them, stuffing him to the brim every second.

Dunk sat nearby, still dazed and covered in cum, watching with wide, hungry eyes, lazily stroking himself. "You're so fucking hot like this," he murmured. "Watching them break you."

Phuwin sobbed against the mattress. "Can feel them both—oh fuck—they're rubbing inside me—gonna cum—please let me cum—"

Joong leaned down, biting at Phuwin's shoulder. "You wanna be filled again? Wanna leak down your thighs like a used little cumslut?"

"Yes—please—fill me—want it so bad—"

Pond slapped his ass hard. "Greedy little thing. You'll be dripping for hours."

They fucked him harder now, cocks slamming into him in perfect rhythm. The sound was filthy—wet, slick, obscene. Phuwin couldn't stop moaning, shaking, begging.

"Gonna cum in you," Joong growled. "Stuff you full like you want."

"Breed me," Phuwin sobbed. "Make me yours—break me with your cum—"

That was it.

Joong shoved in hard and held still, cock pulsing deep. Pond followed half a second later, both of them cumming together, stuffed as deep as they could go.

Phuwin screamed, trembling violently as his own orgasm hit, untouched, cock spurting across the sheets as he collapsed.

When they slowly pulled out, their combined cum spilled down Phuwin's thighs, dripping from his overstretched hole.

Joong smirked, spreading him open to admire the mess. "Fucking masterpiece."

Pond leaned in, kissed Phuwin's spine. "Think he passed out."

Dunk crawled over and lay beside him, kissing his cheek, whispering sweet praises while brushing back his sweaty hair. "So good, baby. So fucking perfect."

Dunk lay on his side, legs spread, breathing shallow. His ass was still twitching, soft moans escaping him with every slow throb. Cum spilled from his hole in slow, sticky trails, dripping onto the sheets in thick strings.

Beside him, Phuwin wasn't much better—on his stomach, legs parted wide, his entrance glistening and open, still drooling with the heavy load Joong and Pond had left inside him. His thighs were shaking, skin flushed, and he was murmuring incoherently into the pillow, overstimulated and dripping.

Joong crouched between them, fingers trailing through the mess leaking from Phuwin's spent hole. He brought two fingers up slick with the mixture of both his and Pond's release—hot, sticky, shining.

"Open," Joong ordered softly, fingers poised at Phuwin's lips.

Phuwin obeyed instantly, tongue flicking out, licking the cum off Joong's fingers like it was honey. He moaned around them, sucking deep, eyes fluttering as Joong pushed his fingers deeper, making him taste every drop of what they'd put in him.

"Good boy," Joong murmured, thumb brushing Phuwin's cheek as he slowly pulled his fingers free with a wet pop. "Look at you. Can't even get enough of your own ruined hole."

He glanced over at Dunk again, who was softly whining as another drip of cum slid down from his swollen entrance.

"Both of you," Joong whispered, voice low and feral, "dripping, stretched, used. Just the way I like you."

Pond chuckled lazily from where he lay sprawled, fingers tangled in Phuwin's hair. "You're gonna make him hard again."

Joong smirked. "Then I'll just have to use him again."

Phuwin whimpered.

Dunk shivered.

And none of them said no.

Chapter 50: Alan x Jeff - Mafia obsession ( violence, sadistic Sex)🔞👅

(Mafia AU • Alan × Jeff • One-Shot • NSFW • Violence • Obsession • Sadism)
⚠️ Warnings: Mafia dominance, choking, noncon/dubcon themes, sadism, knife play, emotional manipulation, physical restraint, rough sex, slight blood, power imbalance, obsession, and filthy talk. 18+ ONLY.

Jeff didn't usually let strangers into his apartment.

Especially not past midnight.

But there was something about him.
The man with the lazy smirk and the slow, dangerous walk, who had wandered into Jeff's bookstore just before closing and bought three rare editions — all cash. His name was Alan. He had dark hair that curled at the collar and eyes too sharp to be trusted.

Jeff shouldn't have said yes when Alan asked if he wanted to "show a lonely man a quieter part of the city."
But loneliness... is a wicked thing.
And Alan smiled like he already owned the answer.

So now Jeff was standing in his apartment kitchen, barefoot, making tea — while Alan sat on the couch, legs spread, coat still on, eyes roaming over him like he was already naked.

"I like your place," Alan said, voice thick and low. "It smells like books. And you."

Jeff offered a nervous smile. "Thanks. I guess."

Alan didn't move. "You live here alone?"

Jeff hesitated. "Yes."

That was when Alan finally stood.

One slow, deliberate step at a time, until he was right in front of Jeff, fingers brushing the mug still in Jeff's hands.

"You always let strangers in this easy?" he murmured, tilting Jeff's chin up.

Jeff's breath hitched. "I don't know why I did."

Alan's smile sharpened.

"I do."

"Quiet," he whispered, voice silk over steel. "Or I'll have to ruin that pretty throat too soon."

Jeff tried to scream. Alan shoved his fingers in his mouth, silencing him.

"Shhh. That's better."
He climbed onto the bed like a wolf, straddling Jeff's thighs, knife now dragging gently down his collarbone.

"Have you ever bled for anyone before?" he asked. "You will tonight."

Clothes were stripped with deliberate violence. The blade made short work of cotton and resistance. Alan cut down Jeff's chest — not deep, just enough to break skin and let the blood run in thin red lines.

"Look at it," Alan hissed, pressing Jeff's face down to the wooden floor beside the bed. "See what you are when stripped of softness."

He dug his fingers into Jeff's hair, forced his mouth to the floor.

"Lick."

Jeff's breath caught.

"Lick your own blood off the wood, whore. Prove you know your place."

Tears blurred Jeff's vision, but he obeyed — tongue trembling as he dragged it across the floor, lapping up his own blood.

Alan moaned at the sight. "Perfect little filth."

Alan bent him over the edge of the bed and shoved his cock in raw — no prep, no mercy. The scream that left Jeff's throat was real.

"You were made to be broken," Alan growled. "No wonder I couldn't stop watching."

Every thrust was punishing. Alan gripped Jeff's hips so tightly his fingerprints would bruise into bone. Blood from earlier smeared across Jeff's back, mixing with sweat and spit.

When Alan pulled out, he grabbed Jeff by the jaw and pushed his cock into his mouth, still wet with blood and slick.

"Now clean me. With your tongue."

Jeff gagged, but Alan didn't let up. His hand wrapped tight around Jeff's throat, holding his head in place.

"Suck it like it's your salvation, bookstore slut."

Alan came hard — not in Jeff's mouth, but across his own stomach. Hot, sticky, dripping down over the carved lines of his abs and belt.

He didn't clean himself. Instead, he pulled Jeff up by the hair and shoved him to his knees.

"Open wide."

He took Jeff's jaw, smeared his own cum across his lips, then down to his chest.

"Lick it off me."

Jeff shook his head weakly.

Alan slapped him — hard.

"Lick. Every drop."

So Jeff did. Tongue tracing every salty streak. Off Alan's abs. Between the ridges of muscle. Down to the base of his cock.

Alan growled like an animal.

"That's it. That's what obedience looks like."

When it was over, Jeff lay on the floor — bruised, bleeding, leaking. His wrists were tied with his own torn shirt. Bite marks covered his thighs.

Alan stood above him, shirtless, cigarette already lit.

"You're nothing now except what I let you be," he said softly.

Jeff didn't answer.

Alan bent down, took Jeff's chin, and whispered, "And I'm not done writing in you yet."

He left then — but only after carving his name with a knife into the inside of Jeff's thigh.

A signature.

A claim.

And a promise to return.

It had been three days.

Jeff still hadn't cleaned the dried blood from his bedroom floor.

It felt... holy.
Like a crime scene he didn't want to erase.
Like part of Alan was still there.

His thighs still bore the bruises of Alan's grip. The name carved into his inner leg — Alan — had scabbed over, but he hadn't dared bandage it. The wound pulsed like it knew its master would return.

He didn't expect it to be that night.

Jeff was restocking rare bindings when the power cut.

Total blackness.

Then a voice behind him:
"You missed me, didn't you, baby?"

Jeff whirled around.

Alan was standing in the dark, shirt half-unbuttoned, chest slick with sweat and the edge of a gun holstered beneath his ribs.

Jeff stammered, "You—how did you—"

Alan silenced him with a finger to his lips, then grabbed him by the collar and shoved him onto the display table.

"Tonight, I'm going to do something I've never done to anyone," Alan whispered, breath hot against Jeff's ear. "And you're going to thank me when I'm done."

Alan dragged Jeff's pants down, tearing them at the seams. His cock was already hard, leaking. But he didn't shove in.

Instead, he pulled out a switchblade.

Jeff froze.

Alan kissed his neck, soft. Then slashed the blade down Jeff's shoulder — shallow but stinging — and smeared the blood down his back like paint.

"Every time you bleed for me," he murmured, "I get harder."

Then — click.

Alan pressed something cold against Jeff's spine.

It wasn't a knife.

It was a metal collar.

He locked it around Jeff's throat. Tight.

"Mine," he said.

Then came the real surprise.

A knock.

Alan didn't stop.

He looked toward the door of the closed shop — unlocked it with one hand, still holding Jeff bent over the table.

Two men entered. Black suits. Silent. Emotionless.

Jeff gasped, trying to cover himself. Alan shoved his face down again.

"No hiding."

Alan addressed them without even glancing back. "Enjoy the view. But don't touch. He screams better when he's ashamed."

The men said nothing. Just watched.

Alan spread Jeff's cheeks, spat on him, and rammed inside.

Jeff screamed. The table shook.

Alan grinned.

"Let them hear what a good little bookstore fucktoy you are."

Alan fucked him open in front of strangers, each thrust brutal, making Jeff's knees buckle. The pain blurred into pleasure until he didn't know if he was crying or moaning.

When Jeff came without permission, Alan didn't stop.

He pulled out, slapped Jeff's cheek with his cock, and forced him to his knees.

"Clean it."

Jeff tried, dazed.

Alan came across his tongue, face, collarbone.

Then he took Jeff's own cum from the floor, scooped it onto his fingers, and smeared it over Jeff's lips.

"Now lick your shame for your audience."

Jeff obeyed, tears sliding down his cum-slick face.

The two men nodded silently and left.

Alan whispered, "You'll never be anything but my favorite hole, covered in your own filth and fed on mine."

Jeff couldn't speak.

Only whimper.

Alan kissed him sweetly.

Then smiled.

"Next time," he said, "I'll tie you to the bookstore shelves and let the boys use you while I watch."

And with that, he left Jeff naked, leaking, marked, and sobbing — chained to the floor by the collar he now wore like a second skin.

Alan didn't speak at first.

He didn't need to.

His mere presence made the tiny independent bookstore feel smaller, like the walls were inching closer just to suffocate Jeff in the scent of leather and fear.

Jeff cleared his throat, trying to steady the tremor in his voice.

"Alan... Why are you here?"

Alan stepped forward slowly.

He looked around — at the bookshelves Jeff had built himself, at the little table with mismatched chairs where elderly couples sipped coffee on quiet afternoons, at the rain-spotted windows where he used to tape "staff recommendations."

Finally, his gaze landed back on Jeff.

"You're done here."

Jeff blinked. "What?"

Alan's voice was calm. Quiet.

But the weight behind it was absolute.

"You're done selling books. Close the shop."

Jeff stood rigid. "I can't just—this is my livelihood."

"No." Alan's gloved hand reached into his coat. He pulled out a single black key.

"This is your livelihood now."

He placed the key on the counter between them.

Jeff didn't touch it.

Alan leaned forward slightly, just enough to drop his voice.

"No more customers. No more invoices. No more coffee-stained novels and dusty catalogs. You'll leave with me. Today. You won't return."

Jeff's heart pounded. "You can't just—"

"I can." Alan's eyes darkened. "And I am."

Jeff took a shaky breath. "I have a life. A routine. I didn't ask for any of this."

"I don't care what you asked for."

Silence stretched between them like a knife held too long against skin.

Then Alan straightened, his posture regal, as if he were announcing a royal decree.

"You'll come with me now. Pack only what matters. You won't be back."

Jeff shook his head. "Why are you doing this?"

Alan didn't answer. Instead, he turned and walked to the door.

He paused with his hand on the knob.

"Five minutes."

Then he walked out.

Jeff's apartment.

It took fifteen.

He didn't pack much — a change of clothes, a notebook he couldn't bear to part with, a photograph of his mother. He stared at his son's room for a long time, empty now that Kai was with his grandparents.

He wrote a note he couldn't finish. Tore it up. Wrote another one and stuffed it in the drawer.

When he walked out, Alan was waiting beside a black SUV.

Driver silent. Back door open.

The city blurred past them in grey streaks.

Alan didn't speak the entire ride.

He didn't even look at Jeff.

That silence cut deeper than any blade.

Alan's estate.

When they arrived, the house loomed in the fog like a structure pulled from a nightmare: all jagged lines and pitch-black glass, modern but aggressive in design — a place built to intimidate.

Jeff stepped out slowly, his shoes crunching gravel.

Alan walked ahead without waiting.

Jeff hesitated, but the wind pushed cold against his back, and something deep in him — something both terrified and hungry — made him follow.

The doors opened on their own. Or someone had triggered them remotely.

Inside was nothing like Jeff expected.

No color. No softness. Only shadows and structure: black marble floors, dark concrete walls, sharp lighting in symmetrical slits, and ceilings so high they echoed every step.

Alan walked ahead, straight and cold.

Jeff's voice was a whisper, hoarse with fear. "Where are we?"

"My home," Alan said simply.

He gestured for Jeff to follow down a long corridor.

At the end: a room.

Spacious. Minimalist. A bed. A single nightstand. A chair in the corner. No windows.

On the dresser: a set of dark clothes, folded with military precision.

Alan finally turned to him.

"You'll sleep here. Eat when I tell you. Read only what I allow. You don't work anymore. You belong to me."

Jeff's chest rose and fell.

"No chains? No cuffs?" he said bitterly, trying to regain some control.

Alan's gaze didn't flinch. "Do you need them?"

Jeff swallowed.
"No."
Alan nodded. "Then behave."

He walked to the door, then turned once more, his expression unreadable.
"I don't need to touch you to own you, Jeff."
Then he shut the door.
And locked it.

Chapter 51: 🔥 “Knotting Hurts: Benz’s First Heat with Alpha Garfield”

Omegaverse · First Time · Virgin Omega · Knotting · Claiming · Size Difference · Gentle Dom · Afraid but Willing · Aftercare · Bath Scene · Emotional Release
Benz- omega/sub
Garfield- dom/ alpha
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In Benz's world, the rules were simple.

Every omega was expected to mate by the age of twenty-five. The government even sent annual reminders—pamphlets with smiling families, lists of recommended alphas, and sterile warnings about hormonal imbalance if an omega went too long without bonding.

Benz had turned twenty-five last week.

And he was still untouched.

It wasn't that he hated alphas. It was just... he'd always been afraid. The idea of someone towering over him, knotting him, marking him permanently—it made his skin crawl.

Especially with the wrong one.

He'd tried to prepare. Bought small toys. Practiced. But every time, it hurt. His body clamped down like it was rejecting the idea of being taken by anyone who wasn't his mate.

So he waited.

And prayed someone would come who made him feel... safe.

That someone turned out to be Garfield.

Garfield was older. Taller. An alpha with a quiet intensity, wide shoulders, and dark eyes that didn't just look at you—they looked through you. He moved like he could command a room without saying a word, but when he smiled at Benz, it was soft. Like his whole world had slowed down just to see him properly.

Benz met him at a community registry office, fumbling over paperwork, cheeks red from heat suppression patches that weren't working anymore.

Garfield had said nothing at first. Just handed Benz a tissue when his hands started trembling.

He didn't flirt.

He didn't leer.

He simply... stayed.

And when Benz's heat hit three days later—hard, fast, and painful—Garfield was the one who showed up at his door without being called.

"I didn't know who else to trust," Benz whispered, curled up on his couch, slick soaking through his heatwear. "But I thought of you."

Garfield's voice was low, barely audible. "You don't ever have to be afraid of me."

Benz didn't answer right away. His face burned. "I've never done it before."

"I know," Garfield said.

Benz swallowed. "I'm scared."

"I'll wait," Garfield replied. "As long as you need."

Benz stared at him for a long moment... and then nodded. Slowly.

"...But I don't want to wait."

Garfield carried him to the bed like he was something fragile. Benz's scent was thick now, sweet and desperate, like his body knew exactly what it needed even if his mind still panicked.

He curled on all fours, trembling, head low, as Garfield knelt behind him.

Every breath he took was nervous.

"I've... I've only used tiny toys," Benz whispered, cheeks burning. "It always hurt."

Garfield's hands were strong, but his touch was soft. He palmed Benz's lower back, stroked down his spine, soothing him as his fingers trailed over the wet heat between Benz's legs.

"You're tight," Garfield murmured, voice rough. "But you're so ready."

Benz whimpered, hips twitching.

"I'll go slow," Garfield promised. "You say stop, I stop. You need anything—you just tell me."

"...Even if I cry?" Benz asked, eyes watery.

Garfield leaned down and kissed the back of his neck. "Especially if you cry."

Benz nodded, his voice breaking. "Okay. I want... I want you to claim me."

The first push was slow.

Benz gasped. Garfield was big. Too big. He felt the stretch burn already and clutched the sheets, knuckles white.

Garfield paused. "Still okay?"

"...Y-yeah. Just slow. Please."

Garfield gripped his hips, grounding him. He didn't thrust. He sank, inch by thick inch, letting Benz feel every hot, pulsing ridge.

Benz's thighs trembled. "I-it's so much..."

"You're doing so good," Garfield praised, kissing his back, his scent wrapping around Benz like silk. "So fucking perfect."

The stretch made Benz whimper, eyes squeezed shut, ass pressing back automatically even through the burn. His slick dripped down his thighs, mess soaking the sheets.

"G-Garfield..."

"I'm here."

And when he was fully seated inside, cock deep and pulsing, Benz let out a sob.

It hurt.

But it also felt right.

Like his body was being rewritten by the only person meant to touch him.

"Alpha..." Benz whispered. "Y-you're so deep..."

Garfield grunted softly, rubbing circles into Benz's hip. "You're squeezing me like you don't wanna let go."

Benz arched his back instinctively, pressing his ass up higher, presenting. "I-I want it. Claim me. Knot me—just don't leave."

Garfield growled.

That was all it took.

He began to thrust—slow at first, then deeper, sharper, claiming every inch of Benz's trembling body. Benz moaned helplessly, overwhelmed, crying softly as he was taken in the only position he ever dreamed of being bred in.

Doggy.

Owned.

Loved.

The knot started swelling.

Benz panicked at the pressure. "Garfield—w-wait—it's too much—I—!"

Garfield held him tighter. "I know, I know—shhh, I've got you."

"Y-you're stretching me—I can't—"

"Yes, you can. You were made for this," Garfield growled. "Made for me."

With one firm thrust, the knot popped inside.

Benz screamed.

His back arched, body convulsing as his orgasm ripped through him, untouched. Slick and cum exploded from him in waves as his inner walls clamped desperately around the knot, milking it.

Garfield bit down on his neck at the same moment.

The claiming mark burned into Benz's skin—and everything went white.

They stayed locked for almost thirty minutes.

Benz whimpered occasionally, trembling from overstimulation, but Garfield never let go. He murmured soft praise, stroked Benz's hair, and kissed over the new mark on his neck like it was something sacred.

"You're mine now," Garfield whispered. "No one else will ever touch you."

"...Good," Benz mumbled, voice thick with tears and satisfaction. "I don't want anyone else."

The room was thick with scent—slick, cum, sweat, and the sharp tinge of a fresh claiming bite.

Benz lay beneath Garfield, panting. His knees had gone soft minutes ago, legs trembling uncontrollably as the weight of Garfield's body and knot kept him arched, filled, owned.

Garfield didn't speak.

He didn't move.

He just watched.

Watched the way Benz's back rose and fell with each shaky breath. Watched the way his entrance stayed stretched so wide around the knot that it looked like his body was still trying to make space for it.

He watched the slow dribble of cum leaking around the base, trickling down Benz's thighs in slow, obscene trails.

Garfield's palm traced the curve of Benz's waist possessively.

"You took it all," he murmured. "Even the knot."

Benz let out a soft whimper, fingers clenched in the sheets. His lips were swollen from biting them, his eyes glassy.

"Still full," Garfield whispered, bending down slightly, lips brushing Benz's ear. "Still mine."

Benz didn't speak, too wrecked to form words. But his body gave little shudders—like it was reacting for him.

Garfield could feel the slow pulse of his knot, still swollen inside. He knew it would start going down soon. The bond was sealed. The heat was over. The lock would break in minutes.

But he didn't want it to.

Not yet.

So he stayed there, watching.

Watching the way Benz's ass twitched around the knot like his body didn't want it to leave. Watching the mess between his thighs grow wetter, cum mixing with slick, soaking into the sheets.

He ran his hand down Benz's spine, slow and heavy. "You'll feel me for days, omega."

Benz gave a broken little noise. "I—I do already..."

Garfield smiled, dark and proud.

He pressed a kiss to Benz's shoulder, the bond mark still fresh, and whispered, "When the knot goes down... I'm going to flip you over. And fill you again before you even cool off."

Benz shivered hard. "Garfield..."

His knot gave a final slow pulse.

It was softening.

Unknotting.

The tight stretch began to ease and Garfield gently guided himself out, watching with heat in his eyes as Benz's puffy rim clenched helplessly, fluttering as it tried to stay stretched around nothing.

A thick spill of cum followed, messy and hot.

Garfield stared.

Then reached down and rubbed two fingers against Benz's leaking hole, just to watch more drip out.

"I could fill you again," he murmured. "Over and over until it takes. Until you start nesting. Until everyone smells what I did to you."

Garfield didn't move away.

He stayed kneeling behind him, watching.

Then, quietly, reverently, he reached out and brushed Benz's trembling hips.

"You did so well," he murmured, his voice gentler than it had been all night.

Benz was shaking—still on all fours, too weak to collapse but too raw to move.

Garfield leaned in and gently scooped him up, arms wrapping under Benz's thighs and back. Benz made a little noise, his whole body oversensitive and sore, but when Garfield held him against his chest, something in Benz finally broke.

He buried his face in Garfield's neck and began to cry.

Silent, shaking sobs. From fear. From release. From everything he'd held in for so long.

Garfield didn't shush him.

He just held him tighter.

"I've got you," he whispered, carrying Benz toward the large, clean bed across the room. "I've got you, baby. No one's ever gonna touch you like that but me."

He laid Benz down on the softest part of the mattress and climbed in beside him, pulling a blanket over their tangled bodies. Benz curled in immediately, pressing into Garfield's chest, knees drawn up, whimpering like a bruised thing trying to make sense of comfort.

Garfield kissed the bond mark on Benz's neck—slow, reverent. "It's done now. No one can claim you but me. You're mine."

Benz sniffled. "I... I was so scared..."

"I know," Garfield whispered, tucking hair off Benz's sweaty forehead. "You didn't have to give me your body, but you did. And I swear to every star in the sky—I'll protect it."

His hands moved gently over Benz's back, rubbing soft circles, massaging sore muscles.

"I'm going to make you a bath in a second," he murmured. "Warm, with healing salt. I'll sit with you. Wash your hair. You just lay there and let me take care of everything."

Benz clung to him tighter.

"And after that," Garfield added, "I'll feed you. Then tuck you into my bed and hold you all night."

His voice dropped, darker now, but still gentle.

"You're not just a heat fuck. You're mine now, Benz. My omega."

Benz let out a shaky, broken sigh—and for the first time since it all began, he smiled.

A small one.

But it was real.

Garfield kissed it off his lips, slow and soft.

Then whispered again:

"Let's go take a bath. Together."

The water steamed softly in the wide ceramic tub, scent of lavender and salt curling through the air like something holy.

Garfield had poured the oils himself. Heated the water to the perfect warmth. Even tested it with his fingers before going back to the bed and scooping Benz into his arms like something precious.

Benz still winced as he was lowered into the bath — his thighs sore, his rim raw and leaking. The moment his body hit the water, he let out a small whimper, curling slightly on instinct.

Garfield kissed his temple.

"I've got you, baby," he whispered, sliding in behind him. "Let me take care of all of it."

Benz leaned back into his chest. His whole body trembled — not from fear now, but from exhaustion. Overwhelmed, stretched, and marked as someone's omega for the very first time. His hole was still fluttering weakly, unable to close fully around the steady spill of cum dripping into the water between his thighs.

Garfield held him with one arm and reached for a soft cloth with the other.

He didn't start with the obvious places.

He began with Benz's shoulders. The curve of his neck. The back of his ears, where sweat had clung. Soft, reverent strokes.

Benz sighed, eyes fluttering shut.

Garfield's voice was low, rough against his ear. "You're still open, aren't you?"

Benz blushed, nodding faintly.

Garfield set the cloth aside and reached under the water, between Benz's spread legs. He didn't tease. Didn't even grope.

He was gentle.

One slick finger slid carefully inside.

Benz gasped — not from pain, but from how intimate it felt.

"I'm just cleaning you," Garfield murmured. "You're full of me."

The finger curved gently, easing cum out in slow, rhythmic motions. Warm, thick release floated into the water, clouding around Benz's thighs. He whimpered and curled forward slightly, shivering with how exposed he felt — letting his alpha literally wash the inside of him.

"You're so warm in here," Garfield whispered, a kiss pressed between his shoulder blades. "Still pulsing around me."

His finger slid deeper, gathering more slick and release, coaxing it free with a quiet patience.

"Don't clench, baby. Let it go. Let me take it all out."

Benz obeyed. Every muscle in him melted back against Garfield, breath stuttering as he let his body give in.

The water turned cloudy between them.

Garfield kept going until Benz was fully emptied. Then he rinsed him gently, over and over, until the water ran clean between his cheeks.

When he was done, he pulled Benz up and into his lap again, holding him close, cloth now moving down his stomach and thighs.

"You're clean now, love. Inside and out," Garfield murmured, cupping his cheek. "There's no part of you I wouldn't care for."

Benz looked up, eyes wet but not crying this time.

Just full.

Of something like safety.

Of something like love.

Garfield leaned in, lips brushing his.

"Next time," he whispered, "you'll beg me for the knot."

Benz's whole body shivered in his arms.

Chapter 52: William x Est- Obedient for Daddy William🔥

Pairing: William (dominant, calm, nurturing) × Est (obedient, needy, eager to please)
Theme: Daddy kink, stretching/play prep, praise, gentle dominance, emotional connection, exploration

Est had always been obedient.

He liked rules. He liked being told what to do. And more than anything, he liked being called good boy — especially by William.

William, with his broad shoulders and gravel-thick voice. William, with the veins on his hands, the commanding presence, the shirts always just a little too tight across his chest. He wasn't old enough to be a real "daddy," but it was the only word Est could whisper when he was touching himself under the blankets.

And lately... he'd wanted more.

Not just soft touches or teasing words.

He wanted to be taken. Claimed. Filled.

But there was a problem.

Est was small. Tight. He'd never done anything more than use his fingers — and even that had been a stretch. So when his fantasies about being on all fours, stuffed full by Daddy's cock until he cried, got too strong to ignore... he got creative.

He went to the grocery store and stood in front of the vegetable section for ten whole minutes before choosing the right cucumber. Slim. Tapered. Not too long. Something a "beginner" might use.

He locked his bedroom door. Lit a candle. Played one of William's voice notes on repeat.

Then he lubed it up and tried to stretch himself open.

And failed.

It hurt too much. He whimpered, sweat running down his back, hips arching off the bed as he pushed too fast.

He cried. Not because it hurt... but because he was scared he'd never be able to take William for real.

What he didn't know was this:

William had been watching.

He had security access to Est's apartment. Just in case. He never used it — until that night.

He saw everything.

Didn't say a word.

Until three days later.

That night.
Est had just finished a shower. His skin was soft, towel wrapped loosely around his waist. He thought he was alone.

Then—

A knock on the bedroom door.

"Est," William's voice said. Low. Dangerous. "Open up."

Est's breath caught. He opened the door.

William stepped inside slowly, locking it behind him. His gaze dropped to Est's exposed chest. Then to the towel barely hanging on.

"You've been hiding something, haven't you?" William murmured.

Est flushed. "I—I don't know what you—"

William grabbed his jaw gently, forcing Est to look up at him.

"Don't lie to Daddy."

Est whimpered.

"I saw you," William said. "With the cucumber."

Est's heart stopped.

"I—I was just—trying—"

"Trying to stretch your tiny little hole open," William finished for him. "Trying to make it ready for me."

William stepped forward.

"And you failed, didn't you? Because it hurt too much."

Est's lips trembled. He nodded.

William's eyes darkened.

"You should've told me you wanted to be used."

Est whispered, "I didn't think I could take you..."

William smirked. "You can. You will."

He let the towel fall. Est stood naked, flushed pink from neck to thighs, thighs pressing together instinctively. William pushed him back onto the bed like he weighed nothing.

"On your knees, baby boy."

Est obeyed.

"Back arched. Let me see what belongs to me."

Est's cheeks burned, but he presented himself—hips high, hole twitching, already slick with nervous anticipation.

William got on the bed behind him, thumb trailing down his spine.

"You're going to take all of me tonight. Even if it makes you cry."

He pressed in a lubed finger — Est gasped.

Another. Est moaned.

William leaned down and whispered, "You tried stretching for me. That was so sweet. But this—this is how you do it right."

He replaced his fingers with his cock, pressing the fat tip against Est's hole.

Est whimpered. "Daddy... it's too big..."

"Shhh. Just relax for me, baby boy."

He pushed in slow. The stretch was agonizing. Beautiful. Real.

Est sobbed into the sheets.

William held him tight.

"I know it hurts. But you wanted this, didn't you?"

"Yes, Daddy—just—slower—"

"I'll make it fit."

He slid in deeper. Est's legs trembled, hole gripping him desperately. Every inch burned, but Est didn't ask him to stop.

Then came the knot.

William was too big. He was going to—

"D-Daddy—!"

William grunted, pushing in until the knot finally popped past the ring of muscle. Est screamed.

And William stilled.

The stretch. The fullness. The way Est clenched around him.

They stayed there. Breathing. Shaking.

Then William kissed the back of Est's neck and murmured:

"You did so well, my good boy. You took Daddy's cock like you were made for it."

Est sobbed with relief.

But William didn't pull out.

He rubbed Est's stomach.

"You're going to stay knotted to me. Until I know you're mine."

Est's knees were still shaking.

His body trembled with each aftershock, flushed and glistening with sweat, stretched beyond anything he'd ever dared to take. The bedsheets beneath him were ruined — damp with sweat, slick with cum, and stained from the mess they'd made together.

William stood at the edge of the bed, shirt halfway undone, belt still hanging from one hand, the same one he had used to pull Est's wrists behind his back earlier. His chest rose and fell slowly, and his eyes never left the mess he'd made.

Est laid on his stomach, cheek pressed to the sheets, his hole still pulsing and open, leaking everything William had pushed into him. His thighs were trembling, legs spread wide, just like Daddy told him to stay.

"You're not moving until I say," William had growled minutes ago. "You wanted to be filled like my filthy little baby boy? Then show me how much you can take."

And Est had taken it all.

Even when it hurt. Especially when it hurt.

Especially when William had caught him trying to stretch himself earlier that week — fumbling with the biggest cucumber he could find in the fridge, gasping, flushed, trying so hard to prepare for what he knew was coming.

"You thought a cucumber could replace Daddy?" William had teased darkly that night. "How sweet. But you're mine now. I did stretched you for real."

Now, William stepped closer, trailing two fingers between Est's cheeks, dragging through the mess oozing out of him. Est let out a broken gasp.

"You made a mess on Daddy's cock," William murmured.

Est whimpered, unable to form words.

"You know what I do to messy boys?"

A pause. Then, a sharp slap to Est's already sore ass. He cried out, writhing, but didn't dare close his legs.

"You get cleaned, little one. Inside and out."

Est finally dared to glance back — eyes glassy, lips swollen, body quivering.

"D-Daddy... are you going to bathe me?"

William smirked.

"No, baby. I'm going to worship every inch of the filthy body I ruined. And then I'm going to scrub you until your little hole is clean enough to take me again."

Est whimpered.

But didn't move an inch.

Not until William leaned down and whispered against his ear:

"Be still. And let Daddy carry his good boy to the bath."

The bathroom lights were dim, the tiles warm under Est's bare feet as he stepped in, still unsteady.

He winced slightly—his thighs ached, his rim sore and leaking with each careful step. William followed behind, his palm firm and possessive on Est's lower back, guiding him toward the filled bathtub.

The scent of cedar and musk hung heavy in the air, steam curling around them like a cocoon.

William sat down on the edge, rolled his sleeves up slowly. "Get in, baby," he murmured, voice deep but calm, the kind that made Est melt without thinking.

Est obeyed, lowering himself into the bath with a soft hiss as warm water lapped between his legs and around his hole. His whole body was sore—he could still feel William inside him. Still stretched from the knot that had taken its time.

William knelt beside the tub. He ran one hand through Est's damp hair, pushing it back from his flushed face. "Look at you," he whispered, "my messy little boy."

Est's eyes fluttered shut, but William caught his chin. "No hiding. I want to see that face while I clean the mess I made."

With a damp cloth, he started at Est's neck, slow and reverent. Down to his chest, where faint bite marks lingered. Then lower—across his trembling stomach, and finally between his legs, where his cock lay soft and twitching, spent and sticky.

But William didn't stop there.

He parted Est's thighs beneath the water, watching as the cloudy fluid swirled out. Est gasped, feeling the heat of William's fingers as they brushed against his swollen entrance.

"Still dripping, aren't you," William murmured, voice rough with satisfaction. "I filled you good, didn't I?"

Est could only nod, shame and pleasure warping into one tight knot in his gut.

"Let's help it all come out," William whispered, sliding two fingers slowly into Est's sore hole. The water rippled as more of his release oozed out.

Est whimpered.

"It's okay, baby boy," William cooed, using the cloth to gently wipe around the rim. "I know it hurts. You were so brave, taking me so deep. Taking all of me."

Est's face burned. "I... I tried stretching earlier, Daddy. With the cucumber... so it wouldn't hurt so much..."

William paused. Then smirked.

"Oh, sweetheart," he whispered, pressing a kiss to Est's knee. "Is that why I found it sticky and dripping earlier?"

Est let out a humiliated moan, hiding his face.

"You don't need to stretch yourself anymore. That's my job," William said, fingers brushing against his pulsing rim again. "You want to be ready for me, you let me do it. Understand?"

"Yes, Daddy," Est breathed, arousal already returning despite the soreness.

"Good boy."

William moved behind him in the tub, pulling Est into his lap, arms wrapped securely around his waist. Est leaned back into him, water lapping gently at their skin. His body was used, aching, and absolutely adored.

"You're mine now," William whispered into his ear. "My perfect little baby boy. And I'll stretch you and fill you and clean you—every single time."

Est exhaled slowly, eyes fluttering shut in peace.

Chapter 53: GeminiFourth - Fucked Open by the Light ✨🔥🔞

Author's Note ✨🔥
Hey everyone! How are you doing, guys? 😌💬
So glad you're here again — thank you for all the love on the first chapter! 💕 Gemini × Fourth has my whole heart, and y'all know I can't stop once the soft gets hot. 😳

Just a little update: I'm thinking about structuring this fic into no more than 65 chapters, so it'll be tight, emotional, and oh-so-horny throughout. I've been super busy lately with posting and edits, but I promise I'm doing my best to keep the updates coming consistently. ✍️📲

Also — YES, the titles are only going to get filthier 🔞🔥. You've been warned. This chapter? Mmmm yeah. Let's just say... lights are on, legs are up 😳💦

Thanks again for sticking around, and I hope you enjoy this new chapter.
Let's just say: Fourth isn't scared of the dark anymore.

Enjoy~
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It was nearly 2 AM when Gemini finally climbed into bed beside Fourth, the room bathed in the faint golden glow of the bedside lamp.
They had finished schedules late, eaten microwave ramen, and laughed over stupid memes until exhaustion started tugging at their bones. Now, the apartment was quiet — the kind of quiet that presses against your ears, soft and heavy.
Gemini reached for the switch.
"Wait—"
Fourth's voice stopped him.
Gemini paused, hand hovering. "Hm?"
Fourth hesitated. His voice was small. "Can we... leave the light on?"
Gemini blinked, glancing sideways. Fourth was lying stiffly on his back, blanket pulled up to his chin, eyes fixed on the ceiling like he was pretending not to care.
"You okay?" Gemini asked gently, voice lowering as he shifted closer.
Fourth stayed quiet for a beat too long. Then: "I just... I don't like the dark."
There was no teasing. No sarcasm. Just honesty, raw and real — and rare, coming from Fourth, who so often masked his fear behind sharp wit and narrowed eyes.
Gemini's heart softened. "Since when?"
"Always," Fourth whispered. "When I was little, my dad used to shut off the lights even when I cried. Said I'd get used to it. I didn't."
Gemini's chest ached. He reached out slowly, giving Fourth space to pull away if he wanted. But he didn't. Instead, Fourth shifted closer, just a little — like a petal opening.
"You don't have to be used to it," Gemini said, wrapping a comforting arm around him. "You don't have to be brave right now."
Fourth's throat bobbed. "You're not gonna make fun of me?"
"Never." Gemini pressed his lips softly to Fourth's temple. "I'm scared of thunder, remember?"
"Yeah," Fourth smiled faintly. "You jump like a cat."
Gemini huffed a quiet laugh. "Exactly. We're a disaster team."
They lay there for a while — the bedside lamp casting gentle shadows across the walls, the silence now filled with the rhythm of shared breath.
"You can turn it off if you want," Fourth said quietly after a while. "I'll be okay."
Gemini shook his head and whispered, "I want to see you while I fall asleep."
Fourth's breath caught in his throat.
"I want to see your face, your eyelashes, your frown when you're pretending not to feel things," Gemini added, voice warm and teasing. "You think you hide everything, but you don't. Not from me."
Fourth turned toward him, their noses brushing. "What do you see right now?"
Gemini looked into his eyes. "I see someone I want to protect. Every day. Even from something as big as the dark."
Fourth's lips quirked. "It's kind of small, actually."
"To you maybe," Gemini whispered, kissing his forehead. "But to me, it matters. Because you matter."
The lamp stayed on all night.
The bedside lamp still glowed softly, casting warm shadows across Gemini's room.
Fourth lays curled against him, their bodies close beneath the blanket, Gemini's arm around his waist like it had always belonged there. The dark wasn't so scary anymore — not with Gemini's heartbeat right against his back.
"You still awake?" Gemini murmured into his hair.
Fourth nodded. "Mhm."
Silence fell again, but this time it was full — comfortable and golden.
After a moment, Fourth turned in Gemini's arms to face him. Their noses almost touched. Fourth's eyes blinked slowly, sleepy but searching, like he was thinking about something hard.
Gemini tilted his head slightly. "What?"
Fourth hesitated, then quietly said, "I really like kissing you."
Gemini's heart stuttered.
He opened his mouth to respond, but Fourth beat him to it, whispering again, softer this time: "Like... really. A lot. I think about it even when we're apart. Like when I'm walking home, or brushing my teeth."
Gemini blinked. "Brushing your teeth?"
"Yeah." Fourth gave a tiny smile. "Because then I think... what if you kiss me later? I want to taste like mint, not ramen."
Gemini let out a quiet laugh, warm and breathy. He looked at Fourth like he was seeing the stars up close. "You're so cute sometimes it actually hurts."
Fourth flushed, trying to bury his face in Gemini's chest, but Gemini stopped him gently with a hand under his chin.
"No hiding," Gemini whispered.
Then he leaned in and kissed him.
Soft.
Just a small press of lips — the kind that says I've got you. The kind that lingers.
Fourth sighed into it, tilting his head slightly to catch another. And another. Little kisses. Light as feathers. Barely-there brushes that made his chest flutter and his toes curl.
Gemini smiled between kisses. "You really like this?"
Fourth nodded. "You don't even know. It's like—"
He bit his lip, thinking. "When you kiss me, my brain gets quiet. And everything feels okay."
Gemini kissed the corner of his mouth. "You're okay now?"
Fourth blinked at him. "I'm perfect now."
And Gemini kissed him again, slower this time. A longer kiss, deeper but still soft. Gentle. Like they had all the time in the world.
Their bodies were already close, warm and bare beneath the soft sheets. Gemini lay on his side, propped on one elbow, fingers tracing lazy lines across Fourth's stomach — from his chest down to his navel and back again. Fourth was breathless already, his skin flushed, chest rising and falling faster with each slow pass of Gemini's touch.
"You're beautiful like this," Gemini murmured, brushing his lips along Fourth's collarbone. "You always are."
Fourth shivered under the praise. His thighs shifted slightly, brushing against Gemini's. "Stop saying that like it's normal," he whispered. "You say it like... like I'm not scared."
"You're allowed to be scared," Gemini said softly, kissing the corner of his mouth. "But I'll still say it. Because I want you to believe it one day."
Fourth looked up at him, cheeks pink, voice small. "I want to believe it tonight."
And with that, he kissed Gemini — slow, needy, pulling him in with both hands as if afraid he'd float away. Gemini followed without hesitation, mouth moving with perfect rhythm, letting his tongue slide just barely between Fourth's lips, earning a tiny gasp.
Fourth's legs shifted apart under the blanket, and Gemini's hand slid down, trailing over the inside of his thigh — not yet touching, just teasing. The skin there was soft, warm, trembling. Fourth's breath hitched.
"Okay?" Gemini asked, voice rough now, lower than before.
Fourth nodded. "Yeah. Touch me."
Gemini's hand moved then — cupping him gently through the soft fabric of his boxers. Fourth arched into the touch, a sharp whimper escaping his lips.
"You're already so hard..." Gemini whispered, lips brushing Fourth's ear. "Is this from the kissing?"
Fourth nodded, breathless. "I told you I love kissing you."
Gemini smiled against his neck. "Then I'll keep doing it."
And he did — while his hand slid inside the waistband, wrapping fully around Fourth's length with firm, slow strokes. Fourth moaned softly, his hips rocking instinctively into Gemini's hand. Every movement was tender, drawn out, like Gemini was memorizing every reaction.
"God..." Fourth whispered, one hand clutching the sheets, the other gripping Gemini's bicep. "It feels so good."
"You feel good," Gemini breathed, mouth pressed against his chest now, leaving wet kisses over his heart, his ribs, his stomach. "I want to taste you."
Fourth's eyes widened. "You... want to?"
"I want all of you," Gemini whispered.
He slid down the bed, kissing a path along Fourth's belly as he pulled the boxers down. Fourth's cock stood hard against his stomach, flushed, twitching with every breath. Gemini looked up once — eyes warm, reverent — before wrapping his lips around the tip.
Fourth's gasp was sharp, high. His back arched off the bed as Gemini slowly sank down, taking him deeper, lips hot and wet and perfect.
Gemini moved slowly, savoring it — one hand holding Fourth's thigh steady, the other stroking what his mouth couldn't reach. Fourth was already falling apart, soft moans slipping from his lips with every pass of Gemini's tongue.
"You're gonna make me—" Fourth's voice cracked. "Gemini—"
Gemini didn't stop. Didn't rush. Just hummed gently, sending vibrations through him until Fourth cried out, hips twitching, coming hard into his mouth with a soft, broken whimper.
Gemini swallowed, kissing his way back up Fourth's trembling body, gathering him into his arms.
Fourth was flushed, glowing, breath stuttering as he clung to Gemini like he needed to be held together. "You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to," Gemini said simply, brushing sweaty hair off his forehead. "Every part of you... I want to take care of."
And then, quietly, Fourth whispered into his shoulder:
"Then let me take care of you too."
Fourth's heart was still pounding, skin sensitive and flushed from the high Gemini had given him. He was curled in Gemini's arms, quiet for a long moment, the afterglow clinging to his body like heat.
But then, softly, with his breath still uneven, he whispered into Gemini's neck:
"Lie back. I want to try."
Gemini blinked, surprised. "You sure?"
Fourth nodded. "I want to touch you. The way you touched me. I just—"
He swallowed. "I've never really done this. But I want you to be the first."
Gemini stared at him — eyes wide, lips parted — as though the moment itself was too fragile to breathe on.
"You don't have to prove anything, you know," Gemini said gently.
"I'm not trying to prove anything," Fourth whispered back, eyes shining. "I just want to learn what makes you feel good."
Gemini laid back, exhaling slowly as he watched Fourth climb on top of him — small, serious, but so full of tenderness it made Gemini's chest ache.
Fourth leaned down and kissed him again — slow, soft, but this time with a new edge beneath it. A need to give. To take care. He kissed down Gemini's jaw, to his neck, nipping gently before soothing the spot with his tongue. Gemini's body reacted immediately, breath catching, his hands gripping the sheets.
"Like that?" Fourth asked, voice low.
Gemini nodded, already trembling slightly. "Yeah... god, yeah."
Fourth kept going. He kissed lower, over Gemini's chest, pausing to swirl his tongue over one nipple — and when Gemini gasped, hips twitching, Fourth grinned softly.
"You're sensitive here," he murmured, doing it again — slower this time, more deliberate.
Gemini's hand threaded into his hair. "Fuck, Fourth..."
The confidence bloomed slowly in him. Fourth kissed further down — his lips brushing over Gemini's abs, his tongue following the line of muscle. Then, with shaking hands, he pulled down Gemini's boxers, eyes widening slightly at the sight of him fully hard, thick and flushed.
He licked his lips. "Can I...?"
"You don't have to," Gemini breathed, eyes dark, voice gentle.
"I want to," Fourth said. "I want all of you."
He leaned in and kissed the tip, just once — soft and careful — before wrapping his lips around it. Gemini groaned, low and deep, his back arching slightly as Fourth's mouth slowly took him in. He moved carefully at first, learning how to breathe through it, listening to every sound Gemini made.
His hand curled around the base as his mouth worked slowly, lips stretched, tongue teasing the underside. Gemini's moans grew more desperate, head tilted back, one hand clutching the sheets, the other still tangled in Fourth's hair.
"You're doing so good," Gemini whispered, his voice wrecked. "You feel amazing, baby."
That praise — quiet and real — made Fourth's heart flutter. He hollowed his cheeks, moved deeper, until Gemini gasped his name and gently pulled him back, trembling.
"Come here," Gemini breathed, voice tight with need.
Fourth climbed up, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. Gemini kissed him immediately, tasting himself on his tongue, moaning into his mouth. Their bodies rubbed together, bare and slick with heat, and Fourth ground down gently, their lengths brushing, the friction dizzying.
Gemini's hands held him steady, guiding the motion. Fourth moved with growing confidence, rocking against him, breath hot and shaky. The pleasure was sharp now — mutual, overwhelming — as they pressed together, hips rolling in tandem.
"I'm close," Gemini gasped, eyes locked on Fourth's. "Come with me—look at me, baby—"
Fourth leaned in, kissed him hard, and let go — both of them spilling between their bodies in heat and rhythm and soft moans that echoed through the dark.
They collapsed into each other, skin sticky, hearts pounding.
Fourth buried his face into Gemini's neck, whispering, "Was that... okay?"
Gemini kissed his temple, eyes closed, smiling like he'd just been handed the whole world.
"That was perfect."
Fourth lay back against the pillows, chest rising and falling slowly, his skin flushed and glowing under the soft light. Gemini hovered above him, brushing strands of damp hair off his forehead with careful fingers.
Their eyes met.
"I want more," Fourth whispered.
Gemini paused, eyes searching. "Are you sure?"
Fourth nodded. "I want to feel you. All of you. Inside."
The words sent a tremble through Gemini's chest. He leaned down, kissing Fourth's lips gently, then his cheeks, then his neck — slow and steady, like he was memorizing him.
"I'll go slow," he murmured. "You tell me the second something doesn't feel good. Promise?"
Fourth nodded, wrapping his arms around Gemini's shoulders. "Promise."
Gemini leaned over to the bedside drawer, pulling it open with one hand and retrieving a small box of condoms and a bottle of lube. Fourth's eyes widened slightly, but there was no fear in them — just anticipation, shy and burning.
Gemini pressed one more kiss to his lips, then to his knee, before gently spreading Fourth's legs. He sat back on his heels, taking in the sight: Fourth, bare and open beneath him, flushed pink from chest to thighs, eyes watching him like he was the only person in the world.
"You're gorgeous," Gemini said quietly, unrolling the condom onto himself with one hand as he stroked himself slowly. "And you're mine."
Fourth's breath hitched. "I'm yours."
Gemini squeezed lube onto his fingers, warming it briefly in his palm before reaching down to Fourth's entrance. "Tell me if it's too cold."
Fourth let out a shaky laugh. "I think I'm already on fire."
Gemini leaned in and kissed him as his fingers began to work — one slow press, careful, teasing. Fourth gasped against his lips, hips twitching. But he didn't pull away. He spread his legs wider instead.
"You're doing so good," Gemini whispered, adding more lube and gently pushing in a second finger. "Just breathe for me."
Fourth clung to his shoulders, panting softly. It stung a little, but Gemini's voice, his hands, his mouth — everything about him was steady and warm. He pressed kisses to Fourth's cheek with every stretch, every whisper of discomfort.
By the time the third finger slid in, Fourth was panting with need. "Gemini, please..."
Gemini kissed his thigh, then his lips. "Okay. I've got you."
He lined himself up carefully, condom slick, body flushed, and leaned over Fourth again — their eyes locked, foreheads touching.
"Ready?"
Fourth nodded. "Yeah... I want you."
Gemini pushed in slowly — the thick head breaching, making Fourth gasp and grip the sheets. Gemini froze instantly, eyes locked on his.
"Okay?" he breathed.
Fourth blinked up at him, trembling. "It's... a lot. But don't stop."
So Gemini moved again — inch by inch — until he was fully inside, buried deep in the tight heat of Fourth's body. He stayed still, kissing his neck, his cheek, his temple, letting Fourth adjust.
"You're doing so well," Gemini murmured, his voice almost shaking with restraint. "You feel so good. So tight. So warm."
Fourth whimpered, legs wrapping around Gemini's waist, hips rolling just slightly. "You can move."
Gemini did — slow, shallow thrusts at first, letting their bodies fall into rhythm. Fourth's hands clung to him, soft cries spilling from his lips as the discomfort slowly gave way to pleasure, deep and overwhelming.
"You're mine," Gemini whispered into his ear, voice thick with love and lust. "Every part of you. I'm inside you now — so close."
Fourth nodded against him, moaning his name. "Gemini... I love it. I love you."
The thrusts grew deeper, their bodies slick and trembling, every movement now desperate and perfect. Gemini held him tightly, one hand stroking his cheek, the other supporting his hip as he moved with slow, powerful precision.
"I'm close," Gemini whispered.
"Me too," Fourth gasped.
With one final thrust, deep and full, Gemini pushed them both over the edge — Fourth coming untouched between their chests, Gemini buried inside him, moaning against his mouth as he filled the condom.
They collapsed together, sweaty, breathless, tangled up in each other.
Gemini stayed inside him for a moment longer, just holding him, their bodies still joined.
Then he kissed his forehead, his nose, his lips. "You were perfect."
Fourth blinked slowly. "That was... the best thing I've ever felt."
Gemini pulled out gently, disposing of the condom and returning to wrap his arms around him. They didn't need words anymore. Just skin. Just silence. Just the soft sound of hearts beating in sync.
And in the dark — with the light still on — they slept, finally whole.

Chapter 54: TutorYim - Cum-Stained Discipline❤️‍🔥🔞

The warehouse stank of rust, sweat, and something more primal—terror, fresh and sharp.
Above, a single flickering bulb hummed, casting a sickly yellow glow on the cracked floor. Four hybrids knelt in silence, barefoot and trembling, their heads bowed low. Heavy metal collars sat tight around their throats, IDs freshly engraved into the cold steel. Behind them, guards stood like statues, rifles gripped tight, eyes hidden beneath shadows.

The heavy door groaned open.

Tutor entered.

Dressed in a long, immaculate coat and gloves as black as his eyes, he moved with the quiet confidence of someone who owned everything in the room. His gaze swept across the line of hybrids—detached, calculating.

Three lifted their heads in perfect unison. They were trained for this—arched backs, parted lips, subtle movements designed to entice. Their desperation was polished, rehearsed.

But the fourth...

He was a trembling mess of bare legs and oversized sleeves. His hybrid ears twitched beneath a mop of dark hair, tail limp and unmoving. He made no effort to rise, no practiced seduction in his form. Just fear—raw and paralyzing.

Tutor crouched before him.

"You," he said quietly.

The boy flinched. His tag read Yim. The number on his collar still shone silver, fresh from the engraver.

"How old?"

"E-eighteen, sir..." Yim's voice cracked.

"First time outside the orphanage?"

A meek nod. Wide eyes. Panic written across every inch of him. Tutor inhaled—he could taste the fear. It wasn't feigned. It was real. Pure.

He tilted the boy's chin upward, fingers cold and firm.

"You're untrained."

Yim swallowed hard. "N-no, sir... I didn't think anyone would pick me..."

Tutor's smile was faint. Dismissive. "They didn't."

He stood and turned to the nearest guard.

"Dispose of the other three."

Gunfire ripped through the silence.

Yim screamed.

The echoes bounced off the concrete walls. Blood sprayed in arcs. The bodies crumpled with dull thuds. And just like that—he was alone.

Yim collapsed forward, sobbing, curled into himself. But the footsteps returned, slow and deliberate.

Tutor crouched again, brushing damp hair from the hybrid's pale face.

"You survive," he said simply. "You're mine now."

"I-I don't know how to do anything," Yim gasped between sobs. "I'm not good at anything—"

Tutor's voice was a whisper against his cheek. "That's why I want you."

He reached into his coat, pulled out a black silk leash, and clipped it to Yim's collar with a quiet click.

"Stand."

Legs shaking, Yim rose. Blood seeped across the floor behind him, warm under his feet. He didn't look back.

Tutor led him out.

The penthouse was a different kind of cold.
Glass and steel. Clean, minimal, perfect. No warmth. Just sleek lines and shadows. Floor lights glowed faintly beneath their feet as Tutor guided Yim through the quiet hallway, then into a sparse living room. A single leather chair faced the blank wall.

"Sit."

Yim obeyed, settling nervously into the chair, leash clipped to its armrest. The room was silent except for the sound of his shallow breaths. He sat naked but for the thin shirt that barely covered his thighs.

Tutor stood a few steps away, watching. Observing.

Then, his voice:

"Take it off."

Yim hesitated, cheeks burning, then obeyed. The shirt slid off his shoulders. He hesitated at the waistband of his shorts—but a single sharp look from Tutor was enough. He removed them, exposing pale skin and trembling limbs.

"Good," Tutor murmured. "Now... let's begin your training."

"Training...?"

"You will learn to control yourself through serving me."

He sat in the chair, spreading his legs. Patting his thigh.

"Start here."

Confused, Yim knelt. His hand hovered before resting tentatively on Tutor's thigh. The fabric was smooth. He looked up—seeking permission.

"Touch me. Like your life depends on it."

So he did.

Slowly. Awkwardly. Circles over the cloth, fingers trembling. Then, at Tutor's instruction, his hand slipped lower—beneath the waistband. He gasped softly at what he found there.

Warm. Hard. Waiting.

His fingers closed around it, unsteady at first. Tutor gave no reaction—only a quiet, "Continue."

So he did.

Soft at first, then firmer. Faster. Yim focused entirely on the man before him—watching for every twitch, every sign of approval. When Tutor let out a quiet groan, Yim nearly stopped—but a firm hand on his wrist guided him onward.

Until Tutor shuddered and came in his hand.

Yim froze, breath caught. Sticky warmth spilled over his skin.

"You did well," Tutor said quietly. "That is control."

Yim nodded, dazed. "Yes, sir..."

"Stand."

Tutor helped him up, drawing him briefly into his chest. Not a hug—an ownership display. Possession.

"Tonight you learned to follow," Tutor whispered. "Tomorrow... you'll learn to lead."

Yim's heart pounded in his chest. Hope and fear tangled in his throat.

But the calm shattered again.

Tutor walked to the door. Opened it.

The warehouse guards were still there—rifles ready. And across the hall stood the three hybrids who had supposedly been executed.

Alive.

Shaking.

Listening.

Tutor didn't pause. His words were cold, efficient.

"Kill them."

Yim gasped, a soft scream caught in his throat.

The shots rang out like firecrackers. The hallway filled with blood.

Yim curled into the floor again, hands shaking, breath quick and shallow.

Tutor returned.

"You lied," Yim said. "You said they were dead—"

"And now they are," Tutor replied simply. "Because of you."

"Why... why me?"

Tutor knelt, grasped Yim's jaw. His voice was sharp silk.

"Because you're real. Because I want to see you shatter. And because even with trembling hands—you made me come."

He stood tall.

"You belong to me now. No more cages. No more others. Just you."

"Am I safe now?" Yim whispered.

Tutor leaned closer, eyes dangerous.

"You're alive. That's the only safety I offer."

He unclipped the leash and tugged it upward.

Yim followed.

Bare feet. Blood. Cold air.

And behind them, silence returned—except for the slow drip of blood hitting concrete.

Later
Tutor returned at dawn.
Yim hadn't slept. He lay curled on the bed, leash clipped to the headboard, dried cum streaked across his stomach and thighs. His body was sore, hole aching with every breath. The sheets were ruined, but he hadn't dared move.

He thought maybe it was over.

It wasn't.

Tutor entered, freshly showered, dressed in black slacks and a silk shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. His eyes were cold.

Yim instinctively dropped his gaze.

"You disobeyed me," Tutor said, voice soft. Too soft. "I said not to come."

"But... but you said—" Yim stammered.

"I gave permission only after you begged. You should've held it longer."

Yim's lips parted. A breath. Then a flinch when Tutor grabbed the leash and yanked it hard, pulling him upright like a dog.

"You need a lesson in control."

Yim was trembling before Tutor even forced him to his knees on the hardwood floor. Cold bit into his bones, but Tutor didn't care. He paced slowly behind him, the click of his shoes loud and steady.

"Hands behind your back."

Yim obeyed.

Tutor wrapped a leather strap around his wrists—tight. Not rope. Not cuffs. Just thick, punishing leather that bit into his skin. Then another strap around his throat.

Not choking. But tight enough to remind him who owned his breath.

"I'm going to fuck your mouth," Tutor said, voice low. "And you're going to cry while you take it. No stopping. No mercy."

Yim's heart skipped. His mouth opened instinctively, eyes already wet.

Tutor unzipped.

He didn't give Yim time to adjust—just grabbed his jaw, forced his cock between soft lips, and shoved in deep.

Yim gagged instantly, tears bursting from his eyes as Tutor held him there, hips still, tip shoved hard against the back of his throat. He couldn't breathe. His vision blurred.

"Get used to it," Tutor muttered, gripping his hair. "Sloppy. Weak. Cry all you want—it only turns me on."

Then he started thrusting.

Fast. Brutal. No rhythm. Just rough, punishing thrusts that made Yim choke over and over, spit pouring down his chin, throat convulsing helplessly. His hands twisted in their binds, toes curling against the floor.

He tried to keep up. Tried not to pull away.

But Tutor grabbed his head and held him down.

Gag. Gag. Choke.

Yim thought he might pass out—and loved that Tutor didn't care.

"Good pet," Tutor grunted. "You're only useful like this. Broken. Crying. Full of my cock."

Yim couldn't answer.

He could only whimper and take it.

Cum came suddenly—hot and bitter—flooding his mouth without warning. Tutor held him there until he swallowed every drop. Not one tear was wiped away.

When it was over, Yim collapsed forward, gasping for air, spit and cum dripping from his lips.

But Tutor wasn't done.

He yanked Yim up again—this time tossing him over the bed.

"Since you like cumming so much..." Tutor muttered darkly. "Let's see how much your body can take before it breaks."

He tied Yim's hands to the bedposts.

Spread his legs apart.

And brought out the cane.

The first strike landed on Yim's ass.

Sharp. Loud. White-hot pain shot through him.

"Count," Tutor ordered.

"One," Yim gasped, voice shaking.

Second strike. The sound cracked through the room.

"Two—!"

Third. Fourth. Fifth.

Yim was sobbing now, hips twitching with every hit, cheeks red and ass striped with angry welts. His cock hung hard beneath him, leaking again.

Tutor stepped between his legs. Slid in with no warning.

This time it hurt more.

Raw. Punished. Stretched.

"Ten strokes for your disobedience," Tutor snarled, pounding into his abused hole. "And ten more for looking so fucking pathetic while crying."

Yim couldn't respond anymore. Only scream.

He came again mid-thrust, untouched.

Tutor didn't stop. Fucked him through it.

Didn't let up.

Until finally—

He came deep inside him once more, cock twitching, cum spilling again into Yim's bruised, broken body.

When he pulled out, he left Yim on the bed—face down, crying, bleeding slightly from the cane marks, legs shaking uncontrollably.

Tutor pressed one kiss to the back of his neck.

And whispered:

"Now you know what happens when you disobey me."

Chapter 55: Tied Up in Jasper: Joong’s Wildest Night💞🔞(Harem x Joong)

Trigger Warning: Explicit Omega verse content with multiple partners, overlapping penetration, knotting, rough dirty talk, possessiveness, jealousy, intense emotions, and physical scenes. Reader discretion advised.

The Jasper Pack
A fierce, tightly bonded group where loyalty runs deep and possessiveness burns hotter. Made up of dominant alphas and devoted omegas, the pack lives by one rule: Joong is theirs alone.
Members:

Joong: Bottom alpha — softer, vulnerable, and the heart of the pack. His submissive nature draws the pack's fierce protection and hunger.
Pond: Alpha leader — possessive, dominant, and obsessed with claiming Joong.
Dunk: Calm, commanding alpha and Joong's steady protector.
Phuwin: Playful omega with a sharp edge, balancing the pack's intensity.
Aou: Quiet, loyal alpha with a protective streak.
Boom: Aggressive alpha who claims Joong with fierce hunger.
Perth: Calculating, sharp-eyed alpha and pack strategist.
Santa: Warm-hearted omega, the pack's emotional anchor.
Together, they share sweat, scent, and unbreakable bonds — protecting Joong with fire and claiming him without question.

———————————————————————————————————-
The forest was alive with the scent of damp earth and pine, but beneath that, the Jasper Pack's essence—sharp, wild, and possessive—lingered heavy in the air. Joong moved carefully between Dunk and Phuwin, their fingers brushing in moments so fleeting they could almost be accidental, but Joong felt every tremor, every spark of heat bloom beneath his skin.
Phuwin's voice was low and teasing, the hint of a smirk in his words as he caught Joong's gaze. "You're different lately... softer, like you're peeling back your armor." His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles on Joong's forearm, fingertips brushing over skin flushed by the afternoon sun.

Joong's throat tightened with a familiar ache—the one that told him he was already slipping deeper, falling further into the pack's orbit. "Maybe I just like being close to the pack," he murmured, voice steady even as his chest fluttered with something more vulnerable.

Dunk leaned in, breath warm against Joong's ear, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt as if testing boundaries. "You smell like you want us marking you—claiming you." His words landed heavy, like thunder cracking through Joong's mind, setting something raw and hungry loose inside him.

From the shadows nearby, Pond's eyes glinted sharp and cold, narrowing as he took in the scene. Boom shifted forward, jaw tight and squared, sun catching the harsh angles of his face. Perth's low, dangerous chuckle broke the quiet as he crossed his arms, watching Joong like a wolf circling prey—hungry, calculating.

Joong's heart hammered, his pulse drowning out the distant rustle of leaves. These three alphas weren't just watching; they were judging, measuring, weighing him against an invisible scale he could never quite reach. The scent of Dunk and Phuwin clung to Joong's skin, the subtle omega heat mixing with his own alpha musk, and he knew the alphas could taste the softness blooming beneath his ribs.

Later, by the firelight's flicker, the tension ignited. Pond's voice cut through the murmurs, commanding and cold. "Joong, you've been running too close with the omegas. You're losing yourself."

Joong's throat clenched tight as Boom's heavy presence pressed beside Pond, voice low but menacing. "You forget who you are. What you're meant to be."

Perth's hand came down hard on Joong's shoulder, thumb digging possessively into the sensitive skin, grounding him. "We're your pack. Not them. Not the weak."

Phuwin stepped protectively forward, his gaze fierce, unwavering. "Don't speak like that. Joong belongs to all of us—the alphas, the omegas, the pack. We're his family."

Santa's voice was soft but urgent. "We want him safe. We want him ours."

Joong's breath hitched, trapped between the jagged possessiveness of the alphas and the tender claims of the omegas. The firelight painted every flushed face, every clenched jaw, every hungry gaze fixed on him. He realized—there was no hiding, no escaping the pack's need to mark, to claim, to keep him tethered tightly, completely.

His fingers curled into trembling fists at his sides, heart pounding with a volatile mix of anticipation, fear, and raw desire. The Jasper Pack did not share. Tonight, Joong would learn exactly what that meant.

Night draped the cabin in shadows thick with musk and wild hunger. Joong stood trembling at the center, his bottom alpha body glowing with need and arousal, skin flushed and slick with sweat. Every member of the Jasper Pack's gaze bore into him—claiming, hungry, fierce.
Pond's eyes burned with possessive fire, stalking him like a predator zeroing in on its favorite prey. "You think you can just sit there smelling like Dunk and Phuwin?" His voice was rough, low, threaded with barely restrained frustration. "Fuck, Joong. You're mine."

Joong swallowed hard, pulse pounding, the ache in his core tightening at Pond's claim. "I'm yours," he whispered, hips shifting, betraying the eagerness curled deep in his gut—he wanted more than words.

Boom stepped forward, hands roaming, fingers digging into Joong's hips like he was physically anchoring him to the pack. "You've been tasting omega too much," Boom snarled, breath hot against his ear. "I'm gonna fucking remind you who you belong to."

Perth closed the circle, pressing his body flush to Joong's back, gaze sharp and hungry. His hand slid into Joong's hair, tugging gently, possessively. "Look at you—sweet, soft, and begging when you think no one's watching."

Joong's breath hitched, a soft moan breaking free as Perth's fingers tightened in his hair. The overwhelming scent of the pack swallowed him whole—Boom's brutal dominance, Pond's fierce claim, Perth's sharp need—all wrapped around the softer, desperate heat of the omegas nearby.

Santa's lips left open-mouthed kisses along Joong's bare shoulder, teeth nipping, marking, while Dunk's hands roamed over his chest, fingers trailing down to brush the delicate skin at his neck's base. Aou's gentle, urgent hands cupped Joong's flushed face, thumbs stroking, murmuring possessive praise in a low voice meant only for him.

Phuwin knelt by his side, lips leaving wet trails down Joong's neck and collarbone, tongue flicking teasingly over slick beads of sweat. Joong's knees buckled, caught and steadied by Pond's strong arms circling his waist. The younger alpha was drenched in scent, need, utterly consumed by the Jasper Pack's relentless desire.

"Get on your knees, Joong." Pond's command shattered the last of his control.

With trembling breath, Joong sank to the rough floor as hands reached eagerly for him. Perth was first, pressing his hard cock against Joong's lips, teeth grazing the tender skin of his jaw. Joong opened wide, swallowing the thick, hot length, moaning softly around him as Boom settled behind, slick fingers sliding down to bare Joong completely.

Boom's cock teased at Joong's entrance, slow and demanding, stretching the tight ring before plunging deep with a guttural groan. Perth's rhythm in Joong's mouth was steady and cruel, tongue swirling expertly as Pond's hand tangled in his hair, guiding and claiming him with bruising possessiveness.

The omegas did not remain idle. Santa straddled Joong's thigh, grinding hard, hips rolling with desperate hunger, lips biting and sucking the exposed skin of his shoulder, leaving marks only the pack would recognize. Dunk's hands slid beneath Joong's arms, fingers tracing the delicate curves of his ribs, pulling him closer to the storm of sensation.

Aou's lips trailed lower, tongue flicking over the sensitive bundle at Joong's cock base, while Phuwin replaced him with a wet, expert mouth swirling around Joong's length, sending shivers deep to his core.

Boom's thrusts behind grew brutal, hips snapping forward as Perth's cock throbbed relentlessly in Joong's mouth. Pond's hand cupped Joong's chin, forcing his gaze up, eyes wild with feral love and dominance.

"Look at you," Pond growled, breath hot against his ear, "taking all of us like the fucking prize you are. Mine. All mine."

Joong's body tangled in pleasure and submission, tears prickling as overwhelming waves crashed through him. Two thick cocks filled him—Boom deep and punishing, Pond slow and claiming—while Perth's rough tongue and Santa's grinding hips pushed him over the edge.

The pack's scent, voices, and touches melded into a symphony of lust and possession. Dunk's whispered praises, Aou's eager mouth, Phuwin's skilled ministrations—each push driving Joong harder until he shattered, trembling and moaning around Perth's cock, utterly wrecked beneath the onslaught.

But the pack was far from done.

Pond's cock slide with a rough groan, knot swelling deep inside Joong, filling him completely. Boom kept pace behind, hands gripping Joong's hips, while Perth kissed him deeply, tasting every drop of Joong's release dripping from his lips.

The omegas closed in, kissing, licking, marking the trembling alpha, their hands and mouths claiming every inch, every gasp, every helpless whimper.

Joong was lost—owned, cherished, destroyed—by the pack that would never share him with anyone else.

"Say it," Pond demanded, voice thick with command and fierce love.

Joong's voice cracked, raw with tears and desire. "I'm yours. All of you. Only yours."

The pack closed around him, breathing as one, bodies tangled, hearts pounding in sync—an unbreakable bond forged in fire, lust, and undying possession.

Morning light filtered softly through the cracked window, casting a warm glow over the tangled bodies in the cabin. Joong's muscles ached, a dull fire simmering deep inside him where Boom still held him captive, knot swollen and refusing to let go. Every breath was shallow, every movement weighted with the stubborn fullness that clung to him like a second skin.
Boom's eyes opened slowly, dark and heavy-lidded, and his hand slid across Joong's hip, fingers pressing gently but firmly, grounding them both. Joong shifted slightly, heat flaring at the stretch, a soft moan slipping free despite the ache.

From the edge of the bed, Pond watched quietly, eyes narrowed but unreadable. His presence was a steady weight—silent, watching, as if waiting for his moment without needing to claim it aloud. When he reached out, his fingers traced a careful line along Joong's jaw, thumbs brushing over damp skin, a touch that spoke of something deep and unspoken.

Joong's breath hitched, caught between the lingering pressure of Boom inside him and the gentle, possessive brush of Pond's hand. The tension stretched taut, electric, filled with things they wouldn't say but all understood.

Perth stepped closer, settling behind Pond with careful ease, and Santa's soft laughter came from the corner where Dunk and Phuwin exchanged quiet words, their eyes flickering between Joong and the others.

Joong closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the closeness, the weight of all those bodies pressed around him, by the fierce, aching tenderness in their touches. The room was thick with unspoken promises, with hunger and quiet care and the kind of connection that didn't need to be shouted to be understood.

He exhaled slowly, voice rough but steady. "I'm here. Now and forever."

No more words were needed.

Chapter 56: FlukeEst-Let’s Fuck Until the Clock Stops🔞🙏🏻

Hey guys 💕✨ welcome back! We're down to the last 4️⃣ chapters of this part 📖🔥 and then I'm diving straight into Oneshots: Part 2 😈💦 I hope you're as excited 😍 as I am—and that you'll support it just like you did this round 💖🙏 Now... let's dive deep into the horniness 😏🍑💋
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The Andromeda wasn't a luxury cruise ship. It was a research vessel, built for two-month journeys into the deep Pacific — a floating lab stacked with oceanographic gear, cramped bunks, and the kind of crew who preferred saltwater to people.

Est had been assigned only a week earlier, a last-minute replacement for a sick technician. His specialty was sonar mapping — not glamorous, but essential for the expedition's deep trench survey. He expected long hours, early mornings, maybe a little seasickness. What he hadn't expected was Fluke.

Fluke was the ship's mechanical engineer — the one who kept the generator humming, the propeller spinning, the coffee machine alive. Dark hair tied loosely at the back, grease permanently smudged across strong hands, and a charm that left people talking too much around him. Est had spoken to him exactly three times in the past week. Each time left him feeling off-balance.

Tonight, the ship pitched gently on calm seas. Most of the crew had gone to their bunks after a late dinner. Est was lying on his narrow bed in Cabin B7, reading sonar logs, when the door creaked open without warning.

Fluke stepped inside. No knock. Just him — hair damp from a quick shower, white T-shirt clinging to his shoulders. He carried a small, round metal device, no bigger than a pocket watch.

"You lock your door?" Fluke asked.

"Uh... no?"

"Should start." He crossed the small room, closing the door behind him. The air shifted — warmer, charged. "This is for you."

He tossed the device onto Est's bed. Est picked it up, frowning. Numbers glowed faintly under the skin of his inner forearm:

00:59:58
00:59:57

"It's counting down," Est said slowly.

Fluke nodded, leaning against the wall. "Yep."

"And... what happens when it hits zero?"

"You disappear," Fluke said, flat, like he was discussing engine maintenance. "Overboard, no splash, no body. Like you were never here."

Est stared. "...You're messing with me."

Fluke pushed off the wall, stepping closer. "Am I?"

Est tried to drop the device, but it didn't matter — the numbers kept ticking.

"Okay," Est said, keeping his voice level, "so how do I stop it?"

Fluke's mouth curved, just enough to be dangerous. "You don't. But you can reset it."

"How?"

"By making your heart rate spike. And no — running laps on deck doesn't count. It has to be touch."

Est's stomach tightened. "Touch?"

"Real touch," Fluke said, voice dropping. "The kind that makes your pulse jump."

The timer hit 00:59:00.

"Looks like you're already running out of time," Fluke murmured.

Est hesitated. "This is insane."

"Then I guess you'll be gone in fifty-eight minutes." He leaned in until his face was inches away. "Or... you can let me help."

Est swallowed. "You mean—"

Fluke didn't wait. His hand slid to the back of Est's neck, thumb brushing just under his jaw. Est's breath caught — the numbers jumped.

01:00:00

Est stared. "It reset."

"Told you." Fluke's eyes glittered. "And if I stop—" He pulled his hand away. The timer tumbled again.

Est's pulse raced. "Don't—"

"Then ask me to keep touching you," Fluke said.

"...Please," Est whispered.

Fluke smiled — slow, satisfied — and pushed him gently back against the bed. His weight settled over Est, knees bracketing his hips. The ship swayed, and Fluke swayed with it. Hands laced with Est's, fingers trailing deliberately.

"You feel that?" Fluke murmured. "Every second you're safe is because I'm touching you."

Est tried to laugh; it came out shaky. "That's a weird way to get someone into bed."

"Worked, didn't it?" Fluke grinned. He kissed along Est's jaw before finding his lips. The kiss was deep, slow, unhurried — a fire that melted thoughts. His tongue coaxed Est open, drawing a low sound from him.

The timer flared bright. Fluke's hands slid under Est's shirt, tracing lazy circles over his ribs. Est shivered despite the warmth.

"You're jumpy," Fluke murmured.

"I'm not used to..." Est trailed off, biting back the rest.

"You will be." Fluke shifted lower, kissing down his neck, lingering where the pulse beat fastest. Every flick of his tongue, every scrape of teeth made the timer throb. His hand ghosted inside Est's shorts, curling around him with deliberate slowness.

Est's breath hitched — numbers surged.

Fluke stroked lazily at first, watching his reactions, eyes locked on his face. "You like this," he said.

Est nodded, biting his lip. Fluke tugged his shorts down, letting cool air hit him before wrapping his hand around him again. The rhythm matched the sway of the ship — each squeeze, each glide sending sparks up Est's spine.

Fluke kissed his way down, teeth grazing the sharp line of his hip before his mouth closed over him in one fluid motion. Est gasped, hips jerking, hand flying to Fluke's hair.

Every movement reset the timer to 01:00:00.

Fluke pulled back. "Want to make sure you really don't disappear?"

"Yes..." Est whispered.

"Then let me inside you."

Fluke worked him open, patient, murmuring praise between kisses. When he pushed in, the ship's gentle rocking made each movement hit deeper, sharper. Est clutched his shoulders, breath in broken bursts.

The timer was steady, blinding 01:00:00. Fluke's thrusts built rhythm — slow to start, then harder, faster — skin meeting skin, creak of bunk, Est's soft moans. Release tore through him, head tipped back, wordless cry. Fluke followed, pressing deep, holding him there as the ship rolled beneath them, air thick with sweat and salt.

When Est opened his eyes, the timer was gone. Smooth skin, still warm from the night before. Fluke smirked. "Guess you'll have to stay close to me to find out."

But morning brought a shock: cold metal pressed against his wrist. Timer back.

00:29:58
00:29:57

Fluke leaned over him, hair mussed, shirtless, smirk in place. "Morning, sunshine. Looks like you've got half the time you had last night."

Est sat up. "I thought it was gone—"

"Guess it wants proof you're still mine," Fluke said.

He grabbed Est's chin, tilting him toward the narrow mirror above the desk. "Stand there."

Fluke came up behind him, chest pressing to his back. Their eyes met in the glass — Est wide, unsure, Fluke dark, intent.

"Look at yourself," Fluke murmured, breath hot against Est's ear. "Watch what I do to you."

Timer ticked: 00:29:10

Fluke's fingers traced downward, past waistband. Est gasped, eyes darting, but Fluke's grip brought them back.

"No. Watch."

In the mirror, Est saw every twitch of his muscles, every flush creeping over his neck.

"You see that?" Fluke whispered. "That's mine."

He bent Est forward over the desk, mirror catching every movement. Thrusts were relentless, no slow build, just hard, driving, shelves rattling. Est's fingers curled, knuckles white. Timer flared bright, resetting to 01:00:00 each time Fluke pulled back.

Fluke whispered, "You're shaking, and you love it."

When release tore through Est, he clutched the desk. Fluke followed, low groan, pressing deep, eyes locked on Est in the mirror as they both came undone.

Fluke smoothed a hand down Est's back. "Better get back before they notice. Wouldn't want them wondering why your face is so red."

Almost a week of consistent, heated sex , Est's body had learned to recognize Fluke's touch before it even happened. Every glance, every brush of skin across skin sent a pulse racing through him, and the timer  whether glowing on his wrist or imagined in his mind had become a constant, delicious reminder of who he belonged to.
The narrow hallway still smelled faintly of oil and salt. Fluke leaned casually against the wall, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips, while Est's pulse raced faster than the timer on his wrist.

"Fourteen minutes," Fluke murmured, voice low and teasing. "Better make them count."

Est swallowed hard, trying to steady his breath, but Fluke's presence was like a live wire brushing against his skin. Every step he took closer made the heat in his chest spike.

"You're so tense," Fluke whispered, circling him slowly, eyes dark with amusement. "Look at you, all flushed and nervous. Can't even stand still."

Est's knees almost gave out. "I... I'm not—"

"Shh," Fluke interrupted, stepping right up behind him, his breath brushing Est's ear. "Not going anywhere, are you? You're mine for the next... who knows how long."

The timer pulsed against his wrist again. 00:12:58.

Fluke's hand grazed over Est's shoulder, teasing, just enough to make him shiver. "Every second you hesitate, it ticks down. You want me to stop?"

"No," Est whispered, voice trembling. "I... I don't want you to stop."

Fluke chuckled darkly. "That's what I thought." He leaned closer, lips brushing along Est's neck, murmuring, "Good. Because I love the way you're trembling. Love how you react to me."

The timer pulsed, and Fluke's grin widened. "Every beat of your heart is proof. Proof you need me. That you want this, even if you won't admit it out loud."

Est bit his lip, trying not to lose himself, but Fluke's hands were everywhere — teasing, grazing, never fully satisfying, keeping him on the edge.

"You like that, don't you?" Fluke whispered, voice low and velvet over steel. "Like how I make you squirm. Admit it. Say it."

"I... I..." Est's voice broke. "I like it. I like you."

Fluke's laugh was low and satisfied. "That's my boy. Look at yourself," he pressed, gesturing to the narrow mirror along the wall. "See what I do to you. Watch yourself melt under me."

Est's reflection burned in his mind: flushed, trembling, wide-eyed. Fluke's hands kept teasing, keeping the tension alive. "See how I own you?" Fluke murmured. "How every shiver, every gasp, every glance at me belongs to me?"

The timer blinked again. 01:00:00.

"You're mine," Fluke whispered one last time, voice dripping with promise. "And don't even think about trying to escape. Every second, every tick, every glance — it's proof. Proof you can't resist me."

Est trembled, caught between longing and frustration, utterly undone by the teasing, the dominance, the thrill of not knowing what would happen next. And Fluke? He simply smirked, satisfied, knowing the game had only begun.

Chapter 57: 🐢💤MaxNat- Stop the Family tradition🧸💛

This is a fluffy story.

The Rujaerattanavorapan estate was a place where time ceased to exist.
Anyone born or brought within its walls knew that days were not counted in hours, but in duties.
The staff worked without pause — from dawn to dawn — until their hands stopped obeying them. And when they broke, they were simply replaced with someone younger.

Many of those younger ones came from orphanages. They didn't know what freedom was. They were simply assigned to the kitchen, the garden, cleaning... or to serve one of the family members directly. Being "assigned" meant living in the shadow of the man who owned you. And almost every one of those men had more cruelty than patience.

Nat had learned not to speak. He was barely ten and already felt that silence was the only thing he could control. Every day, he scrubbed floors, washed stairs, carried heavy trays, and pretended not to feel pain.
Today, his legs were numb, his back burned, and his fingers were cracked from detergents.

The kitchen was heavy with the smell of oil and metal. Somewhere in the distance, dishes clattered and muffled voices murmured orders. Nat kept scrubbing, his mind drifting into the haze that came from exhaustion.

The haze shattered with the violent slam of the door.

"What is the meaning of this?!" The lady of the house stood in the doorway, tall, with a gaze sharp enough to burn from a distance. "The stairs are still dirty! Do you want me to be humiliated in front of the guests?"

She crossed the floor in swift, hard steps. Without warning, she seized a fistful of Nat's hair and yanked his head back.
"Tomorrow is your birthday," she hissed into his face. "You won't be just a kitchen boy anymore. I'm deciding who to assign you to. Maybe Max... or Zee. Or Tutor. Or Tommy."

Each name landed like a stone in his stomach. Nat knew them all — men who broke people not with force, but with time.

She released him so suddenly he stumbled and nearly fell. "Now clean those stairs until they shine. Or you'll regret it."

She spun on her heel and disappeared. Only silence remained in the hall.

That night, Nat was left alone in the kitchen, sleeves soaked to the elbows, scrubbing dishes that seemed to multiply in the sink.
The house was quiet now — the kind of quiet that made every drop of water sound like it was echoing in his skull.

His hands moved mechanically, but his mind wandered somewhere it didn't want to go.
James.

He had been eleven, same as Nat would be tomorrow. A small, quick boy with a sharp smile that had faded far too soon.
One evening, he was "assigned" to Net — one of the elder cousins. From that night on, James was never the same. Net had a temper that flared for no reason, and when it did, his fists were faster than words.

Some nights, Nat could hear the muffled crashes, the choked cries, the sound of something — someone — being broken. James stopped talking altogether after that. A month later, he vanished from the staff quarters without a word.

Nat dipped another plate into the soapy water, his fingers trembling despite the heat. Tomorrow, it could be him.

The first light of dawn barely filtered through the high windows of the Rujaerattanavorapan estate. The halls smelled of cold stone and old wood, but Nat couldn't notice anything except the knot of fear in his stomach.

He didn't move. Not a finger. Not an eye. Not a breath louder than necessary. The memory of James and every other boy who had come before him pressed down like a weight. Eleven years old tomorrow. The age when the family decided you were no longer just a child, but a sex slave for men.

He knew the rules. Every boy who turned eleven had a history carved into them — a history Nat had learned from whispers in the corridors and from the few old staff who dared speak.

The Rujaerattanavorapan family had long been feared not just for their power, but for the way they used children. Orphans and street kids were brought into the estate and trained to work tirelessly. By the time they turned eleven, they were chosen to serve the family's sons — not just as laborers, but as personal attendants, messengers, and companions.

No one survived the selection untouched. Every boy was tested, broken, and shaped until they knew that disobedience was unthinkable. The older men in the family — the uncles, the cousins, even some of the sons past twenty-seven — were known for their cruelty. Some were cunning, others violent, but all ensured the boys understood their place.

Nat's heart thumped in his chest. He had spent every day scrubbing, carrying, cleaning, and obeying. And tomorrow, he would no longer be just a boy who worked in the kitchen. He would be claimed — assigned to a member of the family — and there was no way to know if he would survive it intact.

His small hands shook as he straightened the plates, his eyes glued to the floor. Every shadow in the kitchen seemed to move. Every creak of the floorboards sounded like a warning.

The estate had claimed countless boys before him. Nat was only eleven tomorrow, but he already understood what that meant: he was no longer safe.

The kitchen was silent except for Nat's shallow breathing. His hands shook as he gripped the edge of the counter, staring at the floor. Eleven years old. Today.

Heavy, precise footsteps echoed through the hall, announcing her arrival before she even appeared. The lady of the house entered, her sharp eyes immediately locking onto him.

"There you are," she said, her voice cold and controlled, leaving no room for argument. She moved toward him like a predator, each step measured.

Nat couldn't move. His body was frozen with fear. Every instinct screamed to run, but he knew it was useless. She would find him. She always did.

She grabbed him by the hair, yanking his head back. Nat flinched, barely daring to breathe.

"Today you turn eleven," she hissed, her eyes scanning him with calculation. "No longer just a child. You belong to someone now. And I'm deciding who."

Her gaze narrowed as she named the men, one by one: "Max... Zee... Tutor... Tommy."

Nat's stomach twisted. He had heard the stories of every boy who had been claimed before him. None of them had survived unbroken.

She released him with a shove, letting him stumble forward. "Move. Now. Make yourself presentable. Whomever I choose won't tolerate mistakes."

Nat nodded, too terrified to speak, his mind racing with dread as he realized: today, his life would change forever.

Nat's legs trembled as he was led down the hall. Each step echoed like a drum in his ears. The kitchen, the stairs, the hallways — everything seemed to shrink around him. He felt smaller than ever, a fragile thing about to be claimed.

At the end of the hall, the lady of the house stopped. Four men stood waiting. Their gazes swept over him like sharp knives. Each of them carried a weight — authority, power, and the kind of cruelty Nat already knew to fear.

He tried to shrink back, but her hand on his shoulder was iron. "Stand still," she ordered. "This is your new reality."

Nat's eyes flicked from one man to the next: Max, the eldest, calm and measured but dangerous; Zee, who had a cold, calculating look; Tutor, whose patience was only matched by his temper; and Tommy, who seemed restless, as though testing how far he could push someone.

He understood instantly what standing here meant. Today, one of them would claim him. Today, the last thread of his childhood would be gone.

The lady's voice cut through his thoughts. "Look at him," she said, letting each man's gaze linger on Nat like a judge examining a guilty defendant. "He turns eleven today. He's no longer just a boy. Decide."

Nat's chest tightened. He didn't want to be looked at, didn't want to be chosen, didn't want to exist in this place any longer. But there was no choice.

He stood frozen, waiting for her decision, wishing desperately that someone, anything, could save him.

The lady's eyes swept over the four men, sharp and calculating. Then, finally, she nodded.

"Max will take him," she said, her voice final, leaving no room for argument.

Nat's heart stopped. Max. The eldest. The firstborn. The one whose reputation alone made even the older staff flinch. He had heard whispers about him — how no one dared disobey, how he ruled with both intelligence and coldness, how mistakes were punished swiftly.

Max stepped forward, his dark eyes studying Nat carefully. He didn't smile. He didn't speak. He just looked. Nat felt exposed, every ounce of him laid bare under that gaze.

The lady released her grip on Nat's shoulder. "He's yours," she said to Max, then turned and left, her heels clicking away down the hall.

Nat couldn't move. He barely breathed. Every instinct screamed to run, but he knew there was nowhere to go. Max's presence was overwhelming, like a shadow that could swallow him whole.

Max finally nodded once, as if confirming the unspoken truth: Nat's life had changed forever.

Nat's stomach twisted. Eleven years old today, and suddenly, he belonged entirely to someone else.

Max didn't speak. He simply gestured for Nat to follow. Nat's legs felt like lead as he moved, every step heavy with fear and uncertainty.

Outside, the sunlight was harsh, almost painful after the dim shadows of the estate halls. Max led him to a sleek black car waiting at the driveway. The engine purred quietly, but Nat barely noticed. All he could feel was the weight of what had just happened — that he was no longer his own.

"Get in," Max said, his tone flat, leaving no room for argument.

Nat hesitated, glancing back at the towering house behind him. Everything familiar — every hallway, every staircase, every shadow he had known — would be gone in a few moments. But Max didn't wait for him to decide. He opened the door and guided Nat inside.

The interior of the car was cool, almost sterile. Nat's hands gripped the seat, knuckles white. He could feel Max's presence beside him — calm, controlled, but undeniably dangerous.

The engine hummed to life, and the car pulled away. Nat's stomach churned. With every passing second, the estate disappeared from view, and with it, the life he had known, small as it had been.

The car ride was silent, except for the low hum of the engine and the occasional shift of Max's hands on the wheel. Nat pressed himself into the seat, trying to make himself small, but the fear inside him was growing faster than he could contain.

Finally, the car slowed and pulled into the driveway of Max's estate. The house loomed above him — massive, imposing, and impossibly cold. Windows gleamed like watchful eyes, and the gates were wrought iron, black and unyielding. It was a palace, and Nat felt like a tiny, fragile intruder.

Max didn't give him a moment to take it in. He opened the door and guided Nat out, his grip firm, unrelenting. Nat stumbled, his small feet barely keeping up with Max's long strides.

Inside, the halls were vast, with polished floors that reflected every step. Portraits of serious faces lined the walls, silent witnesses to Nat's terror. He wanted to run, but Max's presence alone pinned him in place.

Suddenly, Nat's chest tightened, and the tears he had been holding back finally spilled over. He began to cry, quiet at first, then louder as the realization of his situation sank in.

Max didn't respond to the crying. He simply guided Nat toward a room, pulling him forward. Nat's hands clawed at the fabric of his clothes, his sobs echoing off the empty hallways.

The door opened, revealing a large, sparsely furnished room. Max pushed him inside, and Nat sank to the floor, overwhelmed. The vastness of the house, the weight of Max's control, and the certainty that he was now utterly alone crushed him.

Max stood by the door, silent and unreadable. Nat looked up through his tears, heart hammering, knowing that from this moment on, there would be no safety — only the demands and power of the man before him.

Nat's tears didn't stop immediately, but then something caught his eye. Max had set something on the floor beside him: a neatly folded set of pajamas. Soft fabric, patterned with small, colorful teddy bears. Nat blinked, unsure if he was imagining it.

Max's voice, low and measured, broke the silence. "Get some sleep. You must be tired."

Nat stared at the pajamas, the tears still streaming down his cheeks. It didn't make sense. Everything about this man, this house, this life, screamed control, danger, and fear — and yet here was something gentle, almost... caring.

He hesitated, then reached out, touching the fabric. It was warm and soft, a stark contrast to the cold stone halls and the weight of Max's presence. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Nat began to change, the little comfort grounding him just enough to stop shaking entirely.

Max didn't move closer or speak again. He simply waited by the door, watching silently, a constant reminder that while there was softness here, nothing had truly changed: Nat was still entirely under Max's control.

As he slid into the pajamas and climbed onto the bed, Nat's sobs quieted. The room was huge, the night outside dark, and yet for a brief, fleeting moment, the soft fabric in his hands gave him a sliver of safety he hadn't felt in a long time.

Nat stirred awake, the morning light barely seeping through the curtains. Something pressed lightly against his legs, soft but unfamiliar. His eyes snapped open, heart hammering.

Panicked, he swung his legs, trying to kick whatever it was away.

"Easy," a low voice said.

Max's hand shot out, stopping Nat mid-kick. In his other hand, he held a small bundle of socks — patterned, of course, with teddy bears, just like the pajamas.

"They're for you," Max said quietly, his tone flat but strangely calm. "Put them on."

Nat blinked, confused and still trembling. His instincts screamed to pull away, but the soft fabric and Max's steady presence rooted him in place. Slowly, he reached out and took the socks, fingers shaking.

Max didn't move closer or speak again. He simply watched, a silent sentinel, letting Nat make the choice to accept the small gesture.

Nat slid the socks onto his feet, the soft material a small comfort against the fear that still lingered in every muscle of his body. It was strange — terrifying, yet gentle all at once — and for the first time since arriving, Nat felt a tiny flicker of something like safety.

Max finally sat down on the edge of the bed, his dark eyes studying Nat. The silence stretched, heavy with the weight of everything that had happened — and yet, in that moment, there was no anger, no demand.

"You know I won't hurt you," Max said, his voice calm but firm. "You can trust me."

Nat blinked, unsure if he had heard correctly. His chest was still tight with fear, but the words hung in the air, a strange promise in the midst of everything he had endured.

"You can go to school if you want," Max continued, his tone almost casual. "I won't make you wash dishes or do chores. You're a child, after all."

Nat's hands fidgeted with the teddy bear socks on his feet. The notion was so foreign — a little mercy, a little normalcy. For a fleeting second, he dared to imagine a life that didn't revolve entirely around fear and work.

Max's gaze didn't waver. "But that doesn't mean you can slack off," he added, a quiet edge beneath the calm. "You'll learn responsibility... in your own way."

Nat nodded slowly, still trembling, but somewhere deep inside, a tiny flicker of trust began to form. For the first time since arriving at Max's house, he felt — cautiously — that he might survive this.

The next morning, sunlight spilled through the tall windows, casting a golden glow over Max's huge house. Nat rubbed his eyes and stretched, still clad in his teddy bear pajamas and socks. The soft fabric was oddly comforting, like a little shield against the unknown.

Max was already in the kitchen, quietly preparing breakfast. The smell of fresh bread and something sweet filled the air. When he noticed Nat watching from the doorway, he gave a small, reassuring nod.

"Good morning," Max said softly. "Sleep well?"

Nat nodded, his small voice barely above a whisper. "I... I think so."

"Come eat," Max invited, pointing to a chair at the large table. "I made something simple. Pancakes. You like pancakes, right?"

Nat's eyes lit up. "Yes!" he whispered eagerly, stepping forward. For the first time in days, his steps felt lighter.

As they ate, Max quietly asked Nat about school — if he liked certain subjects, what he wanted to learn, even what his favorite colors were. Nat stumbled over his words at first, shy and unsure, but Max's calm patience made him feel safe enough to answer.

After breakfast, Max gestured toward the sprawling living room. "If you want, you can explore a little. Just stay downstairs for now, alright?"

Nat's face brightened. The huge house was still intimidating, but it suddenly felt full of possibilities — cozy nooks, soft rugs, shelves of books, and sunlight streaming through the windows. He ran from room to room, touching the smooth wood, peeking at the books, and even sitting on a big window seat to watch the garden outside.

Max followed at a distance, watching with a quiet smile. He didn't rush Nat, didn't push him — he simply let him discover the house at his own pace.

By the end of the morning, Nat plopped onto a soft rug with a small sigh of contentment. "It's... nice here," he said softly.

Max knelt beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I'm glad you think so," he said. "You'll get used to it. And I'll make sure you're safe while you do."

Nat smiled, a tiny, genuine smile, feeling warmth and comfort he hadn't known he could feel. The house, the soft pajamas, the gentle presence of Max — it was beginning to feel like a place he could call home.

The afternoon sun poured over the garden, turning the flowers golden and making the leaves shimmer. Max opened the large French doors and gestured toward the outdoors.

"Want to see the garden?" he asked, his tone soft.

Nat's eyes widened. "Can I?" he whispered, already stepping forward.

Max nodded, smiling faintly. "Of course. Just watch your step."

Nat ran ahead, small feet padding over the smooth stone path. He marveled at the rows of flowers, the tall hedges, and a little fountain gurgling in the center. Butterflies flitted around, and for the first time in a long while, Nat felt a lightness in his chest, as if the air itself was lifting some of the fear he'd been carrying.

Max followed at a slower pace, hands in his pockets, watching Nat's excitement. "Careful near the fountain," he called gently.

Nat giggled and ran up to the fountain, reaching out to touch the sparkling water. "It's so pretty!" he said.

Max crouched down nearby. "It is. And you'll see, every season it changes. Flowers, colors... even the fountain sparkles differently depending on the sun."

Nat twirled in a small circle, his pajama sleeves flaring. "I've never... had a garden like this before," he admitted, a shy smile spreading across his face.

Max chuckled quietly. "I thought you might like it."

Then, with a mischievous glint, Nat splashed a little water from the fountain toward Max's shoes. Max raised an eyebrow, but didn't scold him. Instead, he nudged Nat gently with his foot, careful not to make him fall.

Nat squealed, laughing, and the sound rang through the garden. Max's smile softened, and he reached out, pretending to splash Nat back. The two of them ended up in a quiet, harmless water "battle," giggling under the warm sun.

After a while, they both collapsed onto the grass, catching their breath. Nat leaned back, looking at the sky, feeling completely safe and cared for for the first time.

Max looked down at him, voice gentle. "See? You can have fun here. You don't always have to be scared."

Nat nodded, a small, happy grin on his face. "I think... I like it here," he whispered.

Max's hand brushed over Nat's hair, a quiet, protective gesture. "Good," he said softly. "Because you're home now."

One sunny afternoon, Max decided it was time for Nat to pick out some new clothes. "Come on," Max said gently, "let's go shopping. You deserve something nice to wear."

Nat's eyes lit up at the idea of going out, but the moment they arrived at the first clothing store, he hesitated. The racks of clothes felt overwhelming, and he fidgeted nervously.

Before Max could guide him, Nat spotted a door leading to a toy store next door. His little legs carried him away before he could think. Max turned just in time to see Nat dash inside.

"Nat!" Max called, but his tone was calm, not angry. He simply followed at a steady pace.

Inside the toy store, Nat's eyes widened with delight. Rows of plush animals, colorful building blocks, and tiny cars surrounded him. And then, he saw it: a soft, round plushie turtle, with big gentle eyes and a little smile. Nat scooped it up and hugged it tightly, feeling its soft fabric against his cheek.

Max caught up, kneeling to Nat's level. "Hey," he said softly, "you can play here for a bit. But we'll still get clothes, too, alright?"

Nat nodded eagerly, clutching the turtle like a treasure. "Just a little while," he whispered.

Max smiled, watching Nat explore the toys with wide-eyed wonder. For the first time, Nat could be a child — curious, playful, and free from worry. Max knew that patience, kindness, and small moments like this were the way to slowly rebuild Nat's trust in the world.

After a while, Nat allowed Max to guide him back to the clothing store. But even as they picked out new clothes, Nat kept the plushie turtle tucked under his arm — a small, comforting reminder that happiness could exist, even in a life that had once been so hard.

That night, Nat crawled into bed, clutching the plushie turtle tightly. Max came into the room quietly, carrying a soft blanket.

"Come here," Max said gently. He helped Nat pull the blanket over himself and the little turtle. "This will keep you warm," he added, smoothing it around Nat carefully.

He leaned down closer, his voice soft and calm. "The plushie turtle will help you sleep peacefully through the night. If you need anything... anything at all... you can call me."

Nat's eyes widened slightly, but he nodded, feeling a deep sense of safety wash over him. Max smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Nat's forehead, and gently pressed a soft kiss on his temple.

"Goodnight, Nat," Max whispered. "Sleep well."

Nat hugged the plushie turtle a little tighter, feeling the warmth of Max's care surrounding him. For the first time in a long time, he felt truly safe, loved, and ready to drift into a peaceful sleep.

Chapter 58: AJ x JJ - Congratulations brother, you knocked me up ! (incest)

⚠️ Trigger Warning: This story contains explicit sexual content, incest (brother × brother), and male pregnancy (mpreg). Reader discretion is strongly advised.

AJ- Bottom

JJ-Top

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The alley was quiet now, save for the faint drip of water from a cracked gutter.
AJ wiped the blade clean, the crimson smearing across his sleeve before he tossed the rag aside. JJ leaned against the wall, a cigarette hanging from his lips, flicking his lighter with growing frustration.

“Figures,” JJ muttered, sighing. “Lighter’s dead.”

AJ gave him a look — half annoyance, half amusement — before stepping over the last body.
They didn’t speak again until the job site was behind them, shadows swallowing the mess they’d left.

By the time they reached the bar, the scent of blood still clung faintly to their jackets. They pushed through the door like they owned the place, ordered whiskey without a word, and let the music drown out the night’s work.

The bass thumped so hard it felt like it was trying to knock the whiskey out of their glasses.
AJ and JJ sat in a corner booth, shadows flickering across their faces as neon lights pulsed over the crowd.

JJ slammed back his drink in one go. “Friday night, little brother. We’re alive. That’s reason enough to keep drinking.”

AJ leaned back, scrolling lazily through his phone. “Yeah, well… old man says we’ve got another mission in a week. Same payout as tonight.”

JJ’s eyes weren’t on AJ. They were locked on a blonde at the bar whose dress was fighting a losing battle against gravity. He grinned. “A week’s plenty of time. I’ve already found my next target.”

AJ smirked without looking up. “Let me guess — not the kind that needs a bullet.”

“She’s dangerous in her own way,” JJ said, still watching her like a predator. “And I’m willing to take the risk.”

AJ shook his head, sipping his drink. “Just don’t get blood on her dress. Not that kind of night.”

JJ laughed, already sliding out of the booth, his eyes never leaving the blonde. “Relax, little brother. Not every hunt ends with a body on the floor.”

AJ watched him go, pocketing his phone. He knew JJ well enough to know that was a lie.

wasn’t counting the shots anymore. Somewhere between the fifth and the sixth, the burn stopped bothering him. The world had softened, sounds blending into the bass, colors bleeding together under the flashing lights.

JJ was across the room now, deep in conversation — or maybe negotiation — with the blonde. AJ couldn’t tell, and frankly, he didn’t care.

That’s when he saw her.

At the far end of the bar, a brunette in a black silk dress sat alone, legs crossed, one hand wrapped around a martini glass. Her eyes caught the light in a way that made the rest of the room fade. Not just pretty — dangerous pretty. The kind that makes a man forget his better judgment.

AJ smirked, finishing his drink in one swallow. He slid out of the booth, moving with the unsteady confidence only whiskey could give.

As he approached, he caught the faintest hint of perfume — sweet, but with something sharp underneath.

“Evening,” he said, leaning against the bar, trying to look casual despite the sway in his stance. “You look like you’re either waiting for someone… or trying to forget them.”

She smiled, slow and knowing. “Maybe both.”

AJ wasn’t sure how long they’d been talking — time got slippery after that last drink. All he knew was her laugh was warm, her lips warmer, and the room seemed to tilt every time she leaned in.

One minute they were trading lines over the bass, the next his mouth was on hers, clumsy but eager. The taste of martini and lipstick mixed with the whiskey on his tongue.

He barely noticed the shadow falling over them until a firm hand clapped his shoulder.

The stairs creaked under their boots, the dim light overhead flickering like it couldn’t quite keep up with the club’s electricity.
JJ led the way, his arm wrapped around the blonde’s waist, her laugh muffled against his shoulder. AJ stumbled behind, still hand-in-hand with the brunette, her steps slow and deliberate, as if she was guiding him more than he was guiding her.

The hallway upstairs was narrow, the carpet worn thin, music from below now just a muted pulse through the walls. JJ stopped at the last door, glanced over his shoulder at AJ with that familiar, mischievous grin, then pushed it open.

Inside, the room smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne. A small table sat by the window, two bottles of something strong already waiting there — JJ’s doing, no doubt.

“Privacy,” JJ said, shutting the door behind them with a click. “Now we can drink without someone trying to pickpocket us… or shoot us.”

AJ dropped into one of the chairs, rubbing his eyes, the room still swaying just a little. The brunette slid an arm around his shoulders and kissed his cheek. JJ poured drinks while the blonde kicked off her heels and sank onto the bed.

JJ loosened his shirt collar, a slow grin tugging at his mouth as the blonde traced a finger along his chest. Her laugh was low, playful, and it seemed to pull the whole room into its orbit.

The brunette leaned closer to AJ, brushing a strand of hair from his face, her perfume wrapping around him like a warm night breeze. He caught her gaze — dark, steady — and even in his drunken haze, he knew she was trouble. JJ pulled the blonde closer; AJ’s hand found the small of the brunette’s back. Laughter turned into quiet, the kind that needed no words. The air thickened, shadows shifting across the walls as they drew closer together.

The air in the room was heavy now — thick with the scent of perfume, sweat, and spilled whiskey.
On the bed, JJ had the blonde pressed beneath him, her fingers clutching at his shirt, pulling him down until their mouths met in a fevered tangle. The thin straps of her dress had slipped off her shoulders, baring skin that caught the flicker of the light. She arched against him, her breath sharp and uneven, each movement pulling a low growl from his throat.

In the chair, AJ was lost in the brunette’s rhythm. She rocked against him in slow, deliberate movements, her silk dress riding higher with every shift. Her hands cupped his face, holding him in place as she kissed him hard enough to steal the air from his lungs. He could feel the heat of her thighs against his hips, the press of her body leaving no space between them.

JJ’s hand slid along the blonde’s thigh, gripping just enough to make her gasp, his other braced beside her head. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, whispering something against his ear that made his grin widen.

The brunette’s perfume was dizzying now, a heady mix of sweetness and something sharp. She broke the kiss only to drag her lips down along AJ’s jaw, her breath hot against his neck. His hands were on her hips, guiding her movements, his knuckles brushing the bare skin beneath the hem of her dress.

The blonde’s laugh turned into a soft gasp, a shiver running through her as JJ’s grip tightened just enough to pull a reaction. His voice was rough, low, a growl in her ear.
“You sound too good to be quiet,” he murmured. “Don’t even think about stopping.”

She bit her lip, teasing, her fingers brushing against him in a way that made him smirk. “You like that, don’t you?”

Across the room, AJ had the brunette pressed into his lap, her dark hair spilling over his shoulders. She was grinning, eyes half-lidded, whispering over and over:
“You don’t even know how much I like it when you look at me like that.”

AJ leaned closer, voice gravelly. “I’m not looking, I’m studying you… figuring out how to make you forget everything else.”

Her laugh was breathless, a teasing hiss. “Then maybe you’d better hurry,” she whispered, tracing her fingers over the edge of his shirt.

From the bed, JJ’s hand slid along the blonde’s side, eliciting a soft moan from her. “That’s it,” he murmured, lips brushing her temple. “Don’t hold back… I want to hear everything you feel.”

The room was alive with heat, voices low and rough, moans and laughs blending together with the pulse of the bass from below. Every whispered word, every deliberate brush of skin, was a battle of control and surrender — and no one wanted to win.

The brunette’s hips rolled lazily, every motion smooth and deliberate as she let AJ guide her, her breath catching in little gasps that made his grip tighten. She leaned forward, lips brushing his jaw, her voice low and teasing.

“Mmm… you like how I move for you?”

AJ chuckled, deep and warm, his hands firm on her waist. “I like how you can’t stop.” He pressed her down harder, feeling the way she clenched around him. “You’re mine right now, sweetheart… so keep going.”

She laughed breathlessly, grinding into him, her nails dragging over his chest. “I’m yours to do whatever you want with.”

On the other side of the bed, JJ had the blonde flat on her back, his mouth at her throat, his hand already between her thighs. She whimpered and arched for him, but suddenly stilled, catching his wrist.

“Wait—” she panted, eyes sharp even through the haze. “You have a condom, right?”

JJ froze for half a second, grinning like the bastard he was. “Not on me.”

Her brows shot up. “Are you fucking serious?!”

“Mmhmm.” His tone was pure smug as his fingers slid slowly over her anyway. “You’re wet as hell and you’re really gonna stop me over that?”

She shoved at his shoulder, though not very hard. “Yes, I’m gonna stop you. I’m not stupid.”

“Baby…” He kissed the corner of her mouth, voice dropping to a growl. “You’re shaking for me. You want me raw. You just don’t wanna admit it.”

She glared at him, but her legs stayed open, her breath shaky. “You’re such an asshole.”

“And you’re still letting me touch you,” he murmured, sliding two fingers inside her, watching her gasp despite herself.

Meanwhile, the brunette let out a needy moan as AJ shifted her onto her back, hooking her legs over his shoulders. The headboard slammed lightly against the wall, and she barely noticed JJ’s low laugh beside her.

The blonde hissed between her teeth, half angry, half desperate, clutching the sheets. “God, you’re infuriating—”

“And you’re dripping on my hand,” JJ cut her off, smirking down at her. “Guess we both win.”

AJ shot him a glance, grinning wickedly. “Quit teasing her and fuck her already.”

“She wants it wrapped,” JJ said, pressing a kiss to the blonde’s neck. “Guess I’ll just have to make her beg without it.”

The blonde’s groan was pure frustration… and pure want.

The room was a mess of low curses, wet sounds, and clashing rhythms — AJ’s deep thrusts shaking the brunette apart while JJ’s dirty persistence had the blonde swearing at him and still pulling him closer. Heat built fast, tension knotting between them all, until the line between anger, laughter, and surrender blurred into something filthy and impossible to stop.

The blonde’s breath hitched as JJ finally gave in to his own impatience. He tossed the condom debate out the window, shifting between her legs with a wicked grin.

“Yeah… fuck it,” he muttered, pushing into her in one slow, deliberate stroke that made her gasp, eyes going wide. “That’s it, baby—feel me.”

Her nails dug into his shoulders. “You’re such a reckless—” Her words broke off in a sharp moan as he bottomed out, his hips grinding against hers.

“Say it,” he growled into her ear, rocking into her with deep, lazy thrusts. “Say you like it raw.”

She bit her lip hard, shaking her head, but her hips rolled up to meet his every time. “Fuck you, JJ—”

“You are.” His grin was pure sin as he pressed harder, faster, his breath warm against her neck. “And you’re loving every damn second.”

Beside them, AJ had the brunette bent over, one hand gripping her hair, the other planted firmly on her hip as he drove into her from behind. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, her moans spilling out unrestrained.

“God, AJ—” she gasped, her back arching under the force of his thrusts.

He leaned over her, voice a low growl in her ear. “Look at them while I fuck you… see how desperate she is for him?”

The brunette’s eyes flicked to the blonde, watching her writhe under JJ, the two of them moving like they couldn’t get enough. It only made her whimper louder, her hands gripping the sheets.

JJ caught AJ’s eye over the tangle of bodies, smirking as he kept pounding into the blonde. “She’s about to lose it, man.”

JJ finally pulled out, the blonde collapsing back onto the sheets with flushed cheeks and trembling thighs. She was panting hard, hair plastered to her forehead.

He slid off the bed, grabbing a half-empty glass from the nightstand, gulping it down before a guy from earlier at the bar sidled up, pressing something into his palm. “For the afterparty,” the man smirked.

JJ didn’t even think twice — the pill was down his throat before the blonde had caught her breath. He leaned back against the headboard, legs spread, cock still slick and hard, the faint burn in his veins turning into a wildfire.

In less than a minute, his vision hazed, colors melting into each other, the air itself feeling heavier. His body felt electric. Every touch of the sheets against his skin was like fire, every sound too loud, every pulse in his dick like it was demanding something—now.

The blonde propped herself up on her elbows, catching sight of him stroking himself lazily, his eyes dark and distant. “JJ… what did you take?” she asked, her voice half-worried, half-drawn to the way his muscles flexed with every movement.

He looked at her slowly, a twisted smile curling on his lips. “Something that’s about to ruin you, baby.”

His cock twitched in his grip, harder than before, and there was nothing patient or careful in his eyes anymore — just hunger.

Behind them, AJ was still pounding into the brunette, but even he glanced over when JJ’s breathing got heavier, like he was on the edge of snapping completely.

JJ’s head was spinning so hard he couldn’t tell who was who anymore. The room swam with bodies, skin, sweat, and the pounding bass from the club still echoing in his skull. AJ was bent over the brunette, hair falling forward — and in JJ’s haze, that flash of longer hair was all it took.

A twisted, reckless impulse lit up in him.

Before AJ could even register what was happening, JJ was on his feet, stepping up behind him. One rough grip to AJ’s hip, a low groan, and JJ shoved himself in raw.

AJ’s gasp was sharp, almost a choked cry — his body going rigid as his hands flew forward to brace himself.
“—FUCK! JJ! WHAT THE—!” His voice cracked, pain lacing through every word.

JJ didn’t stop, barely even hearing him. His mind was a haze of heat and pressure, the drug making every clench around him addictive. He pressed in deeper, groaning against AJ’s back.

“This… fuck—tight—” JJ’s words were slurred, low and filthy.

AJ’s nails dug into the mattress, eyes squeezing shut. This was his first time, and he hadn’t expected any man, least of all JJ, to take him like this. Every thrust was sharp, burning, nothing like the slow, careful prep he’d always imagined.

“JJ—stop—! I swear—” AJ’s breath broke as another deep shove forced a helpless noise from him.

But JJ was gone — lost in the fog, chasing the rush, hips snapping forward with a force that made the bed slam against the wall.

The blonde stared wide-eyed, frozen, not sure if she should intervene or watch.

JJ was completely gone, every ounce of self-control burned away by the drugs coursing through his veins. His grip on AJ’s hips was bruising, each thrust brutal and unrelenting.

AJ tried to push him off, fingers clawing at JJ’s forearms, but JJ only growled low, shoving him harder into the mattress.

“JJ—fuck—get—off—” AJ’s voice was ragged, breath hitching with every impact. His muscles trembled as he fought, but then—

JJ’s next thrust slammed in at a slightly different angle, and it hit there.

AJ’s protest shattered into a loud, uncontrollable moan. His head dropped forward, hair falling in his face, body betraying him completely.

“Oh—fuck—” he gasped, gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles whitened.

JJ smirked against the back of his neck, his voice thick and filthy.
“Knew you’d sound good when I found your spot.”

AJ’s cheeks burned, shame and unwanted pleasure tangling in his gut. He tried to wriggle away, but JJ followed, rutting into him with that same angle over and over, forcing more of those broken noises out of him.

“Stop—” AJ panted, “—fuck, I hate you—” but his voice cracked mid-word, betraying the way his body was reacting.

JJ only pressed closer, breath hot in AJ’s ear.
“No you don’t. Not when you’re clenching around me like this, baby girl.”

The music outside the room was deafening, but in here, it was just the sound of skin, ragged breathing, and the bed slamming the wall.

“God, you feel so good, baby girl…” he groaned, voice low and filthy, gripping AJ’s hips with bruising force.

AJ froze mid-breath, shock flashing through his features, eyes wide. “W-what…?”

JJ didn’t hear him. His mind was nothing but heat and pressure, every nerve ending screaming as he drove harder, faster, until finally he slammed his release deep inside AJ.

“—fuck, yeah… baby girl…” JJ groaned again, dragging out the words, completely lost in the illusion, oblivious to the fact that the trembling, moaning body beneath him was not the girl he thought he was fucking.

AJ’s body shook violently under him, part pain, part humiliation, part something he didn’t know he could feel. His first time, and it had turned into this chaotic, brutal, drug-fueled nightmare — and the worst part? JJ didn’t even know who he was.

AJ’s eyes widened, panic and shock mixing with the raw, unprepared sensation. “JJ—wait! I—fuck!” His hands scrambled to push, but JJ was relentless, rutting into him with no thought of gentleness.

Then JJ’s release hit, hot and thick, filling AJ completely. The younger man’s body shuddered violently, breath catching, eyes squeezed shut as he was forced down by the overwhelming rush. Every nerve screamed as JJ’s knot pulsed, trapping him entirely, every thrust sending him further into a blur of pain and pleasure.

The week passed, and AJ didn’t say a word. He played the brutal criminal flawlessly—cold, precise, untouchable.

Inside, though, it was chaos. Every morning brought nausea, hollow aches, and flashes of JJ’s reckless, drug-fueled assault. His body betrayed him, heat and pain twisting in ways no training or focus could hide.

He clenched his fists at night, willing the shame and fear away, but it never left. Something was off—his stomach constantly twisted, the nausea relentless—and deep down he knew JJ had crossed a line that couldn’t be undone.

AJ couldn’t ignore the nausea any longer. Each day his stomach twisted violently, and his body felt… wrong. Exhausted, dizzy, trembling—he finally went to the doctor.

The tests were quick, clinical, and then the words hit him like a bullet:

“You’re pregnant.”

AJ froze, breath catching, mind reeling. Every wave of nausea, every dizzy spell, every ache now made horrifying sense. He was carrying JJ’s child.

AJ sat stiffly in the sterile clinic, stomach twisting as the nurse led him in. The doctor’s calm, professional eyes scanned the results.

“Your body… something’s changed,” the doctor said slowly. “The tests show… you’re pregnant.”

AJ froze, hands gripping the chair. “I-I’m… what?”

“You’re carrying a child,” the doctor repeated gently. “It explains the nausea, the hormonal shifts, the fatigue.”

AJ’s breath caught. “How… how is this even possible?”

The doctor sighed, “Your body is responding to a sexual encounter in ways you may not have expected. You’ll need to rest, monitor yourself closely, and consider your options.”

AJ nodded mutely, head spinning. Inside, panic, disbelief, and a raw, helpless heat twisted together.

AJ stepped into the penthouse, the little ultrasound photo clutched tightly in his hand. His stomach twisted—not just from the nausea, but from the weight of what the photo confirmed. Every step toward the living room felt heavier, as if the air itself was pressing down on him.

JJ was sprawled on the couch, laptop open, fingers tapping away like he was completely absorbed in the world outside AJ’s storm. The sight made AJ’s chest tighten, a mix of frustration, disbelief, and the heat of lingering memory boiling together.

AJ’s hands shook as he finally slammed the photo onto the coffee table. “Surprise, brother,” he spat, voice sharp, raw, and shaking with anger. “You knocked me up!”

JJ froze mid-motion, eyes flicking up from the screen, confusion flaring first. “Wait—what? You’re serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious!” AJ shouted, fists clenching at his sides. “I didn’t want this! I never wanted any of this! And you just… you went and—ugh!” His chest heaved, voice breaking with frustration and disgust. “Do you even realize what you’ve done?!”

JJ slowly rose, hands lifting slightly in a mix of caution and lingering arousal, the corners of his mouth twitching with that crooked, dangerous grin. “Hey… come on, AJ, I—”

“Don’t ‘come on’ me!” AJ snapped, pointing at the photo like it burned him. “Look at this! You ruined me, you idiot! You didn’t even care!”

JJ’s expression flickered between shock, disbelief, and a simmering possessiveness. “I… didn’t know—”

“You didn’t know?!” AJ screamed, his voice shaking, eyes blazing. “You don’t get to just not know, JJ! You—fuck—you’re a disaster!”

JJ took a slow step closer, his grin darkening, lips parting as if to speak, but AJ spun on him, fury pushing him back. “Stay back! I can’t… I can’t even think about how you—ugh!” He pointed again at the ultrasound, voice cracking. “You made me sick every day this week! And now—now look! This is on you!”

JJ froze, his gaze darkening, a dangerous glint igniting in his eyes. Desire, guilt, and raw fascination warred across his expression. “AJ… I—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” AJ shouted, storming past him toward the kitchen to throw up, his body heaving, nausea spiking at the reminder of the child inside him. “Just… just leave me alone!”

The penthouse was silent, save for AJ’s ragged breaths and JJ standing frozen, torn between panic, arousal, and a possessive heat he could no longer ignore.

JJ leaned back on the couch, smirk curling his lips. “Wait… we didn’t even fuck, AJ. Did I… blow some air your way or something?”

AJ froze, chest tight, hands trembling around the ultrasound photo. His face burned with fury, disbelief, and the weeks of suppressed nausea and pain boiling over.

“No, JJ,” he said, voice low but sharp, trembling with anger. “You didn’t just ‘blow air’… you fucked me. That night… when you were high on that shit, when you didn’t even know what you were doing… you shoved yourself in me. Without care. Without asking. Without any thought for me. Do you even remember?!”

JJ’s smirk faltered for the first time, confusion flashing across his face. “I… wait… what? You’re serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious!” AJ shouted, stepping closer, eyes blazing. “I’ve spent every day this week feeling sick, nauseous, thrown off, aching… all because of what you did! And now… now I’m carrying your child! Do you understand?!”

JJ’s jaw tightened, his cocky grin fading as reality hit him in a way he hadn’t expected. For once, the reckless, untouchable bravado faltered, leaving him raw, shocked—and for the first time, aware of the chaos he’d caused.

AJ’s hands shook as he held out the ultrasound. “Look at this. This is inside me. Because of you. That night, JJ… you ruined me.”

The penthouse was silent for a heartbeat. JJ’s eyes darted between AJ and the tiny photo, a storm of guilt, heat, and disbelief crossing his face. JJ stood up, closing the distance between them in a few long strides. Before AJ could react, JJ’s hands wrapped around him, pulling him flush against his chest. The warmth, the strength, the familiar weight pressed into AJ, and despite the anger, his body betrayed him with a shiver.

“Shhh… it’s okay, AJ,” JJ murmured, voice low and soothing, lips pressing a tender kiss to AJ’s forehead. “I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you… I promise.”

AJ’s sobs broke free, wet and shaky against JJ’s chest. “I’m… I’m scared,” he whispered, voice muffled, hands clutching JJ’s shirt as if letting go might shatter him.

JJ wrapped his arms tighter, rocking him slowly. “I know, little brother,” he said gently, brushing a hand through AJ’s hair. “It’s okay to be scared. I’ll protect you. No one’s going to hurt you. Not me, not anyone.”

AJ pressed his face against JJ’s chest, letting the warmth and steady heartbeat calm him. For the first time since that night, some of the fear melted away, replaced with a fragile sense of safety. JJ held him like he could shield him from the entire world, kissing his forehead again, murmuring soft reassurances as AJ clung to him, sobbing quietly, afraid but comforted in the embrace of the one person who should have always been there.

JJ held AJ close, soft kisses on his forehead calming his shaking body, before a dark, crooked grin spread across his face and he whispered,

“Let’s do some more babies next time, shall we… baby brother?”

Chapter 59: Don't Be Jealous, Baby - Jimmy x Sea💞

Sea's phone buzzed as he scrolled through his script one last time. "I think I've got the scene down," he said, glancing at the other actor with a practiced smile.

Jimmy leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, chest tight. Seeing Sea so close to someone else—the touches, the smiles—twisted his stomach.

"You ready?" Sea asked cheerfully.

Jimmy swallowed hard. "Yeah... just... careful, okay?" His voice was low, almost a growl.

"Careful? It's just acting."

"Doesn't feel that way," Jimmy muttered, stepping closer and brushing his hands against Sea's as if claiming him.

Sea's lips curved, teasing. "Jealous, huh?"

Jimmy's throat tightened. "Maybe... I don't like sharing you." His hands slid to Sea's waist, pulling him flush against his body.

Sea gasped softly. "Then... don't."

That was all Jimmy needed. He kissed Sea fiercely, hungry and possessive, and Sea melted instantly, hands threading into Jimmy's hair, matching the intensity.

"I'm yours..." Sea whispered against his lips.

"Always," Jimmy replied, sealing it with a slow, heated kiss.

Later, in the office, Jimmy sat behind his desk, pretending to focus on paperwork, but his phone kept buzzing with updates from Sea's film. When Sea walked in holding two coffees, bright and smiling, Jimmy's tension broke through.

"Sea... we need to talk."

Sea tilted his head. "About the trailer?"

Jimmy grabbed his shoulders, pulling him close. "I saw it. You... with him... I hate it when anyone else touches you—even if it's acting."

Sea smiled softly, cupping Jimmy's face. "Jimmy... it's not real. You know that, right?"

Jimmy swallowed, the tightness in his chest giving way to need. "I know... but I want you. Only you."

Sea leaned closer, brushing his lips against Jimmy's. "Then prove it."

Jimmy pressed him flush against the desk, hands roaming, lips trailing from Sea's mouth down his neck. "I need to feel it... to know it's just me."

Sea tilted his hips instinctively. "Then... take me," he whispered, breath ragged.

Jimmy's hands slid under Sea's shirt, skin meeting skin. Every jealous pang turned into desire. He kissed him with a mix of urgency and tenderness. Sea pressed back, hands tangled in Jimmy's hair, bodies moving in sync.

"Jimmy... please..." Sea breathed.

"Shh," Jimmy whispered, kissing him again. "Just us."

The office faded away. There was only them—their breaths, their whispered confessions, every touch a promise. When they paused, foreheads pressed together, Jimmy cupped Sea's face gently. "You're mine," he murmured.

"Always," Sea replied, smiling. "Only yours."

Jimmy's lips moved lower, teasing, stroking, marking him gently, every touch deliberate. "You feel so perfect for me," he murmured.

Sea gasped, body trembling. "Jimmy... please... I need you."

Jimmy paused, looking into his eyes. "I'll take care of you... slow, soft... every bit for you, only you."

He continued inch by inch, caressing and tracing until Sea was trembling, ready, entirely his. Jimmy captured his lips in a long, heated kiss. "Only you... always only you," he whispered.

Jimmy's hand slid beneath Sea's shirt, fingertips brushing the heated skin of his stomach, tracing slow circles. He tugged the fabric upward, exposing more of him inch by inch, never rushing. When the shirt finally left Sea's body, Jimmy paused, eyes dark and tender.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, pressing a kiss above Sea's heart.

Sea flushed, fingers curling in Jimmy's hair. Jimmy kissed down over his chest, teasing a hardened nipple until Sea gasped, thighs pressing together with need.

Jimmy's hand traced lower, sliding along the waistband of Sea's pants, rubbing slow circles, feeling him twitch and squirm.

"Please..." Sea whispered.

"Not yet," Jimmy teased softly, brushing his lips along Sea's ear. "I want to take my time with you."

His mouth moved lower, exploring with kisses over Sea's stomach and hips, while his fingers finally slipped beneath the waistband, brushing teasingly close. Sea's body arched, whimpering, every touch building anticipation.

When Jimmy finally wrapped his hand around himself, even through fabric, Sea gasped, trembling. Jimmy stroked slowly, watching every reaction, listening to the way Sea's moans grew softer, breathier.

Sea tried to grind into the touch, but Jimmy pinned his hips down gently. "Easy, baby," he whispered. "Let me make you feel everything."

Jimmy kissed him deeply now, tongue sliding slowly, swallowing each moan as his fingers worked Sea open. Sea trembled, lost between the stretch and the brush of Jimmy's movements.

Jimmy leaned in, whispering against his mouth, "I want you so much... but I'll do it right."

His free hand found a drawer beside the desk, retrieving a condom. He tore it open with practiced ease, the sound making Sea shiver, gripping Jimmy's arms.

Jimmy wrapped it on, deliberate and unhurried, keeping his fingers inside Sea. The stretch and promise pressed against him, building the heat, every inch patient, slow, and liquid in motion.

"Ready?" Jimmy murmured, voice husky, brushing hair from Sea's damp forehead. Sea nodded, body yielding.

Then Jimmy eased in, inch by inch, holding Sea close, letting the fullness roll over them like a warm, slow tide. Sea gasped softly, clutching at Jimmy's shoulders, trembling but trusting.

Jimmy kissed him again, letting the rhythm take over — fluid, molten, intimate. Their breaths mingled, hearts racing together, the office around them fading into a symphony of shivers, whispers, and gentle presses, all theirs.

"Mine... all mine," Jimmy murmured, possessive and tender, as his fingers continued their slow, careful work, stretching Sea open with patience, jealousy, and love.

 

Jimmy's hands never stopped their gentle claim over Sea, one holding him steady against the edge of the desk, the other sliding in slow, deliberate motions that made Sea shiver and tremble. Every inch of him was open, pliant, and yielding, the stretch blending with the soft heat of Jimmy's body pressed against him.

"You feel so good... so perfect for me," Jimmy murmured, voice low and rough with possessive need. "I can't... I can't believe this is only mine."

Sea whimpered, hips tilting, pressing instinctively against Jimmy. "I... I'm yours... only yours," he whispered, breath shaky, fingers clutching at Jimmy's shoulders.

Jimmy kissed him deeply, tongue brushing slowly, drinking in every soft moan and shiver. He moved with a careful rhythm, inch by inch, letting Sea adjust, letting the anticipation stretch out between them like liquid fire. The polished surface of the desk pressed cold under their thighs, a sharp contrast to the warmth they shared, grounding every shiver and gasp.

"You're such a good boy... taking me like this," Jimmy murmured, hands steady, voice husky with jealousy and desire. "I love how good you are... how perfect you make me feel."

Sea gasped, curling into Jimmy's touch, body trembling as he felt every deliberate press, every teasing glide. "I... I just... want you, Jimmy," he whispered, lips brushing the side of Jimmy's neck.

Jimmy groaned, holding him tighter. "Only me... only mine. You hear me? Only mine," he said, pressing soft, lingering kisses along Sea's collarbone, down over his chest, every touch a mixture of tenderness and hungry claiming.

Sea's hands threaded into Jimmy's hair, tugging lightly, desperate for more. Jimmy responded with slow, liquid movements — hips pressing, fingers inside him, every stroke deliberate, careful, teasing, prolonging the heat. Sea's body arched, a low, breathy moan escaping, hips lifting instinctively with each careful push and pull.

Jimmy paused to whisper against Sea's lips, voice heavy with jealousy, "No one else... never anyone else. Only me... you're mine, and you feel so good for me."

Sea trembled, words lost in moans, body pliant and open, entirely his. Jimmy's fingers curled inside him, tracing slow circles, every movement liquid, seamless, filling him with warmth and pleasure that spread wave by wave.

Then Jimmy slowly moved his hips, gliding in and out with a patient, teasing rhythm, never rushed, letting each inch build, linger, stretch, and release in delicate pulses. Sea's breaths hitched, chest rising and falling, eyes wide and shining as he melted under the combination of Jimmy's possessive praise and careful, erotic attention.

"Mine... all mine," Jimmy murmured again, voice low and almost reverent, thumbs brushing soothingly over Sea's hips while the rest of him moved in soft, fluid rhythm. "So perfect... so good for me... my good boy."

Sea gasped, trembling around him, a quiet, desperate moan slipping out. "Jimmy... I... I'm yours..."

Jimmy pressed his forehead to Sea's, capturing his lips in a long, tender kiss. "Always," he whispered. "Always only mine."

The office around them faded entirely. There were only breaths, whispers, the slick warmth between them, and the slow, intimate, liquid rhythm that bound them together — stretching, claiming, adoring, and loving every inch of one another.

Jimmy held Sea close, moving slowly, carefully, every inch deliberate. Sea's body shivered beneath him, pressing tighter, moans soft and breathy.

Jimmy pressed kisses along Sea's neck and shoulders, hands steady, guiding and supporting him. Sea arched instinctively, letting the moans flow, soft gasps slipping between them.

Every motion, every careful stroke made Sea tremble, hips tilting slightly, body trembling in waves of anticipation and warmth.

Jimmy held him closer, forehead pressed to Sea's, hands wrapping around him possessively, never rushing, letting the heat coil slowly, intimately.

Sea's moans grew softer, breathy, almost desperate in their fragility, his body pressing fully into Jimmy, trusting, open, entirely his.

Jimmy murmured softly against his ear, "I love you... always."

Sea trembled, chest pressing closer, moans mingling with the soft whisper. "I... I love you too..." he breathed, fingers clutching Jimmy's back.

Jimmy guided him through the waves, holding him steady, letting every small gasp, every shiver, be a confession without words. Sea clung to him, body trembling, moans fading slowly as the heat built to a quiet, shivering peak. Finally, Sea's moans softened into quiet trembles. He pressed into Jimmy, chest to chest, arms wrapped around him, still trembling, warmth lingering.

"I love you," Jimmy whispered again, brushing his lips along Sea's temple.

"Mm... I love you," Sea replied, soft and breathless, letting the words carry in the stillness.

They held each other tightly, bodies pressed together, moans fading, leaving only the rhythm of their hearts and the quiet intimacy of love and possession in the office.

Jimmy held Sea close, bodies still pressed together, hearts beating in quiet rhythm. Sea's soft moans had faded into gentle trembles, and Jimmy brushed his lips along Sea's temple.

"Don't be jealous, okay?" Jimmy whispered, voice low, tender, possessive. "You're mine... only mine. No one else matters."

Sea tilted his head, breath still shaky, fingers curling into Jimmy's back. "It's okay... he's only my actor partner. Nothing more," he murmured softly, looking up at Jimmy with trust and warmth.

Jimmy held him tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Only mine," he repeated, voice husky, soft, full of love.

Sea let himself melt into the embrace, chest to chest, arms wrapped around Jimmy, feeling safe, cherished, and entirely his.

Chapter 60: 🔥Winnie the Pooh: Streamer or Actor? (PoohTopten)🖤

⚠️ Warning: This story is intended for mature audiences (18+) and contains themes that may be triggering or uncomfortable for some readers. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Characters:

Topten: Bottom

Pooh: Top

So this was random but this is ghostship and I am absolutely obsessed with it—hope you will like it! ❤️

PS: If you don’t like it… get out.
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Topten sat in his dark room, the only light coming from the glow of his monitor. His headphones drowned out the world, filling his head with the distorted moans of the man on screen. Winnie the Pooh. The most famous masked gay porn star on the internet. Nobody knew who he was behind the grotesque bear mask. But Topten knew every inch of his body, every twitch of his muscles, every sound that came through the speaker.

Topten’s hand moved faster, his breath shallow, his eyes unblinking. He mouthed the words silently: “For me… only for me.”

When release came, sticky on his stomach, it didn’t bring relief. Only hunger. More need. More obsession.

Topten had watched every video, every stream, every performance. He collected screenshots, analyzed backgrounds, reflections in glass, fragments of his real voice when the software couldn’t quite distort it. He wasn’t just a fan—he was a hunter.

But his obsession wasn’t limited to the masked star. Topten also had another fixation: Pooh, the handsome rising actor in dramas. On screen, Pooh was the charming womanizer, always cast as the straight heartthrob who kissed girls and smiled for the cameras. Off-screen, tabloids linked him with models, actresses, and influencers.

Topten’s two obsessions ran parallel—one of lust, one of fantasy. Until, one night, he began to see the cracks. A freckle on the collarbone. A scar just above the hip. The same shape of hands. The same rhythm in his speech when the mask slipped for just a second.

It hit him like lightning.
They weren’t two men. They were the same man.

That night, Topten stood outside Pooh’s apartment. His hands were trembling, but not from fear—pure adrenaline, feverish excitement. When the door opened and the actor himself walked in—hood pulled low, unaware he was being watched—Topten’s chest nearly burst. Winnie the Pooh. The porn star. The drama actor. The man he needed.

He waited until the lights went out. Then he knocked.

Once.
Twice.
The third time harder.

The door hung open wider, and Pooh’s eyes raked over Topten, guarded and suspicious. His voice dropped into a low growl.

“Are you some sort of freak? Look, if you’re here because of the dramas, I’ll give you an autograph and you can fuck off. That’s all.”

Topten didn’t move. His smile widened, trembling with something between devotion and madness.

“I don’t care about your dramas.”

Pooh stiffened, the words catching him off guard. His jaw clenched.
“What did you just say?”

Topten took one step forward into the dim light of the hallway. His pupils were blown wide, his breathing sharp.
“I don’t care about the fake kisses you give those actresses. I don’t care about the interviews where you play straight for the cameras. I care about you. The real you. The one behind the mask.”

The silence stretched so long, Topten could hear the pounding of his own pulse. Pooh’s expression flickered—confusion, then anger, then something darker, something almost like fear.

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” Pooh spat. He shoved a hand against Topten’s chest, trying to push him back. “You think I don’t know about crazy fans? You’ve got me mixed up with someone else.”

But Topten didn’t budge. His voice was breathless, pleading, yet certain.
“No. I’ve seen the scar on your hip. The mole under your rib. The way your hands move when you touch yourself. You can hide behind a mask online, but you can’t hide from me. I know you, Pooh.”

For a moment, Pooh just stared at him—eyes wide, maskless, stripped bare in a way he’d never been. The mask he wore on camera, the façade he kept in dramas—Topten had torn them both apart with a few words.

His hand, still pressed to Topten’s chest, trembled—not with weakness, but with something simmering under his skin. Rage. Panic. Desire.

And then, slowly, his lips curled into a humorless smile.
“So you figured it out. Congratulations.” His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “Do you know what that means for you?”

Topten’s lips curled into a small, victorious smile, convinced the door would swing wider, that Pooh would finally invite him in. But instead—

BANG!

The door slammed in his face.

Topten froze, breath caught in his throat. Then panic hit, sharp and wild. His fists hammered the wood, over and over, each thud echoing through the quiet hallway.

“Open the door! Pooh—open the door!” His voice cracked, desperate, trembling between anger and devotion. “I don’t want just an autograph! I want you! I know you, both of you—don’t shut me out!”

The volume of his screams rose, frantic, manic. “Do you hear me?! I don’t care if you’re a porn star or an actor! I want all of it—I want more! I want you!”

From inside, a heavy silence. Then footsteps.

Suddenly, the door slammed back open with brutal force, nearly sending Topten stumbling.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Pooh’s voice was a vicious roar. His hand shot out, fisting the front of Topten’s shirt, dragging him across the threshold like he weighed nothing. The door crashed shut behind them, rattling in its frame.

Topten found himself shoved hard against the wall, the plaster biting cold into his back. Pooh’s face was inches from his, eyes blazing with fury, his breath hot and ragged.

“Do you want the whole goddamn neighborhood to see your stupid fucking face out there?!” Pooh snarled. His grip tightened, knuckles white as he pinned Topten harder against the wall.

Topten gasped, wide-eyed, but his lips parted in something close to a whimper of pleasure. His voice shook, but there was no fear—only obsession.
“I don’t care if they see me. I only care if you see me.”

For a second, Pooh froze. His jaw flexed, his eyes burning with something unreadable—rage, disbelief, something darker. Then, with a growl, he pressed harder, his body crushing Topten’s smaller frame into the wall, his hand sliding up to grip his throat.

“You’re insane,” Pooh spat, the words laced with venom.
“But I am yours ,” Topten whispered back, eyes wet, trembling—but smiling.

Pooh’s grip tightened on Topten’s throat for another beat, the fury in his eyes burning so hot it almost seared. Then, suddenly, he let go, shoving Topten back against the wall and stepping away, his chest heaving.

For a moment the room was silent, heavy with the sound of both their ragged breathing. Pooh’s glare cut through the dim light, sharp, unreadable.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” he demanded, his voice rougher, lower, dangerous.

Topten didn’t even hesitate. His lips parted, his eyes glistening with something close to madness.
“I want to have sex with you.” His voice cracked, desperate but certain. “I saved it for you—I’m still a virgin, I—”

“Stop.”

The single word hit harder than a slap. Pooh’s jaw clenched as he turned his head, his tongue running over his teeth with disdain. He looked back at Topten with eyes like ice, a cruel smirk tugging at his mouth.

“I don’t fuck virgins.”

The words cut deep, slicing through Topten’s chest like glass. But instead of recoiling, instead of shame, his pupils only dilated further. His breath quickened, his fingers curling at his sides.

“You will,” Topten whispered, trembling with conviction. “Because I belong to you. Always did. Even before I knew it was you. I kept myself… untouched. For you.”

Pooh’s face darkened, torn between disgust and something far more dangerous stirring beneath it.

Pooh stood in silence for a long moment, his eyes dark, unreadable, as if weighing Topten’s words against his own rules. Then, without a word, he moved.

His hands gripped Topten’s shirt, yanking it up over his head and exposing the soft, trembling skin beneath. The motion was rough, deliberate, leaving Topten gasping.

Pooh grabbed him by the shoulders, turning him sharply to face the wall. The cold plaster pressed against Topten’s chest, making him shiver. Pooh’s hands moved to his waistband, yanking down his pants and boxers in one swift motion.

Topten froze, cheeks flushed, heart hammering in his chest.

Pooh crouched slightly, inspecting him. His fingers parted Topten’s cheeks, exposing the small, pink hole. His eyes narrowed, a slow, deliberate smirk curling his lips.

“Not bad…” he murmured, voice low and dangerous.
“Hmm. Fine.”

Pooh straightened, towering over Topten, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make the anticipation unbearable.

“Then… let’s do it.”

Topten shivered violently, excitement and fear coiling together in a tight, exquisite knot. He had wanted this, dreamed of it, obsessed over it—and now the man who had haunted his fantasies was finally going to claim him.

Pooh didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Topten’s hips, shoving him against the wall. His movements were sharp, tense, almost panicked, as if he wasn’t sure how to handle how small and tight Topten was.

The tip pressed against him, and Topten gasped, trembling, suddenly realizing the real size of Pooh’s cock—much bigger than it had seemed in the streams. His stomach knotted in fear and excitement.

“Shit… it’s… so big…” Topten stammered, eyes wide, body frozen. As he intending to slide in, his leg swung out instinctively, kicking Pooh in the side as he stumbled forward, falling to his knees.

Pooh let out a sharp cry, clutching his side, eyes wide in pain.
“Why the hell did you do that?! Arghh! It hurts!” Pooh snapped, gritting his teeth, both frustrated and panicked.

Topten immediately knelt down, hands trembling.
“I… I’m so sorry! I just… I panicked and I—”

“Jesus! You came here for it and now you panicked?!” Pooh barked, voice sharp, tense. His hands gripped his hurt side. His eyes burned, wild and chaotic, a mix of frustration and pure agony of pain.

Pooh’s chest heaved, his breathing heavy, sweat beading at his temple. He glared down at Topten, jaw tight, hands still gripping his own side.

“If you don’t want it… just get out,” he hissed, voice raw. “I’m… I’m just scared because it fucking hurts!”

Topten’s throat caught. He didn’t move. Couldn’t move. He had come here for this, had waited, obsessed—and now he saw the panic, the fear, and the raw intensity in Pooh’s eyes.

“Then… prepare yourself!” Pooh cursed under his breath, his voice low and dangerous. “Fucking hell!”

He pushed himself up onto his knees, trembling slightly but regaining control. Slowly, deliberately, he stood, his movements sharp but calculated. Pooh turned and started walking toward the bedroom, each step measured, tense, like a predator pacing. Topten hesitated for a split second, then scrambled after him, following, heart hammering.

Once inside the bedroom, Pooh strode straight to the bedside table. Without a word, he yanked open the drawer and grabbed the lube. In one sharp motion, he flung the bottle at Topten, who barely caught it in time.

“Be quick!” Pooh barked, voice rough, dangerous. “I don’t have all fucking night!”

Topten’s hands shook as he twisted the cap open, fumbling for a second, but the tension radiating from Pooh kept him moving, desperate to obey. Pooh’s glare never left him, dark, sharp, almost animalistic, a storm barely contained beneath his skin.

Topten fumbled with the lube, fingers trembling, and tried to slowly prepare himself. One small, skinny finger slid in, testing, stretching, a tiny, tentative motion. But it was clear—it wasn’t enough.

Pooh’s eyes narrowed, dark and sharp, his jaw tightening. He leaned closer, the panic and intensity in his movements uncontained.

“This… this isn’t gonna help you,” he spat, voice low, rough, dangerous. “My dick… it’s big. You think one little finger is gonna be enough?”

Topten whimpered, heat flooding his face, panic coiling in his stomach. He had imagined this moment for months, had obsessed over every detail—but reality hit harder than any fantasy.

Pooh moved behind him again, hands gripping Topten’s hips with a tight, almost painful force. His movements were sharp, panicked, and precise—because he didn’t know how else to handle the intensity of it.

“You’re scared,” Pooh growled, almost to himself. “Good… you should be.”

Topten swallowed, trembling, heart hammering. He could feel the weight, the sheer size of Pooh pressing against him, and knew he was utterly outmatched. Every nerve screamed at him—fear, excitement, desperation—all blending into a sharp, overwhelming ache.

Pooh shifted slightly, adjusting, testing, and muttered under his breath:
“Get ready. This is gonna… hurt.” But one look on scared Topten takes him to let out a heavy, frustrated sigh, the tension in his shoulders loosening for the briefest moment. He crouched slightly behind Topten, hands firm but deliberate on his hips, and pressed against him with careful, measured force.

“Alright… slow,” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself. “Gotta stretch you… don’t want to hurt you too much.”

Topten trembled, biting his lip, panic and anticipation coiling inside him. Every inch of Pooh pressing against him sent a mix of fear and overwhelming excitement through his body.

Pooh’s hands moved expertly now, adjusting, sliding him forward, gently coaxing him open. One careful thrust, then back, one small angle, then pause—testing, stretching, preparing him. The panic was still there, but the movements were controlled, precise.

Finally, when Topten’s body quivered under the pressure but seemed ready, Pooh aligned himself fully. Without warning, he pushed in, slow at first, testing, then sharper, faster, taking him in with all the force and size that Topten had feared from the start.

Topten cried out, gripping the bed, his knees shaking, his body stretched and filled beyond anything he had imagined. Pain and pleasure collided, each thrust leaving him breathless, trembling, overwhelmed.

Pooh’s hands gripped him tightly, adjusting the angle, controlling the pace. His breaths were heavy, rough, the tension in his body raw. He didn’t say anything—no promises, no claims—just the harsh, urgent rhythm of the moment, taking what he wanted, leaving Topten gasping, trembling, and entirely consumed by it.

Pooh shifted behind him, his hands gripping Topten’s hips with tense precision. “I’m only… half way in,” he muttered, voice low, sharp, almost a growl.

Topten gasped, eyes squeezed shut, tears threatening to spill. Pain and pleasure collided inside him, twisting his stomach into tight knots. “Ahhh… shit… it hurts… but… ohh… feels…!” he cried, voice trembling, body trembling against the wall.

Every thrust, every subtle shift of Pooh’s hips pushed him further into the overwhelming fullness he hadn’t imagined possible. His body ached, stretched, and burned all at once. He tried to move, to adjust, but Pooh held him firmly in place, letting him feel every inch without mercy.

“Ohh… I… can’t… it’s… too much!” Topten whimpered, voice breaking as he rocked forward involuntarily, the mix of sharp pain and deep pleasure surging through him.

Pooh didn’t say anything else, just adjusted slightly, steadying himself, letting the weight of his cock pressing inside Topten dominate the moment. Topten’s breaths came in ragged, gasping bursts, body trembling, mind spinning, completely overtaken by the sensation of being stretched, filled, and controlled.

“Ahh… fuck…I´m so full…” Topten cried out, shivering, overwhelmed, caught between fear, pain, and a pleasure so intense it left him dizzy.

“Just… breathe,” Pooh muttered, low and rough, voice tight with tension. His hands gripped Topten’s hips, steadying him as he thrust in again, slow but merciless.

Pooh leaned over Topten, gripping his hips with tense strength, watching how his cock slid in and out of the soft, trembling walls. Every inch stretched him impossibly tight, the friction pulling at him, almost breaking him—but the sensation, raw and overwhelming, made it feel unbearably good.

“Ahh…”

Topten’s body shivered under him, lips pressed tightly together, biting down until the skin whitened, almost drawing blood. The only sounds were soft, desperate moans, each one punctuating the chaotic rhythm of their bodies.

“Ahh…”

Pooh’s movements became sharper, harder, each thrust deliberate, precise, and merciless. His breath came fast, but he didn’t falter, watching how Topten’s body trembled, quivered, and writhed under him.

With one final, deep thrust, hitting the perfect angle, Pooh lets go, moving all the way inside, overwhelming the tight, soft walls. Topten gasped and shook violently beneath him, but couldn’t make a sound beyond another moan as every nerve exploded.

“Ahh…I´m coming" as he cum over his stomach and bedsheets.

Topten sagged beneath him, trembling, lips bruised from biting, overwhelmed by the intensity, still catching small, ragged breaths. The bed creaked under their weight, the room settling into a heavy silence—only the sound of their breaths filling the space.

Once Pooh was done, he used and then threw the used wipes onto the bed beside Topten with a sharp flick. They landed in a messy heap, a stark reminder of what had just happened.

“You can come back tomorrow… 6 p.m.,” he said over his shoulder, his voice calm, cold, and matter-of-fact, carrying that same obsessive weight beneath the surface.

Pooh stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. The sound of running water filled the room as Topten lay on the bed, still trembling, eyes wide, heart hammering—completely overtaken by the raw, chaotic, and consuming encounter. He knows he was already prepared for tomorrow, but this time for more gentler round. Of course. :)

Chapter 61: My boyfriend is famous singer! - TutorYim⚡️

Requested!

Tutor: Top

Yim:Bottom

Yim dragged himself through the long corridors of the hospital, exhaustion weighing down every step. The day had been relentless—back-to-back patients, endless charts, and a dozen tasks piling up faster than he could manage.

But the worst had been the senior patient in Room 304. The old man had scowled from the moment Yim entered, questioning every decision, dismissing his suggestions, and criticizing him as if every move was incompetent.

"I've been around longer than you've even studied medicine," the patient had snapped, voice sharp and dripping with contempt. "Do you even know what you're doing, boy?"

Yim's shoulders had stiffened, but he forced a polite smile. "I assure you, sir, I'm following all the proper procedures—"

"Don't tell me what you assure!" the man barked, cutting him off. "I've seen more in my years than you could dream of. Maybe this hospital should reconsider letting green boys like you touch patients!"

By the time Yim left the room, his confidence had taken a hit. He felt drained, demoralized, and a little lonely. His heart ached in a way that wasn't just fatigue—he wanted to be with Tutor, to feel the warmth of his arms, to hear his soothing voice.

He barely noticed the TV in the staff lounge until a familiar melody caught his attention. Tutor's performance from earlier replayed on the screen, the man's smile bright and radiant, the energy so magnetic it pulled Yim in even as he tried to look away.

The patient's words from earlier that day echoed in Yim's mind: so handsome... so many fans... And for a brief, sharp moment, jealousy flared again. Thousands of people adored him, loved him, wanted him... and Yim felt like he was miles away from being able to hold him.

He clenched his fists at his sides, letting out a soft, frustrated sigh. "I can't... I just want to see him... touch him... be with him," he muttered under his breath, voice catching with longing.

Another nurse glanced at the screen, smiling. "He's incredible, right? My nephew loves him. Such a pretty young guy."

Yim's jaw tightened. "Yeah... incredible," he murmured, focusing on the floor. His heart ached, but beneath the frustration and exhaustion, there was still a flicker of pride. Tutor was amazing, shining even when Yim couldn't be there—and one day, after all the exams, the long shifts, the stress... he'd get to be with him, fully, without distractions.

For now, all Yim could do was take a deep breath, steady himself, and finish his shift. But in the quiet moments between patients, he imagined Tutor's hand brushing his own, his warmth pressing close, his low, teasing voice whispering, reminding Yim that despite the distance, despite the work, he was loved—and wanted.

For now, all Yim could do was take a deep breath, steady himself, and finish his shift. But in the quiet moments between patients, he imagined Tutor's hand brushing his own, his warmth pressing close, his low, teasing voice whispering, reminding Yim that despite the distance, despite the work, he was loved—and wanted.

By the time lunch break rolled around, Yim barely had the energy to make himself a quick sandwich in the staff lounge. He sat down at the small table, head heavy, shoulders slumped. Just as he picked up his phone to scroll through messages, a notification popped up.

"Baby, I'll wait for you at home. Hope you're having an amazing day 😘"

Yim's chest warmed, a small, exhausted smile tugging at his lips. His fingers lingered on the screen, reading the words again. Tutor, always thinking of him, always managing to make him feel seen and loved even when Yim was buried in work and stress.

He typed back quickly, thumb hovering over the send button for a moment before hitting it:

"Trying to survive the day... missing you a lot already."

Almost immediately, the little "seen" notification popped up, and a short reply arrived:

"I know, baby... can't wait to hold you later. Just a few more hours."

Yim leaned back, letting the phone rest on his chest as he closed his eyes for a moment. The tired ache in his body softened at the thought of Tutor waiting for him, imagining the warmth of his boyfriend's arms, the teasing smirk, the low hum of his voice that always made Yim's heart skip.

Even amidst the fluorescent lights, the constant beeping of monitors, and the lingering stress from the morning, Yim felt a flicker of calm, a spark of comfort that only Tutor could give. He took a slow, deep breath, feeling the tension ease just slightly.

As lunch break ended, he slid his phone into his pocket, shoulders squared. The rest of the shift still awaited him, but now there was something to hold onto—an anchor, a reminder that after all the long hours, the exhausting patients, the harsh words from seniors, he had someone waiting, someone who loved him, and he would get through it.

Yim's feet barely touched the floor as he reached their apartment. The long shift, the harsh words, the stress and exhaustion—it all tumbled out of him the moment he stepped inside. He fumbled with the door for just a second before it swung open, and without hesitation, he ran straight into the living room.

There was Tutor, casually standing at the counter, preparing a small plate of strawberries, humming softly under his breath. He turned just in time to see Yim barreling toward him.

"Yim—" Tutor started, voice calm but instantly attentive, but words faded as Yim threw himself into his arms.

Tears pricked Yim's eyes, and he pressed his face against Tutor's chest, letting out a shaky, exhausted sob. "I... I had such a rough day..." he murmured, voice muffled, trembling against Tutor's warmth.

Tutor wrapped his arms tightly around him, holding him close, rocking him gently. "Shh... it's okay, baby," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Yim's head. "I've got you. You're home now. It's all over."

Yim clung to him, chest heaving against Tutor's warmth. "I... I just wanted to see you... I missed you so much..." His voice broke, the stress, exhaustion, and longing all pouring out.

Tutor stroked Yim's hair, one hand sliding down to rub soothing circles on his back. "I know... I missed you too. I was waiting... just for you," he murmured, voice low, reassuring. "Come here... breathe with me."

Yim's tears soaked into Tutor's shirt, but he didn't care. He felt safe, loved, and held for the first time in hours. The tension from the day began to melt, replaced by the warmth of being in the arms of the one person who always made him feel whole.

Tutor tilted Yim's chin up gently, brushing his thumb across his cheek. "Look at me," he said softly. Yim sniffled, wiping at his eyes, and met Tutor's gaze. "You're okay now... nothing else matters tonight."

Yim nodded against him, finally allowing himself to relax, letting the sobs fade into soft, shaky breaths. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," Tutor replied, pressing another gentle kiss to his forehead, holding him close. "Now, let's get you some strawberries. You need to eat and rest, baby."

Yim leaned back slightly, just enough to peek at the plate Tutor had prepared, smiling through the lingering tears. "You... you always know how to make me feel better," he murmured, voice soft, almost purring.

Tutor chuckled, nuzzling him briefly. "Of course... that's my job. My job is to take care of you, every little bit."

Yim let out a soft, tired laugh, burying his face into Tutor's chest. "You really spoil me," he murmured, voice muffled.

"I love spoiling you," Tutor replied, voice low and warm. He tightened his arms around Yim, rocking him slightly. "After a day like today, you deserve to be pampered... to just feel safe and loved."

Yim lifted his head slightly, gazing up at him with a tired smile. "I wish I could be with you more... without all the work, without the stress..."

Tutor brushed his thumb across Yim's cheek, leaning down to press a soft kiss there. "Soon, baby... soon we'll have more time. For now, we have this. We have tonight."

Yim let out a contented sigh, snuggling closer. "Tonight sounds perfect," he whispered.

Tutor guided him to the couch, making sure Yim was comfortable, wrapping a soft blanket over him. They sank into each other, bodies pressed together, hearts syncing in quiet comfort.

"I'm going to take a quick shower," Yim said after a while, voice soft. "Don't leave... I want to come back to you."

Tutor chuckled, brushing his lips against Yim's temple. "Never. I'll be right here, waiting. I already prepared everything for our cozy night—blankets, snacks, strawberries... just for us."

Yim smiled, eyes half-lidded with fatigue and affection. "You think of everything..."

"Only for you," Tutor murmured, pressing another kiss to the top of his head. "Go shower, baby. I'll keep the couch warm, hold you close when you get back."

Yim leaned in one last time, nuzzling Tutor's chest. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," Tutor replied, voice soft, carrying the warmth and security Yim so desperately needed.

With that, Yim finally stood, heading to the bathroom, feeling the tension of the day ease slightly as he imagined returning to Tutor's arms. Meanwhile, Tutor made sure the living room was perfectly cozy—soft lighting, blankets arranged just right, a plate of strawberries within reach, and his heart ready to hold Yim through the night.

Yim stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp, wearing soft pajamas—shorts and a loose shirt that barely brushed the top of his thighs. He paused for a moment, taking in the cozy setup of the living room, the soft lighting, and the plate of strawberries on the coffee table.

"Looks... perfect," he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips.

From behind him, a warm, familiar voice sounded, low and teasing. "Well, well... someone's finally ready to rejoin me."

Before Yim could react, Tutor's hand swung playfully and landed with a soft smack on his ass. Yim yelped, spinning slightly, cheeks flushing a deep pink.

"Tutor!" he gasped, both surprised and flustered, fingers instinctively coming up to cover himself.

Tutor just grinned, eyes dark with amusement and something deeper. "You look too good in those pajamas... couldn't resist," he murmured, stepping closer. His hands slid down Yim's sides, thumbs brushing teasingly over his hips, pulling him flush against his body.

Yim's breath hitched, a shiver running down his spine as Tutor's warm presence enveloped him. "You're impossible," he whispered, half laughing, half breathless.

Tutor leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Yim's neck, murmuring against his skin, "Impossible? Maybe... but you love it."

Yim tilted his head back, sighing softly, the tension from the day and the shower melting away under Tutor's teasing touches. "I... I do," he admitted, voice shaky but sincere.

"Good," Tutor murmured, pressing another kiss, lower this time, letting his lips trail teasingly along Yim's shoulder and collarbone. "Because tonight, I'm not letting you go."

Yim shivered, pressing closer, feeling both warmth and need coil tight in his chest. "Then... don't," he whispered.

Tutor chuckled, hand sliding lower to tug lightly at the waistband of Yim's shorts, teasing, playful, intimate. "Never thought I would," he murmured, a smirk in his voice, "you're staying right here, all night."

Yim's hands threaded into Tutor's hair, pulling him closer, soft moans escaping as Tutor's lips and hands continued their teasing, flirty exploration. The couch, the cozy blankets, the soft lighting—all of it became their world, private and warm, as their playful evening began.

Tutor's lips captured Yim's in a heated, urgent kiss, the playful smirk on his face replaced by a low, teasing growl. Yim melted against him, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as their bodies pressed flush together on the couch.

"You've been teasing me all day," Tutor murmured against his lips, voice husky. "I think it's time you felt just how much I've missed you."

Yim gasped, arching instinctively as Tutor's hands roamed over him, sliding under the loose shirt to press against his warm skin. The playful slap from earlier had turned into a firm grip on his hips, tugging him flush against Tutor's hard length.

"Too... much..." Yim whispered breathlessly, lips parting as Tutor's mouth trailed down his jaw, his neck, leaving soft marks along the way.

"You love it," Tutor murmured, rolling his hips lightly against Yim's, teasing, testing, pressing just enough to make Yim shiver. "I know you do."

Yim moaned softly, body trembling under the teasing press. "I... I do," he admitted, voice broken with need.

The kiss deepened, hungry and urgent, hands roaming, teeth and lips brushing sensitive skin. Tutor shifted, letting Yim feel the hard length pressing against him, teasing, brushing over the waistband of his shorts.

"God... you feel so good," Tutor whispered, rolling his hips more insistently, letting Yim feel every inch of him. "I've missed you so much..."

Yim's breath hitched, fingers clutching at Tutor's shoulders, pulling him closer. "I... I've missed you too..."

With a swift, teasing movement, Tutor guided them into a quick, intimate rhythm, bodies moving together, kisses and low, urgent whispers filling the small apartment. Yim's soft moans, mixed with Tutor's teasing murmurs, echoed over the couch, their desire and longing igniting into a fiery, private connection.

Every press, every glide was deliberate and intimate, short but intensely charged, the flirty teasing and whispered words building a rush of heat between them. Yim's body shivered against Tutor's, letting go into the sensation, the longing of the day dissolving in these few heated, stolen moments.

As they finally paused, breathing heavy and bodies still pressed together, Yim rested against Tutor's chest, heart still racing. "You... always know how to make me feel..." he murmured softly.

Tutor smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of Yim's damp hair. "You make it easy," he whispered. "Now... let's get you cozy. I've got the rest of the night planned."

After their heated moment on the couch, Tutor pulled Yim gently into his lap, wrapping a blanket around them both. The small apartment felt warm and safe, the soft glow of the lamp casting gentle shadows over their faces.

"I set up a movie for us," Tutor murmured, brushing a damp strand of hair from Yim's forehead. "Something light... or something you want. Your pick."

Yim rested against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of Tutor's heartbeat beneath him. "Something fun... maybe a comedy?" he suggested, fingers tracing lazy patterns over Tutor's arm.

Tutor chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Yim's head. "Comedy it is." He handed Yim a bowl of strawberries, and they settled in, the movie playing softly in the background as their legs tangled together.

Even in the quiet, Yim felt the electricity of their closeness—the lingering warmth of Tutor's touch, the teasing brush of his hands over Yim's sides, the way he leaned just slightly closer, sending soft shivers down Yim's spine.

As the movie continued, Tutor whispered small, teasing comments, brushing lips over Yim's temple, neck, and shoulders, playful murmurs that made Yim bite his lip and press closer. "You're so soft... I can't get enough," Tutor murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Yim tilted his head, whispering back, "You... make it hard to focus on the movie..." His words came with a soft laugh, a mix of exhaustion and desire, and Tutor grinned, brushing his nose against Yim's cheek.

The teasing touches continued throughout the movie—fingers brushing over arms, hands sliding lightly over thighs, playful nudges and whispers that kept the tension simmering. Every glance, every small touch, built anticipation, leaving them both flushed and breathless without breaking the tender intimacy of the moment.

When the credits rolled, they didn't move away from each other. Instead, they stayed curled together under the blanket, Yim resting against Tutor's chest. "I... love being like this," Yim murmured softly.

Tutor's hand stroked his hair slowly, thumb brushing over his temple. "Me too, baby... me too. Just us, right here, right now. No stress, no worries. Just this."

Yim smiled, nuzzling closer, letting the warmth of Tutor's arms and the playful intimacy of the evening melt away the exhaustion of his long day. "Promise we can stay like this for a while?" he whispered.

Tutor pressed a soft kiss to his hair, voice husky with affection. "Always. I've got all the time in the world for you tonight."

Chapter 62: First × Khaotung 🍼💦 “You have such a good milk momma~” 🌊💖

💖 First & Khaotung | Loving our little family one cuddle at a time 🍼✨🍼 New parents, lots of snuggles, kisses & baby giggles all day 💕
Enjoy <3

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The apartment was quiet except for the soft creak of the rocking chair. Khaotung sat there with his shirt half-open, their newborn daughter nestled against his chest. Her tiny mouth moved slowly, sleepily, until she finally let go with a sigh.

Khaotung smiled faintly, brushing a fingertip across her soft cheek. “Full already, little one?” he whispered, rocking her a moment longer until her breaths evened out. Carefully, he stood and walked to the crib by the bed, lowering her into it with practiced gentleness. She stirred but didn’t wake, her fist curling around the blanket as she settled back into sleep.

Khaotung lingered for a moment, watching her. His heart ached with something raw and overwhelming—love, exhaustion, protectiveness all tangled together. Finally, he turned, tugging at the loose hem of First’s boxers hanging from his hips.

He hadn’t noticed First watching him from the doorway.

“You look… incredible,” First murmured, stepping closer, eyes dark. “My boy, holding our baby… wearing my clothes.”

Khaotung flushed, folding his arms self-consciously across his chest. The damp patch on his shirt betrayed him. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not—”

Before he could finish, First’s hands were on him, tugging the shirt open. His lips closed hot around Khaotung’s nipple, sucking greedily. The sudden pull made Khaotung gasp, his knees nearly buckling.

“First—ah—stop, it’s… it’s milk—”

“I know,” First growled against his skin, sucking harder, swallowing as warm liquid hit his tongue. “And it’s mine.”

Khaotung clutched at his shoulders, trembling. His body betrayed him, heat sparking low in his belly as First licked him clean, then bit down just hard enough to make him cry out.

“You don’t understand how beautiful you are like this,” First whispered between licks. “Feeding our baby girl… and then feeding me.”

Khaotung’s breath hitched, his thighs pressing together. “You’re insane…”

“Insane for you,” First corrected, dragging him toward the bed, already hungry for more.

Khaotung went lay on the sheets, chest damp, legs trembling from the first time. His breath was ragged, eyes half-lidded, body still throbbing around the warmth First had left inside him.

First didn’t let him. He pulled the fabric away, pinning Khaotung’s wrists above his head again. “You think I’m done with you after that?” His voice was low, hungry. “No, baby. Not when you’re still dripping for me.”

Khaotung’s thighs pressed together instinctively, but First pried them open, sliding two fingers through the wetness between them. He smirked at the needy sound that escaped Khaotung’s throat.

“You’re already soaking, begging for more, even if you don’t say it.”

“First… I’m tired…”

“I’ll do the work.” His mouth was on Khaotung’s nipple again, biting, sucking until milk spilled over his tongue. With his other hand, he lined himself up and pushed in again, deeper this time, filling him until Khaotung screamed into the pillow.

“First—ah—it’s too much…” Khaotung whimpered, his body trembling as First filled him so deeply.

First kissed the corner of his mouth, his thrusts steady but unhurried, rocking into him instead of pounding. “Shh… it’s not too much, love. It’s just us. Just me inside you.”

Khaotung clung to him, nails pressing lightly into his back, his eyes fluttering shut. Every movement made his chest ache and tingle, milk beading against his skin. First lowered his head, lips wrapping around a nipple, sucking softly. The pull sent shivers racing through Khaotung, a needy moan slipping free.

“Beautiful…” First whispered against his skin, licking the drop that escaped. “Let me drink from you… let me love you like this.”

Khaotung’s tears welled, not from pain, but from the overwhelming intensity of it—the closeness, the way First’s eyes never left his. His body trembled, overwhelmed by pleasure as First moved inside him with slow, deep strokes that made him feel completely full, completely cherished.

“Please… I can’t—ah—”

“You can,” First murmured, brushing the wetness from his cheeks with his thumb. “Cum for me, baby. Let go.”

Khaotung’s whole body shuddered, and he spilled across his stomach with a choked sob, his walls fluttering around First. The sensation dragged a low groan from First’s throat, and he sank deep, releasing inside with a warmth that spread through them both.

For a long moment, neither moved. First held him close, kissing his damp chest, then his lips, slow and tender. “You’re perfect,” he breathed, nuzzling against him. “My perfect boy. My everything.”

Khaotung whimpered softly, but his arms tightened around First, holding him close, whispering his name like a secret only they shared.

After a long, shuddering release, First rolled gently onto his side, pulling Khaotung flush against him. The warmth of their bodies pressed together, skin against skin, hearts still racing but slowing.

Khaotung rested his head against First’s chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. His hands traced lazy circles over First’s back, fingertips brushing over the damp marks from earlier, but this time gently, reverently.

First rested his chin on the top of Khaotung’s head, lips brushing soft, lingering kisses along his temple and down to his shoulder. “You feel so good like this,” he murmured, voice husky but tender.

Khaotung lifted his face to press a gentle kiss to First’s jaw, then the corner of his mouth. “I… I love you,” he whispered, warmth spreading through his chest.

“I love you too,” First replied, nuzzling closer. “More than anything. You… us… it’s perfect.”

They stayed like that for a long time, arms wrapped around each other, sharing quiet, soft kisses, little touches, fingers entwined. Outside, the baby slept peacefully, unaware of the closeness and love radiating between her parents.

Every kiss, every sigh, every soft brush of skin against skin reinforced the bond between them—an intimacy that wasn’t just physical, but emotional, gentle, and infinitely tender.

Khaotung closed his eyes, letting the warmth of First’s embrace lull him toward sleep, murmuring soft promises that only the two of them could hear.

The quiet of the night was broken by a small, plaintive whimper from the baby monitor on the nightstand. Khaotung stirred, still tangled in the sheets with First, ears immediately alert.

“She’s awake,” he murmured, voice soft, barely above a whisper. First hummed in response, already reaching for the monitor to check the tiny video feed. Their daughter’s little face was scrunched, tiny fists waving in the air as she fussed against the blankets.

Khaotung sat up slowly, his hand sliding along First’s chest before brushing against his arm. “I’ll get her,” he said, careful not to wake her further with sudden movement.

First shook his head gently. “We’ll do it together,” he murmured, pulling Khaotung close again. “Come on, let’s go.”

Wrapped in a warm blanket, they crept to the crib. Khaotung lifted her carefully, murmuring soft, soothing words as she nuzzled against his chest. First pressed gentle kisses to Khaotung’s shoulder and jaw, whispering, “You’re amazing… look at you, taking care of her so perfectly.”

Khaotung’s lips curved into a tired but happy smile. “We’re a team,” he whispered back, rocking her slowly. First’s hands rested lightly on his hips, just enough to keep him steady, while his lips brushed over the crown of Khaotung’s head, soft kisses lingering.

The baby calmed against Khaotung, her whimpers fading into soft, content sighs. First smiled down at the tiny family in front of him. “Even in the middle of the night… you’re beautiful,” he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to Khaotung’s temple.

Khaotung leaned into him, feeling First’s warmth and steady heartbeat. Their eyes met, sharing a tired, intimate smile. “I love this,” Khaotung said softly.

First kissed him again, slow and gentle. “Me too… us.”

They stayed like that for a long while, rocking their newborn together, sharing soft touches and whispered words, the quiet intimacy of two parents wrapped around each other in the middle of the night.

Morning light filtered softly through the curtains. The apartment was quiet, except for the occasional coo and stretch from their baby girl in her crib. Khaotung leaned over, brushing a gentle kiss across her forehead. “Ready for your big day, little one?” he whispered.

First appeared behind him, wrapping his arms around Khaotung’s waist and pressing a soft kiss to the back of his neck. “Don’t worry, we’ll be right there with you,” he murmured, resting his chin on Khaotung’s shoulder.

Khaotung lifted the baby carefully, holding her close against his chest. She looked up with wide eyes, tiny hands curling around his fingers. “It’s just a quick poke, sweetie,” Khaotung whispered, trying to soothe her. “You’re so brave.”

First brushed a strand of hair from Khaotung’s forehead, smiling softly. “She’s lucky to have you,” he said, voice low, warm. “And I’m lucky to have both of you.”

They dressed her in a soft onesie, taking care to move slowly and gently, keeping her calm. Khaotung hummed a little tune as First prepared the diaper bag, checking for everything they might need after the vaccination.

When they arrived at the clinic, Khaotung held her securely, pressing soft kisses to her head while First whispered encouragement in her ear. “You’re such a strong little girl,” he murmured. “Nothing’s going to hurt too long. We’re right here.”

The nurse gave them a reassuring smile as she prepared the tiny syringe. Khaotung’s hand held theirs around the baby’s little body, steady and comforting, while First leaned close, stroking Khaotung’s arm and murmuring soft words of encouragement.

The moment was quick, the baby only fussing briefly before Khaotung and First’s calm, loving presence soothed her. “All done, sweetie,” Khaotung whispered, brushing her soft cheek with his lips. First pressed a gentle kiss to Khaotung’s shoulder, murmuring, “I love you both so much.”

As they left the clinic, walking hand in hand, Khaotung rested the baby against his chest. First held his hand, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “We make a good team,” First said quietly.

“We always will,” Khaotung replied, leaning into him. The warmth of their closeness, the soft coos of their daughter, and the tender morning light made everything feel safe, loved, and infinitely gentle.

- End.

Chapter 63: 😳🔥🍌Neo x Mark – Stuck Together in the Same Tent😳

Neo → aloof, sharp-tongued, maybe a little arrogant, likes to provoke Mark.

Mark → hot-headed, stubborn, hates losing to Neo.
This is chaotic, longer story...sorry it´s not proper what you are used to but it´s funny dynamic.
So enjoy <3

 

The bus hissed as it rolled to a stop, brakes squealing in protest. Outside the windows, the dense green of Ashwood Forest stretched endlessly, the trees so tall they swallowed the early evening light. The air smelled of rain even before the first drops began to fall.

“Alright, everyone off,” their teacher called, clapping his hands. “Grab your bags, tents, and don’t wander. This is camp, not a holiday resort.”

Students spilled into the damp grass, buzzing with chatter and excitement. Mark swung his bag over his shoulder, glaring at the looming woods. He’d already decided this trip was going to be hell, but when Neo stepped off the bus right behind him, that hell grew twice as unbearable.

Neo brushed past, his smirk in place like armor. “Try not to get lost, Mark. I’d hate to be stuck babysitting you.”

Mark clenched his jaw. “I’d rather get eaten by wolves than spend a second with you.”

“Mm,” Neo said, amused. “Wolves might find you too bitter to chew.”

Mark muttered a curse under his breath and stomped toward the supply pile, where classmates were already grabbing tents and supplies. The drizzle was turning into rain. People rushed to claim their shelters, dragging fabric and poles into the clearing.

By the time Mark reached the pile, his stomach sank. Empty. Completely empty.

“Looking for this?” Neo’s voice came behind him, irritatingly smug. Mark turned to see Neo holding… nothing. His hands were empty, too.

Mark froze. “Don’t tell me—”

Neo shrugged, raising his brows. “Forgot mine. Guess we’re both idiots.”

Mark’s eyes widened in disbelief. “No. No way. Don’t even—”

Their teacher, already wet from the rain, stormed over with a spare bag in hand. “You two. Of course it had to be you. You’ll share this one. End of discussion.” He shoved the bag into Mark’s arms, ignoring their protests. “Now get to it before you’re sleeping in the mud.”

Neo leaned in close, voice a whisper only Mark could hear. “Fate must really hate you, huh?”

Mark gritted his teeth, heat rising in his chest. Sharing a tent with Neo for three nights? This trip had just become his personal nightmare.

Mark yanked at the zipper with both hands, his knuckles white. The tent flapped in the wind, rain sneaking in through the gap. “Arrggg!! This stupid zip is not working!!!”

With one last tug, the zipper broke clean off, landing uselessly in his palm.

Mark stared at it. “...You’ve got to be kidding me.”

A raindrop splashed onto his cheek. Then another. The cold night pressed in, wet and merciless. The rest of their classmates were already zipped snugly into their own tents, laughter and muffled voices carrying faintly through the storm.

Behind him, Neo chuckled low. “You really have a talent for ruining my life.”

Mark spun around, scowling. “Oh, shut up. It’s not like you helped!”

Neo leaned lazily against the tent wall, arms crossed, perfectly dry in his spot. “Because watching you struggle is more entertaining than Netflix.”

“Unbelievable.” Mark dropped the broken zipper onto the mat, pulling the thin blanket tighter around himself. The cold bit into his skin, seeping through his clothes. The flap of the tent refused to stay closed, the wind shoving it open just enough to let the rain in.

Neo sighed, finally pushing off the wall and crawling closer. “Move over.”

Mark blinked. “What?”

“You’ll freeze to death if you sit sulking by the door. And if you die, the teacher will probably blame me. So—move.”

Mark hesitated, glaring, but the chill crawling over his skin made the decision for him. He shifted begrudgingly to the side. Neo slid down beside him, closer than he had any right to be. Their knees bumped, and in the small space, every brush of contact was amplified.

The storm raged outside, but inside the tent, the real storm was the heat radiating off Neo’s body, pressing against Mark’s.

Mark muttered, “If you try anything—”

Neo smirked, his breath warm against Mark’s ear. “Relax. I just don’t want to freeze. Unless…” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming in the dim light. “You want me to try something?”

Mark’s swift movement connected perfectly—his knee driving into Neo’s groin.

“Fuck!! My balls!!” Neo doubled over, clutching himself, face twisted in pain.

Mark glared at him, teeth clenched. “That’s what you get for acting like a creep.”

For a moment, only the sound of the storm outside filled the tent. Neo’s breathing was ragged, his body shaking—then, slowly, he raised his head. His eyes gleamed dangerously through the dim light.

“You…” he hissed, voice low and sharp. “You’re dead.”

Mark froze. That look—half pain, half twisted amusement—sent a shiver crawling down his spine. Neo’s smirk returned, slow and venomous. He shifted forward, ignoring the ache, until Mark’s back hit the cold fabric wall of the tent.

Neo braced one hand by Mark’s head, his face inches away, his voice hoarse from both pain and rage.
“You think you can kick me there and just sleep peacefully?” His breath brushed Mark’s cheek, hot despite the icy night. “No, no, Mark. I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Mark’s pulse jumped, half with anger, half with something he didn’t want to name. “Try me,” he shot back, though his voice wasn’t as steady as he wished.

Neo’s smirk deepened. Even doubled over with pain minutes ago, he still carried that predator’s gleam, the kind that promised this night wouldn’t end with just a broken zipper and a storm.

The hours crawled by. The storm hadn’t eased once, and the broken zipper let in every cruel breath of wind. The thin blanket did almost nothing; Mark’s teeth were chattering, his fingers stiff. He curled into himself, but the cold only burrowed deeper into his bones.

Finally, his pride cracked. His voice was small, hoarse from shivering.

“...Neo?”

From the other side of the tent came a lazy groan. “What now, Ice Cube?”

Mark swallowed his pride, hating every word as it left his mouth. “I… I’m so cold…”

There was a long pause. He could almost hear Neo’s smirk forming in the dark.

“Say that again.”

Mark’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t make me repeat it.”

Neo shifted closer, the mat creaking beneath his weight. Heat radiated off him immediately, unbearable and magnetic all at once. He leaned in until his lips were beside Mark’s ear, voice low and taunting.

“You’re asking me to keep you warm? After you tried to murder my balls?”

Mark shivered, partly from the cold, partly from Neo’s breath brushing his skin. “D-Don’t make this weird. Just… body heat, that’s all.”

Neo chuckled darkly, settling down right against him, their legs and shoulders pressed flush together. “Sure. Just body heat.” His hand slid around Mark’s waist, pulling him closer than necessary. “But you owe me for this. Big time.”

Mark stiffened, but his frozen body betrayed him, leaning into the warmth despite himself. His voice was tight. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re freezing,” Neo murmured, tightening his grip. “Good thing I don’t mind enemies clinging to me in the dark.”

The storm outside raged on, but inside the tent, the thunder wasn’t nearly as loud as Mark’s heartbeat.

Mark finally gave in. His pride, his hatred, his endless bickering—none of it could fight the gnawing cold anymore. With a miserable groan, he shuffled closer, pressing himself against Neo’s warmth.

Neo’s body was scorching compared to his own, every line of muscle radiating heat. Mark buried his face in Neo’s chest and, without thinking, hooked his freezing legs around Neo’s side.

Neo jolted. “Fuck—! Your legs are ice!”

Mark’s muffled voice came against his shirt. “Shut up. You’re hot. Deal with it.”

Neo stared down at him, stunned. For once, Mark wasn’t glaring, wasn’t snarling. He was just… clinging, vulnerable, his breaths shaky against Neo’s neck.

A slow grin spread across Neo’s face. “You know,” he murmured, tightening his arm around Mark’s waist, “if anyone saw us like this, they’d think you’re in love with me.”

Mark kicked his shin weakly. “I’ll kill you when I’m warm enough.”

Neo laughed, low and dark, the sound vibrating through his chest where Mark’s ear rested. His hand slid up Mark’s back, possessive without asking. “Mm. Try all you want. But right now—you’re mine, Mark.”

Mark didn’t answer. He was too cold, too tired, and too aware of the heat swallowing him whole. Instead, he closed his eyes, shivering less with each second against Neo’s body, though the storm outside still screamed.

The cruelest part was that Neo was right. The warmth wasn’t just physical—it was addictive, dangerous. And Mark hated how much he wanted to stay there.

The storm outside grew heavier, battering the flimsy tent, but inside, the world had shrunk to nothing more than the heat between them.

Mark’s frozen legs dug stubbornly into Neo’s side, clinging like a lifeline. Every breath he exhaled ghosted warm against Neo’s neck.

Neo tilted his head down, watching him with sharp, amused eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” he murmured. “All that barking, all that hate… and now you’re curled up on me like a kitten.”

Mark grumbled, refusing to move. “Say one more word and I’ll bite you.”

Neo chuckled, dark and low, his fingers brushing lazily over Mark’s spine. “Promises, promises.”

Mark’s heartbeat stuttered at the touch. He told himself it was just the cold, that he needed the warmth—but the way Neo’s hand lingered, sliding higher until his palm cupped the back of Mark’s neck, made denial harder and harder.

Their eyes met in the dim glow, shadows and stormlight painting Neo’s face sharp and dangerous. He leaned in slowly, deliberately, until their noses almost touched.

Mark’s breath caught. “What the hell are you doing—”

Neo silenced him with a kiss.

Mark jolted back instantly, shoving Neo with both hands. “W-what the hell was that?!” he snapped, voice sharp and panicked. His heart was hammering in his chest, a wild, erratic rhythm that made him feel like he could barely think.

Neo’s smirk didn’t falter. He raised a brow, amused, letting his hands hover just inches from Mark’s shoulders. “What? Kissed you?” His voice was teasing, low, dangerous. “You look like someone just shoved a thunderstorm into your chest.”

“I—I’m not—” Mark stammered, stumbling backward a step, trying to regain the space between them. “Why would you do that?! I—We’re enemies! This… this is insane!”

Neo leaned in slightly, just enough that Mark could feel the heat radiating off him. “Insane? Maybe. But you didn’t exactly fight me off,” he murmured, voice dark and teasing. “You didn’t push me away fast enough.”

Mark froze, cheeks burning, and glared. “I did push you! Right now! Don’t twist it!”

Neo chuckled, low and knowing, closing the gap slightly again, his hand brushing Mark’s arm. “Huh… maybe. But the second you stop fighting me? That’s when things get… interesting.”

Mark swallowed hard, shivering from more than just the cold. “…You’re impossible,” he muttered, though he couldn’t deny how his body betrayed him, leaning ever so slightly closer despite his words.

Neo’s grin widened, satisfied. “And you? You’re… hopeless.”

Mark crossed his arms tightly, turning his back slightly toward Neo and sulking like a child, lips pressed into a thin line. The cold was gone—burned away by that damn kiss—but his pride hadn’t recovered.

“I can’t believe you did that,” he muttered, voice tight. “I’m not… I’m not some idiot you can just… just kiss whenever you feel like it.”

Neo chuckled, low and dangerous, watching him with amusement gleaming in his eyes. “Oh? So now you’re sulking? You weren’t this dramatic when you were freezing.”

Mark shot him a glare over his shoulder. “…I wasn’t cold anymore.”

“Mm,” Neo said, leaning closer, the warmth of his body pressing into Mark’s back, making it impossible to ignore him. “But you were tense. Heart racing, cheeks burning… don’t tell me that wasn’t fun to watch.”

“I hate you,” Mark growled, though the sharp edge in his voice wavered slightly. He buried his face in his hands for a moment, muttering under his breath. “I hate you so much…”

Neo’s hand slid casually along Mark’s side, brushing over his hip. “You really do, huh?” he teased, voice low and deliberate. “Or… maybe you just hate that you liked it.”

Mark froze, jaw tightening. “…Shut up,” he muttered, though he didn’t move away. His body betrayed him, leaning just a fraction closer to Neo, though his face burned hotter than any fire.

Neo’s grin deepened, satisfied. “You know, sulking suits you,” he whispered. “But don’t get used to it—I might just kiss you again.”

Mark’s only response was a muffled growl, pressing his forehead to the mat, pretending not to notice the way his heart refused to slow down.

Neo’s voice was low and deliberately teasing, brushing against Mark’s ear. “Come onnn… I can do bottom. I won’t tell anyone we’re sleeping together.”

Mark’s eyes snapped open, cheeks burning hotter than the storm outside. “…W-what?!”

Neo’s grin widened, wicked and dangerous in the dim light. “Besides,” he continued, sliding just a little closer, “I heard a little rumor… you’re a virgin, Markie. Is it true?”

Mark froze, jaw dropping. “…What the hell do you mean? Who—how—”

Neo leaned back slightly, letting the tension hang, eyes glinting with mischief. “Doesn’t matter who told me. What matters is—you’re trembling. And it’s not from the cold anymore, hmm?”

Mark’s fists clenched, and he buried his face in the blanket, trying to hide it. “…I—shut up! I don’t care what you heard!”

“Mm,” Neo murmured, moving just enough that his leg brushed Mark’s. “Sure, sure… keep telling yourself that, Ice Cube. But you’re still pressed up against me. You want warmth? Or something else?”

Mark groaned, frustrated, his pride battling every urge his body betrayed. “…Neo… you’re impossible,” he muttered, voice muffled, but the truth hung between them louder than the storm outside.

Neo just laughed, low and satisfied, tightening his hold slightly. “And yet… you’re still here, aren’t you, Mark?”

Mark’s eyes flicked over Neo, and his chest tightened. Every careless movement, every smirk, every dark, teasing look—it all made his blood boil. He hated him. Hated him with a fire that had nothing to do with the cold, yet everything about this cramped, storm-lashed tent made it impossible to escape the truth.

Neo’s fingers brushed casually against his arm, and Mark’s stomach knotted. God, why does he have to be like this? The arrogance, the confidence, the way he seemed to bend everyone around him to his will… Mark hated that. He hated how easy it was to get under his skin, how just a glance from Neo made his pulse spike and his face burn.

And then the worst part: the rumors. Neo, the Casanova, the one who charmed everyone, who slept with anyone and everyone he wanted—Mark had despised him for that. Hated the way everyone seemed to fall for him, the way he thrived on attention. And yet… as much as he hated it, as much as he hated Neo… Mark couldn’t deny the pull. The heat radiating off him, the way his presence was impossible to ignore.

Mark pressed his face into the blanket, heart racing. I hate him. I really, really hate him… but why does it feel like I don’t want to stop being this close?

Neo leaned closer, voice low and deliberately provocative. “So… how’s it gonna be? Me on top, or me at bottom?”

Mark froze, cheeks flaming hotter than the storm outside. “…You… you’re outside this tent,” he snapped bitterly, voice tight with embarrassment and frustration.

Neo chuckled, dark and satisfied, letting his hand hover just a little too close to Mark’s side. “Oh? Still trying to be all proper and distant, huh? Cute.”

Mark huffed, crossing his arms, glaring, but his body betrayed him—leaning just a fraction closer despite his words. “…I’m not cute. And I—don’t—care—”

“Mm-hm,” Neo murmured, eyes glinting with mischief. “Sure you don’t. And yet, here you are, pressed up against me, shivering, flushed, and completely unable to resist.”

Mark growled softly, burying his face in the blanket, pretending not to notice the warmth, the teasing, the tension crackling between them. He hated Neo so much—yet hated himself for how much he wanted the heat, the closeness, the dangerous pull of Neo’s presence.

Neo laughed low, brushing a stray strand of damp hair from Mark’s forehead. “Relax, Ice Cube. I won’t make a move… unless you want me to.”

Mark froze. “…I don’t…” he began, then trailed off, realizing even as he said it that his words were meaningless.

Neo’s voice dropped, slow and deliberate, brushing against Mark’s ear. “Don’t you want to… figure out how good it feels when someone is inside?”

Mark froze, his face flaming hotter than the storm outside. His fists clenched the blanket, nails digging into the fabric. “…W-what—no! I mean… I—”

Neo’s grin widened, dangerous and knowing. “Oh? Afraid to admit it, Ice Cube? You’re shivering for more than the cold, aren’t you?”

Mark growled, pressing his face into the blanket to hide his burning cheeks. “…Shut up! I—It’s not—”

Neo’s hand brushed against Mark’s side, deliberately lingering. “Mmm, sure,” he murmured, voice low, teasing. “Keep telling yourself that… but your body doesn’t lie.”

Neo smirked, leaning in close, his lips brushing against Mark’s ear.
“Nobody will hear us, I promise… we can act as if nothing happened.”

Before Mark could respond, Neo shifted his grip, pressing Mark’s legs up until his knees nearly touched his chest. With a swift tug, he pulled his pants down, exposing him.

“I don’t like this position!!” Mark’s voice cracked, embarrassment flooding his cheeks as he realized how helpless he looked—folded up, vulnerable, like a candle about to burn.

Neo only giggled at his protest, his eyes dark with mischief. “Exactly… that’s why I like it.” His tongue darted out, wetting his lips before he lowered himself, dragging the flat of his tongue slowly between Mark’s cheeks until he found that tight little hole.

He licked it gently at first, deliberately slow, letting the tip of his tongue circle the sensitive rim. Mark gasped, jerking, trying to twist away, but Neo’s strong hands pinned his thighs in place.

“THAT is dirty!!” Mark panted, his voice a mix of shock and a strangled moan.

Neo hummed against him, the vibration making Mark’s body twitch. “Mhm… dirty’s fun.” His tongue pushed deeper, teasing and prodding until Mark’s resistance turned into breathless, shaky whimpers. Neo’s saliva slicked him, and the more he lapped and pressed, the wetter, hotter, filthier it felt.

Mark bit down on his lip, his face flushed crimson, his chest heaving. The humiliation mixed with the pleasure in a way that made him feel dizzy, overwhelmed, and weak under Neo’s control.

Neo didn’t stop at just circling him. With a wicked gleam in his eyes, he pressed harder, forcing his tongue past the tight rim until it slid inside. The sudden invasion made Mark jolt, his toes curling, a sharp cry spilling from his throat.

Neo groaned low in his chest, savoring the way Mark clenched around his tongue. He moved in and out slowly, deliberately, letting Mark feel every wet push, every flick of muscle inside him. The more he worked, the sloppier it got—spit dripping down, his mouth making obscene noises against Mark’s hole.

Mark’s arms trembled as he tried to cover his face. “Stop… ah—don’t do that…” But his hips betrayed him, twitching and arching toward the filthy rhythm.

Neo pulled back just enough to breathe hot against him, lips still smeared with spit. “You’re squeezing so tight, baby. Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

Before Mark could deny it, Neo spread his legs wider, forcing them open, exposing him completely. His palms gripped hard behind Mark’s knees, holding him open like he was his to devour. Then Neo dove back in, tongue sliding deep again, swirling and thrusting as if he was fucking him with his mouth.

Mark gasped, his voice breaking into helpless whines. Every time Neo’s tongue buried inside, his whole body trembled, shame and pleasure tangling until he could hardly breathe.

Neo finally pulled his tongue out, lips glistening, a string of spit trailing down his chin. He licked it away with a smirk before leaning forward, pressing his body flush against Mark’s. Their chests rubbed, sweaty and hot, and lower down Neo ground his hard cock against Mark’s.

The friction made Mark whimper—Neo’s length sliding along his, both of them hot and swollen, trapped between their bodies. Neo shifted slightly, gripping them both in one strong hand, forcing their cocks together, slicking them with the spit that had already dripped down.

“Look at you,” Neo groaned, rutting his hips in sync, his fist stroking both shafts at once. “Hard already… you like this dirtiness more than you admit.”

Mark’s head fell back, a strangled moan escaping as their tips rubbed, leaking together. The sensation was overwhelming—Neo’s calloused palm, the steady pumping, the grinding of cock against cock right over his bare stomach. Each thrust smeared precum across his skin, making it slicker, hotter.

Neo pressed harder, keeping their lengths aligned perfectly, jerking them in one smooth rhythm. “Mm… feel that? My cock and yours… fucking each other.” He leaned down to nip at Mark’s neck, his voice a filthy growl. “We’ll cum all over you.”

Mark writhed beneath him, face red, teeth biting his lip to hold back the noises spilling out. But every jerk of Neo’s hand made him shiver harder, his hips rising helplessly to meet the strokes.

Their bodies moved together, desperate, the wet slide of skin against skin obscene and addictive. Neo’s strokes quickened, squeezing tighter, grinding their swollen tips together with each pump until Mark was trembling, on the edge, his stomach smeared with both of their precum.

“Did you hear that?” Neo whispered, breath still hot against Mark’s ear as his hand slowed, both their cocks twitching in his slick fist.

Mark was still floating in the haze of pleasure, chest heaving, mind foggy. “W-what?” he mumbled, barely catching his breath.

Neo smirked, leaning back just enough to meet his dazed eyes. “The rain stopped. Which means…” he lowered his voice, playful and cruel, “…it’s possible our classmates heard you moaning.”

Mark’s brain snapped back to reality like cold water thrown in his face. His eyes widened. “WHAT?!”

In a panic, he shoved his foot hard into Neo’s stomach, kicking him off. Neo toppled with a laugh, the tent nearly collapsing as his weight pulled it sideways. Poles bent, fabric sagged, and for a moment Mark thought the whole thing was going to come crashing down on them.

“Damn—careful, you’ll kill us both,” Neo snickered from the ground, sprawled on his side, still naked, still shameless.

Mark scrambled upright, tugging at his clothes in a desperate attempt to cover himself, cheeks flaming red. He shoved the tent flap open and peeked outside, heart hammering. The campsite was quiet, only the soft crackle of the dying fire and the occasional shuffle of someone turning in their sleeping bag. Everyone seemed to be asleep.

Mark exhaled shakily, half in relief, half in embarrassment.

Behind him, Neo’s low chuckle broke the silence. “See? No one’s awake.” He leaned on one elbow, that damn smirk still on his face. “Except you, screaming like a pornstar.”

Mark whipped around, glaring, his whole body still flushed. “Shut up!”

Neo only grinned wider, eyes glinting with mischief. “Make me.”

“Okay, okay—sorry.” Neo raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin finally easing. “You had enough.”

Before Mark could protest further, Neo leaned over and gently pulled him down onto the mat, guiding him to lie back beside him. The adrenaline of panic still fluttered in Mark’s chest, but Neo’s steady hands and warm body against his side started to melt it away.

“They… they didn’t hear me, did they?” Mark asked quietly, wide eyes glimmering in the dim light like a nervous puppy. His lips trembled, still wet from biting down on them so hard.

Neo exhaled softly, brushing damp strands of hair from Mark’s forehead with a tenderness that contrasted the filth from moments ago. “No,” he whispered, pressing a reassuring kiss to his temple. “Don’t worry. It’s just us. Only me.”

Mark blinked up at him, searching his face for any trace of a lie. But Neo wasn’t smirking now—his gaze was steady, almost protective. Relief flooded him, his shoulders finally sinking against the pillow as he let out a shaky sigh.

Neo pulled the blanket over them, his arm draping easily across Mark’s chest, keeping him pinned in that lazy, possessive way of his. Mark hesitated, but then let himself curl into the warmth, cheeks still hot but his body slowly relaxing.

“See?” Neo murmured against his ear. “Safe. And I’ll keep you quiet next time.”

Mark’s eyes flew wide again, but before he could react, Neo laughed softly and nuzzled into his hair, his breath tickling the side of his neck. Falling to sleep in tight hug....

Chapter 64: EarthMix - Arranged Marriage: Can Sex Work Without Love?

The heavy double doors of the grand hall shut with a finality that made Earth’s stomach twist. The chandeliers glittered overhead, laughter echoed from the crowd, and everywhere he looked there were flowers—white roses, lilies, orchids. To anyone else, it was the perfect wedding.

To Earth Pirapat, it was a prison.

He stood at the altar, dressed immaculately in a tailored suit, his family smiling proudly from the front rows. He had spent weeks fighting this, telling his parents he didn’t want it, didn’t believe in it, didn’t love the person they had chosen for him. But their answer had been the same every time: This is about family honor. About business. About stability. Love will come later.

He didn’t believe that.

And then there was Mix.

Mix Sahaphap stood across from him, looking every bit the reluctant groom. His jaw was tight, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He didn’t smile when their eyes met—he didn’t even try.

If Earth was trapped, Mix looked ready to burn the place down just to get out.

The vows were read, the rings were exchanged, and the applause rang loud enough to drown out Earth’s thoughts. He felt the cool band slide onto his finger and for the first time in his life, he felt the weight of a chain he couldn’t break.

Later, in the quiet of the luxury hotel room prepared for them, the truth came spilling out.

“I don’t want this,” Mix said coldly, tossing his jacket onto the bed. His voice was sharp, edged with something Earth couldn’t name. “I didn’t choose this. I don’t even like you.”

Earth’s heart clenched, though he forced himself to stay calm. “You think I’m thrilled about it? You think I wanted to stand there and play dress-up in front of hundreds of people just to be tied to someone who can’t even look me in the eye without glaring?”

Mix scoffed, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Good. Then we agree on something. We’re stuck, but that doesn’t mean we have to play house.”

“Fine by me,” Earth snapped.

The silence that followed was thick, but underneath the sharp words was something else—something neither of them wanted to admit. Because as much as they hated the situation, as much as they wanted to run, there was no denying the heat in the air when they stood too close, or the way Earth’s pulse quickened whenever Mix’s voice dropped low.

They hated being forced into this marriage.

But the hardest part would be hating each other.

Their mansion was big enough to swallow them whole. Its marble halls echoed with silence, its chandeliers cast gold light over cold, polished floors, and yet Earth never felt more trapped. He could get lost in this place, and maybe that was the point.

On the left wing: Mix.
On the right wing: Earth.
On the ground floor: their families, waiting with expectant smiles and calculating eyes.

Dinner had been arranged for weeks—the official “union of two great families.” To everyone else, it was cause for celebration. To Earth, it was just another performance.

He caught sight of Mix at the staircase as they both descended at the same time. Dressed in black, his hair neatly styled, Mix looked infuriatingly good—but his expression was unreadable. Their eyes met briefly, then Mix looked away without a word.

Perfect.

At the long dining table, Mrs. Sahaphap was all smiles. “Finally, both our families are one,” she said warmly, raising her glass. “Our sons will lead the next generation together.”

Mr. Pirapat chuckled, clinking his own. “Yes, yes. Two strong men. Two legacies tied forever.”

Earth forced a smile, though his jaw ached from holding it. Mix didn’t even bother pretending; he stabbed his fork into the roasted duck as if it had personally offended him.

“Earth,” Mrs. Pirapat cooed, “how are you settling into the mansion? Mix is a wonderful husband isn’t he?”

Earth’s lips twitched. He glanced sideways at Mix, who was chewing slowly, eyes fixed on his plate. Wonderful husband? The guy hadn’t spoken more than five words to him since the wedding.

“Mm,” Earth said politely. “It’s… spacious.”

Across the table, Mix smirked without looking up. “He means he’s lost twice already just trying to find the kitchen.”

The table laughed. Earth wanted to kick him under it.

Later, as dessert was served and their parents drifted into a lively conversation about business mergers and land investments, Mix leaned closer, his voice low enough only Earth could hear.

“Don’t look so stiff. They’re watching us,” he murmured, a mocking lilt in his tone.

Earth shot him a glare. “I don’t play pretend for you.”

Mix tilted his head, lips curving. “Oh, but you do. Because if you don’t, they’ll ask questions. And neither of us wants that.”

The sound of laughter erupted again at the head of the table, and Earth plastered on another smile, his chest tight. Underneath the glow of the chandelier, he realized the game had only just begun.

In this house, in this marriage, one thing was certain—he and Mix were opponents long before they could ever be partners.

The silverware clinked softly as servers brought out steaming bowls of soup. The air at the table was heavy with polite laughter and business talk, until Mrs. Sahaphap’s sweet, deliberate voice cut through:

“So…” she said, resting her chin on one elegant hand. “Have you two thought about children yet?”

The question hung in the air like a thunderclap.

Mix, mid-sip, choked violently on his soup. He coughed, sputtered, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin while his father patted his back. Earth froze, his spoon halfway to his lips, and stared at the tablecloth like it had suddenly become fascinating.

“M-Mother—!” Mix rasped, glaring across the table.

Mrs. Sahaphap only smiled wider, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “What? It’s natural to ask. Both of you are young, strong… and it would make the bond between our families even more permanent. Don’t you agree, Earth?”

Earth’s pulse jumped. Heat crept up his neck as every pair of eyes at the table turned to him. He cleared his throat and set his spoon down carefully.

“I…” He forced a polite smile, though his insides were screaming. “…think that’s a conversation for… later.”

Mrs. Pirapat laughed softly, fanning herself. “Later, yes, but not too late. After all, a big house feels empty without children running around.”

Mix shot Earth a quick glance, his lips twitching somewhere between panic and annoyance. Earth avoided his eyes, gripping his napkin so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Across the table, their fathers chuckled knowingly, clearly satisfied with the idea of an heir sealing the deal even further.

The rest of dinner passed with heavy silences between the newlyweds, but the echo of that single question lingered in Earth’s ears long after dessert was cleared away.

The last echoes of polite goodbyes faded as the front door clicked shut. The mansion finally stilled, the hum of servants clearing dishes the only sound.

Mix and Earth sat on opposite couches in the vast living room, the gap between them feeling like a canyon. Neither spoke at first. The chandelier above cast a warm glow, but the room itself was thick with tension.

Finally, Mix broke the silence, his voice low and sharp.

“I’m not ready for kids,” he muttered, staring at the floor. “Especially with someone I don’t even know.”

Earth’s gaze flicked up at him, something unreadable flashing in his dark eyes. He leaned back, arms crossed, his tone controlled but edged.

“Good,” he said flatly. “Because I don’t want them either. Not like this.”

Mix let out a short, bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Figures. Our parents think they can just tie us together like prize cattle and expect us to… what? Magically fall in love? Play house? Produce grandchildren on command?”

Earth’s jaw tightened. “It’s not about us. It never was. We’re just… chess pieces to them.”

The words stung because they were true. Mix slumped against the couch, exhaustion pulling at his features.

For a long moment, silence reclaimed the room. Then, softer this time, Mix spoke again.

“I don’t even hate you,” he admitted reluctantly. “I just… hate this. Hate being trapped like this.”

Earth studied him quietly, his walls slipping just a fraction. He sighed, turning his eyes away.

“…Then maybe the least we can do is not make it worse for each other.”

Mix’s lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t agree, but he didn’t argue either. Both of them sat in silence, two strangers bound by vows neither of them had wanted, each one silently wondering if this uneasy truce could ever turn into something more.

The quiet stretched too long. Earth leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, then glanced at Mix. His tone was low, hesitant—but not without weight.

“I think…” Earth paused, searching for words. “I miss it. You know—just… being able to go out, hang out, do whatever I wanted. Even with people I shouldn’t have. Slaves, flings… all of it.”

Mix’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “Slaves? Are you seriously saying this to me right now?”

Earth held up a hand, unbothered by Mix’s glare. “Relax. I’m just saying—it’s not appropriate anymore. I can’t exactly live like that now. So…”

He turned his head, locking eyes with Mix. His next words fell like a stone into the silence.

“…maybe we could sleep together.”

Mix nearly choked on his own breath. “WHAT?!” His voice cracked with disbelief as he sat bolt upright. “You—you can’t just say something like that!”

Earth’s gaze didn’t waver, calm but coldly practical. “What? You think I don’t notice? You’re not a virgin. And I’m not blind. Sex is just… normal. Natural. Doesn’t have to mean love.”

Mix’s cheeks flushed hot, his jaw clenching. He hated how matter-of-fact Earth sounded, like this was just a business arrangement extended to the bedroom.

“You’re unbelievable,” Mix hissed. “I don’t even know you, and you’re suggesting—God—like it’s nothing?!”

Earth shrugged slightly, leaning back with that same controlled expression. “It is nothing. Unless you want it to be something.”

The tension between them burned like a lit fuse.

Mix’s face was red, his pulse hammering in his throat. He stared at Earth, trying to read if this was some kind of twisted joke. But Earth just sat there, calm, waiting, like he had all the time in the world.

After what felt like forever, Mix finally muttered, his voice sharp but shaky,

“No kisses. No hugs. Did you understand?”

Earth raised an eyebrow, lips quirking like he found the answer amusing. “So… rules, then?”

Mix glared at him, though his blush only deepened. “Yes. Rules. If you think this is going to be just… that—then it stays only that. Nothing more. Not a single kiss. Not even a hug. You got it?”

Earth leaned back in his chair, folding his arms as if considering the terms of a deal. “Fine. No kisses. No hugs.” His eyes flicked over Mix’s flustered face, and for a moment, something sly glinted in his gaze. “But you should know…” He leaned in just slightly, voice dropping. “…those are usually the things people end up craving most.”

Mix swallowed hard, hating the way his body reacted to those words. He turned his face away quickly.

“Shut up,” he whispered.

The air between them was thick, their strange agreement hanging like a dangerous promise neither could take back.

Earth shifted closer on the couch, his arm brushing against Mix’s before he leaned in. With a sudden, smooth motion, he pushed Mix backward until his back met the cushions.

“W-wait—what are you—” Mix stammered, his voice breaking as Earth hovered above him.

Earth tilted his head, studying him with that maddening calmness. “Why are you blushing, Mix?” he asked softly, almost teasing.

Mix immediately grabbed the nearest pillow and pressed it over his burning face, hiding the betrayal of his crimson cheeks. His muffled voice came out from behind the fabric, flustered and shaky. “I’m not! Shut up!”

Earth chuckled, low and knowing, before tugging at the pillow playfully. “You’re hiding,” he said, eyes narrowing in amusement. “That means I caught you.”

Mix shook his head stubbornly, refusing to look at him, gripping the pillow like it was his shield. “Just—go back to your side of the couch! This wasn’t part of the rules!”

But Earth didn’t move back. Instead, he leaned down just a little more, his breath warm against the edge of the pillow. “I didn’t break the rules, Mix. No kisses. No hugs. Just… looking.” His lips curved into the faintest smirk. “And I like what I see.”

Mix’s heart raced, his mind a chaotic storm. He hated how Earth’s words sank into him, hated how his body seemed to tremble not with fear, but something else entirely.

Mix finally lowered the pillow just enough to peek at Earth, his cheeks still glowing red. His heart was pounding so loud he was sure Earth could hear it. He swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Should we… just do it?” Mix asked, eyes darting away in embarrassment. “But… without kissing!”

Earth froze for a moment, genuinely surprised. Then, a slow, wicked smile tugged at his lips. “So the smart, stubborn Mix is the one asking me this?” he teased, leaning closer, his hand braced on the couch beside Mix’s head.

Mix glared at him, trying to hide how much his body trembled. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I just… I don’t want this whole marriage to feel like… nothing. And you said it yourself—it’s normal. Just… no romance.”

Earth’s gaze softened just slightly, though the glint of mischief never left his eyes. “No kissing,” he repeated, his voice dropping lower, heavier. “No hugs. Just what we need.”

Mix nodded quickly, clutching the pillow to his chest like a shield. “Exactly.”

Earth let out a small laugh, leaning down closer until his lips nearly brushed Mix’s ear. “Fine,” he whispered, his breath sending shivers down Mix’s spine. “But you should know something, Mix… Even without kisses, I can still make you blush harder than this.”

Mix’s breath hitched, and for the first time, he didn’t argue.

Earth tugged Mix’s clothes away piece by piece, his movements unhurried but full of intent. Mix bit down on his lip, face burning as he turned his head to the side, refusing to look at him.

“Did you have someone before?” Earth asked casually, though his hand was already brushing along Mix’s bare hip.

Mix gave the smallest nod, voice barely audible. “...Yes.”

Earth tilted his head, studying him with narrowed eyes. “I don’t think so,” he murmured, fingers pressing against the curve of Mix’s ass as if testing resistance. His smirk deepened. “Not properly, at least. You’re so damn tight… I swear, I couldn’t even stick a pencil in here.”

Mix’s whole body jolted at those words, his fists curling into the couch cushions. “D-don’t say things like that!” he hissed, mortified, his voice cracking.

But Earth only leaned closer, his lips brushing Mix’s ear even though he promised no kissing. “You want me to stop?” he whispered.

Mix froze, shivering, and after a long pause his answer came out weak, broken, but clear. “...No. Just… don’t tease me like that.”

Earth chuckled low in his throat, running his hand lower, spreading Mix open slowly with his fingers. “Tight or not, Mix… I’ll make sure you can take me. Whether you’re ready or not.”

Mix buried his face back into the pillow, muffling the strangled sound that escaped his throat.

“You’re blushing again,” Earth murmured, brushing Mix’s hair back from his face.

“Shut up…” Mix mumbled into the pillow, refusing to look at him.

Earth chuckled and slid lower, spreading Mix’s thighs apart with firm hands. His fingers trailed down, circling the spot that made Mix jerk violently. “So tight,” he said again, pressing gently at the ring of muscle. “You really expect me to believe someone’s been inside you before?”

Mix’s fists gripped the pillow hard. “I—I told you… yes. Just… don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun,” Earth said smoothly, dipping one finger in with slow pressure. “I’m admiring. Look at the way you’re squeezing me already. One finger, Mix… and you’re clutching like you don’t want to let go.”

Mix gasped, biting back a cry as the finger worked deeper, stretching him carefully. “N-no kisses… no hugs… you promised.”

“I remember,” Earth replied, smirking as he pumped the finger in and out, then added a second. “But you never said anything about making you moan.”

Mix’s body tensed, back arching off the couch as a broken sound escaped his lips. “Ah—don’t say that—”

Earth leaned closer, lips brushing his ear, teasing but never kissing. “Say what? That you’re beautiful like this? That your body wants me even if your stubborn mouth doesn’t?”

He curled his fingers just right, and Mix cried out, muffling the sound against the pillow.

“God… Earth—”

“You’re opening up so well,” Earth whispered, pulling his fingers free, slick and glistening. He pressed his hardness against Mix’s entrance, rubbing slowly but not pushing in yet. “You sure about this? Because once I’m inside… there’s no going back.”

Mix’s breath came out in shaky bursts. He turned his head just enough for Earth to see his face, cheeks stained crimson, eyes glassy. “...Just do it. But no kissing.”

Earth smirked darkly. “As you wish.”

With one steady thrust, he pushed in, making Mix gasp and clutch the couch cushions so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“F-fuck—it’s too big—” Mix whimpered, his whole body trembling as Earth sank deeper, inch by inch.

“Relax,” Earth breathed, holding his hips steady. “Let me in, Mix. You can take me… I’ll make sure of it.”

The stretch burned, but the heat that followed made Mix’s toes curl. Earth groaned low, finally buried inside. He paused only a moment before moving, slow at first, then harder, faster, filling the mansion with the sound of skin meeting skin and Mix’s muffled cries.

Mix hid his face again, ashamed of the way his voice kept breaking. “N-no kisses, Earth—don’t—”

Earth grinned, driving into him with unrelenting rhythm. “I don’t need to kiss you to make you mine.”

Mix’s reply turned into a helpless moan as pleasure overtook the sting, his body giving in despite himself.

Mix’s body trembled violently, every nerve alight as Earth moved inside him, relentless, commanding. Mix gasped, gripping the couch cushions so hard his knuckles went white.

“You… you’re… too much—” Mix stammered, breath coming in sharp, broken gasps.

Earth’s grin was wicked, dark, and possessive. He leaned down, lips brushing Mix’s ear. “You feel so good… I swear, Mix… maybe we could make it work someday” he growled, voice low and rough, each thrust punctuating his words.

Mix’s eyes widened in shock, body jolting with each powerful movement. “E-Earth! Wh-what—ahh—! Don’t… say things like that!”

Earth only laughed, deep and dark, letting the sound rumble against Mix’s back. “Why not? You take me so well… so tight… I can’t help imagining it.” He pounded into Mix harder, faster, his hands gripping Mix’s hips with enough force to leave bruises, but not enough to hurt—only to dominate.

Mix cried out, back arching, whole body shivering. “Ahhh—Earth… too much… I can’t—”

“You can, Mix,” Earth hissed, voice rough and possessive. “And you will. You’ll take me, every bit. Look at you… moaning for me already.”

Mix’s moans were loud now, desperate, his whole body convulsing as Earth’s relentless pounding pushed him toward an overwhelming climax. “I-I’m… so close…!”

Earth didn’t let up, driving in and out with unrelenting rhythm, whispering darkly in Mix’s ear, “That’s it… ….”

Mix screamed, body shuddering violently as the overstimulation and raw intensity became too much. Pleasure and pain collided, every nerve on fire, until he finally collapsed against the couch, trembling and breathless.

Earth slowed only slightly, still inside him, smirking down at Mix. “See? You can handle it. And I think… maybe we really could make kids like this someday,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over Mix’s reddened skin possessively.

Mix could only moan softly, too spent to argue, as Earth held him close, every movement now a slow, satisfied claim.

Earth leaned over Mix, still grinning darkly, his movements deliberate as he drove into him one final, hard thrust. Mix’s body convulsed beneath him, moaning loudly, completely overwhelmed by the intensity.

With a low growl, Earth felt his control snap, and he spilled inside Mix, filling him completely. Mix’s eyes widened in shock, chest heaving, body trembling uncontrollably.

Earth didn’t pull out immediately—he held Mix tight, letting the warmth of the moment settle, his breath rough against Mix’s shoulder. Then, slowly, he withdrew, resting his weight over him, still holding him possessively.

Mix whimpered softly, still trying to catch his breath, his body slick and trembling. “Earth… that… that was…”

Earth pressed a lingering kiss to Mix’s temple, smirking as he whispered, “Yeah… that was me making sure you remember your first time with me.”

Mix shivered, curling closer, exhausted but safe, feeling the possessive heat radiating from Earth. Despite the roughness, there was comfort in the embrace, a promise that this intensity came with care.

Earth brushed a damp strand of hair from Mix’s forehead, murmuring, “Next time… maybe we won’t hold back as much.”

Mix only groaned softly, already imagining what that would mean, but for now, he just let himself melt into Earth’s arms, utterly spent and completely his.

Earth leaned closer, cheek brushing against Mix’s, his lips ghosting over Mix’s in a brief, soft kiss. “Just a small one,” he murmured, voice low and teasing. “Because… I fucked you good, didn’t I?”

Mix’s face burned crimson, heat pooling in his chest. He could barely find words, voice a trembling whisper. “Y-Yeah… you… you did…”

Earth grinned, resting his forehead lightly against Mix’s. “Thought so,” he murmured, thumb brushing along Mix’s jaw.

“Next time…” Earth teased softly, lips brushing Mix’s ear, “we’ll see how much more you can handle.”

Mix shivered again, half dread, half anticipation, but this time, it was the kind of shiver that made him want more. “I… think I can handle it… with you,” he whispered, closing his eyes and letting himself melt fully into Earth’s arms.

Chapter 65: Pounded Raw in the Car: Boom’s First Ride😏

⚠️ Reader Warning / Explicit Content Notice:
This story contains explicit sexual content, raw and messy sex, oral sex, first-time experiences, and dominant/submissive dynamics. It includes cum play, rough penetration, and age-appropriate characters only (18+). Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Aou- Top

Boom-Bottom

Anyway!

Enjoy! Love you <3

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The music shook the walls, bass thundering through the crowded frat house. Lights strobed across the living room, where bodies swayed and laughed and spilled drinks on the floor.

Boom hated it.

He hadn’t wanted to come—parties weren’t his thing—but his classmates had dragged him anyway. It’s Aou’s party, they’d said. You can’t hide in the library forever.
So here he was, clutching a plastic cup, standing awkwardly against the wall like an outsider watching a world he didn’t belong to.

At first, he managed. People tried to pull him into beer pong, a few strangers offered smiles, and Boom forced himself to nod politely. But then he heard it—sharp voices cutting through the music, loud enough to sting.

“Hey, that’s Boom, right? The smart one?”
“Yeah. Heard he’s still a virgin. A virgin gay.”
“No way—at his age?”

The laughter that followed felt louder than the bass. Heat crawled up Boom’s neck, shame flooding his chest. He gripped his cup tighter, wishing the floor would swallow him.

What he didn’t see was Aou, across the room, watching. Aou had been laughing with his friends, but the way Boom seemed to shrink into himself—face pale, hand trembling—caught his attention. In an instant, Aou cut through the crowd and stopped right in front of him.

“Boom,” he said with an easy grin that looked casual to everyone else, but softer up close. “Didn’t think you’d show.”

Boom blinked, startled. “Uh… yeah. My friends dragged me.”

Aou leaned on the wall beside him, lowering his voice. “Don’t mind the rumors. People say stupid shit when they’re drunk. They don’t know you.”

Boom’s throat tightened. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing for them,” Aou corrected. Then louder—so the gossips nearby heard—“He’s with me, alright? So find something else to talk about.”

The laughter cut off. People turned away.

Boom stared at him. “Why would you say that?” he whispered.

Aou smirked faintly. “Because it’s true. You’re with me right now, aren’t you?” His eyes softened just slightly. “Besides… you didn’t deserve that.”

Boom looked down, but the corner of his lips betrayed him with the faintest curve. Somehow, with Aou next to him, the noise didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

Minutes later, when the front door opened, rain crashed against the porch in sheets. Thunder split the sky.

Aou frowned. “No way you’re walking home in this.”

“I’ll be fine,” Boom muttered, hugging his bag.

“Yeah? With lightning and flooding streets? Not happening.” Aou shook his head, already pulling out his keys. “Come with me. My place is closer. Safer.”

Boom hesitated, thunder cracking again above them. “…Fine. Just until it clears.”

“Deal.” Aou grinned, throwing his jacket over both their heads as they bolted into the storm. Boom tried not to think about how close their bodies pressed under the makeshift shelter.

Time Skip: Inside the Car

They tumbled into Aou’s car, drenched and breathless. Rain hammered the roof, windshields blurring with water.

“Fuck, we’re soaked,” Aou muttered, shaking his hair. “Let me put on some music.”

But the second he tapped his phone, the speakers erupted—moans, loud and unmistakable.

Boom’s eyes went wide.

“Shit!” Aou fumbled, ears burning red. He killed the audio in panic. Silence crashed back in. “…Great. Just great. The one time I try to be smooth—”

A soft laugh slipped out of Boom, shaky but real. He clapped a hand over his mouth, but Aou caught it.

“You’re laughing at me?” he said, incredulous.

“I—I didn’t mean to,” Boom stammered, but laughter bubbled again, lightening the air.

The storm raged on, but inside, something shifted. Boom fiddled with his bag strap before whispering, “Those rumors… they’re true. I’ve never… done anything. With anyone.”

The air stilled. Aou turned, gaze steady.

“That doesn’t make you weird,” he said, voice low. “It makes you honest. Which is rare around here.”

Boom’s chest tightened. He hugged himself, cheeks hot. Aou tugged off his hoodie and tossed it onto Boom’s lap.

“You’re freezing. Wear it.”

“…Thanks.”

Time Skip: Later

The storm hadn’t eased. Windows fogged from the warmth of their breaths. The car was quiet except for rain, but neither of them slept.

Boom shifted, hugging the hoodie closer. “You’re awake too.”

“Yeah.” Aou’s voice was lazy, but his eyes glinted. “Storm keeps me up. And… you.”

“Me?” Boom flushed.

“You’re staring out the window like you’re planning a flood escape route. It’s cute. Makes it hard to sleep.”

Boom ducked his head, flustered. He hesitated, then whispered, “Can I… try something?”

Aou turned, curious. “Like what?”

“…Be closer,” Boom murmured, sliding hesitantly toward him.

Aou’s smirk softened. “You can. You’re already here.”

The space between them disappeared. Boom’s lips brushed Aou’s in a fleeting, trembling kiss. He pulled back instantly, cheeks burning.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be.” Aou tipped his chin up, eyes dark and warm. “I liked it.”

Boom’s lips parted under Aou’s, trembling, but when Aou deepened the kiss, he didn’t pull away. His fingers clutched at Aou’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping him steady.

Aou broke the kiss just long enough to murmur against his mouth, “You taste nervous.”

“I–I don’t know what I’m doing,” Boom admitted, voice shaky, face flushed hot.

“Good.” Aou smirked, thumb brushing his cheekbone. “Means I get to teach you.”

Boom’s breath hitched as Aou leaned in again, slower this time, coaxing him into the rhythm of lips meeting lips, tongues brushing hesitantly before Aou guided him deeper. Boom’s small gasp was swallowed by Aou’s mouth.

When Aou’s hand slid lower, fingers brushing the hem of Boom’s damp shirt, Boom shivered hard. His body reacted before his mind caught up, hips shifting instinctively closer.

“Easy,” Aou whispered, his voice a low rumble. “Just relax. Let me touch you.”

Boom nodded, eyes squeezed shut, and let Aou’s hand slip beneath the fabric. Warm fingers skimmed his bare skin, drawing goosebumps. Boom’s whimper filled the car, soft and broken, as Aou’s palm spread over his stomach, exploring with patient curiosity.

“You’re shaking,” Aou teased gently, lips trailing along Boom’s jaw. “Am I that scary?”

“N-no…” Boom’s voice cracked. “Just… sensitive.”

Aou chuckled, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Good answer.”

Boom’s eyes widened at the shift, feeling the press of Aou’s body beneath him. “This… feels weird…”

“Feels right,” Aou corrected softly, hands steadying him by the hips. “You’ll get used to it.” He tilted his head, voice dropping darker. “You want me, don’t you?”

Boom’s lips trembled, but he whispered, “…Yes.”

Aou rewarded him with another searching kiss, hands roaming lower, fingers squeezing experimentally at the curve of Boom’s thighs. The sound that escaped Boom was helpless, caught between shock and pleasure, and Aou swallowed it with a grin.

“Fuck,” Aou muttered against his lips. “You’re addictive already.”

Boom buried his face against Aou’s neck, muffling his small noises as Aou’s hands explored further, slow and deliberate. Each brush of fingers made him squirm, unsure if he wanted to hide or melt completely.

“Don’t hide from me,” Aou murmured, lifting Boom’s chin again. His gaze was heated, serious. “I want to see everything. Every sound. Every look.”

Boom’s pulse thundered. He nodded faintly, lips parting as if to protest—but another moan slipped out instead when Aou’s hand traced boldly over the bulge in his jeans. His entire body jolted, thighs clenching around Aou’s lap.

“Aou!” Boom gasped, half in shock.

Aou smirked wickedly. “Yeah. Just like that. Don’t hold back.”

His hand pressed firmer, rubbing slow circles that made Boom whimper, hips jerking despite himself. Boom clung tighter, breaths coming fast, his body betraying every ounce of arousal.

“You’re so fucking hard already,” Aou whispered, hot against his ear. “And this is just my hand over your clothes. Imagine what else I could do.”

Boom shivered violently, a broken whine spilling out before he could stop it. His face was crimson, his body trembling against Aou’s steady frame.

“I… I don’t know if I can—”

“You can.” Aou cut him off with another deep kiss, grinding up just enough to make Boom gasp. “And you will. Just let go for me.”

Boom was already trembling from Aou’s hand pressing against him through his jeans, his body betraying every ounce of arousal. His lips parted, a shaky breath leaving him.

Aou leaned close, whispering darkly against his ear, “Wanna learn how to really please me?”

Boom swallowed hard, blinking up at him. “…Y-you mean… with my mouth?”

Aou smirked at the hesitant tone. “Exactly. On your knees, baby.”

Boom’s heart pounded, but when Aou’s hand guided him down between the cramped car seats, he obeyed, crawling clumsily until he was kneeling on the floorboard. His fingers gripped the edge of the seat for balance, eyes wide as Aou slowly unzipped his jeans.

Boom’s breath caught at the sight, heat rushing to his face. “I… I don’t know how—”

“That’s why I’m teaching you.” Aou’s voice was low, commanding. He tugged his jeans down just enough, freeing himself, thick and already flushed with arousal. He watched Boom’s stunned expression with a satisfied smirk. “Don’t be shy. Touch it.”

Boom’s hand shook as he reached out, wrapping tentative fingers around the length. The heat against his palm made him gasp.

“Good,” Aou praised softly, covering Boom’s hand with his own to guide the movement. “Not too tight. Just slow… like this.” He dragged Boom’s hand up and down in a steady rhythm, groaning low at the friction.

Boom stared, fascinated, his lips parted as if he couldn’t breathe properly.

“You see what you’re doing to me?” Aou whispered, voice rough with desire. “Now—open that pretty mouth.”

Boom hesitated, but Aou’s thumb brushed his lower lip, coaxing it open. Slowly, Boom leaned forward, tongue darting out nervously to lick the tip. The taste made him flinch, unsure, but Aou’s hand immediately settled at the back of his head.

“Don’t think. Just take me in.”

Boom parted his lips wider, slipping the head into his mouth. The unfamiliar stretch made his eyes widen, but Aou groaned, head tilting back against the seat.

“Fuck… that’s it.” His fingers tightened slightly in Boom’s hair. “Wrap your lips around it. Suck.”

Boom obeyed, cheeks hollowing clumsily. The wet sounds filled the small car, and embarrassment flushed through him—but Aou’s moans told him he was doing something right.

“Messy is good,” Aou praised, hips shifting up slowly. “Yeah… use your tongue. Lick the underside—”

Boom tried, dragging his tongue along the vein as he bobbed his head. Saliva was already dripping down his chin, but Aou’s encouraging groans kept him going.

“God, you look so hot like this,” Aou muttered, voice rough. “On your knees for me… learning to take me.”

Boom gagged lightly when Aou pushed a little deeper, eyes watering, but Aou immediately slowed his thrust. His hand stroked Boom’s damp hair. “Breathe through your nose. Don’t panic. Relax that throat.”

Boom’s muffled whimper vibrated around him, making Aou curse under his breath.

“That’s it… fuck, just like that.” His hips began moving carefully, feeding more of himself into Boom’s mouth. “You’re getting better already. So fucking obedient.”

Tears pricked Boom’s lashes, drool running messily down his chin, but his hands gripped Aou’s thighs, trying to match the rhythm. Every sound, every taste was overwhelming, but Aou’s rough praise burned through the shame.

“You’re mine now,” Aou groaned, thrusting a little deeper. “Remember this. No one else gets to see you like this.”

Boom whimpered around him, the sound choked but needy. Aou’s grip in his hair tightened, pace stuttering as he neared his edge.

“Fuck, Boom—gonna cum—”

Boom tried to keep the rhythm, but his jaw ached, his throat struggling around the thickness sliding deeper each time. His eyes watered, drool soaking his chin. The car was filled with wet, obscene sounds, the smell of sex heavy in the air.

Aou suddenly pulled back with a guttural curse, yanking Boom’s head off his cock. Boom gasped for air, lips swollen, a string of spit still connecting them.

“Keep your face up,” Aou ordered darkly. His voice was harsh, commanding.

Boom looked up at him, confused and dazed, cheeks burning. And then—Aou groaned deep in his chest, pumping himself twice before the first hot spurt hit Boom’s cheek.

Boom gasped, frozen in shock as more ropes painted across his face—his lips, nose, lashes, even down to his chin.

“Fuck yes,” Aou hissed, head tipping back as he rode out the release, spilling over Boom’s pretty features. His hand held Boom’s hair tight, making sure he didn’t turn away. “Look at you… such a mess for me.”

Boom trembled, chest heaving, the sticky warmth dripping down his skin. Embarrassment and arousal collided in his stomach, making him whimper softly.

Aou tilted his head down, eyes dark as he admired the sight. He wiped his thumb across Boom’s cheek, smearing it slowly before pushing it toward his lips. “Taste it.”

Boom hesitated, but his lips parted instinctively, letting Aou’s thumb press past them. The salty, bitter taste hit his tongue, and he shivered.

“Good boy,” Aou praised, his voice lower, almost tender beneath the roughness. He leaned closer, kissing Boom’s temple despite the mess. “You’re perfect like this. Mine.”

Boom’s heart pounded, his entire body hot and shaky. His knees ached from the cramped car floor, but the way Aou was looking at him—possessive, proud, hungry for more—made every second worth it.

Aou didn’t let Boom move away. Instead, he grabbed his wrist, tugging him up from the car floor. Boom stumbled, dazed, still sticky with the mess on his cheeks.

“Come here,” Aou growled, lowering the driver’s seat back halfway with one hand, the other pulling Boom across his lap. Boom landed against him, heart pounding, lips parted in confusion.

Before he could catch his breath, Aou’s fingers hooked into the waistband of Boom’s pants and boxers, yanking them down to his thighs. The sudden rush of cold air made Boom jolt, a strangled sound escaping him.

“A–Aou—” he gasped, but Aou hushed him with a rough kiss, smearing the taste of his own cum between their mouths.

Breaking the kiss, Aou smirked darkly, dragging his thumb across Boom’s cheek where his release was still dripping. He brought the sticky mess down, spreading it over Boom’s trembling thighs until his hand found its way between them.

Boom gasped, shivering at the obscene heat of it, at the way Aou rubbed the slick across the tight ring of his entrance. The mess of cum, spit, and sweat made it glide too easily, and Boom’s face burned red as he realized what Aou was doing.

“You feel that?” Aou whispered against his ear, voice rough, dangerous. “My cum belongs here…” He pressed his thumb harder, circling, coating Boom’s hole in his spend.

Boom whimpered, burying his face into Aou’s chest, embarrassed and overwhelmed. His cock twitched, already painfully hard, trapped against his stomach.

Aou groaned, rubbing his nose into Boom’s hair as his free hand gripped his hip tightly, holding him in place. “Fuck, you’re shaking for me. Don’t hide, Boom. Let me hear you.”

Boom bit his lip, tears pricking at his eyes, torn between shame and need. The slick, messy circles around his hole had his body trembling, every nerve lit on fire.

Aou’s thumb lingered at Boom’s hole, circling until the younger man’s thighs trembled uncontrollably. Then he pressed, just enough for the tight ring to give way. Boom gasped sharply, clutching at Aou’s shirt as his thumb slid in shallow, the cum slicking every movement.

“You’re so tight,” Aou murmured, kissing along Boom’s jaw, gentling him while his fingers worked deeper. He replaced his thumb with two fingers, stretching him carefully, curling them to loosen the stubborn muscles. Boom whimpered, his face still streaked with the drying mess, his body shaking but not pulling away.

Aou’s other hand stroked his hair, his voice softer than before. “Relax, baby. Breathe. You’re doing so good for me…”

Boom hides his face in Aou’s neck, moaning quietly as the burn gave way to a strange, dangerous pleasure. His cock twitched, leaking against his stomach, betraying just how much this was undoing him.

When Aou felt him ease up, he withdrew his fingers slowly. Boom whined at the loss, but Aou didn’t let him dwell on it—he lifted him by the hips, aligning his swollen cock with the stretched, wet entrance.

“Look at me,” Aou demanded, tilting Boom’s chin up. Boom’s wide eyes, glassy with need, met his.

Then Aou pressed him down.

The blunt head stretched him further, sliding in inch by inch. Boom cried out, nails digging into Aou’s shoulders, every muscle taut with the overwhelming intrusion.

“Shhh… I’ve got you,” Aou soothed, holding him steady, not forcing more in. He stayed buried halfway, letting Boom adjust, stroking his waist gently. “Take your time. Feel me… get used to it.”

Boom nodded shakily, panting into his ear. His walls clenched around Aou’s length, squeezing desperately as he tried to breathe through the sting.

And when Aou felt Boom finally relax—just barely—his control snapped.

He gripped Boom’s hips tight, slammed him down the rest of the way in one brutal thrust.

Boom screamed, back arching, body shaking violently as Aou filled him to the hilt.

“Fuck,” Aou growled, burying his face in Boom’s neck as he held him impaled. “So fucking tight. You were made for this cock.”

Boom barely had time to gasp before Aou’s hips snapped up from the seat. The car rocked with the force of it, the leather groaning under their weight.

Boom cried out, high and desperate, as Aou began to pound into him mercilessly. Each thrust drove him down to the base, his stretched walls gripping tight around the thick length splitting him apart.

“Ah—Aou! It’s—too much—” Boom whimpered, clinging helplessly to Aou’s shoulders. His thighs shook, knees spread wide over Aou’s lap, every slam making his body jolt and tremble.

“Too much?” Aou snarled, teeth grazing his ear. His hands bruised into Boom’s waist as he pistoned up, faster, harder, chasing the obscene wet slap of skin on skin. “Then take it. You’re mine to ruin tonight.”

Boom sobbed, head falling back against the seat, mouth open in a string of broken moans. The car windows fogged from their heat, every sound echoing in the tight space.

Aou leaned forward, capturing Boom’s mouth in a filthy kiss, swallowing his cries as he drove into him without mercy. Sweat dripped down his temples, his cock ramming deeper with every savage thrust.

Boom’s own cock slapped against his stomach, leaking precum with every jolt. He couldn’t even touch himself, Aou’s rhythm leaving him too undone, too shattered.

“Aou—! I can’t—ahh—I can’t—” he babbled, nails raking across Aou’s back.

“Yes, you can,” Aou grunted, slamming harder, faster, until Boom’s voice broke into a scream. “You’re gonna cum on my cock whether you want to or not.”

Boom’s body convulsed, clenching tight around him, the overstimulation tipping him over the edge. His cock erupted between their stomachs, painting both of them with his release as he sobbed Aou’s name.

The sudden tightness made Aou curse, his thrusts turning brutal, almost violent. He buried himself to the hilt one final time, holding Boom crushed against him as his own orgasm ripped through.

Hot spurts of cum flooded deep inside Boom, filling him so much it leaked back around Aou’s cock. He groaned low, grinding him down, making sure every drop stayed buried inside.

When it was over, Boom lay trembling against his chest, still impaled, sticky and broken from the relentless pounding. Aou kissed his damp hair, still breathing hard, his voice a rough whisper.

“Good boy… you took it all.”

Boom slumped against Aou’s chest, body trembling, hole still stretched wide around the softening cock buried inside him. His thighs quivered, cum smeared across his stomach, the car heavy with the musk of sex.

Aou smirked, brushing his thumb along Boom’s lips, wiping away the sticky mess that had dried on his face earlier. “Look at you…just how good you look with my sperm on your face and my dick twitching inside you...”

Boom whimpered, too exhausted to answer, just clutching weakly at Aou’s shirt.

For a moment Aou let him sit there, still plugged full, making sure he felt every drop leaking inside. Then, with a gentler touch, he reached for some tissues from the console, cleaning Boom’s stomach and face, pressing soft kisses against his damp forehead.

“Shh… that was perfect..” he murmured, stroking his back.

Boom finally let out a shaky sigh, his body loosening as Aou tucked him closer, their breaths syncing in the fogged-up car.

Outside, the night was silent. Inside, Boom was warm, messy, and safe in Aou’s lap—completely his.

With one firm grip on Boom’s waist, he pulled out slowly, letting the warmth of his release slip free inside. Boom shivered violently at the sudden emptiness, eyes fluttering closed.

“Mm… hold still,” Aou murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Boom’s neck. He shifted carefully, lowering Boom’s body over the passenger seat so he could rest stretched out, still messy and flushed. Boom’s legs dangled over the edge slightly, cum still smeared along his thighs and stomach, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Aou settled behind him, one arm wrapped around Boom’s small frame, the other reaching to gently stroke his hair. “You okay?” he asked softly, voice still low and rough from the exertion.

Boom let out a shaky breath, body pressed against the seat, still trembling. “I… I think so…” His voice was small, breathless, and completely vulnerable.

Aou leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of his shoulder. “You did so good. So perfect… just for me.” He let his hands roam gently over Boom’s damp, messy skin, cleaning some of the residual mess, but mostly just holding him.

Boom melted against him, face flushed, body sticky, but strangely safe. The storm outside was fading, the rain tapping softly against the car roof, but inside the car, the heat and closeness between them lingered.

“Stay here,” Aou murmured, tilting Boom’s chin up to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’ve got you.”

Boom sighed, finally letting himself relax completely, still warm, sore, and utterly Aou’s.

Chapter 66: Messy Lessons: Joong, Pond, Phuwin & Dunk

Harem! JoongDunkPondPhuwin!! This should be illegal!!

The last bell of the day echoed through the room. Students rushed out, laughter and chatter fading down the corridor. But Dunk and Phuwin didn’t move with the others. They exchanged glances, their cheeks warm, before quietly slipping toward the back of the classroom—toward the tall supply cabinet.

They knew the routine. After the door clicked shut and the blinds were drawn, Joong leaned against his desk, tie loose, his sharp eyes trained on the two boys. Pond shut the lock behind them, lips curling into a knowing smirk.

“Good,” Joong’s low voice cut through the silence. “You stayed behind like we told you.”

Phuwin swallowed hard, pressing back against the cabinet doors, his uniform shirt already tugged halfway free of his waistband. Dunk stood at his side, fists clenched, pretending to look braver than he felt.

Pond strode closer first, fingers brushing along Dunk’s jaw. “So obedient,” he murmured, “and yet… both of you are trembling.”

Joong’s chair scraped back as he stood, closing the distance. His hand caught Phuwin’s chin, tilting his head up. “Let’s see how well our students perform after class.” His thumb brushed over Phuwin’s lower lip before pushing just inside, making the boy’s breath hitch.

Dunk’s knees nearly buckled when Pond’s hand slid lower, tugging at his belt under the cover of the cabinet’s shadow. “Don’t make us wait, hm? We don’t tolerate hesitation.”

The air grew thick—teacher authority twisted into something far more dangerous, far more intoxicating. Their breaths tangled, uniforms tugged open, and the cabinet rattled faintly when Dunk stumbled back against it, trapped between Pond’s body and the cold wood. Phuwin’s soft gasp followed when Joong’s hand slipped under his shirt, palm splaying flat against his bare stomach.

Dunk’s back pressed hard against the cold wood of the cabinet, every brush of Pond’s fingers sending jolts through him. Pond’s lips trailed from his jaw to the shell of his ear, whispering, “So tight… so ready for me.”

Dunk tried to stay steady, but when Pond’s hand slipped lower, tugging at his shorts and teasing him just enough to make him whimper, he couldn’t help it. His knees gave way slightly, the pressure mounting as Pond pressed in, slow and deliberate, letting Dunk adjust before driving deeper. Each movement made his breath hitch, every thrust leaving him trembling.

The cabinet was still shaking slightly from the previous intensity, but neither teacher nor student was ready to stop. Joong leaned against the edge, arms crossed, sharp gaze fixed on Phuwin. Pond’s eyes roamed over Dunk, his smirk dark and predatory.

Phuwin turned toward Dunk, cheeks flushed, lips trembling. “Do you… want to do it?” he whispered, barely audible.

Dunk swallowed hard, heart hammering. “Yeah… let’s… show them,” he said, voice shaky but daring.

Slowly, deliberately, the two students leaned into each other, brushing lips in a tentative kiss. Then Phuwin pressed closer, deepening it, letting his tongue glide along Dunk’s, exploring, teasing. Dunk moaned softly into the kiss, fingers tangling in Phuwin’s hair as their bodies pressed together.

Joong and Pond’s breathing grew heavier, watching the two boys in front of them. Joong stepped closer to Phuwin, letting his hand hover over his hip, fingers brushing lightly, almost possessively. “Good boy,” Joong murmured, watching him with hungry eyes. “Show me exactly how much you want this.”

Pond’s hand ghosted along Dunk’s chest, then slipped lower as Dunk nipped playfully at Phuwin’s lip. “Mmm… look at him, melting for you,” Pond growled, voice low. “You feel him, don’t you? Every gasp, every moan.”

Encouraged by their teachers’ gaze, Phuwin and Dunk began a slow, teasing exploration—kissing more passionately, rolling tongues, pressing bodies together, their hands tracing over each other under the fabric of their uniforms. Every gasp, every shiver, every slick brush of skin was a message to Joong and Pond: We’re yours to watch.

Joong’s hand finally landed on Phuwin’s shoulder, giving a firm squeeze, while Pond’s fingers slid into Dunk’s waistband, pressing into him as he kissed Phuwin’s neck. The cabinet felt impossibly small, the closeness, the heat, the watching eyes—it all made Phuwin and Dunk tremble in ways they’d never imagined.

“Keep going,” Joong commanded, voice low and dangerous. “Make me watch how obedient you are… how much you crave it.”

Pond leaned closer to Dunk, lips brushing his ear. “Do it for me too. Show me exactly how ready you are… for me.”

Phuwin and Dunk, heartbeats racing, continued their slow, teasing kiss, each movement a silent promise, each gasp a plea.

Beside them, Phuwin’s soft gasp echoed as Joong’s hand slid further down, brushing against the curve of his stomach, then lower, finally slipping beneath his waistband. Phuwin’s fingers clawed at the cabinet, trying to keep upright, his chest rising and falling rapidly as Joong’s lips traced along his collarbone.

“Such a good boy,” Joong murmured, thrusting into Phuwin with slow, powerful movements, listening to each whimper escape. “So eager… but still mine.”

Phuwin pressed closer to Dunk, his hands trembling slightly as he reached under Dunk’s waistband. His fingers hovered for a moment, then slowly slipped inside, curling just enough to tease him. Dunk gasped sharply, hips jerking forward, and instinctively pressed his own fingers against Phuwin, mimicking the motion, exploring him carefully.

“Like this…?” Phuwin whispered, voice shaky but bold, eyes locking with Dunk’s.

“Yes…” Dunk breathed, a soft whine escaping as he spread slightly, letting Phuwin’s fingers slide deeper. Then he returned the favor, pressing inside Phuwin, slow and deliberate, feeling him shiver and bite his lip. Their movements were hesitant at first, shy, but grew bolder as their bodies warmed, each stroke, each curl, drawing low moans from both of them.

Joong leaned against the desk, watching with sharp, hungry eyes. Pond’s hand traced along Dunk’s back, squeezing lightly, encouraging the boy. “Good… just like that,” Pond murmured, voice low, almost a growl. “Keep going. Make me watch.”

Phuwin’s fingers slickened with his own arousal, moving carefully inside Dunk, exploring, teasing, making him whimper softly. Dunk’s hands roamed Phuwin’s hips, sliding lower, guiding him, pressing in at the right angle. Each careful stroke made them both shiver, sweat forming along their hairlines, their breaths ragged.

Their lips met briefly, a teasing kiss as they worked each other over, fingers moving in tandem, building heat, drawing moans and gasps that made the watching teachers’ eyes darken with hunger. Every motion was deliberate—preparing each other fully, teasing, exploring, making their bodies ache and tingle in anticipation for what was coming next.

Pond’s eyes darkened as he watched Phuwin and Dunk teasing each other. Without a word, he reached for Phuwin’s hair, gripping it firmly but not painfully. “Up,” he commanded, his voice low and dangerous. Phuwin’s breath hitched, shivering under the sudden dominance, but obediently let himself be guided.

Pond led him across the room to the nearest teacher’s table. Phuwin’s legs trembled as he leaned over it, his hands bracing against the smooth surface. The cool wood sent shivers through him, making every nerve in his body ache with anticipation.

Joong’s gaze never left Dunk, who was watching Phuwin’s submission with wide, flushed eyes. Dunk’s fingers itched to continue his own fingering, but Joong held up a hand, silently asserting control. “Not yet. Watch and learn,” Joong murmured, his voice low and commanding.

Pond leaned close to Phuwin’s ear, lips brushing the skin as he whispered, “You’ve been a very naughty boy, Phuwin… now I’m going to show you exactly how I punish disobedience.”

Phuwin gasped, chest pressing against the table, fingers curling as he braced himself. Pond’s hands trailed over his back and down to his hips, squeezing and kneading, enjoying the shivers that ran through him. Then, with deliberate force, he pushed Phuwin’s shorts down, exposing him fully, his fingers teasing the already slick, prepared hole.

Pond’s fingers teased Phuwin mercilessly, sliding in and out slowly, making him whimper and squirm over the table. “That’s it… just like that,” Pond growled, leaning closer to kiss the back of Phuwin’s neck, letting his teeth graze the sensitive skin.

Joong’s eyes darkened as he watched Dunk ache under his gaze. With a sharp motion, he yanked off his jacket and tossed it on the floor. “Get on it,” he ordered, voice low and commanding.

Dunk’s breath hitched, knees bending as he positioned himself over the jacket, ass raised in a perfect doggy stance. Joong stepped close, hand sliding over Dunk’s back, pressing him down slightly, feeling every shiver and twitch.

“You’ve been teasing me long enough,” Joong murmured, fingers tracing down Dunk’s spine, brushing over the growing heat pressing against the fabric. Dunk whimpered, pushing back instinctively, craving the touch.

Joong leaned in, teeth grazing the shell of Dunk’s ear, whispering, “Take it, let me see how obedient you can be.” Fingers dug into Dunk’s hips, holding him steady, as he prepared to claim him fully.

Joong gripped Dunk’s hips, pressing him down over the jacket, and pushed in slowly. Dunk gasped, breath hitching, chest pressed to the wood floor, fingers clutching the fabric beneath him. The stretch was sharp, sweet, impossible to resist, and Joong’s deep, steady thrusts only made him shiver harder.

Beside them, Pond pressed Phuwin further over the table, fingers sliding deep and fast, teasing him mercilessly. Phuwin’s back arched, nails digging into the wood as he whimpered and moaned, the cool table doing nothing to dull the fire Pond had ignited.

Dunk’s cries mingled with Phuwin’s, and the sound drove both teachers wild. Joong leaned closer, lips grazing Dunk’s neck, whispering, “So good… taking me like this.” Every thrust was precise, rough enough to make Dunk whimper and cling, every movement pushing him toward a raw, aching climax.

Pond’s hand pressed Phuwin’s hips down harder, guiding him, spanking gently as he thrust his fingers inside, drawing high-pitched gasps. “You’re mine,” Pond murmured, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of Phuwin’s shoulder. “And I’ll make you beg for it.”

Joong’s hips slammed harder into Dunk, and Pond’s fingers drove deep into Phuwin. Both students were trembling, bodies slick, lost in the forbidden pleasure, while the teachers pushed them past every limit.

Finally, with a growl, Joong thrust deep, shuddering as he emptied himself inside Dunk, holding him tight. Dunk cried out, hips bucking, feeling every drop fill him.

Phuwin followed, as he spilled over the table, shivering and gasping, hot and raw. The cabinet and table creaked under their weight, the room dripping with sweat, moans, and the scent of their messy, forbidden pleasure.

Pond wasted no time. He grabbed Phuwin’s hips, thrusting deep and fast, pounding him over the table. Phuwin’s back arched violently, fingers clawing at the wood, moans spilling uncontrollably. “Faster… harder!” Pond growled, driving into him relentlessly.

Meanwhile, Joong pulled Dunk back over the jacket, flipping him onto his back. Dunk’s legs wrapped around Joong instinctively as the older man plunged in again, deep and steady. Dunk cried out, chest rising and falling rapidly, gripping Joong’s shoulders as he was driven hard into the slick heat of his own arousal.

The room echoed with moans, gasps, and the wet slap of flesh. Pond’s hands gripped Phuwin tightly, holding him down as he fucked him with brutal speed, while Joong’s powerful thrusts into Dunk kept him trembling, caught between pain and pleasure.

“Look at you both,” Joong growled, voice low, eyes dark. “Taking everything… your holes are begging for it…”

Pond leaned close to Phuwin’s ear, teeth grazing his skin. “Mine. Only mine,” he hissed, each thrust faster and sharper. Phuwin whimpered, hips bucking uncontrollably, cum spilling over the table.

Dunk arched beneath Joong, biting his lip to stifle a cry as the older man drove deep, hands gripping his thighs, lifting him slightly with each hard thrust. Dunk’s release came in shuddering waves, moaning loud as Joong emptied himself inside him.

Pond followed, thrusting harder until Phuwin’s body shook violently, spilling completely.

Pond grabbed Dunk firmly by the hips, tugging him down onto the floor, pressing him into the slick jacket. “Let´s do it, you are a mess, boy ,” he growled, voice low and commanding. Dunk whimpered, knees shaking as Pond thrusted in fast and hard, each thrust making him gasp and tremble uncontrollably.

At the table, Joong’s hands were already on Phuwin’s hips, tilting him over as he pressed deep. Phuwin moaned, fingers clawing at the wood, chest pressed flat, body arching with every brutal thrust.

Dunk’s cries and Phuwin’s whimpers mingled in the small, heated room. Pond’s thrusts were sharp and relentless, driving Dunk wild, while Joong’s deep, controlled rhythm forced Phuwin to the edge again and again.

Finally, Pond slammed into Dunk one last time, filling him fully, hips jerking as he released, while Joong followed immediately with Phuwin, sending the boy over the edge in a shuddering, messy climax.

The room was chaos—moans, wet skin, and the scent of sex filling every corner. Four bodies collapsed, breathless and trembling, yet every gaze still hungry, ready for the next round of forbidden pleasure.

Joong slowly withdrew from Phuwin, eyes widening slightly as he took in the mess. Globs of cum coated Phuwin’s thighs, dripping down, and Dunk wasn’t any cleaner—smeared across the jacket beneath him, slick and glistening.

“Fuck…” Joong muttered, voice low and rough, leaning closer. “Look at this… both of you completely soaked, every inch of you used…” His fingers brushed over Phuwin’s trembling body, tracing the sticky trails.

Phuwin whimpered, pressing his cheek against the table, heat and embarrassment flushing his skin. Dunk, chest heaving on the floor, lifted his head, eyes glossy, still slick from the messy release.

Pond chuckled behind Dunk, brushing a thumb along the boy’s back. “You’re dripping everywhere… and it’s all ours to watch,” he murmured, voice thick with hunger.

Joong’s lips grazed Phuwin’s ear. “Mess or not… you’re perfect like this,” he whispered, fingers lingering over the wet skin.

The room was sticky, heavy with sweat and sex, but the intensity hadn’t faded—both students were still trembling, dripping, and utterly under their teachers’ control, the forbidden thrill electric in the air.

Joong’s eyes darkened as he crouched by the table, taking in the sticky mess covering Phuwin’s thighs. “You’re dripping everywhere… delicious,” he murmured, before leaning down.

He pressed his tongue to Phuwin’s thigh, licking up the glistening semen, tracing every slick trail with deliberate, slow strokes. Phuwin shivered violently, fingers digging into the edge of the table, hips bucking slightly as the sensation rolled through him.

Joong’s lips curved into a dark smirk as he inched closer to Phuwin’s entrance. Gently, he pressed his mouth to the swollen hole, sucking lightly at first, letting the boy gasp and tremble under the unexpected, exquisite attention. His tongue darted teasingly inside, then pulled back, teasing the sensitive skin, eliciting sharp whimpers and shudders.

“Good boy…” Joong murmured against him, eyes locking onto Phuwin’s, voice low and possessive. “So messy… so perfect.”

Phuwin’s back arched, heat and shivers wracking his body as Joong continued, alternating licks up his thighs and gentle sucks, savoring every slick taste, every gasp, every whimper. The room was thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and cum, every movement amplifying the erotic tension, keeping the student completely under his control.

Pond grabbed some wipes, smirking as he knelt behind Dunk on the slick jacket. Carefully, he wiped away the sticky mess from Dunk’s thighs, glancing down at his own dick, slick and dripping with their combined cum.

“Let’s get every last bit out,” Pond murmured, voice low and dangerous. One hand held Dunk’s hips firmly, the other teasing the slick hole, fingers sliding in slowly, stretching him gently. Dunk gasped, hips jerking involuntarily as the tight, warm stretch engulfed Pond’s fingers.

“Relax… just let it all come out,” Pond whispered, circling his fingers inside, coaxing the last, sticky release from Dunk. Dunk shivered, body trembling as aftershocks rolled through him, moans muffled into the floor. Pond moved with deliberate care, pulling and stretching until every last drop was out, both of them slick and trembling.

Pond leaned closer, lips grazing Dunk’s shoulder, murmuring, “That’s it… out now, completely.”

Joong pulled back from Phuwin’s trembling body, eyes dark and satisfied as he admired the mess he’d left behind. He reached for a wipe, pressing it to his dick, sticky skin, slowly cleaning himself down. His fingers moved methodically, wiping off the remnants of cum that had coated him from the intense sex.

Phuwin whimpered softly, still pressed to the table, chest rising and falling rapidly, watching Joong take care of himself with that dark, possessive energy. Every swipe of the wipe was deliberate, a small but controlling act—Joong making sure he was as clean as he wanted while leaving Phuwin still dripping, trembling, and utterly under his control.

Joong finally leaned down, brushing a gentle kiss against Phuwin’s temple. “Good boy… all cleaned up, for now,” he murmured, voice low and dark.

Pond leaned close to Dunk, fingers brushing over his still-sensitive hips. His voice was low, dark, and playful.

“Tomorrow… at my office,” he murmured, letting the words hang in the air. “You’ll be ready for me again. All of you. No hesitation. No holding back.”

Dunk’s chest heaved, eyes wide, shivering at the promise, while Phuwin glanced up at Joong, lips parting slightly, heart racing.

Pond smirked, brushing a thumb over Dunk’s trembling skin. “Remember this… the mess, the taste, the way you belong to us. Tomorrow, it’s going to get worse… and you’re going to love every second.”

Chapter 67: Chi Cheng x Guo Chengyu - I missed your dick!❤️🔥

Requested! <3

Chi Cheng - Top

Guo Chengyu - Bottom

Characters are from - Chinese BL drama Revenged Love

Enjoy guys!!

The story is set in their shared apartment, which has become more of a battlefield than a home. The apartment is spacious, but the emotional tension is thick in the air. They’ve been living together for a while, but the cracks in their relationship have grown too wide to ignore. Now it’s all about proving something to each other.

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The apartment was quiet, too quiet. The faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional sound of the neighbor’s footsteps above were the only things breaking the silence. Guo Chengyu stepped through the door, kicking it closed with a quiet thud. His eyes glanced around the living room, at the untouched mess of papers on the coffee table and the faint scent of Chi Cheng’s cologne still lingering in the air.

He smirked, barely holding back a sigh. The tension was palpable—like a storm cloud just waiting to burst.

“Looks like it’s just you and me again tonight,” Guo Chengyu muttered under his breath as he slid off his shoes and tossed his jacket onto the couch.

There was no response. Chi Cheng was sitting across the room, his phone in hand, staring at the screen but clearly not reading. He hadn't said a word in hours. Not since the conversation about moving out had happened. The conversation that left both of them raw but too stubborn to admit what was really going on.

Chi Cheng had stayed silent, pretending that nothing was wrong. But both of them knew the truth: they had fallen out of love. And now, they were left with only pride and spite.

Guo Chengyu paused, then glanced over at Chi Cheng. The sight of him, so detached, made the sting of their breakup feel sharper.

“I think I’ll be having some company tonight,” Guo Chengyu finally said, his voice light, almost taunting.

Chi Cheng’s eyes flickered for the briefest of moments before he returned his gaze to the screen, his lips pressing together. He said nothing.

Guo Chengyu smirked to himself and turned toward the door. He could feel the weight of Chi Cheng’s gaze on his back as he left. The subtle challenge, the unspoken desire to hurt him in the same way.

Hours later, the apartment was filled with noise—the sound of laughter, of clinking glasses, and quiet murmurs just loud enough to be heard through the thin walls. Guo Chengyu was in his room, a man leaning over him as they kissed hungrily. The sounds—oh, the sounds—were deliberate, meant for Chi Cheng to hear. Moans, laughter, the bed creaking under pressure—it was all so loud.

Chi Cheng could hear every bit of it, his heart tightening with each passing minute. He clenched his fists on the couch, trying to ignore it. He didn’t want to care. He didn’t want to feel anything.

But the truth was undeniable. The jealousy. The hurt. The anger that still burned in him, even though they’d decided it was over.

It wasn’t long before Chi Cheng stood up, walked to his room, and grabbed his phone. He couldn’t let it slide. He couldn’t just sit there and pretend it didn’t hurt.

He scrolled through his contacts, finding a name he hadn’t thought about in months.

Twenty minutes later, a woman was sitting on the couch next to Chi Cheng, laughing at some nonsense on the TV. He smiled and chuckled, playing the part perfectly. It wasn’t love—he didn’t even like her all that much. But it was something, and for now, that was enough. It was easier than admitting how much it hurt to see Guo Chengyu with someone else.

As she leaned into him, Chi Cheng let his hand linger on her arm. He felt her warmth, her softness, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t what he wanted. But it was fine. He’d make it work.

Then, as he suspected, he could hear it—the sound of Guo Chengyu’s laughter from the other side of the apartment. Louder now, more obvious. He was making sure Chi Cheng heard. Making sure he knew.

“Maybe if I make some noise, it’ll get to him,” Guo Chengyu had said with a sly grin earlier.

As the woman leaned in for a kiss, Chi Cheng couldn’t stop the feeling rising in his chest. He pulled back slightly, looking over her shoulder.

He heard the door slam open again, and then Guo Chengyu appeared, walking toward his room with the same cocky swagger. He didn’t even glance at Chi Cheng, but his eyes glinted with that same look—knowing he was getting to him, knowing he was making him hurt.

And for a moment, the facade cracked. The tension in Chi Cheng’s chest tightened, and he stood up abruptly. “I’m going to the kitchen,” he muttered, excusing himself from the woman’s confused gaze.

But as he passed Guo Chengyu’s door, something inside him snapped. Without thinking, he knocked—firm, loud, and deliberate.

Guo Chengyu answered the door with a sly smirk, his shirt untucked, hair disheveled. He wasn’t surprised to see Chi Cheng standing there, his chest heaving with emotion.

“You’re loud tonight,” Chi Cheng said, trying to sound casual, his voice laced with frustration. “You think I don’t hear it?”

Guo Chengyu didn’t move. He just smirked, crossing his arms. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I disturb your little date?”

Chi Cheng felt his anger flare up. “Stop acting like you’re unaffected. You’re not fooling me.”

The words hung in the air, charged with a history they couldn’t ignore. The silence stretched between them.

Guo Chengyu’s smirk faded slightly, replaced with something quieter. “I’m not fooling anyone, am I?” he asked softly. “It’s just… revenge, isn’t it?”

Chi Cheng didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because he knew it was. Both of them were hurting, and neither of them was willing to admit that they still cared.

The sounds from the bedroom were quieter now. Guo Chengyu turned his gaze back to Chi Cheng. “We’re both still here, aren’t we?” he said, his voice low. “We’re both still stuck.”

Chi Cheng’s throat tightened, but he nodded, too stubborn to admit how much it was still eating him alive.

The last sounds of the door closing behind their respective dates were drowned out by the suffocating silence that settled between them. Guo Chengyu’s eyes flicked toward the kitchen, where Chi Cheng had disappeared earlier, and then back at his own empty space. He had no more words to throw, no more actions to provoke.

Chi Cheng let out a long, heavy sigh, his fingers curling around the edge of the couch cushion. It had been like this all night—just the two of them pushing and pulling, pretending, pretending they didn’t care. The girl was gone. The man was gone. And now… they were left with the uncomfortable reality of being alone.

The clock ticked in the background, but neither of them moved. Neither dared to.

It was the first time in weeks, maybe months, that they were sitting in the same room without the pretense of having something to prove to each other. The silent battle of who could hurt the other more had fizzled out. It felt strange, too strange.

Guo Chengyu was the first to break the silence, but his voice was quieter than Chi Cheng had ever heard it.

“Why are we doing this, Cheng?”

The nickname felt odd now—soft, almost too familiar for the way things had turned out. It brought a memory of simpler days, when their laughter had filled the apartment, and their touches hadn’t been filled with venom.

Chi Cheng didn’t answer right away. He didn’t know how to. He stared at his hands, feeling the rawness from the night—the guilt, the hurt, the pride. Everything tangled together in a mess.

“I don’t know anymore,” Chi Cheng finally murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t look at Guo Chengyu; he couldn’t. If he did, he wasn’t sure he could hold it together. “I don’t know what I want… or what you want.”

The weight of his words hung between them, unspoken but understood. Guo Chengyu shifted, his gaze softening, but there was still something like a wall between them.

“I thought... I thought this would make me feel better,” Guo Chengyu confessed, his voice heavy. “But it doesn’t. Not really.” He let out a bitter laugh. “I just don’t know how to make this right anymore.”

Chi Cheng looked up, catching the flicker of vulnerability in Guo Chengyu’s eyes. He hadn’t seen it before, not like this. It made something tighten in his chest. The walls between them, the ones they’d built out of pride, were slowly crumbling, and neither of them seemed to know what to do with it.

“Maybe it was never meant to be right,” Chi Cheng said, his words feeling heavy. He paused, swallowing back the emotion that threatened to spill. “Maybe we just… outgrew it.”

“Outgrew it…” Guo Chengyu echoed softly, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I didn’t want to believe that.”

“I didn’t either,” Chi Cheng admitted, a soft laugh escaping him. “But here we are.”

For the first time since their breakup, they were sitting across from each other, no games, no pretense. Just the two of them, facing the wreckage of everything they’d once had. There was no one to impress now. No one to hurt. Just… them.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Neither of them moved.

But it wasn’t the kind of silence that suffocated anymore. It was different. It felt… honest. Like both of them had finally dropped their weapons.

After a few minutes, Chi Cheng sighed, glancing at Guo Chengyu, who was still seated, his posture slouched. The years of tension seemed to have settled, even if it was only for this one brief moment.

“You should probably go to bed,” Chi Cheng said, his voice a little softer now. “I’ll clean up.”

“Yeah,” Guo Chengyu replied, nodding. He stood up, slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he should leave or stay. When he turned to face Chi Cheng again, his expression was unreadable.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly. “I’m here. We’re still… here.”

Chi Cheng nodded slowly, feeling something like a knot loosen in his chest. They weren’t just strangers passing in and out of each other's lives. They were still... something. Maybe not lovers anymore, but something else, something fragile and real.

“Okay,” Chi Cheng whispered, his gaze following Guo Chengyu as he left the living room. "Goodnight, Chengyu."

Midnight

Guo Chengyu lays in the darkness of his room, staring up at the ceiling. The sheets felt colder than usual, rough against his skin. Sleep wouldn’t come, no matter how tightly he shuts his eyes.

It used to be different. He used to fall asleep easily because Chi Cheng had always been there. His warmth at his back, his steady breathing filling the silence, the way their bodies naturally curled into each other without needing to ask. It had been their rhythm, their nightly ritual.

Now, with the space beside him empty, the silence was unbearable. After all their talking in living room, everything fall down on him.. so heavily..

He rolled over, pressing his face into the pillow, and exhaled sharply. But it didn’t help. His mind wouldn’t stop conjuring images. Chi Cheng’s sleepy smile in the mornings, when he’d crack one eye open and mumble something incoherent before pulling him close. The way their lips had brushed lazily together before either of them had fully woken up, soft and unhurried.

And worse still—the fantasies he’d tried to chase away with other bodies. All those nights he’d invited someone into his bed, pretending he didn’t care. Pretending it was enough. He remembered the weight of strangers over him, their lips, their hands—but in his head, it had always been Chi Cheng. Always.

Every kiss he’d given had been a poor imitation. Every time someone thrusted into him, he’d closed his eyes and imagined Chi Cheng’s gaze pinning him down instead. That sharpness, that intensity—it was what he craved. What he couldn’t let go of.

His chest tightened as he buried his face deeper into the pillow. He hated that he still wanted him like this. Hated that his pride had forced him into games that left him emptier each time.

With a frustrated groan, Guo Chengyu sat up, running a hand through his messy hair. The apartment was silent again, but he wondered if Chi Cheng was awake too lying in his bed, staring into the same heavy quiet, haunted by the same memories.

The thought made him ache.

Slowly, he swung his legs off the bed, his feet touching the cold floor. For a moment, he just sat there, caught between wanting to storm into his bedroom and confess everything, and staying hidden behind his wall of pride.

His lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Pathetic,” he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible. But he couldn’t deny it anymore: he missed him. More than the fights, more than the games, more than anything else he missed Chi Cheng like hell.

Guo Chengyu couldn’t take it anymore. His chest burned, his throat ached, and the loneliness pressed against him like a vice. Before he even realized what he was doing, he was on his feet, storming down the hall, his steps uneven with panic and longing.

He didn’t knock. He shoved Chi Cheng’s door open so hard it slammed against the wall.

Chi Cheng stirred, half-sitting up in bed, startled. “What the hell—”

“I MISS YOUR DICK SO MUCH!!” Guo Chengyu blurted out, voice cracking, tears already stinging his eyes. His body shook as the words tumbled out, loud and raw. “I miss you—I miss all of you—and I can’t fucking take it anymore!”

Chi Cheng froze, staring at him like he wasn’t sure if this was some cruel joke or a confession. The sight of Guo Chengyu standing there, disheveled, eyes red, chest heaving as if he’d run miles it shattered something in him.

Guo Chengyu’s face crumpled. He pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to stop the sob that broke free, but it was useless. “I tried… I tried to forget. With them. With anyone. But it was always you, Cheng… always you above me, inside me, in my head—fuck, I can’t—” His voice broke, and he dropped to his knees right there at the edge of the bed, tears streaming down his face.

Chi Cheng’s breath hitched, his heart twisting painfully at the sight. He had never seen Guo Chengyu like this so desperate. For a long moment, Chi Cheng just stared, his hands trembling where they gripped the sheets. His body screamed to move, to reach out, to pull him close.

“Chengyu…” he whispered, voice unsteady.

Guo Chengyu looked up at him, tears shining in his eyes, lips trembling. “Please,” he whispered hoarsely. “Please don’t push me away. Not tonight. I just want you. I only ever wanted you.”

Chi Cheng’s chest was tight, his throat thick with emotion. But when he saw Guo Chengyu crumbling in front of him, begging, breaking he couldn’t hold back anymore. Slowly, he got out of bed, walked over, and bent down, sliding his arms under Chengyu’s trembling body.

Without a word, he lifted him up - bridal style. Guo Chengyu gasped softly, startled, but clung to Chi Cheng’s neck instinctively, his tears dampening his skin.

“You’re horrible, you know this?” Chi Cheng whispered, his voice shaking, torn between laughter and sobs. He smiled through his own tears as he carried him back to the bed.

He laid Guo Chengyu down gently onto the sheets, but the gentleness only lasted a moment. His mouth claimed Chengyu’s in a kiss that was both soft and devastatingly hot—lips colliding, teeth scraping, their breaths uneven as they devoured each other.

Guo Chengyu whimpered into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Chi Cheng’s shoulders, pulling him closer, closer, desperate to feel every inch of him. “Fuck, I missed this—missed you—” he gasped against his lips.

Chi Cheng’s hands roamed hungrily, tugging at his shirt, sliding beneath to trace the heated skin of his torso. “You drive me insane,” he muttered, his voice low, rough with need, before biting gently at Guo Chengyu’s bottom lip.

Clothes were pulled away in frantic motions—shirts tossed aside, pants yanked down with shaking hands. The tension that had built between them for weeks, months, came flooding out now in the way their bodies crashed together, skin against skin, heat against heat.

Guo Chengyu arched beneath him, his nails digging into Chi Cheng’s back. “God—Cheng… I thought I could forget, but no one feels like you. No one fucks me like you.”

The confession made Chi Cheng groan, his restraint shattering. He gripped Chengyu’s thighs, spreading them widely, pressing their hips together until Chengyu cried out from the friction.

“Say it again,” Chi Cheng growled into his ear, grinding down hard. “Say it’s only me.”

Guo Chengyu’s head fell back onto the pillow, his voice breaking into a moan. “It’s only you—fuck—it’s always been you!”

That was all Chi Cheng needed. He captured his lips again, hot and consuming, as he slid his hand down, wrapping it firmly around Guo Chengyu’s hard dick. The cry that tore from Chengyu’s throat was loud, shameless, the sound of surrender and desperate need.

Chi Cheng pulled back just enough to watch Guo Chengyu writhe beneath him—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes wet with both tears and lust. The sight made his chest ache and his cock throb all at once.

“You’re so damn needy…” he murmured, pressing a kiss to Chengyu’s jaw before trailing lower, down his throat, over the line of his chest. Each kiss got hotter, wetter, until his lips brushed the tip of Chengyu’s cock.

Guo Chengyu’s breath hitched sharply, his hips jerking. “Ch—Cheng…” he gasped, already trembling.

Chi Cheng smirked against the flushed skin, his tongue flicking out to taste him. Slowly, deliberately, he dragged it along the length, savoring the way Chengyu moaned, the way his hands fisted desperately in the sheets.

“God, I missed your sounds,” Chi Cheng said lowly before taking him into his mouth slow at first, teasing, then deeper, sucking hard enough to make Chengyu’s back arch off the bed. His moans spilled out, broken, uncontrolled, as his thighs shook.

And then—while Chengyu was lost in the wet heat of his mouth Chi Cheng slides his hand lower, pressing between his legs. A single finger circled his entrance, teasing, dipping just enough to make Chengyu cry out.

“Y-yes, there,” Chengyu moaned, his voice breaking as he clutched at Chi Cheng’s hair.

Chi Cheng hummed around his cock as he pushed the first finger inside, slow but steady, stretching him open. The vibration made Chengyu choke on another cry, his body jerking helplessly.

“Relax,” Chi Cheng ordered softly, though his tone carried that same commanding edge. He pulled back just long enough to watch Chengyu’s face as he slid the finger deeper, curling it until he brushed that sensitive spot.

Guo Chengyu almost screamed, his whole body trembling. “Ah—Chi Cheng—”

“Shh,” Chi Cheng whispered, lips brushing the base of his cock before taking him into his mouth again. At the same time, he pushed second finger inside, stretching him wider, working him open with patient, deliberate thrusts.

The dual sensation wet mouth around his cock, fingers stroking deep inside him was overwhelming. Guo Chengyu’s cries grew louder, needier, his hips trying to thrust into Chi Cheng’s mouth and down against his hand at the same time.

“Please—please more,” he begged shamelessly, tears slipping down his temples as his body twisted under the assault of pleasure. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop—”

Chi Cheng pulled off with a wet pop, his fingers still thrusting inside, scissoring him open. He licked his lips, staring down at Chengyu with fire in his eyes.

“You think I could ever stop?” he whispered, curling his fingers just right to make Chengyu’s whole body jolt. “You were supposted to be mine, Chengyu. Always have been.”

The pressure built too fast, too hard the way Chi Cheng’s fingers pumped inside him, the way his mouth sucked him down with ruthless precision.

“Ahh—Cheng—I can’t—” His warning was cut off by a strangled cry as his body gave in. Hot spurts of cum spilled into Chi Cheng’s mouth, his back arching violently off the sheets.

Chi Cheng didn’t flinch. He swallowed some but let the rest coat his tongue, pulling off slowly. He opened his mouth just enough to let the white mess spill back out, dripping on his own cock. The sight made Guo Chengyu whimper, too sensitive, his thighs quivering.

Chi Cheng grinned darkly, using his hand to smear it along the length of his cock, stroking it with the mix of spit and cum until it glistened. Then his hand slid lower,to rub deliberately over Chi Cheng’s balls, letting the slickness coat his entrance as well. His fingers teased there, pressing lightly, circling, poking just enough to make Chengyu squirm.

“Fuck, look at you,” Chi Cheng murmured, his voice low, almost reverent. “Making a mess all over yourself…”

But then his hand slid back up, cupping Chengyu’s balls, rolling them gently between his fingers while his other hand toyed with the edge of his rim.

Guo Chengyu jolted, a hiss tearing from his throat. “Ah—stop,” he gasped, his voice sharp with sudden protest. He twisted his hips, trying to pull away. “I don’t like it when you touch my balls…”

Chi Cheng froze for a beat, eyes locked on his face. He saw the discomfort flicker there, mixed with the haze of pleasure, and he immediately shifted his hand away, pressing instead against the inside of Chengyu’s thigh.

“Okay,” Chi Cheng said softly, his tone steady despite the hunger in his eyes. He leaned down to kiss Chengyu’s temple, his lips gentle. “No balls. I’ll just focus on the parts that make you lose your mind.”

Chi Cheng smirked, watching Chengyu squirm beneath him, his body begging without words. “Enough playing around,” he muttered, his voice rough with restraint that was ready to snap.

He shifted forward, guiding his cock with one hand. The head pressed against Guo Chengyu’s entrance dripping with precum mixed with the mess he’d already smeared there. The blunt pressure made Chengyu gasp sharply, his whole body tensing.

“Cheng…” he breathed, eyes wide, voice trembling with need.

Chi Cheng leaned down, their foreheads almost touching, his lips brushing against Chengyu’s ear as he whispered, “Relax for me.”

And then he pushed.

The thick head slipped inside, forcing the tight ring of muscle to yield. Guo Chengyu cried out, nails raking down Chi Cheng’s back, his body arching as the stretch sent shivers of pain and pleasure mingling deep in his gut.

Chi Cheng groaned low in his throat, his eyes squeezing shut as the heat gripped him instantly. “Fuck—you’re still so tight…”

He didn’t stop—he couldn’t. With a slow, steady thrust, he buried himself deeper, inch by inch, until his cock was sheathed fully inside. Their bodies pressed flush together, the air thick with their ragged breaths.

Guo Chengyu’s legs wrapped instinctively around Chi Cheng’s waist, holding him there. His eyes glistened with tears, his lips parted in a shaky moan. “God—so full…”

Chi Cheng kissed him hard, swallowing every sound, his hips grinding just enough to make Chengyu sobs against his mouth. When he pulled back, his voice was hoarse, almost breaking.

“You feel like you were made for me,” he growled, giving a shallow thrust that made Chengyu’s back slam against the mattress. “No one else gets to have this. No one.”

Guo Chengyu clung to him desperately, his body trembling under each slow grind, his voice a broken plea. “Yes—fuck—only you… only you, Cheng…”

Chi Cheng stayed inside for a moment, his chest heaving against Guo Chengyu’s. The heat wrapped around them so tightly they could barely breathe. He kissed him again, softer this time, but when Chengyu whimpered and rolled his hips up, that thin thread of restraint snapped.

With a guttural groan, Chi Cheng drew his hips back and slammed forward, the force making the bed creak under them. Guo Chengyu cried out, clutching at his shoulders, nails digging deep.

“Ahh—! Shit—Cheng!” His voice was high, broken, his body arching with every thrust.

Chi Cheng didn’t hold back now. His pace grew rough, sharp, each snap of his hips burying him to the hilt. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed through the room, mingling with Chengyu’s shameless moans.

“You feel this?” Chi Cheng growled, panting hard, his forehead pressed against Chengyu’s temple as he drove into him again and again. “No one else can fuck you like this. No one.”

Guo Chengyu sobbed, clinging to him as though he might shatter apart. “Yes—yes, only you! Only you make me feel—ahh—like this!”

Chi Cheng angled his hips, grinding deep until he found that spot inside that made Chengyu scream. He thrust into it mercilessly, over and over, drinking in every cry, every tremor that wracked his lover’s body.

Guo Chengyu’s legs tightened around him, his cock leaking against his own stomach, untouched but throbbing with every slam inside. Tears streaked his flushed cheeks, his voice raw from begging. “Don’t stop—please, don’t ever stop—”

Chi Cheng kissed him hard again, swallowing his desperation, their tongues clashing, teeth knocking together. His hand slid down between them, wrapping around Chengyu’s aching cock, stroking in time with his thrusts.

The combined pleasure was unbearable. Guo Chengyu writhed beneath him, his moans rising higher, broken words spilling from his lips. “I’m—I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me,” Chi Cheng ordered, his voice low, commanding, his hips slamming faster, deeper, relentless. “Cum while I’m inside you. Show me you’re mine.”

With a final cry, Guo Chengyu shattered, his body shakes as hot ropes of cum spilled across his stomach and Chi Cheng’s hand. The tight clench around his cock dragged Chi Cheng over the edge instantly he groaned loudly, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled inside, wave after wave of heat filling Chengyu until it overflowed.

They collapsed together, sweaty, trembling, lips still brushing in soft, desperate kisses as their breathing slowly evened out.

Chi Cheng held his face, wiping at the tears that still streaked his cheeks. He kissed him again, gentler this time, whispering against his lips:

“You’re horrible, Chengyu… but I can’t let you go.”

After their shower, they fell into Chi Cheng’s bed, skin still warm and damp. Guo Chengyu curled against his chest, and for the first time in months, it felt like home again.

“I never stopped loving you,” Chengyu whispered, his voice raw but steady.

Chi Cheng’s throat tightened. He tilted Chengyu’s chin up, brushing their lips together in a soft kiss. “Me neither. Not once.”

They held each other in silence, the weight of everything unspoken finally lifting.

“These stupid dates… the games… it all ends here,” Chi Cheng said firmly, his hand sliding through Chengyu’s damp hair. “From now on, it’s just us. Only us.”

Guo Chengyu nodded, tears glistening in his eyes but a faint smile on his lips. “Only us. I don’t need anyone else. Sex, love, everything—it’s you. Just you.”

Chi Cheng kissed him again, deeper this time, sealing the promise between them. “Good. We can keep the toys if you want,” he added with a small, teasing smirk.

Guo Chengyu laughed softly, shaking his head, then burrowed closer into his arms. “As long as you’re the one holding me after.”

“Always,” Chi Cheng whispered, pulling the blanket over them as they settled into each other’s warmth.

Wrapped up in their quiet vow, they drifted off together—hearts steady, bodies tangled, no more games, no more distance. Just love, raw and unshakable.

Chapter 68: Joylada gang - Chair for your granny! 🔞🙏🏻

Part. 1
(Long chapter and sorry in my head it sounds better)🥲😭hope you will like it...

The library was quiet except for the soft shuffle of pages. Dunk leaned back in his chair, the corner of his mouth twitching as he tried not to laugh out loud. The book in his hands wasn't exactly "library approved" — smutty, over-the-top writing about futuristic machines that could tease a person into insanity.

Just as he reached a particularly filthy passage, a cheerful voice broke the silence.

"Hyung!" Phuwin plopped into the seat across from him, sliding a glossy flyer across the table. "Look at this! Doesn't it look amazing?"

Dunk glanced at the flyer... and nearly choked.

"'The Rejuvenation Chair,'" Phuwin read proudly. "They say it's revolutionary for stress relief. You can sign up for a free trial at their facility. I think my grandma would love one!"

Dunk stared at him. Then at the flyer. Then back at him. "...Phuwin. Do you really know what this is?"

Phuwin tilted his head innocently. "A massage chair?"

Dunk shut the book with a sharp thud. "Not exactly. This chair... is made for your grandma."

Phuwin blinked, confused. "Eh? Then what is it?"

Before Dunk could answer, his phone buzzed. A new email notification popped up: "Your trial request has been accepted. Appointment scheduled. Location attached."

Phuwin beamed. "See? I signed us up! We can go together!"

Dunk's stomach dropped. "You what?"

The car stopped in front of a sleek glass building in the middle of nowhere. Dunk frowned, arms crossed. "Phuwin... where the hell did you sign us up for?"

Phuwin held up the flyer proudly. "I told you! It's a wellness chair. Stress relief. Free trial. You should try it too, hyung."

Dunk muttered, "Yeah, stress relief my ass," but followed him inside anyway.

The lobby was unnervingly pristine — white marble floors, soft ambient music, and two men waiting for them as though they had known exactly when they'd arrive. Pond, with a bright salesman's smile, and Joong, lounging like he owned the place.

"Welcome, welcome," Pond said smoothly, pressing two chilled glasses into their hands. "You must be our newest guests. Please — have a drink. Helps with the nerves."

Phuwin, excited and trusting, gulped his down. Dunk sniffed his first, suspicious, then sighed and drank half anyway.

Joong's gaze lingered on them, sharp and knowing. "So innocent. This will be fun."

Before Dunk could ask what that meant, Pond opened a set of heavy glass doors.

And the world changed.

The hallway pulsed with muffled sounds — soft moans, the whirring of machines, metal against leather. The moment they stepped inside, they saw it through wide glass windows: people strapped into strange recliners, hips bucking against mechanical thrusts, moans spilling freely as screens tracked their heart rates. Another room held a couple side by side, their hands bound while a chair relentlessly milked every drop from their bodies.

Phuwin froze. "...What the fuck?"

Dunk groaned, rubbing his face. "I tried to tell you."

Pond only smiled wider. "We call it The Lab. A place where our machines are tested by curious volunteers, just like you. No shame, no judgment. Only discovery."

Joong leaned close to Dunk, his voice a velvet threat. "And once you start, you won't want to stop."

Phuwin's face was bright red, his empty glass trembling in his hand. "I-I thought... it was for my grandma."

Pond laughed, a low warm sound. "Oh, it is. She'd love it too."

They were guided deeper, past the glass rooms, past the trembling bodies and bliss-drugged faces, until they reached a chamber with a single gleaming chair in the center. Black leather. Restraints hanging loose. Lights humming above.

Pond gestured like a proud magician revealing his trick. "Our flagship model. It adapts to your body. Your desires. Your limits... if you have any."

Joong tilted his head, watching them with a wicked grin. "So. Who's first?"

The hum of the chair filled the silence. Somewhere down the corridor, someone cried out in pleasure. Phuwin swallowed hard, eyes wide, and for once couldn't find a single word to say. Dunk just muttered, "We're fucked."

Phuwin's glass slipped from his hand, shattering against the pristine floor. At first, Dunk thought he'd just gotten nervous. But then Phuwin staggered, his breath hitching, his knees buckling.

"P-please..." His voice broke into a whimper, his hands clawing at the front of his shirt as he dropped to the floor. His thighs pressed tight together, trembling.

Dunk's eyes went wide. "Phuwin—? What the fuck—"

"I—ah—" Phuwin's face was crimson, tears pricking his eyes as he bit down on his lip. His body was betraying him, heat spreading fast, unbearable. He tried to curl up, rocking on his knees, sobbing out from the intensity. "It—it hurts— I can't—"

Pond crouched gracefully beside him, his hand hovering like he was observing an experiment. "Ahh, it's working beautifully. Quicker than expected." He looked up at Dunk, smiling like a proud inventor. "Our welcome drink has a... special property. It unlocks the body's desire. Painful at first, but only until it's satisfied."

Dunk crouched down, grabbing Phuwin's shoulders. "You bastards drugged him?!"

Joong chuckled from where he leaned against the wall, utterly unbothered. "Drugged? No. Enhanced. Look at him. That's not pain, it's need." His eyes glinted, dark and merciless. "And the longer he denies it, the worse it will get."

Phuwin shook his head desperately, burying his face against Dunk's chest, muffling a broken sob. His hips ground involuntarily against his own clenched thighs, searching for friction, anything to ease the throbbing ache.

"Hyung—please—make it stop," he whispered hoarsely.

Dunk's heart hammered, torn between rage and panic. But Pond was already rising, gesturing casually to the black leather chair in the center of the room.

"Simple solution," Pond said smoothly. "Put him in the chair. Let it relieve him. That's what it's built for."

Joong's smirk widened. "Or you could try to handle it yourself. But either way..." His gaze dropped, heavy, predatory. "...he's not walking out of here until he's satisfied."

Phuwin's cries echoed as Pond hooked an arm around his trembling waist and dragged him across the room. The boy struggled weakly, legs barely working under the crushing weight of the drug coursing through him. His nails clawed at Pond's sleeve, but his resistance was nothing more than desperation.

"Don't worry," Pond cooed, voice smooth like poison. "I'll take good care of you."

"Phuwin!" Dunk roared, thrashing — but Joong's grip was iron. The taller man caught Dunk by the jaw, forcing his face forward, his dark eyes gleaming with cruel delight. Dunk spat curses, voice raw, but Joong only smirked, savoring the fight.

Behind them, the heavy hiss of hydraulics signaled a glass door sealing shut. Through the window, Dunk caught a last glimpse of Phuwin being pulled toward a strange recliner — sleek and menacing, its frame lined with straps and mechanical arms tipped with toys Dunk couldn't even name. Then the frosted glass turned opaque, swallowing Phuwin's sobbing face from sight.

"Where the fuck are you taking him?!" Dunk bellowed, his voice cracking.

Joong tilted his head, fingers still digging cruelly into Dunk's jaw. "To the chair. He'll be screaming with pleasure soon enough. Better than watching him sob on the floor, don't you think?"

Dunk lunged, but Joong shoved him back through another door — this one heavier, darker. The air shifted the moment it opened, colder, heavier with a faint hum of machinery.

The room inside was a nightmare dressed as a showroom. Walls lined with racks of toys Dunk couldn't comprehend — rows of dildos in every size, shapes too obscene to belong in reality, contraptions with gleaming steel, silicone, leather straps dangling like serpents. The low glow of neon lights made every surface gleam with sinister promise.

Dunk froze, his chest heaving. "What the hell is this place?"

Joong's lips brushed his ear as he shoved him further inside, voice a velvet whisper laced with threat. "This, sweetheart, is where fantasies break down. Where curiosity turns to obsession. Where your body learns truths your mind will fight to deny."

The door slammed shut behind them.

Phuwin's sobs cracked the sterile silence of the chamber, his legs kicking weakly against Pond's grip. His voice was hoarse from pleading, throat raw.

"Please—I'm scared—don't make me—!"

Pond finally stopped, exhaling a long, theatrical sigh. He glanced at the towering machine in the center of the room, then back at the trembling mess clinging to his sleeve.

"Honestly," Pond muttered, rolling his eyes, "you're exhausting already."

Instead of forcing him into the chair, he shifted, lifting Phuwin easily and lowering him onto a sleek leather couch at the side of the chamber. The cushions hissed under his weight, swallowing him up.

Phuwin curled instinctively, knees to his chest, tears streaking his flushed cheeks. His whole body trembled with heat and confusion, thighs pressing together so tightly it almost hurt. He whispered brokenly, "I—I can't... it's too much..."

Pond straightened, smoothing his suit jacket like he hadn't just dumped a crying boy on the couch. His expression was cool, almost bored. "Pathetic," he said softly, though there was an edge of amusement in his tone.

Then he leaned down, close enough that Phuwin could feel his breath against his ear. "But don't worry. I won't put you in that chair yet. You're not ready. First, I want to see how long you can squirm right here."

Phuwin shivered violently, hiding his face in his hands. The heat between his legs was unbearable, the drug gnawing at him, but the relief he craved terrified him even more.

Pond straightened again, smirk tugging at his lips as he watched the boy curl tighter into himself, sobbing softly. "Poor thing. You'll break yourself before the machine even touches you."

He crossed the room leisurely, adjusting controls on the console. The chair behind him stirred to life, humming ominously.

And Phuwin — trembling on the couch — knew it was only a matter of time before Pond decided to stop being merciful.

Phuwin's body shook on the sleek leather couch, knees pressed to his chest, hands clinging to the cushions like they could somehow keep him safe. His breaths came in ragged sobs, the heat in his thighs unbearable, a fire he couldn't name.

Pond leaned down, close enough that Phuwin could feel the warmth of him, the smell of his cologne, the weight of his control. One hand slid over the boy's shoulder, pulling him impossibly closer, until Phuwin's cheek pressed against Pond's chest.

"How old are you, little squirt?" Pond murmured, his voice low, teasing, almost cruelly sweet. "Seventeen? Nineteen?"

Phuwin's eyes widened, panic and shame twisting together. "I-I'm..." His voice cracked, caught in a sob. His hands flailed weakly, but Pond's grip was unyielding, keeping him pressed flush against the older man.

Pond chuckled softly, the sound low and dangerous, like silk sliding over steel. Slowly, he stepped toward the cabinet on the wall, opening it to reveal an array of leather straps, gloves, and strange implements Phuwin didn't recognize — each promising control, stimulation, and humiliation.

He selected a pair of black gloves, sliding them on with a deliberate snap that echoed in the quiet room. "We'll need these soon," he said, voice casual, almost conversational, as if this were normal procedure rather than a boy trembling on the couch.

Phuwin whimpered, burying his face deeper into Pond's chest. "P-please... I don't... I can't..."

Pond tilted his chin gently, forcing the boy's eyes to meet his. "Shhh... you will be able to. And by the time I'm done with you, you'll want it," he whispered, dark and patient.

He let his gloved hand glide lightly over Phuwin's side, tracing just enough to make the boy shiver violently. Phuwin's hips pressed instinctively against Pond's hand, shaking his head frantically, desperate to deny the growing fire in his body.

"Such a pathetic little thing," Pond murmured, watching the tremors run through him. "But I like them desperate. Makes them easier to... guide."

Phuwin's soft, broken sobs filled the air, every nerve on fire, body writhing helplessly. The chair in the center of the room hummed faintly, waiting, but Pond had him here, right now, completely at his mercy.

"Will you calm down? I'm not gonna torture you," Pond said softly, voice almost soothing, though every word carried a dangerous edge.

Phuwin whimpered, trembling on the couch, still trying to press his knees together, still trying to fight the unbearable heat coursing through him.

Pond leaned closer, slipping his hands under Phuwin's waistband. With a firm, deliberate motion, he pulled down Phuwin's pants along with his boxers, exposing him completely. His gloved fingers grazed over the sensitive skin of Phuwin's balls, tracing lightly, teasing, sending shocks of pleasure straight up the boy's spine.

"Healthy little man," Pond murmured, letting the words sink into him. His touch was firm but maddeningly gentle, stroking in slow circles that made Phuwin jerk and whimper.

Phuwin's hands shot up to try to cover himself, but Pond caught his wrists, holding them loosely but firmly. "Relax," he whispered, almost mockingly. "I told you, I'm not here to hurt you... not yet, anyway."

Phuwin's breath came in short, shuddering gasps. The drug, the tension, and Pond's teasing hands combined into a fire he couldn't control. "I-I... I can't... please..." he sobbed, hips bucking slightly despite himself, desperate for some kind of relief, some release from the ache that had taken over his body.

Pond's smile curved darkly, watching the boy's futile struggle. "Oh, but you can...."

He let his gloved hand roam further, brushing along Phuwin's inner thighs, teasing the most sensitive spots just out of reach.

Pond's gloved hands flexed, fingers coated with a slick layer of lubricant. Phuwin shivered violently, hips pressing instinctively against nothing, desperate for some relief but terrified of what was coming.

From the cabinet, Pond pulled out a strange device — a sponge-like finger attachment with a tiny control panel, levers marked one through three. He held it up, letting the faint hum of anticipation fill the air. "This," he murmured, "is very simple. One... gentle. Two... insistent. Three... relentless. But I think you'll love all of them."

Phuwin whimpered, voice breaking. "N-no... please... I... I can't..."

"Shh," Pond whispered, pressing the sponge lightly against the sensitive skin at the base of Phuwin's cock. The vibration buzzed softly at level one. Phuwin gasped, hips bucking slightly, but Pond held him firm, grinning at every involuntary reaction.

"You feel that?" Pond murmured, circling the sponge along Phuwin's most sensitive areas. "Just level one... barely scratching the surface."

Phuwin's knees trembled, thighs pressing together, hands clawing at the couch. "I-I... ahhh! No... I can't... it hurts!"

Pond's grip tightened slightly, enough to remind Phuwin he wasn't going anywhere. "Oh, it's not pain, little squirt," he said softly, dark amusement curling in his tone. "It's pleasure. And we're just getting started."

With a smooth motion, Pond adjusted the lever to level two. The vibration intensified, sending shudders through Phuwin's body. He sobbed loudly, rocking into Pond's hand, completely at the mercy of the device and the drug still coursing through him.

"Look at you," Pond murmured, watching every tremor, every desperate gasp. "So fragile. So perfect. And yet... begging for more."

Phuwin's voice was barely coherent between sobs and gasps. "P-please... I can't... I... ahhh—!"

Pond's smirk widened. "Oh, you can, and you will. Three is waiting..."

Pond's dark eyes flicked down at Phuwin, and his lips curled into a smirk.

"No, little squirt," he said, voice low and dangerous. "This device isn't for that. Not for your cock... it's for your hole."

Phuwin's face went crimson, panic and heat mixing into a trembling sob. "N-no... please... I... I can't..."

Pond ignored his protests, sliding the sponge-like finger attachment toward him. The hum of the device buzzed softly against his trembling ass, already slick from Pond's gloved hands and the residual lubricant. Phuwin gasped, hips bucking instinctively, but there was no escape.

Then Pond reached for a small stick — sleek, cold, and designed to fit snugly inside his cock. He pressed it gently at first, then slid it in fully, locking it in place. Phuwin's breath hitched violently. Every shiver, every jerk, every desperate gasp went nowhere. He couldn't cum, not even if he wanted to — every release denied while the device continued its teasing.

"You see?" Pond murmured, sliding the sponge against him. "Your cock is locked. Nothing for you there. All your focus... all your energy... right where I want it."

Phuwin whimpered, trying to press back against the device, but his wrists were still trapped on the couch, his body fully exposed. His ass clenched and quivered around the sponge as the vibrations intensified to level two, then hovered at level three. Waves of overstimulation rippled through him, leaving him gasping and sobbing, utterly helpless.

Pond's gloved hands adjusted the angle, teasing deeper. "Look at you... so tense, so desperate. And yet completely under control. You're okay, little squirt. Do you understand?"

Phuwin could only shake his head, voice broken into gasps and sobs. "Y-yes... p-please... stop... ahhh..."

Pond chuckled darkly, enjoying the helplessness, the pleading, the shivering body beneath his hands. "Stop? Oh no...."

Pond's gloved fingers danced over Phuwin's trembling body, adjusting the sponge-vibrator and watching every reaction with cold amusement.

"Level three," he murmured, sliding the lever decisively.

The device inside Phuwin's ass roared to life. Waves of vibration slammed into him, relentless, leaving him gasping and trembling. Every inch of him clenched around the sponge, and Phuwin's soft cries filled the chamber, high-pitched and desperate.

"Ahhh! Nooo... please... I can't—" he sobbed, rocking into the sensation, hips jerking uncontrollably. But the stick in his cock prevented him from escaping, leaving him locked in a constant state of agony and pleasure, helpless to relieve himself.

Pond's hands roamed over him, brushing over the taut muscles of his chest. His gloved fingers found Phuwin's nipples, now standing erect from the overstimulation, and clipped them with precision. The sudden pinch made Phuwin's cry shatter into the room, body jolting violently.

"Ohhh..." Pond purred, leaning closer, voice low and dark. "Look at you... trembling, sobbing, so desperate. Your little body can't handle it, and yet... you love every second, don't you?"

Phuwin tried to speak, but all that came out were broken gasps and whimpers. His thighs quaked, hips pressing harder against the sponge, cock trapped and useless, nipples pinched and throbbing, tears streaking down his flushed cheeks.

"Please... stop... I—I can't—" he begged, voice cracking under the intensity.

"Stop?" Pond's smile was cruel and slow. "No, little squirt. You're going to feel everything. Every vibration, every pinch, every desperate inch of your body... and you're going to love it."

The vibrations surged even harder, matched by Phuwin's own trembling as he writhed helplessly on the couch. Every nerve in his body screamed, pleasure and desperation colliding into a relentless storm, while Pond's hands and toys orchestrated his torment perfectly.

Phuwin's sobs choked in his throat as the sponge-vibrator inside him thrummed mercilessly. Every nerve screamed, body quivering uncontrollably. And then Pond leaned closer, low and predatory.

"God, I want to take you," he murmured, hand moving deliberately over the bulge in his pants. His fingers flexed, brushing over himself as if sharing the torment of desire with Phuwin.

Phuwin whimpered, heat burning between his thighs, helpless to look away or stop the pounding in his chest.

"You've got such a pretty face," Pond continued, voice silky, dangerous. "Do you know that?"

Phuwin's head shook weakly, tears streaking his cheeks, lips parting in shaky gasps. He couldn't answer, couldn't speak, couldn't even move properly — the drug, the vibrator, and Pond's control left him utterly exposed, shivering, and trembling.

Pond's fingers brushed against Phuwin's jaw, tilting his head up slightly so their eyes met. "Pretty little squirt," he said, voice low and teasing, "so fragile... and yet I can see how much you need it. Don't fight it."

Phuwin whimpered again, hips pressing helplessly against the sponge, nipples pinched, cock trapped, completely under Pond's control. Every word, every touch, every glance from Pond made the overstimulation surge higher, leaving him gasping, sobbing, and utterly defenseless.

"You're going to remember this," Pond purred, leaning even closer, "every little gasp, every shiver... and you'll love that I'm the one making it happen."

Phuwin's hands flailed weakly, trying to bury himself against the couch, but there was no escape. Pond's presence, his teasing, and the relentless vibrations left him utterly at Pond's mercy.

Phuwin was trembling on the couch, hips pressed helplessly against the sponge-finger vibrating relentlessly inside him. Every nerve screamed, his cock trapped, nipples aching under the clips, his body utterly at Pond's mercy.

Pond leaned closer, a dark smirk curling at his lips. He didn't rush. Instead, he slid the sponge-finger even deeper, pressing it fully inside Phuwin as he slowly positioned himself. The tip of his condom-covered cock brushed against Phuwin's entrance.

Phuwin whimpered violently, trying to twist away. "N-no... please... I don't..."

He rolled to his side instinctively, curling against Pond's biceps, tears streaking his flushed cheeks. He pressed his face into the older man's arm, shivering, sobbing into the solid muscle. "I-I'm scared... please..."

Pond paused, watching him for a long moment, hand resting gently on Phuwin's trembling back. The vibrations from the sponge-finger continued, but he didn't thrust further. His voice was calm, deceptively soft, wrapping around Phuwin like velvet.

"Shhh... I see," he murmured. "You're scared. That's okay."

Phuwin clung to him tighter, shaking, unable to speak.

Pond's fingers brushed lightly along his side, just enough to make him shiver. "I'll go slow," he said, voice low, teasing but reassuring. "Every inch, every move... you'll feel it, but it'll feel good. You'll like it, little squirt. I promise."

Phuwin's sobs slowed slightly, though his body still shook, tense and taut. He hid his face against Pond's biceps, holding on desperately. The sponge-finger still pressed inside him, teasing relentlessly, but Pond's presence, calm and patient, made the terror manageable.

"You don't have to fight," Pond whispered. "Just let me guide you... just let me show you how good it can feel."

Phuwin could only cling tighter, trembling, caught between fear and the strange, unavoidable heat that coursed through his body. The thought of what Pond might do next made him shiver and cry, but a tiny, helpless part of him trusted the older man — or at least, had no choice but to.

 

Phuwin's body shuddered against Pond's chest, trembling with every vibration from the sponge-finger lodged inside him. His tears streaked his flushed cheeks, sobs muffled against Pond's biceps.

Pond leaned closer, sliding himself gently inside Phuwin, inch by inch. The condom-covered cock pressed against him, and Phuwin gasped, body stiffening instinctively. The sponge-finger still pulsed inside him, making every movement even more intense.

"Shhh... that's it, little squirt," Pond murmured, voice low and steady. "Relax... I won't rush. I'll go slow."

Phuwin's hands clutched at Pond's arm, nails digging in, shaking with a mix of fear and overstimulation. "I-I'm scared... please... ahhh—"

Pond adjusted his angle, feeling the incredible tightness of Phuwin's body around him. Every inch was like velvet wrapped around steel. He kept himself steady, careful not to move too fast, not to push Phuwin past his limit.

"You're so tight," he whispered, voice rough with desire. "Perfect... every bit of you."

Phuwin whimpered, squirming slightly, pressed flush against Pond. "I-I... ahhh... it's too much—please..."

Pond's hand found the small of Phuwin's back, holding him close, keeping him steady. "I'm not going to finish yet," he said softly, dark amusement in his tone. "I want you to feel everything... every vibration, every inch... all of it. Just like this. Can you do that?"

Phuwin nodded weakly, shivering violently, tears streaming, body quaking. He was caught between panic and the helpless, overwhelming pleasure that flooded through him as Pond moved just enough to tease, just enough to push him to the edge without letting him escape.

The sponge-finger throbbed relentlessly inside him, the stick locking his cock useless, and Pond's own body pressed against his, controlled, steady, patient... and utterly in command.

Phuwin buried his face deeper, sobbing into Pond's biceps, trembling and shivering, utterly overwhelmed... completely at Pond's mercy.

Phuwin's sobs hitched as Pond slowly thrust inside him, the sponge-finger still lodged deep, every pulse of vibration driving shivers through his body. His nipples, still clipped, jostled slightly with each movement, and Pond's gloved hand tugged gently on the chains.

"N-no..." Phuwin whimpered, shaking his head violently, pressing against Pond's chest.

"No?" Pond murmured softly, voice low and teasing. "You don't like this?"

"N-no..." Phuwin stammered again, voice breaking. His body trembled violently, overwhelmed, utterly at the mercy of Pond's hands, cock trapped, ass stretched, every nerve on fire.

Pond sighed, a slow, deliberate sound, and unclipped the boy's chest. His lips found Phuwin's hardened nipples immediately, suckling them with a gentle, teasing pressure that made Phuwin gasp and shiver. Every touch sent fresh waves of heat and helpless pleasure through him.

Lowering himself further, Pond pressed his body closer, one hand sliding down to stroke Phuwin's locked cock gently, teasing along the rigid shaft. The sponge-finger inside him pulsed relentlessly, making every flick of Pond's hand feel magnified, impossible, unbearable.

"Does it hurt?" Pond whispered, voice low and warm, brushing against Phuwin's ear. "When you can't cum... when all this pressure, all this need... has nowhere to go?"

Phuwin whimpered into Pond's chest, trembling violently, tears streaking his flushed cheeks. "Y-yes... it hurts... I can't... ahhh..."

Pond's lips curved into a dark smile as he continued, suckling, stroking, keeping Phuwin helplessly teetering between pain, desire, and the overstimulation of the sponge-finger. Every inch of Phuwin's body shivered under him, utterly trapped, utterly exposed, utterly at Pond's mercy.

Phuwin's body trembled violently, the sponge-finger pulsing deep inside him, his cock trapped and helpless, nipples still sensitive from Pond's earlier attention. Every nerve screamed, his chest heaving against Pond's as he sobbed and gasped uncontrollably.

"Do you want to cum?" Pond asked softly, voice low, teasing, brushing against Phuwin's ear.

Phuwin whimpered, shaking his head violently. "N-no... I... I can't..."

A faint sound drifted from the other room — a moan, guttural, unmistakable. Phuwin's ears perked up, and he realized it was probably Dunk, somewhere else in the lab, being drawn into the same strange, overwhelming experience. Pond's lips curved into a slow, dark smile at the sound.

"You hear that?" he murmured. "That's your friend... enjoying himself. Makes you want it too, doesn't it?"

Phuwin shivered violently, pressing his face further into Pond's biceps, tears streaming, overwhelmed by fear, desire, and the relentless overstimulation.

Pond's hands moved over him expertly, adjusting the sponge-finger, stroking his locked cock lightly, lips brushing over his nipples again. "After I stretch you," he whispered, "you'll get to try the chair. I promise it won't hurt. Only... it'll make you feel so, so good."

Phuwin whimpered again, sobbing softly, shivering uncontrollably. His mind raced — fear, need, and anticipation blending into one helpless wave. Every word, every touch from Pond, every vibration inside him made him tremble, utterly at the older man's mercy.

"And when you try it," Pond continued, voice teasing, deliberate, "you'll understand why I like watching you this way... so fragile... so desperate... so ready for me."

Phuwin could only shiver, crying quietly into Pond's chest, helpless, trembling, and overwhelmed — yet somehow, terrified and curious about the promise of the chair, and what else Pond might have in store.

Pond's gloved hands finally stilled, and Phuwin sagged against him, trembling violently, chest heaving, cock locked and useless, tears streaking his flushed cheeks. The sponge-finger still pulsed lightly, but Pond removed it with a slow, deliberate motion.

Then, with quiet efficiency, Pond pulled the stick from Phuwin's trapped cock also the vibrating finger. Phuwin gasped sharply, body still shaking uncontrollably, completely exposed and helpless.

"Alright," Pond murmured softly, cradling him gently. "Time for the next step."

Before Phuwin could respond, he felt himself lifted from the couch. He flinched, shivering violently, but Pond's grip was firm, unyielding, yet somehow reassuring. He was carried toward a massive chair at the center of the chamber — sleek, black, and designed like a hybrid between a massage chair and a machine of pure indulgence. It hummed faintly, lights along its frame glinting ominously.

Phuwin's eyes widened. "W-what... is that...?" he whispered, voice shaking.

Pond didn't answer immediately. He pulled a bottle of lubricant from the cabinet, opening it with a soft pop. Slowly, deliberately, he smeared the slick liquid over the little dildo attached to the chair — small but clearly designed to reach exactly where Phuwin's body would need it.

"You're ready," Pond murmured, voice low, teasing, as he adjusted the straps and positioning of the chair. "This will feel... incredible. I promise."

Phuwin's body shivered violently, legs trembling as fear and anticipation churned together. He pressed weakly against Pond, clinging to him, unsure what would happen next, yet utterly helpless. The promise of the chair, combined with the lingering sensations from Pond's earlier torment, made him shiver, sob, and gasp all at once.

Pond's hands rested on him, gloved and commanding, ready to guide him fully into the chair — and fully under the machine's merciless, pleasurable control.

Phuwin trembled violently as Pond lowered him onto the massive chair. The little dildo curled perfectly to hit his prostate, and his hips jerked instinctively.

A snug belt held his cock in a rolled tube, trapping him completely, while straps secured his wrists and ankles. He whimpered, shivering, tears streaking his cheeks.

"Relax," Pond murmured, gloved hands brushing his sides. "You're perfect... so tight, so desperate. The chair will make you feel everything, and your cock just watches."

Phuwin sobbed, rocking helplessly, nipples still sensitive, body trembling uncontrollably. Every nerve screamed, utterly exposed, utterly at Pond's mercy.

Pond stepped back, eyes dark with satisfaction, hand on the controls. "Ready?"

Phuwin could only whimper, body quaking, knowing there was no escape from what was coming.

Phuwin's hands were already trapped in the massaging devices on the chair, fingers clenched instinctively as his body trembled uncontrollably.

Every strap, every belt, every snug hold left him utterly exposed, cock locked, ass pressed against the dildo aimed perfectly at his prostate. The sponge-finger's earlier vibrations still pulsed in memory, and now the chair promised a new, relentless wave of stimulation.

The moment Pond hit the controls, Phuwin's body erupted with sensation. The dildo pulsed and rotated with precision, pressing perfectly against his prostate while lube spread automatically inside him, coating every inch as if the machine itself were alive.

His cock, trapped in the rolled tube, felt impossibly sensitive. Every rotation, every tiny vibration, made it feel as though someone was licking and suckling him, stroking him to the edge while denying release. Phuwin gasped and moaned uncontrollably, hips bucking helplessly, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks.

The chair didn't stop there. His hands, locked into the massaging devices, were kneaded and pressed, while his lower back and spine were massaged simultaneously, sending shivers through his trembling body. Every touch, every motion, every vibration combined into a wave of pleasure so intense he could barely think.

"Oh... ahhh...!" Phuwin sobbed, pressing further against the dildo, body quaking, cock trapped, ass pulsing around the machine. The overwhelming pleasure spread through every nerve, every muscle, leaving him utterly helpless.

The combination of the rotating dildo, the lube, the massaging hands, and the total control of the chair made Phuwin feel like he was being consumed by sensation — every inch of him alive with electric heat, every gasp, moan, and shiver amplified by the machine.

He was trapped. He was exposed. And he had never felt anything like this in his life — completely at the mercy of the relentless, mechanical ecstasy surrounding him.

Phuwin's body quaked violently, every nerve screaming, ass pulsing around the rotating dildo, hands massaged and trapped, cock locked in the tube, every inch of him aflame with impossible pleasure. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he gasped, whined, and sobbed into the headrest.

Pond's voice cut through the haze, low and teasing. "So... how does that feel?"

Phuwin's lips trembled, barely able to form words between gasps. "Ahhh... s-so... g-good... it... it's too much..."

The machine seemed to respond to every movement of his hips, every shiver and quiver, pushing him further, faster, and more relentlessly than he thought possible. The lube spread him perfectly, the dildo hitting his prostate with precision, while his locked cock throbbed, denied, every nerve screaming in frustrated ecstasy.

Pond's gloved hand rested lightly on his shoulder, watching the trembling, sobbing boy. "Just like I promised," he murmured softly. "All of it... all of you... feeling everything at once. You like it, don't you?"

Phuwin's body shuddered uncontrollably, fingers locked in the massaging devices, mouth open in soft, broken moans. "Y-yes... please... so... good..."

Pond's smirk widened as he watched Phuwin writhe helplessly, completely consumed by the machine, utterly at his mercy.

Phuwin's body quaked violently, sobs and gasps choking in his throat as the machine pushed him past every limit. The dildo rotated, the lube spread perfectly, every vibration and thrust targeting his prostate while his cock pulsed helplessly in the rolled tube.

His vision blurred with tears and heat, every nerve screaming as waves of pleasure crashed over him. He felt himself building impossibly high, desperate, trembling, until finally — with a shudder, a cry, and a sob — he came, shuddering violently into the device, powerless to stop it.

The chair hummed, and then, almost immediately, it stopped. Silence filled the room. Phuwin sagged back, chest heaving, body quivering uncontrollably, slick and spent, still trapped, still exposed, still utterly at Pond's mercy.

Pond's dark eyes studied him, gloved hands resting casually on the chair. "There," he murmured softly, voice low and teasing. "You see? Perfectly helpless... and you loved every second of it."

Phuwin could only whimper, shivering violently, head resting against the headrest, tears still streaming, completely overwhelmed by the intensity of what had just happened.

Phuwin's cheeks burned, body still trembling from the chair, as he whispered, "C-can I... see my friend?"

Pond studied him for a long moment, a slow, dark smirk curling at his lips. Then, finally, he nodded. "Alright," he said softly. "Go see your friend."

Relief and a flutter of excitement coursed through Phuwin, but his body still shook, still raw from the overstimulation, flushed and trembling. Pond handed him his clothes, adjusting the waistband carefully over his spent.

Phuwin swallowed hard, heart racing, and nodded, cheeks blazing as he took tentative steps toward the other room, still feeling the aftershocks of the chair and the lingering sensations from Pond's earlier attention.

Chapter 69: Joylada gang - Truth or Dare? 18+

The music throbbed through the senior’s apartment, the air thick with alcohol and sweat. Dunk kept close to Phuwin, his best friend since childhood, both of them wide-eyed freshmen swallowed into the glittering chaos of upperclassmen parties.

Joong, leaning lazily against the couch with his beer, caught Dunk staring and gave him a slow smirk. Pond, loud and already tipsy, was the center of the circle forming in the living room.

“Truth or dare!” someone shouted.

By the time Dunk and Phuwin were dragged into the game, the circle had swelled with bodies, laughter, and half-empty bottles. Phuwin sat stiff, trying not to glare at Pond across the way. They’d never gotten along—the snide remarks in class, the petty arguments, the way Pond always found a way to get under his skin.

When the bottle finally spun to land on Phuwin, the cheers rose.

“Truth,” Phuwin said, hoping to get away easy.

“Boo!” Pond booed instantly, leaning forward. “Coward.”

The chant of dare, dare, dare picked up until Phuwin’s jaw clenched. He wasn’t going to let Pond win. “Fine. Dare.”

A wicked grin curved Pond’s lips. “I dare you… to sleep with me tonight.”

The room erupted. Whistles, screams, drunken laughter. Dunk’s eyes widened, heat rushing to his face as he glanced at Joong—who only looked amused, like he was watching a show unfold.

Phuwin’s face burned. “That’s not—”

“You can back out,” Pond said smugly, sipping his drink. “Unless you’re scared.”

Something reckless sparked in Phuwin, maybe from the alcohol, maybe from the need to prove himself. He shot back: “Fine. I’ll do it.”

The room howled, some yelling “kiss him now!” others pounding the floor. Dunk felt a twist in his stomach, torn between horror and… something darker he didn’t want to name. Joong’s hand brushed against his on the couch, grounding him with a low chuckle.

Later, when most of the party had blurred into drunken chaos, Pond pulled Phuwin into one of the spare bedrooms.

The door shut.

Phuwin shoved him first, anger bubbling up with desire he refused to admit. “You think this is funny? Just humiliating me in front of everyone?”

Pond smirked, leaning back on the bed. “You agreed. Guess you wanted it too.”

“I didn’t—” Phuwin’s words cut off as Pond tugged him closer, mouths colliding in a clash of teeth and heat. It was messy, angry, but neither of them pulled away. Clothes tugged loose, hands gripping too tight, every touch blurring the line between hate and hunger.

Phuwin hated the way his body betrayed him, the way Pond’s lips felt addictive, the way the dare turned into something far more dangerous.

Meanwhile, Dunk sat in the living room, pretending to laugh at someone’s joke, his gaze constantly flicking toward that closed bedroom door. His chest felt tight, jealousy curling like smoke.

Joong leaned down, whispering in his ear, “Don’t worry about them. You’re with me tonight.”

And when Joong’s hand slid against his thigh, Dunk realized that this party was about to change everything for all four of them.
Phuwin’s POV — The Dare

The door slammed shut, the muffled bass of the party fading into nothing. My chest heaved, my heart hammering in my ears. Pond was smirking, his dark eyes drinking me in like I was prey.

“You really think you can say no now?” he whispered, brushing his fingers down my chest. “Everyone saw you agree. Everyone’s watching in their minds.”

I shoved him, hard, but he only laughed, catching me by the wrist and yanking me against him. His lips crashed onto mine, rough, demanding, biting. I wanted to push him off—hate him—but my body betrayed me, pressing into him.

He flipped us over before I could protest, and suddenly I was pinned beneath him, his weight solid, controlling. “You feel that?” he murmured, grinding against me. “All this heat. It’s yours, Phuwin. Mine to take.”

I ground back instinctively, hips arching. My moan ripped out of me, raw and shameful, and he smirked. “That’s it. Give it to me.”

His hands were everywhere grabbing, teasing, sliding down to my ass, squeezing. Then, mercilessly, he parted me, lips brushing against my assholw. My breath caught. “Pond—” I gasped.

“Oh dear, You like this ?” he teased, tongue sliding between my cheeks, licking slow, deliberate. Every flick made me shiver violently, the fire building in my belly impossible to ignore. I tried to squirm away, tried to shove him, but my body arched back on instinct. He was relentless, teasing, tasting me, making me groan, curse, and moan in equal measure.

Hands tangled in his hair as he grinned up at me. “God, you’re so wet already. Can you feel how much I want you?”

I could only gasp, clutching his shoulders. My body was betraying me, betraying every ounce of pride I had left.

Instinctively, my hand slid down to his pants—and froze. Hard. Already wet. His cock was straining, impossibly thick, and the thought hit me like a punch: this was Pond. The Pond who slept with everyone—every girl in our class, probably even the ones too embarrassed to admit it, maybe even with the chairs in the classroom if he could get away with it.

And now it was me. Me.

I swallowed, heat and shame twisting together as my fingers brushed against him through the fabric. I had no idea if I’d be able to walk tomorrow knowing this—the boy who ruined everything with his charm and reckless lust was pressed against me, slick and hot, and I wanted it more than I should.

Pond’s smirk widened as he caught my hand. “Careful, Phuwin,” he purred, dragging a finger over my wrist. “Don’t get too attached. You’re just another one tonight… unless you want more?”

My stomach dropped, trembling. I hated the way my body arched toward him, the way my fingers clutched him, the way I was already aching for him despite every warning my brain screamed at me. He was with me tonight, sure but the thought of what else he’d done, the thought of all the girls he’d used and thrown away, made my pulse thrum with a dangerous, messy mix of lust and fear.

I wanted him. And I hated that I wanted him so badly.

My hand froze for just a second on him, and then, almost against my own will, I started stroking. His cock was impossibly hard, slick already, pressing against my palm, and the sound of his low groan sent shivers straight through me. I hated myself for it, hated the way my body reacted, but every nerve in me screamed that I needed this.

Pond’s grin was wicked as he shifted, lowering his mouth to my ass. My stomach dropped, heat flooding me in a way that made me groan against him. “Pond—” I gasped, trying to pull away, but he only laughed, the sound dark and teasing.

“You’re too tense,” he murmured, tongue flicking over the sensitive skin of my ass. “Relax, Phuwin. Or maybe I’ll have to make you.”

I couldn’t answer. My fingers dug into his shoulders, my chest pressing against his, back arching almost on instinct. Every flick of his tongue made me shiver violently, hips twitching toward him despite my shame. He was relentless, teasing, tasting me, and I couldn’t help the moan that ripped out.

He pushed me forward, pressing his face deeper, and I felt him line up behind me, hot and heavy. The thought of him penetrating me, after tasting me like this, made my head spin. My fingers gripped the sheets as he finally sank inside, slow, deliberate, filling me inch by inch.

“Fuck…” I gasped, nails scratching his back, body trembling under him. My pride screamed to hate him, to shove him away, but my body betrayed me completely. Every thrust, every slick slide, made me cry out, every muscle shaking with need.

He shifted again, dragging my body against him, grinding slow and punishing, then leaned down to whisper in my ear, “You like this, don’t you? You like it when I fuck you, taste you, take you like this?”

I choked on a moan, my body arching back instinctively. “Y-yes…” I admitted, voice breaking, heart hammering. “Please… please more…”

Pond didn’t wait. His hands squeezed my ass, thumbs pressing into my cheeks, and then his mouth returned to my rim, tongue sliding inside, teasing me, licking me until my vision blurred. I felt like I was losing my mind, shivering violently, my body desperate, helpless under his control.

“God… Phuwin, you feel so good,” he growled, thrusting hard, his mouth and hands driving me insane. “So tight, so wet…”

I could only cry out, moans muffled by the bed, every nerve on fire. My fingers dug into his hair, pulling him closer, needing more, aching for more. Every thrust, every lick, every pull of his teeth and tongue had me on the edge, body trembling, and I was helpless to stop it.

When I finally came, it was explosive—muscles shaking, breath ragged, mind blank. And he followed almost immediately, his hot body pressing into mine, groaning my name as he released inside me. I could feel every inch of him, and I knew I’d never forget it.

We collapsed together, sweaty, tangled, gasping for breath. My chest heaved, body still trembling, and I hated how much I wanted more, even as I hated him for everything.

He pressed a soft kiss against my shoulder, low and teasing. “See? Told you… you couldn’t resist me, Phuwin.”

I shut my eyes, trembling, hating myself for sleeping with my enemy, hating how much my body betrayed me. And yet… I wanted him again.

Pond suddenly pulled back, rising to his feet as if he was going to walk away. My chest tightened, and something inside me snapped. No. No. No. He couldn’t… he couldn’t just leave me here like I was nothing, like I was just another girl he’d use and toss aside.

Tears burned my eyes before I even realized it, hot and bitter, and I couldn’t hold them back. “Wait—don’t go…” I choked out, voice trembling. “Please… please don’t leave me like them…”

Pond froze, looking down at me. My body shook on the bed, hands clenching the sheets, nails digging in, as sobs wracked me. I hated myself for crying, hated how weak I felt—but the fear of being thrown away, of being just another notch in his history, was overwhelming.

“You… you can’t leave me,” I gasped between shudders, words spilling out in a messy jumble. “I… I won’t… I can’t be like them… like everyone else… please…”

Pond’s expression softened just a fraction, a dangerous, knowing smile tugging at his lips. He knelt back down beside me, letting his hands cup my face gently. “Phuwin…” he murmured, voice low, dangerous, teasing. “Did you really think I’d just walk away? You? After all that?”

I sobbed harder, leaning into his hands, heart hammering, shame and relief mingling in a dizzying swirl. My body was still trembling from the pleasure, from the fear, from the sheer intensity of the moment.

“I… I don’t want to be like them… I don’t want… I don’t…” My words broke into gasps and whimpers, tears streaming down my face.

He pressed a hard kiss to my lips, teeth nibbling, tongue sliding in, and I moaned through my tears. His hands roamed my body again, grasping, claiming, reminding me that, messy and broken.

“You’re not them,” he whispered against my skin, grinding against me as he sank back inside. “You’re mine, Phuwin. Only mine. And I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

Between sobs, gasping for breath, I pushed against him as best I could, tears streaking my face. “I… I hate you,” I whispered, voice cracking. “I hate you so… so much.”

Pond froze, his hips still pressing into mine, hands gripping me tightly. My chest heaved, every nerve on fire, and I couldn’t stop. “Because… because you’ve been with so many girls… I hate that… I hate you for it. And I…” My voice broke, choked with tears and desperation. “…I really wanted to know you, not like this… not through… not through sex.”

He leaned down, lips brushing my temple, teasing my ear. “Phuwin…” he murmured, voice low and dangerous.

“I… I hate you, but I also…” I gasped, pressing my forehead to his chest, heart pounding. “…I like you. I like you so much it hurts, and I hate myself for it, but I can’t stop.”

For a moment, silence fell between us, broken only by the ragged sound of our breathing, the slick press of skin against skin, and the tremors running through my body. I could feel every inch of him, smell him, taste him, and yet my heart ached not just for the pleasure, but for the person I was begging to know beyond the lust.

Pond’s hands cupped my cheeks, tilting my head up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Phuwin,” he whispered, voice thick with something I couldn’t name, “you don’t hate me. Not really. And you want me, even if you won’t admit it. I can feel it.”

I shivered, breath hitching, unable to look away, unable to argue. He leaned in, teeth grazing my lips in a slow, possessive kiss, and my body responded instantly, betraying me once again, hips arching, pressing into him, trembling with need.

“I… I hate you, but I also…” I gasped, trembling, “…I like you… I want you… and I don’t know what to do with this.”

He grinned darkly, pressing himself harder, the friction unbearable. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not done with you tonight, Phuwin. And I don’t intend to let you forget that.”

Every word, every touch, every shove of his body into mine made my sobs and moans mix into one messy, desperate symphony. I hated him. I wanted him. I needed him. And I was utterly, completely his tonight.

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Dunk’s POV — The Truth or Dare Game

The music throbbed through the apartment, bass rattling my chest, but all I could focus on was Joong. He was leaning back on the couch, that damn smug grin playing across his lips, beer in hand, looking exactly like the Casanova he was—maybe even worse than Pond, if that was possible. His ego… Jesus. His ego was practically orbiting Mars, and I wanted to throttle him.

Truth or dare had been going on for what felt like hours. Joong had somehow made everyone laugh, charmed half the party, and of course, my frustration only built. I hated the way he could make me feel like a small, twitching mess without even trying. I hated the way my chest throbbed every time he smirked at me. And I hated myself most of all for noticing.

When the bottle spun and landed on me, all eyes turned. I could practically feel Joong’s gaze on me, teasing, daring me with just the lift of his eyebrow.

“Truth or dare, freshman?” he drawled, voice smooth, confident. That grin. That infuriating grin.

I ground my teeth. “Dare,” I snapped, trying to sound indifferent. My chest raced, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of looking scared.

Joong tilted his head, eyes glinting with mischief. “Bold,” he murmured. “I like it. Let’s see… I dare you… to—” He leaned closer, and my pulse hammered. “—kiss me. Right here, right now. No backing out.”

Heat surged up my neck, my stomach flipping. I hated him. I wanted to punch him. I also wanted to do exactly what he said, though my pride screamed otherwise.

“I—” I started, but he cut me off, leaning even closer, that arrogant smile daring me to resist.

I could feel the tension crackling between us, the entire room fading until it was just me and him. My hands itched to shove him away… and simultaneously to pull him closer. My body betrayed me instantly, pulse thundering, every nerve alive with want.

Joong chuckled low, a dangerous, teasing sound. “Looks like I’ve got you flustered already.”

“F—fuck you, man!” I snapped, my face burning. I couldn’t stand the smugness, the way he made me feel like a trapped little kid with no way out. I shoved past him and stormed toward the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

Of course, Joong wasn’t done. A moment later, I heard the lock click, and then his voice, calm, teasing, deadly: “You really think just running will save you, Dunk?”

I turned, hands braced against the sink, chest heaving. “Joong… what the hell are you doing?!”

He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. “Do you think… just a kiss is going to make you cum?” His smirk was infuriating. The way he said it—like it was a challenge—made my knees weak.

I clenched my fists. “You’re insane…”

“Maybe,” he whispered, stepping closer, lips dangerously near mine. “Or maybe I just know exactly what you’re thinking. You’re burning up, aren’t you? Can’t hide it from me.”

My chest tightened, pulse racing, body betraying me before my brain could catch up. I hated him so much for it—hated the way my cock throbbed, hated the heat pooling between my legs, hated the way my hands itched to grab him.

“D—don’t… stop messing with me,” I gasped, voice shaking.

He smiled, dangerous and confident, closing the last few inches between us. “Stop? Oh, Dunk… I don’t plan to stop. Not until I’ve seen every ounce of frustration, every bit of lust I can draw out of you.”

My back hit the sink, breath coming fast, and I realized… he wasn’t just teasing. He was going to make me melt, make me beg, and I hated how much my body already wanted it.

The door clicked shut, and Joong pressed me hard against the cool bathroom tiles, lips crushing into mine with that arrogant, infuriating dominance. I gripped his shoulders, trying to shove him off, but my body betrayed me instantly, pressing back, craving every touch.

His tongue forced its way into my mouth, teasing and claiming, and I groaned, hips arching instinctively. One hand trailed down my chest, fingertips brushing against my nipples through my shirt. He pinched, rolled, flicked—sharp sparks of pleasure shot straight through me. My breath hitched, back arching, and I couldn’t stop the low moan that escaped.

Joong’s mouth followed the path up my collarbones, nibbling, sucking, leaving a trail of fire. Every flick of his tongue made my toes curl, stomach knot, and heart hammer. My cock throbbed violently in his hand, hard already through my pants, and he squeezed, stroked with deliberate pressure that made me whine.

“Shit, Joong…” I gasped, chest heaving, voice breaking. “Stop… I—”

He didn’t stop. His teeth grazed my neck, fingers twisting, pulling, teasing, and I groaned again, trembling. I tried to pull away, but his hand on my hip was firm, unrelenting, pressing me back into him. Every nerve in my body was alive with fire, burning and desperate.

Then he shifted behind me, his cock pressed hardly against my asshole. One hand gripped my wrist, the other my hip, guiding me toward the mirror. “Put your hands up,” he murmured, voice low and teasing. “Look at yourself.”

I hesitated for just a second, heart racing, before my hands pressed against the glass. My reflection stared back—wide-eyed, flushed, chest heaving and I could feel my cock twitch against his hand, every inch straining for release.

He thrust into me from behind, slow at first, letting me adjust to the stretch, then harder, relentless. The rhythm was maddening. My knees bent slightly, hips bucking, chest pressing to the mirror as I moaned, the sound loud and raw. He pressed his mouth to my shoulder, nibbling and sucking, biting lightly, and my vision blurred from pleasure.

Every flick of his tongue, every pinch of his fingers, every sharp thrust made the coil in my stomach tighten tighter, and I knew I couldn’t hold out much longer. My chest heaved, sweat slicking my back, my reflection a mirror of my arousal and desperation.

He leaned closer, whispering in my ear, teasing, “Feel that? You’re so tight… so ready…”

Joong’s hands didn’t stop. One cupped my hip, the other trailing up my chest again, fingers circling my nipples, twisting and pinching. Each flick, each squeeze, made me groan and shiver. My cock throbbed hard through my pants, desperate for more than teasing, and every touch, every nibble along my collarbones, every bite to my neck had me writhing against him.

I tried to pull away, tried to protest, but my body betrayed me completely. My breath came in short, ragged gasps. “Joong… please… I—fuck, I’m gonna…”

He chuckled low behind me, warm breath against my ear. “Not yet,” he whispered. “I’m not done with you. I want to see how much you can take before you break.”

My hands clenched the mirror, fingernails scraping the glass as he thrust inside me from behind, slow and deliberate at first, just enough to make my stomach coil tight, then teasing a little faster, his cock sliding hot and heavy against me. Every push made me moan, every flick of his fingers made my body arch into him.

He pressed his mouth to my shoulder, teeth grazing my skin, lips sucking at the sensitive patches along my collarbone. I whimpered, hips trembling, pressed flush to the glass, and I could feel my release building impossibly fast. My cock throbbed in desperation, already leaking through my pants, but he didn’t let me go.

His hand slid down, brushing against my cock, stroking just enough to drive me insane. “So sensitive… so hard for me already,” he murmured, voice low and teasing. “And you haven’t even seen the worst yet.”

I groaned, arching my back, chest pressed hard against the cold mirror, eyes wide in the reflection. I was trembling, every nerve screaming, and I could feel the coil inside snapping tighter with every movement.

Then he shifted slightly, pressing harder, thrusting into me faster, letting me ride the edge as his fingers teased my nipples again, twisting and pinching. My moans grew louder, desperate, ragged, echoing against the tiles. “Joong… I… can’t… not—fuck!”

I was shivering, hips bucking, chest heaving, my cock aching unbearably, leaking through my pants, and then… the coil snapped. I cried out, body trembling violently, and came—hot, messy, sticky—slapping against the mirror. My reflection stared back at me, eyes wide, chest heaving, sweat glistening, and I trembled, completely undone.

Joong pressed close, hand on my hip, letting me ride out every tremor, every shudder, my legs quivering, and I shivered, completely spent, my release dripping down the glass, a stark, filthy mark of every nerve he’d ignited, every inch of my body he’d pushed to the edge.

I leaned against the mirror, trembling, chest heaving, hair sticking to my forehead, utterly exhausted. The sight of myself in the reflection—wet, red-faced, and trembling—made my body hum with overstimulated heat, and even though I hated to admit it, every inch of me wanted more.

Joong pulled back slightly, his cock pressing against my back as he gripped my hips and spread my ass cheeks wide just to put his cock between them and pushed them back together to lock his dick there. The friction against my skin was maddening, every nerve on fire.

“God… you feel incredible,” he murmured, low and dangerous, grinding himself slowly along the curve of my lower back while pressing firmly between my cheeks. His hand squeezed himself, slick pre coating his fingers, and I could feel every pulse of him through my trembling body.

I gasped, pressing harder into the mirror, hips twitching instinctively as my body betrayed me. My back arched, chest heaving, cock still sensitive and twitching from my own release moments ago. Every grind of his cock against me made shivers shoot through me.

“Fuck, Dunk…” Joong groaned, eyes dark, voice thick. “So tight… so warm…”

He began moving faster, slick cock sliding along my back, hand squeezing himself between my cheeks with deliberate, hard strokes. I whimpered, pressed my forehead against the mirror, hands shaking as my body trembled under the overstimulation.

Then it happened—he tensed, hips snapping, hand jerking violently. I felt the first hot spurts of his release hit my back, warm and sticky, coating my skin. He groaned, face buried in my neck, cock slick between my cheeks, as he came hard, painting my lower back with his cum.

I gasped, knees weak, chest heaving, still pressed to the cold mirror, completely overwhelmed. My reflection stared back at me—wild-eyed, flushed, drenched in sweat, and now marked by Joong’s release across my back. Every nerve was alive, my body trembling from the intensity, my mind spinning from how utterly messy and consuming this was.

Joong finally pulled back, breathing heavy, chest pressed against mine, slick hands still gripping me. I sagged against the mirror, shaking, chest heaving, completely undone, coated in sweat and his cum, every inch of me buzzing from the raw, messy intensity of it all.

“I hope you’ll come next week for another party,” Joong said casually, straightening his shirt, slipping his pants back on. “This time at Pond’s place.”

My chest was still heaving, legs weak, back sticky from sweat and his cum. I barely managed to nod, trying to catch my breath.

Joong glanced over at me, smirk tugging at his lips. “Also… got a message—you should probably take your friend home. He’s probably exhausted from Pond.”

I froze, pulse spiking. “Phuwin…?” I muttered, heart hammering. My mind flashed to the other room, the thought of my friend caught up in that mess making my stomach twist.

Joong chuckled low, like he knew exactly what I was thinking. He walked past me, casually leaving the bathroom, hands adjusting his clothes, as if nothing had happened—while I was still trembling, reflection in the mirror reminding me of every slick, messy moment we’d just shared.

I pressed my hands against the mirror, chest heaving, trying to steady my breath. My body was buzzing, nerves alive, and I hated myself for how much I wanted more, even after everything. Joong walked out, leaving me coated in sweat and his release, and I knew… the night was far from over.

“Fuck them both… they’re the worst, but… they can fuck really good!” I growled, pounding my fist against the mirror, chest heaving.

Chapter 70: Phayu x Rain - Mechanic’s Touch: Too Tight to Handle

Rain sighed as he trudged down the street, bag slung over his shoulder, the late-afternoon sun still burning on his skin. The lectures had dragged on forever—hours of dry theory that never seemed to end. He had barely taken in a single word, doodling on his notes and checking the time every few minutes.

The moment class was dismissed, he didn’t even think about going home. His feet carried him automatically toward the only place that could fix his mood: Phayu’s motorcycle shop.

The heavy glass door jingled as Rain pushed it open. Immediately, the scent hit him—engine oil, rubber, and a faint note of leather polish, all mixed with the faint musk of heat and sweat. The shop gleamed with rows of expensive bikes, chrome shining under the overhead lights.

And there, behind the counter, sleeves rolled up and hair slightly tousled, stood Phayu. He was talking to a well-dressed client, pointing at a set of designs spread across the counter. His voice was smooth and commanding, the kind that made people listen.

Rain paused in the doorway, a small smile tugging at his lips. No matter how many times he saw him, Phayu always looked impossibly attractive like this—confident, in control, a little dangerous.

But the client was soaking up all that attention, and Rain’s chest tightened with a pang of frustration. He dropped his bag noisily onto a stool in the corner, flopped down, and crossed his arms, as if announcing to the whole shop: I’m here, notice me.

Phayu flicked his eyes toward him briefly, just long enough to acknowledge him with the smallest curl of his lips before returning to the client. That tiny smirk only made Rain’s irritation worse.

Minutes dragged. Rain shifted restlessly, swinging his legs, sighing loudly. Nothing. Phayu remained polite and professional, explaining engine modifications and delivery schedules.

Rain bit his lip. If Phayu wasn’t going to give him attention… then Rain would make sure he got it anyway.

He slid off the stool, wandering between the gleaming motorcycles. His fingertips grazed the polished metal, the smooth seats. Finally, he slipped between two of the bikes where the shadows pooled, hidden from the client’s line of sight but not from Phayu’s.

There, Rain leaned back against the cool metal and let his hand slide under the hem of his shorts. Just a little at first—fingers brushing over the front of his briefs, rubbing lazily. The quiet sigh that left his lips was unmistakable.

Phayu’s voice stuttered. Only for a second, but enough for Rain to notice. The thrill shot through him.

He pressed harder, movements growing bolder. His breaths came quicker now, soft moans slipping out, hushed but deliberate. His eyes locked on Phayu’s back, broad shoulders tense under his shirt.

Phayu’s knuckles tightened around the pen he was holding. He cleared his throat, forced himself to finish the discussion, signed a paper, shook hands.

The moment the client stepped out the door, the lock clicked sharply.

“Rain.” Phayu’s voice was low, dangerous, echoing through the shop.

Rain straightened, trying for an innocent smile but failing with his flushed cheeks and heavy breathing. “Lectures were boring…” he murmured. “I wanted some fun.”

Phayu stalked toward him, boots heavy on the concrete floor. He grabbed Rain’s wrist, pulling him forward until his back pressed against the glossy curve of a motorcycle. The machine was cool against his skin; Phayu was burning hot in front of him.

“You touch yourself in my shop?” Phayu’s lips brushed his ear, his tone sharp but dripping with amusement. “While I’m talking to a client?”

Rain shivered, clinging to his shirt. “You were ignoring me…”

A dark chuckle vibrated in Phayu’s chest. His hand slipped under Rain’s shorts without hesitation, gripping the hardness waiting there. Rain gasped, back arching against the bike.

“Then I’ll make sure you’re not bored again.” Phayu’s mouth claimed his, rough and hungry, swallowing the moan that spilled out.

He turned Rain around, bending him over the motorcycle seat, pressing his chest against the leather. The position was shameless, Rain spread out like a prize on display, the faint reflection of his flushed face visible in the polished chrome.

“Hold on tight,” Phayu ordered, tugging his shorts down in one swift move. The cool air hit Rain’s skin before Phayu’s warm, calloused hands spread him open.

“Phayu—” Rain’s voice cracked, equal parts nervous and desperate.

“Quiet,” Phayu growled, slicking his fingers before pushing one in. The stretch made Rain tremble, but the feeling of being filled so abruptly made him whimper with need. Another finger joined, then a third, scissoring him open as Rain’s knuckles turned white on the handles of the bike.

When Phayu finally replaced his fingers with the thick press of his cock, Rain nearly sobbed. The stretch was overwhelming, deliciously painful, every inch forcing his body to yield.

The motorcycle creaked under their weight as Phayu thrust in deep, his pace unrelenting. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the shop, mixing with Rain’s muffled cries as he buried his face against the leather.

“Look at you,” Phayu panted, gripping Rain’s hips tightly. “Moaning in my shop like you want the whole street to hear."

Rain could only nod frantically, lost in the sensation, his body clenching desperately around him.

Phayu bent over his back, teeth scraping the side of Rain’s neck as he whispered, “Come for me, right here. Make a mess on this bike, and let everyone know who fucked you so good you couldn’t hold it back.”

It was too much. Rain’s body shuddered, release spilling hot over the cool leather as Phayu drove him through it, chasing his own climax until he groaned and filled him, spilling deep.

The shop went quiet again except for their heavy breathing. Rain’s body went limp over the motorcycle, face flushed, legs shaking.

Phayu smirked, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “Not so bored anymore, hm?”

Rain managed a weak laugh. “Way better than lectures.”

Rain jolted upright in bed, chest rising and falling like he had just run a mile. The images clung to him—the smell of oil and leather, the weight of strong hands pinning him over a motorcycle, the growl of a low voice in his ear.

“Phayu…” he whispered, throat dry.

His sheets were tangled around his legs, damp with sweat. When he shifted, he felt it instantly—his cock straining hard against the thin fabric of his shorts, aching and leaking from the dream that still pulsed in his veins.

Rain groaned, dragging a hand over his face. Not again…

It wasn’t the first time. Every time he came back from the shop, every time Phayu smirked at him or let his hand brush just a little too close while fixing a bike, Rain’s brain turned it into fuel for his fantasies. And at night, it always ended the same way: him, bent over something, taken apart piece by piece until Phayu made him cry.

His hips shifted helplessly, grinding up into the sheets. The friction only made him harder, his breath catching.

“Shit…” Rain whimpered, biting his lip as he reached down. His hand wrapped around himself, slicking the tip with precum that had already dampened his waistband. Just that touch made his back arch. He squeezed, pumping slowly, imagining the calloused grip of Phayu’s hand instead of his own.

In his mind, the garage came back to life—Phayu pinning him to a bike, whispering threats against his ear, telling him to be quiet while anyone could walk in. The shame of the thought made Rain’s stomach twist deliciously.

“Phayu…” he moaned, muffling his voice with his pillow as his fist sped up.

His thighs trembled, his body wound tight as heat spread through him. The dream was too vivid, too real—he could almost feel the stretch, the bite of teeth against his skin, the way Phayu’s voice would command him to come.

And he did—shuddering hard, spilling hot over his stomach, body curling in on itself as pleasure ripped through him.

Rain lay there panting, sticky and flushed, staring up at the ceiling. A deep sigh escaped his lips.

“Why do I keep dreaming about him?” he muttered, dragging the pillow over his face. “He’s just a mechanic. Just a guy with a shop… and I’m…”

He peeked out from under the pillow, cheeks burning.

“…completely obsessed over man that doesn´t even know me..”

His chest rose and fell, sticky warmth still clinging to his stomach, his cock twitching lazily against his palm even after release. It wasn’t enough. No matter how many times he touched himself, no matter how vividly he dreamed, it never satisfied him. It only made the craving worse.

He rolled onto his side, staring at the wall, but all he could picture was Phayu—sleeves rolled up, smirk curling his lips, sweat shining on his throat as he bent over an engine. Rain squeezed his thighs together, shame flooding him when his body started to respond again so soon.

“Fuck,” he whispered, dragging his fingers through his hair. “Why him? Out of all people…”

Phayu probably didn’t even remember his name. To him, Rain was just another university kid who hung around the shop too often, pretending to ask about engines when all he wanted was an excuse to hear his voice.

But to Rain, Phayu was everything. The way he carried himself, confident and untouchable. The way he looked at people, like he already owned the space they stood in. Every detail of him drove Rain insane.

His hand slid absently back down, pressing over the sensitive head of his cock through his messy shorts. He hissed at the sting, but his hips jerked up for more.

“…I’m pathetic,” he groaned, burying his face into the pillow again. “Completely obsessed.”

Still, his hand slipped under the waistband again, chasing the ghost of a man who didn’t even know how much space he took up in Rain’s head.

Rain wiped himself down with a towel, still muttering under his breath. Pathetic, obsessed, hopeless. Yet the moment he pulled his clothes back on—a loose tee, his most flattering jeans—his heart was already thudding with anticipation.

“Let’s try my luck today again…” he whispered at his reflection, tugging his hair into place. His cheeks were still warm, but at least he looked somewhat presentable.

He stuffed his notebook into his bag—pretending he might study later, though they both knew he wouldn’t—and headed out the door. The bus ride felt endless, the crowded seats and stale air only fueling his nerves. He pressed his forehead against the window, watching scooters and bikes zip past in the street.

Rain’s lips twisted into a pout. He still hadn’t learned properly. Sure, he’d wobbled around the empty campus lot on a borrowed scooter, but riding a real bike? Not yet. Not the way Phayu did, all power and ease, like he was born on the seat of one.

But he wanted to. More than anything, Rain wanted to show up at the shop one day, swing a leg over a motorcycle, and make Phayu’s smirk falter for once. To prove he wasn’t just some clueless kid who followed him around like a puppy.

Today wouldn’t be that day—but maybe, just maybe, Phayu would look at him a little differently.

When the bus finally hissed to a stop, Rain jumped off, heart hammering. The moment he spotted the shop across the street, gleaming motorcycles lined out front like trophies, a shiver of excitement ran down his spine.

Through the wide windows, he could already see Phayu bent over a bike, one hand steadying the frame while the other tightened a bolt. His shirt clung to his back, muscles shifting with every movement.

Rain swallowed hard, clutching the strap of his bag. “Okay, Rain,” he muttered. “Just… act normal. Totally normal. Don’t let him see how hard you’re staring.”

He pushed the door open, the familiar chime ringing out.

Phayu didn’t look up immediately, still focused on his work. But then his head tilted just slightly, lips curving into that knowing smirk Rain dreamed about far too often.

“Well, well,” Phayu drawled, not even glancing up from the bike. “Didn’t expect to see you here again so soon.”

Rain’s stomach flipped. Just the sound of his voice had his pulse racing.

“L-lectures were boring,” Rain blurted, trying to sound casual but only managing breathless. “So… I thought I’d stop by.”

Rain froze at the sudden voice behind him.

“Isn’t that the little bird that got blown here by a strong wind?” The words dripped with amusement, followed by a low chuckle. “Or… is it the one who keeps flirting with you, old man?”

Rain turned sharply. Standing at the doorway in a red motorcycle suit was another man—tall, broad-shouldered, helmet tucked under one arm. His eyes glinted with mischief as they scanned Rain up and down.

Rain’s face flamed instantly. “I—I’m not flirting!” he sputtered, his hands flailing in front of him.

The man only smirked wider. “Sure you’re not.”

“Prapai,” Phayu’s voice cut in, firm but edged with annoyance. He straightened from the bike, wiping his hands on a rag, before giving his friend a look. “Don’t bully him.”

Prapai arched a brow, strolling further inside like he owned the place. “Bully? I’m just pointing out what’s obvious. Look at him—he practically has ‘crush’ written across his forehead.”

Rain wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He ducked his head, biting his lip, fingers twisting around the strap of his bag. His pulse thundered in his ears.

Phayu’s lips curved, eyes sliding toward Rain. “Obvious, huh?”

Rain’s stomach flipped. That smirk—the one that always made him dream too much—was back.

Prapai laughed under his breath, clearly entertained by Rain’s flushed cheeks and stammering. With a final shake of his head, he slipped his helmet back on.

“Well, I have to go,” he said casually, already moving toward the door. “Call me if you get it fixed.”

He didn’t even spare them another glance, just pushed the door open and strode out, the growl of his bike echoing a moment later as he sped off.

The silence in the shop felt heavier the second he was gone.

Rain shifted awkwardly, still clutching the strap of his bag, ears burning. His eyes flicked up nervously to Phayu, only to find the mechanic already watching him—arms crossed, head tilted, that slow, dangerous smirk tugging at his lips.

“So…” Phayu drawled, stepping closer until the scent of leather and grease wrapped around Rain like smoke. “Flirting with me, hm?”

Rain’s breath hitched. “T-that’s not— I mean—” His words stumbled out uselessly, heat rushing up his neck.

Phayu leaned in, his voice dropping low, intimate. “Relax. I didn’t say I minded.”

Phayu smirked, tilting his head as he crouched down to inspect Prapai’s bright red motorcycle. His fingers traced the curves of the bike, checking the engine, the suspension, the fine details with a practiced eye.

Rain, standing a little too close, couldn’t tear his gaze away. He was flushed from embarrassment, from anticipation, from… everything. His heart hammered in his chest.

“So… you’ll be my boyfriend?” Rain blurted out before he could stop himself, voice high and trembling. His cheeks burned crimson.

Phayu froze for a beat, then threw his head back and laughed, a rich, teasing sound that made Rain’s stomach twist.

“Kid,” Phayu said finally, straightening and brushing grease off his hands, “are you sure you know how this is supposed to work?”

Rain swallowed, shifting from foot to foot, nerves and excitement twisting in him. “I… I think so!” he said quickly, though his voice wavered.

Phayu’s smirk widened. He stepped closer, towering over Rain, the smell of sweat, oil, and leather mixing into an intoxicating haze. “Hmm. Confident, aren’t you? I like that… But confidence alone won’t keep up with me.”

Rain’s knees nearly buckled. “I—I’ll learn,” he stammered, heart racing. “I want… I want to learn from you.”

Phayu crouched again, fingers brushing the edge of Rain’s jaw, tilting his head to meet his gaze. “Oh, you’ll learn. Just… not in the way you’re thinking right now.”

The playful, dangerous glint in Phayu’s eyes made Rain shiver. The promise of what could happen—and the thrill of being under Phayu’s gaze—was almost unbearable.

“And if I mess up?” Rain asked, voice small, barely more than a whisper.

Phayu laughed again, low and dark, leaning closer so their noses almost touched. “Then I’ll make sure you remember exactly how it’s supposed to work.”

Rain swallowed hard, heat pooling between his legs, knowing—whatever Phayu meant—it wasn’t going to be gentle.

“You know,” Phayu said, his voice low and rough as he stepped closer, heat radiating off him, “I don’t do it gentle.”

Rain’s stomach flipped, a shiver running down his spine. “I… I don’t mind,” he stammered, cheeks burning, pulse racing.

Phayu’s smirk deepened, and he leaned in, letting his breath ghost over Rain’s neck. The sharp scent of leather and sweat made Rain dizzy, his mouth dry and hands fisting at his sides.

“You sure about that?” Phayu murmured, letting a hand brush lightly along Rain’s arm, teasing and deliberate. “Once I get started… it’s not going to be soft.”

“I… I’m sure,” Rain whispered, trembling, unable to tear his eyes away.

Phayu’s grin turned darker, almost feral, as he slid a hand around Rain’s waist and pressed him against the cold metal of a motorcycle. The contrast of the icy steel against the heat of his own body made Rain shiver even more.

“You’re going to learn exactly what that feels like,” Phayu said, lips brushing close to Rain’s ear. “No soft touches, no gentle words… just everything I’ve got to give.”

Rain’s body reacted instantly, trembling, heart pounding, legs weak. His hands gripped the bike for support as Phayu’s movements teased every nerve ending.

“Good,” Phayu whispered, voice low and dangerous, “because I’ve been waiting to see how far you’ll let it go… how much you can take.”

Rain swallowed hard, eyes wide, chest rising and falling fast. His thighs trembled as Phayu’s hand slid lower, brushing teasingly over the front of his shorts.

“You’re going to wish you hadn’t admitted it so easily,” Phayu growled, “but I promise, I’ll make it worth every second.”

Rain bites his lips, unable to stop the whimper that slipped out. His body felt like it was on fire, each nerve alive, every inch of him craving what Phayu was promising.

Phayu’s hands gripped Rain’s hips firmly, guiding him forward until his chest pressed against the smooth leather of Prapai’s bright red motorcycle. The cold metal sent a shiver through Rain’s body, contrasting sharply with the heat that raced from his flushed skin.

Rain’s hands scrambled over the bike, fingers digging into the edges for support, heart hammering in his chest. “Phayu… wait…” he whispered, though the words were weak, trembling.

Phayu’s smirk darkened as he leaned close, letting his lips brush against Rain’s ear. “There’s no waiting. Not this time.”

He pressed just enough weight against Rain’s back to make him arch instinctively, teasing his body against the firm, unyielding surface of the bike. Rain’s thighs shook, the warmth between them growing impossible to ignore.

Phayu’s hands slid lower, brushing over Rain’s hips and teasing along the waistband of his shorts. Rain gasped, pressing himself harder against the bike, as if silently begging for more.

“Relax,” Phayu murmured, voice low, dangerous, letting his fingers trace over Rain’s trembling body. “Just take it… and see how far you can go.”

Rain’s breath hitched, every nerve alight, body quivering as Phayu’s touch became bolder. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, pressing into Phayu’s hand, craving more.

Phayu leaned down further, chest pressing against Rain’s back, the heat from his body almost unbearable. “You feel that?” he whispered, voice rough. “That’s just the beginning. Every second from here on… it’s all for you to handle—or not.”

Rain moaned softly, the sound muffled against the cool leather of the motorcycle. His body writhed, hips pressing into Phayu’s hand, helpless under the teasing, commanding presence of the man behind him.

Phayu’s smirk grew wider as he finally sank lower, fingers sliding inside Rain, making him gasp sharply. “See? You’re already responding… and we haven’t even started properly yet.”

Rain’s chest heaved, face flushed crimson, hands gripping the motorcycle tighter. His body was melting under the teasing, aching for more, desperate for Phayu to take the next step.

Phayu’s lips trailed down Rain’s flushed thighs, leaving a hot, wet path as he licked and lightly sank his teeth into the sensitive skin. Rain shivered violently, gripping the edges of Prapai’s motorcycle for support.

With a swift, commanding motion, Phayu pulled down Rain’s pants and boxers in one go, exposing him completely. The cold air of the shop hit Rain’s skin, making him squirm against the motorcycle, already aching for more.

Phayu didn’t hesitate. He licked his three fingers, teasing Rain’s entrance, letting the tip of his tongue trace circles that made Rain gasp and arch his hips.

“Hmm…” Phayu murmured, fingers brushing against Rain’s tight hole. His eyes darkened with amusement and hunger. “Have you had somebody before?”

Rain’s cheeks burned crimson, body trembling violently. “N-no…” he whispered, breath hitching.

Phayu chuckled low, teasingly. “I thought so.” His fingers pressed lightly, probing, and he raised an eyebrow. “Just looking at you here… there’s no way even a single penny could fit. You’ve been holding out, huh?”

Rain moaned softly, hips jerking involuntarily, a mix of embarrassment and raw desire flooding him. “P-Phayu… please…”

Phayu’s grin widened, cruel and teasing. “Relax. I’ll take care of that. But first… I want to see how tight you really are.” He pressed a finger inside slowly, testing Rain’s resistance, eliciting a shuddering whimper. “Mmm… just as I thought. Perfectly… unspoiled.”

Rain’s hands dug into the metal of the bike, breaths coming in short, shuddering gasps. His hips bucked instinctively as Phayu added a second finger, spreading him open, testing every inch, each touch setting his nerves on fire.

“You’re so tight,” Phayu growled, lips brushing the sensitive skin near Rain’s ass, teeth grazing lightly. “And so eager… I can already tell you’re going to take everything I give you. Isn’t that right?”

Rain could only nod, eyes wide, moaning helplessly, completely undone under Phayu’s dominant, teasing touch.

Phayu didn’t hold back. His three fingers pressed firmly inside Rain, spreading him open with deliberate force. Rain shivered violently, his hips arching against the cold metal of Prapai’s motorcycle, breaths coming in ragged gasps.

“It hurts…” Rain moaned, voice trembling, cheeks burning bright.

“I know it does,” Phayu murmured, low and commanding, his hand steady as he stretched him further. “But there’s no time for gentle. You’ll get used to it—or at least, you’ll survive it.”

Rain’s body jerked with every push of Phayu’s fingers, every sharp stretch that made him gasp and tremble. He tried to move back, tried to ease the pain, but the sensation was too overwhelming; it made him ache even more, hungry for every deliberate, precise movement.

“You’re trying so hard…” Phayu growled, pressing his thumb alongside his fingers, teasing Rain’s tightness as he stretched him open. “And I can feel it. Every bit of it. That’s exactly what I want.”

Rain’s hands dug into the metal of the motorcycle, knuckles whitening as waves of sharp pleasure coursed through him. “P-Phayu… it’s… so intense…”

Phayu leaned closer, lips brushing Rain’s shoulder, teeth grazing lightly. “Intense is the point. I won’t slow down, and I won’t be soft. You’ll feel every second—and you’ll beg for it at the end.”

Rain trembled under him, back arching, gasping, completely consumed by the mix of stretch, pressure, and pleasure. Phayu’s fingers worked deliberately, making sure Rain felt every inch, every pull, every sharp tug that left him whimpering helplessly over the cold, unyielding motorcycle.

“You’re incredible,” Phayu murmured, dark eyes glinting. “So small, so tight… and trying so hard. Keep going. Don’t stop. I want to see how much you can take.”

Rain’s body shook, completely at Phayu’s mercy, every nerve screaming as the dominant mechanic stretched him mercilessly, relentless, and unapologetic.

Phayu leaned closer, letting his lips hover near Rain’s tight, aching entrance. He didn’t rush, didn’t force anything—just let his tongue trace gentle, teasing circles over the sensitive skin. Rain shivered violently, hands clutching the cold metal of the motorcycle, chest heaving.

The sensation was overwhelming. Soft, deliberate laps and flicks of his tongue made Rain gasp, hips jerking instinctively against Phayu’s mouth. Every gentle stroke sent shivers up his spine, leaving him gasping for air.

“No…” Rain whispered, voice trembling. “That… that’s… it feels too good…”

Phayu chuckled low, deep and teasing, letting his tongue linger, exploring slowly, deliberately. “You’re so tight,” he murmured, lips brushing against the sensitive spot. “And so eager… I want to feel every reaction you have.”

Rain’s hips bucked slightly, trembling, as his back arched over the bike. The combination of the cold metal beneath him and the warmth of Phayu’s lips pressed against him made his senses spin.

Phayu’s tongue slipped in slightly, testing, circling, teasing, while his fingers stayed inside Rain, keeping him spread open. Every motion drew soft, helpless moans from Rain, each one making Phayu smirk with satisfaction.

“You like every little touch, don’t you?” Phayu murmured, voice low and rough..

Rain groaned, gripping the edges of the bike, hips pressing involuntarily, body shaking from the mix of sensation and anticipation. Phayu was patient, deliberate, enjoying every sound, every quiver, every whimper that escaped from him.

“Phayu… please…” Rain whispered, breathless, desperate, already aching for more.

Phayu’s grin was dark, teasing, almost feral. “Patience, kid… we’re just getting started.”

Phayu’s smirk deepened as he withdrew his teasing tongue and fingers, letting Rain’s body writhe in frustrated need.

“Enough teasing,” Phayu growled, voice low and commanding. “It’s time you felt the real thing.”

He positioned himself behind Rain, hips pressing flush against him. Rain’s body tensed, gripping the cold metal of the motorcycle, cheeks flushed, breaths coming in ragged gasps.

With one deliberate motion, Phayu aligned himself, pushing inside slowly. Rain cried out, arching back, the sharp stretch overwhelming him. Every nerve ending screamed as Phayu held him steady, letting him adjust, feeling him clench instinctively.

“Relax,” Phayu murmured, though his voice carried the weight of command. “Take it… all of it.”

Rain trembled, hips bucking slightly, helpless under the combination of stretch and fullness. Phayu’s hands gripped his hips firmly, guiding his movements, controlling the pace, letting him feel every inch with deliberate precision.

“You’re tight,” Phayu growled, leaning close so Rain could feel his chest against his back. “Every bit of you… it’s perfect. Struggling won’t help you’ll only feel it more deeper up to your belly.”

Rain gasped, whimpering, hips pressing harder against Phayu, craving every motion, every thrust. The friction of the cold metal beneath him only heightened the sensation, every push sending shocks through his body.

Phayu increased his pace, hard and unrelenting, each movement deliberate, testing Rain, pushing him just to the edge. Rain’s hands clutched the edges of the bike, knuckles white, moans spilling uncontrollably as the intensity built.

“You like this, don’t you?” Phayu whispered in his ear, voice rough, teasing. “Every stretch, every thrust… makes you ache for more.”

“Yes… yes…” Rain moaned, body shivering violently, hips pressing desperately against Phayu, completely lost in the overwhelming sensations.

Phayu’s grin widened, teeth grazing Rain’s shoulder lightly as he drove him deeper, harder, relentless, until Rain’s entire body trembled and finally shattered under the intensity, crying out over the bike, utterly undone.

Phayu didn’t let up, following Rain over the edge, holding him close, ensuring every quiver, every gasp, every shudder was his to command.

Rain’s body shuddered violently, every nerve ending on fire as he finally let go. He cried out over the cold metal of Prapai’s motorcycle, hips jerking uncontrollably as the waves of pleasure ripped through him. The stretch, the fullness, the dominance of Phayu behind him—everything combined into a shattering release.

Phayu held him steady, pressing against his trembling body, letting him ride out every gasp, every moan, every shudder. Rain’s hands gripped the edges of the bike tightly, nails digging into the leather as he rode out the tremors of his climax.

“Oh… Phayu…” Rain gasped, voice cracking, body shaking. “I… I can’t… I’m…”

“You’re doing perfectly,” Phayu murmured, low and rough, still moving inside him, slow and deliberate now. Each thrust was precise, lingering, letting Rain feel the full depth of their connection. “Just… hold on a little longer.”

Rain’s thighs quivered, chest heaving, heart pounding. The intensity of finishing while Phayu remained buried deep left him raw, sensitive, completely consumed by sensation. His mind went blank, only the heat of Phayu and the cold bite of the metal beneath him grounding him in the moment.

Phayu’s lips brushed against the side of Rain’s neck, teeth grazing lightly as he whispered, “You’re incredible… so tight, so responsive… can’t get enough of you like this.”

Rain moaned again, trembling, utterly undone, the aftershocks of his orgasm still coursing through him as Phayu kept him pinned, moving inside slowly, ensuring he felt every inch, every second of his dominance.

Finally, when Rain’s body had mostly relaxed, Phayu pulled back slightly, letting him catch his breath, his hand still resting possessively on Rain’s hip. The cold metal of the motorcycle, the warm press of Phayu’s chest against his back, the lingering heat between them—it all left Rain flushed, panting, utterly addicted to the taste and touch of the mechanic he couldn’t stop thinking about.

Rain’s chest heaved, still trembling slightly from the intensity of their release. He turned his head just enough to look at Phayu, voice soft, almost hesitant.

“So… you… will be my boyfriend?” he asked, hope flickering in his wide, flushed eyes.

Phayu chuckled, a deep, low sound that made Rain’s stomach flip all over again. He ran a hand slowly down Rain’s arm, brushing fingertips along his heated skin.

“Well…” Phayu said, leaning back slightly, smirk tugging at his lips, “technically… I can be.”

Rain’s heart leapt, a shy, trembling smile spreading across his face. “Really?”

Phayu leaned closer, brushing his nose lightly against Rain’s temple, voice low and teasing. “Yeah… if you’re willing to keep up with me.”

Rain swallowed, cheeks burning, a nervous laugh escaping him. “I… I’ll try.”

Phayu laughed again, dark and warm, tilting Rain’s chin up with one finger. “Good. Because I don’t go easy. But… I think you’ll like it.”

Rain’s breath caught, chest rising and falling, but a sense of relief and joy settled over him. Even after everything—the teasing, the roughness, the overwhelming intensity—this simple, playful promise from Phayu made his heart soar.

Phayu’s hand lingered on Rain’s hip, thumb brushing softly over his skin. “Come on,” he murmured, voice low and almost gentle now. “Let’s get you cleaned up… and then, maybe, we can see how this ‘boyfriend thing’ actually works.”

Rain’s grin was shy but full of excitement, and he let Phayu guide him off the motorcycle, still flushed, still trembling—but utterly, completely happy.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, the sun had barely peeked through the shop windows when a loud, furious voice cut through the quiet.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!”

Rain jumped, nearly toppling over a toolbox as he spun around. There stood Prapai, helmet under his arm, eyes wide in disbelief as they landed on the unmistakable sticky spot on his bright red motorcycle seat.

Rain froze, hands flying to his mouth. “Oh no… oh no, no, no…”

Phayu, leaning casually against another bike, tried to hide his smirk but failed miserably. “Morning, Prapai,” he said, voice teasing, arms crossed. “Sleep well?”

Prapai glared at him like he’d just discovered the biggest crime in the universe. “Do you know what’s all over my seat?!”

Rain’s ears burned crimson as he shuffled awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. “I… I… it wasn’t supposed to—”

“It wasn’t supposed to what? Explode all over my bike?!” Prapai barked, gesturing at the mess. “I leave it for one day, ONE DAY, and this is what I find?”

Phayu chuckled, finally stepping closer, dark eyes twinkling with mischief. “Relax, it’s just… evidence,” he said, giving Rain a teasing glance. “He was… enthusiastic.”

Rain groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “Phayu! Don’t tell him that!”

Prapai pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath as he shook his head. “I can’t even… Why do I even hang out with you two?!”

Phayu only laughed, and Rain peeked through his fingers, cheeks still bright red, wishing he could vanish entirely.

“You’re cleaning it,” Prapai finally said, pointing at Rain. “Now. And I swear… if my bike smells like this for the rest of the day…”

Rain whimpered quietly, moving toward the mess with a resigned groan, while Phayu just leaned back, laughing, clearly enjoying the show.

“Come on,” Phayu teased, patting Rain on the back. “At least you left a little mark of affection. Prapai’ll survive… probably.”

Rain groaned again, muttering curses under his breath, while Prapai shook his head, muttering something about “next time he’s getting a cover.”

And Phayu? He just laughed, the sound echoing through the shop, clearly entertained by his boyfriend’s predicament.

Chapter 71: Chi Cheng x Guo Chengyu-Scent and Sensibility (A/B/O)

The first thing Guo Chengyu learned about Chi Cheng was that he didn't tolerate omegas.

Not in meetings. Not in his company. Not anywhere near him.

"An office should be clean of distractions," the boss had once said coolly during orientation, his sharp eyes scanning the room like knives. "I don't need employees who can't control themselves."

The words still echoed in Chengyu's head weeks later as he sat at his desk, typing out another endless report. Every keystroke was measured, every breath carefully even. He was omega, through and through, and if Chi Cheng ever found out, his career here would be over.

The irony, of course, was that Chi Cheng couldn't smell pheromones at all. He didn't know that the very secretary he'd hired—the one sitting three meters from his private office—was exactly what he claimed to despise.

But Chengyu knew.

He felt it every second. Chi Cheng's alpha presence was like a storm front pressing on the back of his neck, heavy and suffocating. The man's pheromones leaked into the air without control, spilling across the office in raw, unfiltered waves. Other employees avoided coming near for long; their bodies knew better.

But Chengyu stayed. He had to.

Fingers tightening around his pen, he glanced toward the glass wall separating him from the boss's office. Chi Cheng sat behind the desk, immaculate in his suit, flipping through contracts as though the world bent to his will. His brows were drawn together in irritation, a small muscle ticking in his jaw.

Chengyu's chest tightened. Even if Chi Cheng couldn't smell, his dominance filled the room like smoke it was thick, undeniable. Every nerve in Chengyu's omega body responded against his will: a flutter in his stomach, a heat in his chest, the instinctual urge to lower his gaze whenever Chi Cheng's eyes flicked up.

It was torture. It was thrilling.

"Guo," Chi Cheng's voice cut through the air, deep and commanding. He never used his full name, always the clipped, efficient surname. "Bring me the quarterly numbers. And coffee. Black."

"Yes, sir." Chengyu stood, clutching the papers so hard his nails dug crescents into them.

Walking into that office was always the worst part. The air grew thicker the closer he got, saturated with Chi Cheng's unchecked pheromones. His legs felt heavier, his pulse quicker. If Chi Cheng knew how much his body screamed in response, he'd sneer and throw him out on the spot.

But Chi Cheng didn't know. He couldn't.

When Chengyu set the coffee down, their hands brushed—just barely. The heat of it jolted up his arm, and his knees nearly buckled.

Chi Cheng's eyes narrowed. For a second, too long, he studied him. Sharp. Suspicious.

Chengyu forced his lips into a professional line, keeping his gaze down. "Quarterly numbers, as requested, sir."

A pause.

Then Chi Cheng looked away, uninterested, already flipping to the next page. "Good. Dismissed."

Chengyu exhaled only when he was back at his desk, chest tight, skin burning.

How long could he keep this up?

How long before Chi Cheng realized his most trusted secretary—the one who endured his suffocating presence night after night—was the very thing he despised?

The mansion was drenched in silence, but the moment Guo Chengyu stepped inside, he nearly staggered.

Pheromones. Heavy, raw, suffocating. They clung to his skin like smoke, filling his lungs until his knees threatened to give out. He gripped the polished railing as he climbed the stairs, every step a battle.

He reminded himself of the number.

500,000 a year.

That salary was the only reason he hadn't turned and run. That obscene number chained him here, forcing him up toward the bedroom where his boss—his ruthless, untouchable boss—waited.

At the end of the dark corridor, he pushed open the heavy door.

And froze.

Chi Cheng lay sprawled across a vast bed draped in black satin sheets, his body restless against the sheen of fabric. His shirt was open, exposing pale skin glistening faintly in the dim light, chest rising and falling as though even his breath burned. The air around him was molten with alpha pheromones.

And across his eyes—tied tight—was a strip of black cloth.

Even blindfolded, he radiated power. A caged predator.

"You're late," Chi Cheng's voice was low, rough, vibrating through the charged air.

Chengyu's throat went dry. He forced his legs forward, though each step felt like wading through fire. He had fought so hard to keep himself untouched, to guard his virginity against the world's expectations. A dominant omega—that was rare, and he'd clung to that strength with everything in him.

But for that salary...

The memory of the interview hit him like a blade.

The CEO's office, her gaze cool and clinical. "My son can't control his pheromones. He's unraveling. Ordinary doctors can't fix it. He needs an omega. Physical intimacy is the only way to calm him."

Chengyu's pulse had spiked. "You mean... sex? With him?"

She hadn't flinched. "Exactly. Become his therapist, and you'll earn 500,000 a year."

Now here he was.

 

Guo Chengyu froze as he carefully lowered himself onto the satin sheets, straddling the blindfolded alpha beneath him. His thighs pressed lightly against Chi Cheng's hips, but he made no other move. Every muscle in his body screamed, not from desire, but from the suffocating intensity of the moment.

Chi Cheng's presence pressed down on him like a storm. The alpha's pheromones filled the air in thick, oppressive waves, wrapping around Chengyu, making his chest ache and his pulse hammer against his ribs. He trembled uncontrollably, not from warmth, but from the sheer weight of the dominance beneath him.

He can't know it's me. Not now. Not ever.

That thought anchored him, even as his omega instincts threatened to betray him. His hands gripped the satin sheets beside Chi Cheng's shoulders, knuckles white, trying to keep himself steady. He kept perfectly still, forcing his breathing even, forcing every instinct to submit in silence.

Chi Cheng shifted slightly under him, the barest hint of motion, testing the balance, his blindfolded face impassive. The faintest groan of air from the alpha sent a shiver through Chengyu's spine.

"You're stiff," Chi Cheng murmured, voice low and rumbling. "Tense. Afraid. Hm... good. You'll last longer that way."

Chengyu's lips pressed into a thin line, holding in the instinctual responses that threatened to spill out. His cheeks burned with heat and humiliation, but he didn't move beyond the careful straddle. Nothing else. No sound, no motion, no slip of identity.

Every second was torture. Every second, he reminded himself: silent, still, survive. Don't let him know.

And still, the alpha's weight, presence, and pheromones pushed every nerve of his body to the limit, leaving him trembling but obedient, pinned beneath a force he could neither escape nor name.

He didn't know what he was supposed to do. This wasn't therapy in any book, no training had ever prepared him for this. All he could think was: touch him, calm him, make it as a professional.

So he leaned down, trembling, and pressed his lips against Chi Cheng's neck. Tentative. Hesitant. He dragged his tongue across heated skin, tasting the salt and pheromones that burned like fire on his tongue.

Chi Cheng shifted, tilting his head lazily to the side to give him access. For a brief moment, Chengyu thought he was doing it right.

Until his boss yawned.

"This is boring," Chi Cheng said flatly, voice low, dismissive.

The words cut deeper than any knife. Chengyu froze, lips still against his neck, shame burning in his chest. He had stripped himself of his pride, of the one thing he'd sworn to guard, only to be dismissed like he was nothing more than a dull distraction.

His fists clenched in the satin sheets. His first night, his first touch—and Chi Cheng found it boring.

Chi Cheng's body shifted lightly under Guo Chengyu, but only barely. His chest rose and fell in lazy, measured breaths, the black satin sheets rustling softly as he reclined, utterly indifferent. The blindfold hid his eyes, but the tilt of his head and the way his arm draped over the pillow made it clear: he could almost drift off to sleep right there, uncaring.

Guo Chengyu forced himself to move, even with humiliation burning through him from Chi Cheng's dismissive words.
If the alpha thought he was boring, then he would show him otherwise.

Hands trembling, Chengyu slid lower along the satin sheets until his lips pressed just above the waistband of Chi Cheng's trousers. The alpha's skin was hot beneath his mouth, slick with sweat and pheromones. Slowly, deliberately, Chengyu kissed down his abdomen, tracing the taut lines of muscle with his lips, his tongue flicking against the hollow of his navel before drifting lower.

Chi Cheng inhaled sharply — the first real reaction he'd given. His hand shifted against the pillow, tightening just slightly.

Chengyu's breath grew shallow, every nerve in his omega body alight. He licked across the firm skin just above Chi Cheng's hips, dragging his tongue in wet circles, tasting salt and pheromone-thick heat. His thighs clenched around the alpha's waist, trying to steady himself.

And then Chi Cheng's voice came, low and rough:
"Mm. Better. Keep going."

The command sent a violent shudder through Chengyu. His instincts screamed at him — submit, yield, obey. His omega nature strained against the iron wall of his self-control. He kissed lower, his lips brushing the edge of Chi Cheng's trousers, teeth grazing faintly against fabric before tugging it down with unsteady fingers.

The moment his hand freed Chi Cheng's cock, the raw, swollen heat of it slapped against his stomach. The alpha's rut was undeniable — heavy, throbbing, flushed dark with need. The scent alone made Chengyu dizzy, a slick warmth pooling between his own thighs.

He swallowed hard, bent down, and pressed a trembling kiss against the base. Then another, higher. His tongue slid up the thick length, tasting precum sharp and bitter on his tongue.

Chi Cheng let out a low growl, his hips jerking upward, blindfolded eyes narrowing as his body strained toward Chengyu's mouth.
"Good little omega..." he murmured, voice half-mock, half-pleased. "You know your place after all."

The word cut like a blade, but Chengyu couldn't stop. His body betrayed him — the more he licked, sucked, kissed, the more his own slick heat flooded between his thighs, soaking through the thin fabric of his underwear. His rutting instincts screamed louder with every sound Chi Cheng made.

When Chengyu finally sank his mouth down fully, taking him in deep, Chi Cheng's hand shot up, gripping his hair, forcing him lower. The alpha's raw power pressed down on him, pheromones exploding in the air like a storm. Chengyu gagged, eyes watering, but the taste, the weight, the dominance of it all sent him spiraling.

And when Chi Cheng groaned, hips thrusting up hard, Chengyu knew he was lost.

He was in heat.

The realization slammed into Chengyu like a fist. His chest heaved, lungs burning as the air thickened, heavy with Chi Cheng's pheromones. They clung to his skin, seeped into his throat, wrapped around his body until he was trembling uncontrollably.

He can't smell me. He doesn't know. But I can definitely smell him.

The raw scent of Alpha in rut was everywhere — sharp, musky, intoxicating. It hit Chengyu's nostrils like fire, tore through his self-control, and dragged his omega instincts screaming to the surface. His slick soaked through his trousers, thighs quivering as the heat between his legs became unbearable.

"No..." he whispered, panicked, pressing his forehead against Chi Cheng's hard abdomen. "Not now... I can't..."

But his body betrayed him. His hips rocked helplessly against the alpha's thigh, grinding for friction. His breath came in ragged gasps, every nerve alight, pupils blown wide.

Chi Cheng growled low in his chest, tilting his head back against the pillow. Even blindfolded, his dominance crushed Chengyu's resistance. His hand fisted tighter in Chengyu's hair, forcing him to look up.

"You're dripping," Chi Cheng rumbled, voice rough with rut. "I can feel it through your clothes."

Chengyu's blood ran cold. His secret—shattered.

Before he could stammer a denial, Chi Cheng surged upward, ripping him off balance. In a blur of motion, the alpha rolled them, pinning Chengyu to the satin sheets. The weight of him was suffocating, hips grinding down, cock hot and swollen against Chengyu's soaked trousers.

Chi Cheng shifted above him, forcing Chengyu flat against the sheets. The alpha's weight pressed down, suffocating, inescapable.

Then Chengyu felt it.

Hot, heavy, the thick length of Chi Cheng's cock slapped down against his stomach, sliding up to his navel. Chengyu's eyes flew wide — it was so big, so swollen with rut it looked impossible, obscene. The blunt head smeared precum across his skin, wet heat tracing a sticky line up to his belly button.

Chengyu whimpered in panic, biting down on his lip, but the sound still escaped. His body trembled beneath the alpha, thighs clenching together, slick soaking through the sheets. He'll split me apart... I can't—

Chi Cheng's hand shot up, clamping over Chengyu's mouth. "Quiet," he growled, voice low and feral. "You'll take it. You were made for this."

Chengyu's muffled protests dissolved into shuddering moans as Chi Cheng shifted his weight. With his other hand, the alpha lifted his fingers to his mouth, spitting thickly across them. The wet sound filled the air, vulgar and raw, before his spit-slick fingers pressed between Chengyu's thighs.

The omega jerked, back arching, as those fingers found his entrance, slick and aching from heat. He shook his head desperately against the hand muffling him, eyes wide, but his body betrayed him — his hole clenched greedily around the first press of Chi Cheng's fingertip.

"Already wet," Chi Cheng muttered, lips curling in a feral grin. "Your body's begging for me, even if your mouth won't admit it."

One finger slids in, then another, stretching him open with merciless precision. The burn made Chengyu whimper into the alpha's palm, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes. His hips bucked helplessly, caught between pain and raw, clawing need.

Chi Cheng's rut-driven growl rumbled against his chest as he pumped his fingers in deep, scissoring, twisting, driving Chengyu's body to soften and yield. With each thrust of his fingers, slick gushed out, coating his hand, dripping down onto the sheets.

Chengyu's vision blurred, his body shaking violently. Heat consumed him, instincts screaming to be filled, to be knotted. He clawed weakly at Chi Cheng's wrist, but not to stop him — to hold on, to anchor himself against the overwhelming tide of pleasure.

Chi Cheng leaned down, lips brushing his ear as he curled his fingers just right, making Chengyu sob into his palm. "That's it," he growled, voice thick with rut. "Open up for me. I'll ruin this tight little hole until you can't remember your own name."

And with that, he pulled his fingers free, slick and glistening, positioning his cock at Chengyu's entrance. The blunt, swollen head pressed hard against the stretched rim, the size of it compared to what his fingers had done making Chengyu thrash in panic beneath him.

Chi Cheng shoved his hand harder over Chengyu's mouth. "Breathe," he ordered, pushing forward. "You'll take every inch."

Condom—! Chengyu's mind shrieked in blind panic, the word echoing over and over as though it could stop what was already happening. He needs a condom! He can't—

But the thought shattered in the same instant Chi Cheng thrust forward.

The alpha's cock stretched him wide, splitting him open raw and unprepared, forcing inside with brutal inevitability. Chengyu's scream caught in his throat, muffled beneath his own palm as he clamped his hand desperately over his mouth, eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming hot down his temples.

Too much. Too thick. Too deep.

Every inch burned, the pressure unbearable, but slick poured out of him in helpless waves, coating Chi Cheng's length, easing the savage thrust forward. His body betrayed him, muscles convulsing around the intrusion, dragging him deeper, sucking him in.

Chi Cheng growled above him, rut-drunk, blindfold tight across his eyes. "Tight—fuck—you were made for this." His voice was low, feral, vibrating against Chengyu's skin as he shoved in to the hilt, pelvis grinding against his ass.

Chengyu's hand muffled another scream, back arched violently against the sheets, legs trembling around Chi Cheng's waist. The knot of panic in his chest warred with the tidal wave of omega instinct that demanded more, demanded to be filled, bred, knotted.

No condom. He's inside me raw. He'll—he'll—

But thought broke apart into raw sensation as Chi Cheng drew back and slammed in again, setting a brutal pace that knocked the breath from his lungs. Each thrust drove him deeper into the mattress, every slap of skin against skin sending sparks of shameful pleasure ripping through his body.

Chengyu sobbed into his palm, muffling the sounds he couldn't hold back. His hole spasmed helplessly around the thick cock, clinging desperately, pulling it deeper each time. His heat screamed for it, slick gushing endlessly, drowning the sheets beneath them.

Chi Cheng's growl deepened, his hand clamping around Chengyu's hip to hold him in place as he fucked into him without restraint. "You're dripping everywhere. Your body's begging me to fill it."

Chengyu shook his head wildly, hand pressed harder against his own mouth, but his body betrayed him completely — back arched, thighs spread wider, hole spasming in greedy rhythm around the alpha's length. Every nerve screamed that he was being claimed, with no barrier, no protection.

And when Chi Cheng's knot began to swell against his entrance, stretching him further, locking him open for the inevitable, Chengyu's muffled scream tore through his hand.

Chi Cheng growled low in his throat, shifting his weight until he pressed fully into Chengyu, knot swelling inside him, stretching him wide. Then he slowly straightened, rising above the trembling omega.

"Who are you?" he snarled, voice dark, taunting, sending tremors through Chengyu's body. "Little boy... hiding under me all this time?"

Chengyu's chest heaved, muffled whimpers trapped behind his palm. His legs shook, hips jerking involuntarily around the impossibly thick knot that held him fast and painfully. Every nerve in his body screamed in pain, pleasure, panic, and heat all at once.

Chi Cheng's hands gripped his hips, holding him still, while the knot pressed impossibly deep, reminding Chengyu just how helpless he was.

"You thought you could hide from me?" Chi Cheng continued, voice rough, eyes glinting with raw dominance even behind the blindfold. "Your body, everything about you was mine to find. And now... you are here because of my mom, payed you extra money to do this kind of therapy, so i can smelled omega's scent."

Chengyu's muffled sobs broke against his hand, back arching violently, slick flooding between his thighs. His omega instincts screamed for release, for surrender, but his mind clung desperately to reason, to the idea of escape, even as the alpha's rut consumed him entirely.

Chi Cheng let out a low, feral chuckle, hips shifting slightly to grind against the sensitive stretched walls, forcing the omega's muscles to spasm around the thick knot. "So tight... so greedy. You've been wanting this the whole time, haven't you?"

Chengyu shook his head frantically, but every convulsion betrayed him. He was trapped, overstimulated, utterly knotted, and completely claimed. The shame and heat roared together, leaving him helpless beneath the predator towering over him.

"You'll learn your place," Chi Cheng murmured, voice thick with rut. "Little boy or not..."

Locked, knotted, dripping, and panting, Chengyu's body trembled in surrender, every nerve firing as the alpha's dominance pressed into him, searing him from the inside out.

Chi Cheng shifted slightly above him, knot still locked deep inside, pressing Chengyu's body firmly to the sheets. His rut-driven hips throbbed, but his hands moved with a predatory curiosity now.

One hand trailed lightly over Chengyu's stomach, fingertips brushing up and down, lingering over every sensitive ridge, every twitching muscle. The alpha's movements were deliberate — testing, teasing, reading the omega's body.

"Hmm..." Chi Cheng murmured, voice low and dangerous, as his fingers traced the taut skin over Chengyu's ribs. "You feel... familiar." He tilted his head, sensing the subtle shivers, the way the muscles clenched instinctively beneath his touch. "But who are you, really?"

Chengyu's breath hitched violently, hands still clamped over his mouth. Panic and heat roared together in his chest. Every brush of Chi Cheng's fingers sent sparks through his body, igniting nerves that were already screaming from overstimulation.

Chi Cheng's thumb circled Chengyu's sensitive lower belly, moving just above where the alpha's cock pressed fully into him. "Tight," he murmured, almost to himself. "Greedy little body... shivering, twitching... trying to hide who you are."

Chengyu couldn't answer, couldn't even whimper clearly. He could feel every inch of Chi Cheng's touch, every deliberate stroke probing, testing, teasing. His body betrayed him entirely — hips rocking minutely despite the knot, slick pooling beneath them, every nerve on fire.

The alpha's other hand drifted up to his chest, fingers tracing over muscle and skin lightly, memorizing the curves, the tension. "Interesting," Chi Cheng whispered, lips brushing Chengyu's ear. "I can't smell you... can't see you... but your body... it tells me everything."

Chengyu trembled violently beneath him, muffled sobs breaking through. Panic, humiliation, and heat collided in a perfect storm. He was trapped, knotted, completely claimed, and the sensation of Chi Cheng's fingers teasing him, reading him, knowing him, was unbearable.

"You can struggle all you want," Chi Cheng murmured, voice rough, "but I'll figure out exactly who's under me. Every reaction... every twitch... it'll give you away."

Chengyu's body spasmed helplessly around the swollen knot, every instinct screaming surrender, every nerve on fire from the alpha's touch. His muffled moans, his slick, his trembling frame — it all betrayed him, leaving him completely at Chi Cheng's mercy.

Chi Cheng's fingers lingered over Chengyu's body a moment longer before he chuckled low, a dark, throaty laugh that sent shivers down the omega's spine.

With a swift motion, he pulled down the blindfold.

"Is that... my sweet little assistant?" Chi Cheng's voice dripped with amusement and dominance as his eyes locked onto Chengyu's wide, terrified ones.

Chengyu's heart slammed. His instinct screamed to run, to hide, to pull away — but the knot at Chi Cheng's base held him fast. Every attempt to wriggle was useless. His body was trapped, stretched impossibly around the thick alpha, immobile under the weight of Chi Cheng's claim.

"N... no... please..." he tried to whisper, muffled by the hand still pressed over his mouth. Panic radiated from him in waves. Heat and shame tangled violently in his body — he was exposed, vulnerable, yet utterly consumed by the raw, impossible pleasure of being filled and knotted.

Chi Cheng's eyes glinted, sharp and amused, as if every tremor of panic only fueled him. "So... it's you," he murmured, low and predatory, tracing a finger down Chengyu's jaw. "The one sitting at my desk, pretending to be just a little omega I hired. And yet... here you are, already dripping and begging without me even asking properly."

Chengyu's chest heaved, body jerking involuntarily around the swollen knot. His legs twitched, slick slick pooling, every nerve ablaze. He tried to shrink away, but the alpha's weight and the knot made movement impossible.

"You thought you could hide from me?" Chi Cheng continued, leaning down so his lips brushed Chengyu's ear. "But I don't need to smell you to know. I can feel every tremble... every shiver... every desperate gasp of your body. Mine. Completely."

Chengyu trembled, silent behind the palm over his mouth, back arching helplessly as the knot held him locked, and every instinct screamed both fear and burning need.

Chi Cheng chuckled again, a slow, dangerous sound. "So my sweet little assistant... trapped, stretched, dripping... this is what you wanted all along, isn't it?"

Chi Cheng slowly pulled back, the thick, swollen knot finally slipping free from Chengyu. The omega sagged against the sheets, quivering, utterly spent, hips still sore and trembling from the overstimulation. His body felt full, overstretched, and yet every nerve still screamed with the ghost of the alpha's claim.

Chi Cheng leaned over him, weight still heavy but his movements deliberate, teasing. He ran a finger lightly along Chengyu's jaw, down his chest, trailing to his stomach. His touch was softer now, measured, testing.

"Will you talk now?" Chi Cheng asked, voice low, rough, carrying the weight of dominance and expectation. His blindfold was gone, and those sharp, calculating eyes bore into Chengyu's wide, flustered ones.

Chengyu's lips parted, breath shaky, but words caught in his throat. He wanted to apologize, to explain, to beg... and yet, he could barely form a coherent sentence. His body betrayed him even now, hips twitching slightly from the fullness, fingers clenching the sheets.

"You... I..." he whispered, voice hoarse, utterly panicked. "I... I didn't mean—"

Chi Cheng's lips curved in a dark, amused smirk. "Shh," he interrupted, leaning closer so their foreheads nearly touched. "Save your excuses. I know exactly who you are, little omega. And you... you can't hide from me anymore."

Chengyu swallowed hard, heat and shame burning across his flushed cheeks. Every nerve still screamed from the rut and the knot, yet beneath the panic, a strange relief began to bloom. He was claimed — utterly, completely — and there was no denying it.

Chi Cheng ran a hand lightly along his hip, pressing just enough to remind him of the fullness lingering inside. "Now... tell me," he murmured, voice low and dangerous. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Chengyu's chest heaved, mind spinning, every instinct screaming submission, confession, and desperate honesty. He could feel the alpha's presence pressing down on him — dominant, unrelenting — and he knew, no matter what he said, he was utterly at Chi Cheng's mercy.

Chengyu's voice was trembling, muffled by exhaustion and shame. "I... it was your mom's idea," he admitted, chest heaving. "She said... if I did this, she'd pay me... 500,000... I... I need that money..."

Chi Cheng's brow furrowed, a low sigh escaping his lips. Of course. It had to be the Chairwoman — his grandmother. That relentless, sharp woman who always had an agenda. The same woman who had once schemed and maneuvered to get exactly what she wanted: heirs, loyalty, control. And now she'd put her pawns in motion.

He leaned back slightly, letting the knot fully soften inside Chengyu, but not releasing him entirely. His hand trailed lightly over Chengyu's hip, pressing just enough to remind the trembling omega that he was still utterly claimed.

"Of course it was her," Chi Cheng muttered, voice low, tinged with both exasperation and dark amusement. "That woman... she wants grandchildren. And she'll stop at nothing."

Chengyu's eyes widened at the calm ferocity in Chi Cheng's voice. Panic and fear rose again, but beneath it all, he was still utterly full of the alpha, body trembling, slick dripping over the sheets. He had imagined exposure would ruin him, but now... he was trapped, claimed, and utterly at the mercy of a man who had no idea how thoroughly he had fallen into the plan.

Chi Cheng leaned closer, lips brushing against Chengyu's temple. "And you?" he murmured, hand pressing a finger lightly along the soaked skin of his stomach. "Were you just... following orders? Or did you... enjoy it?"

Chengyu's breath hitched violently. He couldn't speak, couldn't lie, couldn't even think clearly. His body betrayed him entirely, still sensitive and trembling from the knot, from the rut, from being utterly filled and claimed.

Chi Cheng's lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. "Hm... I should've known," he murmured, almost to himself. "Even when manipulated... you couldn't hide what your body wanted."

And with that, he pressed down just slightly, reminding Chengyu in no uncertain terms who truly held control — the alpha who now knew exactly who he had beneath him, and that the omega's obedience and body had already betrayed him completely.

Chi Cheng's dark eyes flicked over Chengyu's trembling, flushed body. Slowly, deliberately, he shifted his weight, rolling them so he was fully on top again. The knot had softened, but the alpha's presence pressed down, heavy and insistent, reminding the omega of every inch of control he still held.

"You can move here," Chi Cheng murmured, voice low, teasing. "So we can... practice more. And maybe... later, I'll start smelling your scent properly."

Chapter 72: JossFluke- I´m his prisoner! 18+

Guys!! I´m so in love with Joss please somebody kidnap him and send me to my address, i need that man in my boring life... BTW: If you had Joss in your life, do you picture him more as the sweet everyday boyfriend type (movie nights, cooking together, lots of cuddles) or the passionate lover who sweeps you off your feet with intensity and devotion?

Anyway....Enjoy...<3

Fluke sat cross-legged on the couch, textbooks spread across the coffee table, his pen scratching half-hearted notes. The house was too quiet, and he hated when it was like this—when Joss was gone, when the shadows outside seemed thicker than usual. He tightened his hoodie around himself, trying to hide the faint bruises marking his neck.

The front door clicked open.

Heavy steps. The smell of cigarette smoke clinging to a tailored coat. Joss slipped inside, shutting the door with a soft but final thud. His eyes—sharp, dark, trained to see everything—immediately landed on Fluke.

“You’re still up,” Joss muttered, voice low, tired. He looked every bit the mafia boss he was rumored to be, yet his backpack slung over one shoulder reminded Fluke that they were both just students on paper.

Fluke forced a smile. “Studying. You?”

“Work.” Joss dropped the bag and moved past him into the kitchen, as if the word “work” didn’t mean blood on his hands.

Fluke’s grip tightened around his pen. He wanted to ask if someone had died tonight, but he didn’t dare. Instead, he lowered his gaze, hiding the small purple mark peeking above his hoodie collar.

But Joss noticed. He always noticed.

He leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms. “Who gave you that?”

Fluke’s heart skipped. “Gave me what?”

“That bruise.” His tone wasn’t casual—it was sharp, demanding, like he was interrogating an enemy.

“I—it’s nothing. Just bumped into a desk.” Fluke shut his notebook too quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”

Joss’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t push further, but his jaw clenched before he disappeared upstairs.

The secret couldn’t last.

Three nights later, Joss followed Fluke without meaning to. He had left a meeting earlier than expected, his car parked outside the bar when he saw Fluke slip out of a stranger’s vehicle, clothes messy, hair undone, lips swollen.

Rage unlike anything he’d ever felt tore through him.

By the time Fluke walked through the front door, Joss was already waiting in the living room.

“Where were you?” His voice was too calm, too steady.

Fluke froze. “Library.”

“Library doesn’t leave you smelling like someone else’s cologne.”

Fluke’s lips parted, no words coming out. He took a step back, but Joss closed the space in an instant, pinning him against the wall.

“You let them touch you?” Joss hissed. “You let other men put their hands on you like you’re nothing?” His grip tightened on Fluke’s wrists, anger vibrating off him.

Fluke’s eyes watered. “I needed the money—”

“I would’ve given you anything!” Joss’s voice broke, fury laced with hurt. “Do you really think I’d let you whore yourself out just to move away from me?”

Fluke swallowed hard, shame burning his throat. “I couldn’t keep living in your shadow. You’re… you’re dangerous, Joss. And I can’t—”

The words cut short when Joss’s mouth crashed against his, brutal, desperate.

Fluke gasped into the kiss, struggling, then melting when Joss’s hands slid down, gripping his waist possessively. The anger bled into hunger—Joss’s need to erase every trace of other men, to brand Fluke as his alone.

Clothes hit the floor in pieces. Joss’s touch was rough, punishing, yet every kiss carried the weight of years spent growing up together, of secrets and unsaid feelings.

“You’re mine,” Joss growled against Fluke’s skin, thrusting deep, forcing cries from his lips. “No one else gets to touch you. No one.”

Fluke clung to him, torn between humiliation and comfort, his body betraying him with every shudder. He hated how much he wanted this, how much he had always wanted Joss.

When it was over, Joss didn’t let go. He held Fluke against his chest, fingers brushing damp hair away from his face.

“You don’t need to sell yourself,” Joss whispered, voice hoarse. “I’ll take care of you. Always.”

Fluke closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of smoke and blood that clung to Joss. A dangerous promise. A dangerous love.

And yet, with his body aching and his heart trembling, he realized he didn’t have the strength to walk away anymore.

That night, when Joss finally drifted into sleep beside him, Fluke lay awake staring at the ceiling. His body still ached from Joss’s roughness, lips swollen from desperate kisses.

He turned away, pressing his face into the pillow, and silent tears slipped down his cheeks. The weight of everything crushed him—his double life, Joss’s suffocating presence, the twisted love that felt more like a cage than safety.

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to share the same roof with the man who had been part of his life since childhood, now turned into something monstrous and obsessive. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t escape. Joss was always there. Always watching. Always finding ways to keep him close.

The next morning, Fluke found a thick envelope tucked under his notebook. He knew immediately who had left it. Inside, cash. Enough to cover rent for months.

His chest tightened. Joss was trying to buy his chains.

Days bled together. Joss rarely spoke of his work, but Fluke noticed the patterns: the nights Joss came home late, the sharp smell of iron clinging faintly to his shirts, the way his eyes darkened with things unspoken.

Joss never asked Fluke again about the other men. Instead, he drowned him with attention, with control disguised as kindness. If Fluke hesitated to eat, Joss ordered food. If Fluke lingered at the door, Joss was there to remind him he belonged here, with him.

Every gesture screamed manipulation—twisted devotion that left Fluke gasping for air.

And then, one night, the truth could no longer be ignored.

Fluke heard the front door slam hard enough to rattle the walls. He jumped, heart pounding, as Joss stumbled in. His shirt was soaked, crimson spreading across the white fabric, dripping onto the polished floorboards.

“J-Joss—” Fluke froze, horrified.

Joss lifted his head, his face expressionless, eyes empty. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You’re covered in—”

“Don’t.” Joss’s voice was sharp, breaking. He tore the ruined shirt off, tossing it aside. His hands shook, but his gaze locked on Fluke with the same intensity that always made him feel small, cornered.

Fluke backed away, pressing himself against the wall. “I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to live here with you—”

Joss caught his wrist before the words could finish, yanking him forward. The iron scent of blood filled Fluke’s nose, staining everything between them.

“You don’t get to leave me,” Joss whispered, broken yet dangerous. “You don’t get to run from me, Fluke. Not after everything. Not after what I’ve done to keep you.”

Fluke’s throat tightened. He wanted to scream, to fight—but Joss’s hold was unyielding, his obsession too deep, too consuming.

And as tears slipped down again, Fluke realized the truth: Joss would never let him go. Not even if it meant drowning them both in blood.

Fluke’s breath hitched as Joss dragged him toward the bedroom, the smell of blood still clinging to his skin. His protests were swallowed by the crushing silence between them, broken only by the sound of clothes being torn, buttons scattering across the floor.

“Joss—stop—” Fluke whispered, his voice trembling.

But Joss wasn’t listening. His hands were iron, his grip unyielding as he shoved Fluke onto the mattress. The sheets twisted beneath him as Joss climbed over, pressing him down, chest heaving with a fury that had nowhere else to go.

“You think you can leave me?” Joss’s voice was low, breaking. “After everything? After all I’ve done for you?”

Fluke tried to push up, but Joss’s palm slammed between his shoulder blades, forcing him flat. His face was buried into the pillow, breaths coming shallow and quick. The pressure was suffocating, terrifying—yet his body still betrayed him, trembling under Joss’s weight.

Joss yanked Fluke’s hips back, dragging his boxers down with no patience, no gentleness. The stretch burned as Joss thrust into him, rough and unrelenting, every movement a claim carved into his body.

Fluke cried out, muffled by the pillow, tears stinging his eyes. His fingers clawed at the sheets, desperate for air, desperate for control he didn’t have.

“Mine,” Joss growled against his ear, pressing harder, grinding him down. “No one else touches you. No one else gets this. Only me.”

Each thrust was bruising, his pace brutal, as if he could erase the hands of other men by forcing himself deeper, harder, until Fluke’s cries blurred into broken moans.

Fluke hated it—hated how his body responded, hated how heat coiled low despite the pain. He was caught between fear and something darker, something that bound him to Joss as tightly as chains.

When Joss finally spilled inside him, it was with a groan torn from deep in his chest, his hand still pinning Fluke’s head into the pillow. For a moment, Fluke thought he might black out.

Then the pressure eased. Air rushed back into his lungs, and he gasped, sobbing, trembling all over.

Joss collapsed over him, chest against his back, lips pressing against his damp hair. His voice was raw, almost tender.

“You don’t get to leave me, Fluke,” he whispered, possessive even in exhaustion. “I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you away. I’ll give you everything. But you stay. With me.”

Fluke closed his eyes, tears soaking into the pillow. He wanted to scream, to run—but his body was caged under Joss’s, and his heart, twisted and confused, wouldn’t let him move.

In that moment, he realized the truth: he wasn’t Joss’s lover. He was Joss’s possession. And there was no escape.

When Fluke’s eyes fluttered open, the world was different.

Gone was the familiar ceiling of their shared home. Instead, rough wooden beams stretched above him, dust dancing in pale morning light. The air smelled of pine and smoke, far cleaner than the city. His body ached in every place Joss had touched the night before, but it was the cold bite of metal around his ankles that jolted him fully awake.

He sat up sharply. Heavy iron shackles weighed on his feet, a short chain between them clinking at the movement. Panic flared in his chest.

“Wh—what is this…?” His voice cracked.

The door creaked open. Joss stepped inside, casual in a clean shirt and sweatpants, as though nothing about this was wrong. His dark eyes softened when they landed on Fluke.

“You’re awake.”

“Where are we?” Fluke demanded, tugging at the chain. The sound made his stomach twist. “Why am I—why the hell am I chained like some prisoner?”

Joss set down a tray of food—rice, soup, water—and crouched at the foot of the bed. “Because you can’t be trusted not to run from me.”

Fluke’s heart dropped. “Joss…”

“This house is mine. No one knows about it except me. Out here, no one can hurt you. No one can touch you.” Joss reached forward, brushing messy strands of hair from Fluke’s face, his touch gentle despite the steel glinting at Fluke’s ankles. “Not even you can hurt yourself anymore.”

“I don’t want this!” Fluke’s voice broke, tears rushing hot to his eyes. “You can’t just lock me away like some—some pet!”

“You think this is punishment?” Joss’s lips curled into something too soft, too dangerous. “Pets get cages. You’re not a pet.”

Fluke recoiled, pressing against the headboard, his chest heaving.

Joss sighed, standing, his presence filling the small cabin room. “Good behavior earns freedom,” he said quietly, almost like a teacher reminding a child. “Do what I say. Stay close. And maybe I’ll take the chains off sometimes. But if you even think about leaving…” His voice darkened, colder than the mountain air. “I’ll break your legs before I let you disappear.”

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Joss placed the key to the shackles on the dresser, just out of reach, as if to taunt him. Then he leaned down, pressing a kiss to Fluke’s damp cheek.

“Eat,” he whispered. “You’ll need your strength. We’re going to be here a long time.”

As the door shut behind him, Fluke’s tears fell silently onto the blanket. The shackles clinked with every tremble of his body, cruelly reminding him that this wasn’t just obsession anymore.

It was a prison dressed up as love.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fluke curled against the cold wooden floor, the rough planks pressing into his back. He wore one of Joss’s oversized white blouses, its sleeves hanging past his wrists, the fabric stiff from days of wear. His ankles throbbed violently; one was almost broken from his futile attempts to wrench free of the iron shackles.

He pressed himself harder into the wall, tears streaking down his cheeks as he stared at the small calendar taped crookedly to the cabin wall. Three months. Almost three months of being somewhere in the middle of nowhere, alone, left to rot in the mountain silence.

He tried again to pull at the chain, biting down on his lip as the metal cut into his skin. Pain lanced up his leg, sharp and unrelenting, but he couldn’t stop. He had to do something. Anything.

“Joss…” His voice cracked, hoarse from shouting into the empty room. “Please… please come back…”

Nothing.

The cabin was silent except for the faint whistle of wind outside. Fluke’s sobs echoed off the walls, a sound too small to reach anyone but himself. He had been with Joss every day during that first week, always under his shadow, always forced to obey, until one day Joss didn’t show up. And then another day. And now… almost a month without seeing him.

His mind raced, tangled with conflicting feelings. Anger. Fear. Desperation. Desire.

“I… I need you,” he whispered, curling tighter around himself. “I don’t care what you do, just… come back.”

The blouse hung over his trembling frame, and the cold from the wooden floor bit through the thin fabric. His ankle screamed with every movement, a reminder of how trapped he was, how powerless.

Fluke looked back at the calendar again, counting off the days, marking each one with a shaky hand. Almost three months. Three months of silence. Three months of obsession gnawing at his chest.

And yet, even in the isolation, even in the pain, even in the fear of Joss’s unpredictability, his body and his heart ached for him.

He wanted to see Joss. Wanted him to come back.

He whimpered into the empty room, pressing his forehead against the cold floor, whispering the name that had become both his torment and his salvation:

“Joss…"

Fluke curled himself tighter, knees pressed to his chest, the oversized white blouse hanging off him like a shroud. His body shook with silent sobs, each tear carving a path down his pale cheeks. The cold from the wooden floor seeped into his bones, but he barely noticed, lost in the hollow ache of longing.

He hadn’t touched the food Joss had left behind a week ago. He hadn’t moved from the corner where the shadows clung thickest. His ankle throbbed painfully from the chains, but even that pain was easier to bear than the gnawing emptiness of Joss’s absence.

Fluke’s eyes, red and swollen, drifted shut. Sleep came unbidden, a fragile escape from the relentless torment of his own thoughts. And yet even in dreams, Joss was there—dark, consuming, impossible.

When he woke, it was only to the same cold, the same chains, the same silence. He didn’t eat. He didn’t cry. He simply sat, staring at the crooked calendar, counting the days in his head, feeling the weight of nearly three months of isolation press down on him.

“I need you,” he whispered again into the empty cabin, voice hoarse and raw. “I just… need you to come back.”

The words hung in the cold air, unanswered.

Fluke curled tighter, pressing his face into his knees, shivering from cold and hunger alike. His body screamed for sustenance, but his mind couldn’t move past the desperate ache for Joss, for the presence that had once suffocated him and yet had also made him feel alive.

Sleep came again, unwelcomed but inevitable, and Fluke let it swallow him, holding onto a fragile thread of hope that maybe, somehow, Joss would return.

Fluke stirred, a sharp ache slicing through his temples. Something cold pressed against his chin, tilting his head upward. Panic shot through him.

“J-Joss?!” he croaked, voice raw and trembling.

But it wasn’t Joss. When his eyes blinked open, he saw an older man in a tailored black suit, hair streaked with silver, standing over him. His expression was calm, but there was a weight behind it, a presence that made Fluke’s chest tighten.

“The boss,” the man said quietly, almost reverently. “He’s awake now.”

Fluke sat on the cold floor, ankle throbbing, eyes wide as the older man finished his call.

“The boss,” he repeated, voice low, almost reverent. “He’s awake now.” He glanced at Fluke, noting the swollen ankle. “Probably broken.”

Then, without another word, he ended the call and stepped away. “He’ll be here soon,” he murmured, leaving Fluke to stare after him, trembling.

Hours passed—or maybe minutes; Fluke had lost track—but finally, the door swung open.

Joss stepped inside, flannel blouse damp with sweat from his mission, dark hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes immediately found Fluke.

“J-Joss!!” Fluke cried, relief and longing breaking from him in a raw shout.

But Joss didn’t rush to him. His gaze swept the room, lingering briefly on his subordinate, who nodded and gave a quick report. Joss’s lips pressed into a thin line as he listened, then turned.

Finally, he crossed the room, eyes softening slightly, and brushed his fingers across Fluke’s cheek. “You’re a mess, Fluke,” he said, voice low and dangerous.

Before Fluke could respond, Joss’s hands wrapped around him, lifting him with ease despite his ankle. “Upstairs,” Joss commanded, dragging him toward the staircase.

Fluke whimpered as the pain flared, but Joss didn’t slow. Each step was deliberate, possessive, a reminder of the power Joss held over him.

Once in the bedroom, Joss set him down gently on the bed, but his hands didn’t release him. Fingers traced along his jawline, then down his arms, assessing, claiming.

“You’ve been waiting for me,” Joss murmured, voice low, almost a growl. “I can feel it. Every night. Every tear. Every breath.”

Fluke’s lips quivered. “I… I wanted to see you…”

Fluke’s lips quivered, voice barely a whisper. “I… I wanted to see you… like… like you do?”

His hands shook as he reached out, trembling, and grasped Joss’s hand. Pulling it over his chest, he pressed it there, nodding desperately. “Please… touch me… please… You can go… how many rounds you want…”

Joss’s smirk was slow, dark, predatory. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?” he murmured, voice low, teasing, but dangerous.

Before Fluke could answer, Joss leaned down, lips brushing his ear, teeth grazing the shell. “You missed me too much,” he growled, and the force in his next movements left no room for gentleness.

Joss entered him roughly, flaring pain with every thrust. Fluke cried out, muffled against the pillow, tears streaming freely. His body trembled—not just from pain, but from the sheer intensity of longing, release, and obsession he had carried for weeks.

“You belong to me,” Joss hissed between thrusts, gripping Fluke’s hips, pressing him harder into the mattress. “Every inch. Every moan. Every broken little piece of you… mine.”

Fluke sobbed, wracked with emotion, as Joss’s hands and body moved over him with brutal possession. Each motion was rough, claiming, almost punishing, yet threaded with the desperate devotion only Joss could give.

Fluke’s knees shook as his body betrayed him, overwhelmed with desire, fear, and relief all at once. “I… I missed you so much…” he whispered, voice raw, letting the words escape in gasps.

Joss smirked again, dark and victorious, holding him captive in both body and heart. “And now you’ve got me,” he said, voice low, dangerous, and possessive. “All of me. Forever.”

Tears streamed down Fluke’s cheeks, mixing with sweat, pain, and longing, but he no longer resisted. After weeks of isolation, hunger, and desperate yearning, he could only cling to the man who had haunted his dreams, terrifying and consuming as he was.

Fluke’s chest heaved, body trembling, tears and sweat mingling on his skin. He felt utterly overwhelmed, every nerve alight with desire, fear, and the ache of missing Joss.

As Joss began to pull out, signaling the end of their brutal, consuming session, Fluke’s hands shot out, clutching at him. “No… don’t stop. One more time… please,” he gasped, voice hoarse, desperate. “Even if it hurts… I… I can’t…”

His trembling fingers dragged Joss closer, pressing him down. “I want… I want to see your face while we’re doing it… please…”

Joss froze for a heartbeat, chest rising with shallow, ragged breaths. Then, with a low growl, he reached for Fluke’s head and pressed it firmly into the pillow, tilting it just enough that Fluke could feel the weight of his body above him.

“You don’t get to look at me right now,” Joss murmured, voice dark, dangerous, and possessive. “You belong under me, Fluke. You feel everything… you hear everything… but your eyes… not yet.”

Fluke whimpered into the pillow, muffled cries breaking free as Joss thrust into him again, hard, unrelenting. Pain and pleasure collided in every movement, and Fluke’s world narrowed to the feel of Joss—heavy, commanding, overwhelming.

“I… I can’t…” Fluke gasped, voice breaking. “I… I don’t want you to go…”

Fluke’s voice broke again, muffled cries spilling from his lips. “I… I can’t… I… I don’t want you to go…”

Joss began to pull back, but Fluke reacted instantly, twisting slightly to block him. “No!!” he shouted, desperation choking his words. “Please… just one hug…”

His trembling hands reached for Joss, pleading, but before he could grasp him, Joss’s palm smacked them away sharply. Fluke gasped, a sharp cry escaping as pain and fear collided in his chest.

“No…” Fluke whispered, voice cracking, shaking his head. And then, trembling, he did the one thing he couldn’t stop himself from doing: he reached up and pulled Joss down onto him, arms wrapping around his torso, clinging desperately.

“I love you… please, don’t leave me!! Please… not anymore… I’m scared to be here alone!!” Fluke’s sobs shook him, tears streaming freely onto Joss’s sweat-damp shirt.

Joss froze for a moment, the intensity of Fluke’s emotion cutting through the darkness in his chest. Then, almost imperceptibly, he softened—though not entirely. His hands gripped Fluke’s hips firmly, holding him close, possessive, claiming him again even as he whispered low, rough, and dangerous:

“You’re mine,” Joss murmured, voice hoarse. “Always. And I won’t leave you. Not now. Not ever.”

Fluke buried his face into Joss’s chest, shivering, sobbing, and clinging to him as if he could disappear entirely into Joss’s hold. Joss didn’t pull away this time. His grip was tight, controlling, but his chest pressed against Fluke’s, heart beating violently in tandem with his.

“I’ll stay,” Joss whispered, voice dark and promising. “I’ll stay. And you… you’re not going anywhere. Not from me.”

Fluke’s tears soaked into him, his body trembling with relief, fear, and an ache that only Joss’s obsessive closeness could soothe. Even in the rough, suffocating tension between them, he felt a dangerous kind of safety—because, as much as he feared Joss’s control, he feared being alone more.

Joss’s hands loosened slightly, just enough to cup Fluke’s face as he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. The action was almost gentle, but still carried the weight of ownership, the reminder that Fluke belonged to him.

“You hurt your ankle, didn’t you?” Joss murmured, his voice low, concerned yet laced with that dark, possessive edge.

Fluke winced, pressing a hand against the throbbing joint. “It… it hurts a lot,” he admitted, voice small, tears still clinging to his lashes.

Joss’s fingers traced lightly along the bruised area, cautious but still claiming. “You’ve been trying to fight it… trying to move against the chains,” he said, eyes darkening as he studied Fluke. “Stubborn as ever.”

Fluke let out a shaky breath, hiding his face against Joss’s chest. “I… I just… I didn’t want you to leave me,” he whispered, the mix of fear, longing, and relief raw in his tone.

Joss leaned his forehead against Fluke’s, letting the warmth of his presence settle between them. “I told you,” he murmured, almost tenderly, “I’m not leaving. Mine to keep, mine to protect… and mine to punish if you try to run.”

Fluke shivered at the words, but clung tighter, as if being held by Joss was the only way to survive the dark ache inside him.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Joss whispered, brushing a thumb across Fluke’s cheek, leaving a faint trace of both gentleness and dominance. “I’ll stay. Always.”

Fluke let himself melt into the hold, every tear, every whimper, every tremble absorbed into the obsessive, consuming presence of Joss above him—relieved, terrified, and utterly unable to let go.

Fluke’s fingers clutched at the sheets, trembling as Joss leaned over him, their breaths mingling in the quiet room. The slow stretch burned at first, but it was eased by the steady warmth of Joss’s touch, the way his thumb brushed calming circles over Fluke’s hip.

“I promise,” Joss whispered again, his voice rough but full of certainty. He pressed a soft kiss against Fluke’s temple, pausing to let him adjust. Fluke’s legs tightened around his waist, pulling him closer.

“You feel so good,” Joss murmured, moving just a little, the motion unhurried, like he was savoring every second. Fluke’s lips parted in a shaky sigh, his hand sliding up Joss’s back, nails dragging lightly over skin as if to anchor himself.

“Stay with me,” Fluke breathed, eyes glistening.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Joss said, lowering his forehead to touch Fluke’s. Their lips met in a slow, lingering kiss as Joss began to move, each roll of his hips careful, deep, filled with devotion rather than haste. Every thrust carried the weight of his promise, and every sound Fluke made was answered by Joss’s soft groans, their bodies speaking what words couldn’t.

Joss’s pace picked up little by little, testing, waiting for every sound Fluke made. When Fluke whimpered, his brows knitted in concern, but Fluke shook his head, fingers digging into Joss’s shoulders.

“It’s okay,” Fluke whispered, voice thin but full of trust. “Don’t stop.”

Joss bent down, kissing away the tension from his lips. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, though his hips pressed forward a little harder, the rhythm gaining strength.

The sting from earlier faded, replaced by a deep warmth that spread through Fluke’s body. Each push now drew a gasp from his throat, the kind that made Joss’s heart tighten with both need and affection. His hands slid down Fluke’s thighs, keeping them open, holding him as if he were something fragile but precious.

“Joss…” Fluke moaned, voice breaking as pleasure overtook the lingering ache. The sound alone nearly undid Joss. He buried his face against Fluke’s neck, breathing him in, whispering promises between every thrust.

“You feel so perfect… I’ve got you… only you.”

Their bodies moved together now, slow becoming urgent, pain turning into aching sweetness. Fluke’s back arched, his chest pressing into Joss’s as if trying to fuse them closer. Each movement was both a claim and a vow, the steady build of love expressed in heat and breathless gasps.

Joss’s movements grew steadier, deeper, the room filled with the quiet rhythm of their bodies meeting. Each thrust pushed Fluke further into the mattress, his legs trembling but refusing to let go of Joss’s waist.

“J-Joss…” Fluke’s voice cracked as his back arched, head tilting back against the pillow. The pleasure had fully taken over, replacing the earlier sting with waves that left him breathless. His nails left faint red lines down Joss’s back, dragging with every sharp gasp.

Joss kissed him again, slow and messy, their lips parting only to exchange ragged breaths. “You’re mine… always,” he whispered against Fluke’s mouth, his voice shaking with how tightly Fluke was clenching around him.

The sound of Fluke’s moans, soft and unrestrained, drove Joss closer to the edge. His hips snapped harder now, still careful but unable to hold back the desperation building in him. Each thrust angled just right, and Fluke’s body jolted, his own voice breaking into cries of pleasure.

“Don’t… stop… please,” Fluke whimpered, tears shining at the corners of his eyes—not from pain, but from the intensity of it all. His hands framed Joss’s face, pulling him close, kissing him like he needed to breathe him in.

“I won’t,” Joss groaned, losing himself in the heat of Fluke’s body, in the way he opened so completely for him.

The pace quickened, their bodies slick with sweat, sounds tangled between them. Fluke’s release built fast, unbearable, until his whole body tensed beneath Joss, his cry muffled against Joss’s shoulder as he came, spilling hot between their pressed stomachs.

The tight, pulsing grip of Fluke’s body dragged Joss over the edge with a deep growl. He pushed in deep, holding himself there as his climax tore through him, spilling warmth inside Fluke while his entire body shuddered from the force.

For a long moment, the world was just their ragged breaths, the frantic pounding of their hearts pressed together. Joss stayed inside, trembling, holding Fluke as if he’d never let go. He kissed the damp skin of Fluke’s forehead, whispering against it, “I promised… and I’ll never leave you.”

Never.

Chapter 73: Joylada gang-truth or dare part.2 (so chaotic)18+

The circle was tighter this time, everyone clutching half-empty bottles, the air sharp with alcohol and sweat. Dunk sat with his arms crossed, shoulders tight, scowling at nothing — or, more precisely, at everything.

"Can't believe we're here again at stupid Pond's house," he muttered, earning a few chuckles from the upperclassmen. His glare stayed locked on Joong, eyes burning with an anger that looked one wrong move away from violence.

Joong only smirked, lounging back with his drink, one knee propped lazily, looking entirely unbothered. His gaze slid to Dunk, slow and deliberate, like he was enjoying every second of the younger boy's torment.

The bottle spun.

It clinked to a stop, pointing straight at Phuwin.

Joong leaned forward, the smirk widening, his voice smooth and taunting. "Truth or dare?"

Phuwin's chest tightened. He could feel Pond watching him across the circle, that infuriating grin already tugging at his lips. Choosing truth would make him a coward again. He swallowed, lifted his chin. "Dare."

Joong's eyes gleamed. He let the silence hang for a second, teasing everyone with anticipation, then said casually, "Spend the night with Pond... in his basement." He let the words drawl out, deliberate. "I heard it's so scary down there."

The circle erupted in whistles and laughter.

Phuwin froze, face flushing instantly. Pond let out a bark of a laugh, leaning forward with mock surprise. "Oh? My basement? I'll make sure you're... comfortable."

Dunk's fists clenched at his sides. He glared at Joong like he could burn holes through his smug face. "You asshole," he hissed under his breath.

Joong tilted his head, eyes flicking back to Dunk, amused. "What's wrong, freshman? Scared you'll lose your friend down there?"

The room howled louder, pounding the floor, chanting Phuwin's name.

Phuwin tried to protest, but Pond was already on his feet, tugging him up by the wrist. "Come on, darling. Don't keep the dare waiting."

The cheers followed them down the basement stairs, the door closing with a heavy thud.

Joong leaned back in the circle, satisfied, eyes sliding to Dunk, who was practically vibrating with anger. "Your turn's coming, too," he said smoothly.

The laughter and cheers from inside still rattled the windows, muffled by the heavy walls. Dunk shoved through the back door, his hand clamped around Joong's wrist like a vice, dragging him out into the dimly lit side of Pond's mansion. Out here, the garden was wild, overgrown, moonlight spilling across the stone path. No people. No eyes. Just the two of them.

The moment they were alone, Dunk spun, slamming Joong back against the brick wall with a thud. His eyes blazed, chest heaving.

"Are you fuck out of your empty mind?!" Dunk hissed, his voice low but furious. "Or what?!"

Joong's head tipped back against the wall, but that infuriating smirk never left his lips. He didn't flinch. He didn't fight back. He just looked at Dunk like he'd been waiting for this.

"You dragged me all the way out here just to yell?" Joong drawled, eyes glinting in the half-dark. "That's cute."

Dunk's jaw clenched. He shoved harder, his fist bunching into Joong's shirt. "You humiliated Phuwin! You humiliated me! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Joong's laugh was low, quiet, curling into the air like smoke. "What's wrong with me? Nothing. What's wrong with you, Dunk, is that you care way too much about what Pond does to Phuwin." He leaned forward, his lips brushing the edge of Dunk's ear. "And way too much about what I do to you."

Dunk froze, heat burning through him despite the anger. His fingers tightened around Joong's shirt, knuckles white.

"You think you hate me," Joong whispered, breath hot against Dunk's skin. "But your body—" his eyes dropped, pointed— "tells a different story."

Joong's words hung heavy in the night air, the silence between them charged. Dunk's fists slowly released their grip on Joong's shirt. Instead of leaning in, instead of proving Joong right, he stepped back a pace, arms snapping over his chest like a shield.

His lower lip jutted out stubbornly, eyes glaring but wide with heat he couldn't hide. "No. You won't touch me this time."

The pout on his face made him look half furious, half unbearably tempting.

Joong tilted his head, the smirk deepening, gaze sliding down Dunk's crossed arms to the tension in his body. "This time?" he echoed softly, voice full of suggestion. "So you were waiting for it."

"Shut up." Dunk turned his face away, cheeks burning, but his arms only hugged tighter around his chest.

Joong stepped forward, slow, closing the space Dunk had tried to create. He didn't touch him — not yet. Instead, he leaned just close enough for his breath to brush Dunk's cheek. "Cross your arms all you want, freshman. I don't need to touch you to know you're thinking about it."

Dunk's pout deepened, his foot scuffing the ground like a sulky kid caught in a lie.

Joong chuckled low. "Adorable. You're making it too easy."

 

Dunk's glare shot back up, sharp and defensive, but his ears burned crimson in the moonlight. "I said shut up," he repeated, but the bite in his voice was thinner now, stretched over something shaky.

Joong only leaned in closer, close enough that their noses nearly brushed. His voice dropped, velvety, taunting: "Then make me."

Dunk's stomach twisted. His fists curled at his sides, the urge to shove Joong away warring with the wild, unfamiliar pull that made him want to do anything but. He hated the way Joong's gaze pinned him — like he could see through every layer of bravado, down to the pulse hammering in his throat.

The silence thickened, the garden heavy with it. A cicada screeched somewhere in the dark, breaking the spell for half a second. Dunk tore his eyes away, chest heaving, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as if he could bury his betraying body along with them.

"You're sick," he muttered, but the words trembled instead of cut. "You get off on making people uncomfortable."

Joong's grin softened into something far more dangerous — less cruel, more knowing. "Uncomfortable?" he repeated, tilting his head. His eyes raked over Dunk slowly, deliberately. "Funny. I'd call it something else."

"You are getting on my nerves," Dunk muttered, his voice rough, strained, like every word was dragged out of him. But then he sighed, shoulders loosening just enough to betray how much he'd given up fighting himself. His eyes flicked to Joong's, fire and frustration tangled together.

"Don't make me regret this..." he warned, low and trembling.

Before Joong could respond, Dunk leaned in, grabbing a fistful of Joong's shirt and pressing his lips against his.

It was messy, quick, more like an angry shove than a kiss — but a kiss all the same.

Joong froze for half a heartbeat, then his lips curved against Dunk's in a smirk that Dunk could feel. He didn't push back. He didn't fight it. Instead, he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, deliberately slow, savoring every ounce of Dunk's desperation.

Dunk pulled back first, breath uneven, cheeks burning. He glared as if daring Joong to laugh at him.

Joong's smirk only widened, his voice a dangerous purr. "So the freshman finally caves."

Dunk shoved at his chest half-heartedly, more flustered than furious. "Shut up," he snapped, but his lips were still tingling, betraying him.

Joong leaned in close again, his words brushing warm against Dunk's ear. "Oh, I'm not shutting up anytime soon."

Joong's smirk sharpened, eyes gleaming in the dim light. He tipped his chin toward Dunk and drawled, "Turn around. Let me see if you can actually follow orders, baby."

Dunk let out a low growl, the sound caught between anger and embarrassment. "You're insufferable," he muttered — but his body betrayed him, feet shifting before his pride could stop them.

He turned, slow and stiff, arms still crossed tight over his chest. Every muscle in him was tense, like he was ready to snap back the second Joong pushed too far.

Joong's laugh was soft, rich, curling into the night. "Good boy," he murmured, deliberately, savoring the way Dunk's shoulders twitched at the words. He let his gaze linger, drawing out the silence until Dunk finally whipped his head back over his shoulder, cheeks flushed.

"Don't—" Dunk snapped, jaw tight. "Don't you dare say stuff like that to me."

Joong tilted his head, the smirk never leaving his face. "But it suits you," he said lazily, stepping closer. His voice dropped lower, smooth as silk. "You follow orders even when you swear you won't. That's what makes this fun."

Dunk turned fully again, shoving at Joong's chest — not hard enough to send him away, just enough to prove he could. "Keep pushing me and see what happens," he hissed, eyes blazing.

Joong leaned into the shove instead of resisting, his smirk curving into something even more dangerous. "That's exactly what I'm counting on."

Dunk had just opened his mouth to snap back when Joong closed the distance in one swift move. His lips grazed the side of Dunk's neck, slow and deliberate, followed by the warm, damp trace of his tongue.

Dunk's entire body jolted like he'd been shocked. "H-hey—!" he growled, but the sound cracked halfway through, betraying the shiver that ran up his spine.

Joong chuckled against his skin, low and satisfied, pressing a soft kiss right where Dunk's pulse hammered furiously. His hand slid up Dunk's back, thumb brushing over the tense line of muscle beneath his shirt in an almost gentle caress.

"You act so tough," Joong murmured, his breath hot against Dunk's neck. "But one touch and you're trembling."

Dunk's fists clenched at his sides, caught between shoving Joong away and dragging him closer. His lips parted, chest heaving, but all he managed was a stubborn, shaky snarl. "Don't you dare said it."

Joong's smirk curved against his skin, his voice a whisper just for Dunk. "Make me."

Joong's lips lingered at Dunk's neck before he leaned back, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Why are you so angry anyway?" he asked, voice dripping with mock innocence. "Is it because I'm everyone's Casanova? Please, Dunk — we've been here before."

Dunk's glare faltered, his jaw tightening.

Joong tilted his head, eyes narrowing with sharp amusement. "Or..." His grin widened like a knife's edge. "Is it because I left you after that night in the bathroom?"

Dunk's breath hitched. His eyes darted away, stubbornly avoiding Joong's, his lips pressed into a thin, trembling line.

Joong's laughter was soft but victorious. He leaned in close, eyes gleaming. "Aha. So it is that."

The silence that followed was thick, Dunk's chest rising and falling with the weight of unspoken words.

Joong's smirk softened just slightly, though his tone stayed laced with teasing. "I'm sorry, Dunk. I won't do that again." He let the words curl around Dunk's ear, deliberately gentle. "Did you hear me, baby? I won't do it again."

Dunk's fists clenched tighter, but his shoulders shook, betraying the storm inside him. He didn't look up. Not yet.

Joong's hands slid along Dunk's sides, pulling him just a little closer. He leaned in from behind, letting his lips hover at the edge of Dunk's ear before trailing soft, teasing kisses down his neck.

Dunk stiffened at first, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides, but the warmth of Joong pressed against him made it impossible to stay rigid for long. He could feel the deliberate weight of Joong's body behind him, every movement slow, teasing, and calculated to make him squirm.

"You're tense," Joong murmured, his lips brushing against Dunk's ear. "Relax, baby. Let me take care of you... just a little."

Dunk swallowed, heat flaring across his chest. "Joong... stop—" he tried to protest, voice shaky, but the words came out more like a plea than a command.

Joong chuckled low, the sound vibrating against Dunk's skin. His hands traced along Dunk's hips and sides, gentle but possessive, letting the closeness speak louder than any words.

Dunk's body betrayed him despite his stubborn glare. He shifted slightly, heart racing, the warmth and teasing pressing against him making it impossible to ignore the way Joong was driving him crazy.

"Let do it my way". Joong whispered to Dunk's ear. Which means rough..

the rough surface of the wall. The night air was cool, but Joong's grip burned where his fingers dug into Dunk's hips.

"Stay still," Joong growled, voice low and edged with command. "You wanted to run your mouth—now you'll take me instead."

Dunk sucked in a shaky breath, the protest caught in his throat as Joong's chest pinned him hard against the wall. Every movement from behind was deliberate—grinding, claiming, leaving no space for escape. Dunk's fists curled tight, but the tension bled into a shiver when Joong bit sharply into the side of his neck, leaving a mark that stung in the night air.

"You're mine out here," Joong hissed, dragging his teeth lower, his hand sliding boldly down Dunk's stomach and holding him there, forcing him to feel the weight of his control.

Dunk gasped, half in defiance, half in need. "Joong... someone could—"

"Let them hear," Joong cut him off, snapping his hips forward just enough to make Dunk choke on his own voice. "Let them know you belong to me."

"To Joong". Dunk whispered...

Dunk’s cheek pressed against the cold brick, his breath fogging in sharp bursts as Joong’s rhythm drove him wild. His arms trembled, still braced against the wall, but his strength was unraveling fast. Every thrust sent fire through his body, tearing gasps and bitten-off moans from his lips despite his desperate attempts to stay quiet.

“Louder,” Joong growled against his ear, his teeth scraping over the shell before sinking into it. “I want to hear you, Dunk. No more hiding.”

Dunk shook his head, eyes squeezed shut, trying to hold onto some shred of pride. “N-no… I won’t—”

Joong’s hand wrapped around his throat, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to command. He forced Dunk’s head back just enough to whisper against his jaw, his voice low and dangerous. “You already are.”

Dunk’s breath hitched, his body arching despite himself. His hips jolted back into Joong’s, the involuntary movement making his own face burn hotter.

“See?” Joong’s smirk pressed against his skin, his thrusts driving in harder, deeper. “Your body’s begging for me.”

A broken whimper escaped Dunk’s throat, and the sound made Joong’s grip tighten on his hips, fingers digging in until he knew there would be bruises. He slammed into him rougher, claiming every inch, every sound.

“Joong—ah—” Dunk gasped, his voice raw now, breaking apart under the intensity. He clawed at the wall, trying to find something to hold onto, but the rough surface only scraped his palms.

“That’s it,” Joong hissed, his breath hot and uneven. “Say my name. Say who’s inside you.”

Dunk bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, but when Joong’s thrusts turned merciless, perfectly angled to hit that spot over and over, his pride crumbled. His voice cracked, torn from his chest.

“Joong!”

The sound was raw, desperate, louder than he meant it to be.

Joong groaned low, satisfied, his pace unrelenting. “Good boy.”

The words seared through Dunk worse than the rough wall or Joong’s teeth. His body shook, shame and pleasure tangled until he couldn’t separate them anymore. His vision blurred, his voice breaking into cries he couldn’t swallow down.

“Don’t stop—” he begged before he could stop himself, the words spilling like betrayal.

Joong’s grin widened against his neck. “I wasn’t planning to.”

His hand snaked lower, wrapping around Dunk’s cock, stroking him in time with the brutal thrusts. Dunk nearly collapsed against the wall, his knees buckling, the double assault overwhelming. Every stroke, every push into him wound him tighter, until he was shaking, gasping, clinging to the wall like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

“You’re close,” Joong murmured, his voice a growl of satisfaction. “Come for me, Dunk. Come while I’m inside you.”

Dunk’s whole body tensed, his voice cracking into a ragged cry as his climax tore through him, hot and messy against the wall. His release pulsed through Joong’s fist, his body trembling uncontrollably, every muscle giving out under the weight of it.

Joong didn’t slow down — if anything, the sight of Dunk falling apart under him pushed him further. He drove into him with raw need, groaning low against Dunk’s shoulder, until his own release hit hard. He buried himself deep, spilling inside with a harsh growl, his entire body shuddering against Dunk’s.

For a long moment, the only sound was their gasps, their bodies trembling and pressed tight against each other. The night air cooled the sweat on their skin, but Joong didn’t pull away. He stayed there, buried deep, his lips dragging over Dunk’s shoulder in a slow, lazy kiss.

“You look good like this,” Joong whispered, voice hoarse but satisfied. “Marked up, ruined… mine.”

Dunk’s head hung low, his chest heaving, face flushed scarlet. He wanted to snap back, to deny it — but the truth was smeared all over the wall, dripping down his legs, and written in the tremor still running through his body.

All he could manage was a shaky whisper, his pride fractured but not gone. “You’re… an asshole.”

Joong laughed softly against his skin, nipping his neck once more. “Maybe. But I’m your asshole.”

Dunk’s breath hitched, his thighs trembling as the sticky warmth slid down between them. He whipped his head around, glaring over his shoulder, voice low and furious.
“It’s… it’s coming out of me! Why didn’t you use a condom, you bastard?”

Joong only smirked, his fingers sliding down Dunk’s inner thigh, catching the mess that leaked out. He lifted them slowly, deliberately, so Dunk could see the glistening strands between his fingertips.

“What a waste…” Joong muttered, his tone mocking but dripping with hunger. Without warning, he pressed those slick fingers back inside, forcing Dunk to gasp, his body jolting against the wall.

“J-Joong!” Dunk’s voice cracked, his hands slapping against the brick for balance as Joong worked his fingers deep, pushing his release back into him. His chest heaved, shame burning through every nerve, but his body clenched helplessly around Joong’s intrusion.

“Hold it,” Joong growled in his ear, curling his fingers just right to make Dunk’s knees buckle. “I put it there, so you’ll keep it there. Don’t waste a drop.”

Dunk whimpered despite his glare, his thighs quivering. “You’re sick—!”

Joong’s chuckle was dark, pleased. He leaned in, licking a stripe up the side of Dunk’s neck, tasting the sweat and salt of his skin. “Maybe. But look at you, baby. You’re taking it. You’re clenching around my fingers like you love it.”

Dunk’s teeth sank into his lip, his body betraying him with every shiver and shake. He hated it—hated how the humiliation only made the heat coil tighter in his stomach.

Joong twisted his fingers, pumping them slow and rough, his other hand gripping Dunk’s hip to keep him from writhing away. “Say it,” he ordered, voice low and commanding. “Say you’ll hold it for me.”

Dunk shook his head, stubborn even as his body arched against the wall. “N-never.”

Joong growled against his ear, biting down hard on the curve of his shoulder until Dunk gasped. “Then I’ll make you.”

His fingers thrust harder, deeper, the lewd sound of it filling the night air. Dunk’s protests dissolved into ragged moans, his head dropping forward against the wall as he struggled to keep himself upright.

Joong’s smirk widened, satisfied. “Good boy. That’s more like it.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Phuwin hugged himself as they stepped off the last creaking stair. The basement smelled faintly of dust and damp stone, the kind of air that clung heavy to the lungs. Shadows stretched long, swallowing the corners of the room even when Pond flicked on the dim lamp.

“I-It’s creepy here…” Phuwin muttered, his eyes darting toward the cobwebs hanging from the wooden beams.

Pond chuckled low, his voice echoing in the hollow space. “Yeah, it is. This place has been here for centuries.” He wandered ahead, his hand brushing along the wall before stopping at a covered shape. With a quick tug, he pulled the cloth away, revealing a faded, velvet couch, its carved wooden frame elegant despite the dust. “Victorian couch,” he said with a proud grin. “Family heirloom.”

Phuwin blinked, hesitant. “…Why would anyone keep a couch down here?”

Pond dropped lazily onto it, dust puffing up around him. He leaned back like a king on his throne, one arm draped over the backrest, eyes glittering as they followed Phuwin’s nervous fidgeting. “Because it’s perfect for situations like this.”

Phuwin’s cheeks flushed. “Situations like…?”

“Dares,” Pond said simply, patting the empty cushion beside him. “Come here.”

Phuwin shook his head, hugging his arms tighter. “No way. That thing probably has ghosts sitting on it.”

Pond laughed, the sound deep, amused, filling the whole basement. “Then let them watch.”

The words made Phuwin’s stomach flip. His eyes darted toward the stairs, but the heavy door was shut tight. The chants of the others upstairs were muffled now, leaving only the creak of old pipes and the hum of the lamp between them.

Pond leaned forward, his grin softening into something more coaxing. “Hey,” he said, his voice lower now, velvet in the thick air. “Don’t look so scared. I’ll keep you safe.”

Phuwin hesitated, biting his lip, then slowly crossed the room. The couch groaned when he sank down beside Pond, keeping a careful distance. Pond’s arm slid easily along the backrest, close enough for Phuwin to feel the heat of him but not quite touching.

“See?” Pond murmured, leaning closer. “Not so bad.”

Phuwin’s pulse hammered. He swallowed, eyes darting anywhere but Pond’s face. “Still creepy,” he whispered.

Pond’s grin curved, playful but edged with something sharper. “Then maybe I should distract you.”

Phuwin blinked, his cheeks flushing crimson. “W-what…?!”

Pond leaned back, letting the dim light catch his smirk. “Yeah. They say the best sex you can ever have is right here on this couch.” His tone was teasing, but the low rumble of his voice made Phuwin’s stomach twist.

Phuwin’s hands gripped the edge of the cushion. “Y-you… you don’t mean…”

“I do,” Pond said, leaning closer, the scent of him rich in the confined space. “And if you’re brave enough, maybe you’ll find out for yourself.”

Phuwin froze, pulse racing, a mix of excitement and nerves shooting through him. His voice was barely audible. “I… I don’t know if I’m brave enough…”

Pond’s grin softened, but the heat in his gaze didn’t waver. “Bravery isn’t about not being scared,” he murmured, letting his hand brush the small of Phuwin’s back, just enough to make him shiver. “It’s about feeling afraid and still wanting it anyway.”

Phuwin swallowed hard, his eyes darting between Pond’s teasing smile and the worn couch beneath them. The basement suddenly felt smaller, hotter, charged with a tension that made every heartbeat thunder in his chest.

“C-come closer,” Pond whispered, voice low, coaxing. “Let’s see if this couch really lives up to its reputation.”

Phuwin hesitated, then slowly, almost reluctantly, eased closer. His legs brushed Pond’s, and the warmth of him pressed against Phuwin in a way that made his breath hitch.

Pond’s hand slid a little higher along Phuwin’s side, lingering at the curve of his waist. “Relax,” he murmured, eyes locked on Phuwin’s. “Just trust me.”

Phuwin’s lips parted slightly, his chest heaving as he nodded, heart pounding with both fear and curiosity. Every shadow in the basement suddenly seemed to lean in, watching, as the couch became the stage for something entirely new…

Phuwin hesitated for a moment, hands pressed to the worn velvet of the couch, knees slightly trembling. “Are you sure… it won’t break? It’s… pretty old and—”

“Don’t worry,” Pond interrupted, his voice low, smooth, and full of confidence. He knelt behind Phuwin, slowly rolling the condom down, letting Phuwin feel the deliberate, teasing touch. “I’ve got you. Nothing’s going to happen unless I want it to.”

Phuwin swallowed hard, cheeks flushing, heart hammering in his chest. The basement felt impossibly close, shadows stretching around them, the faint light catching every curve of his back, every movement he made.

“Like this?” Pond murmured, brushing a hand along Phuwin’s hip, teasing just enough to make him shiver. “You’re already so tense… I hope you’re ready to let go.”

Phuwin’s breath hitched, spine arching slightly at the warmth of Pond’s hand. “I… I think so…” he admitted, voice small, hesitant, but eager.

Pond’s lips curved into a smirk as he pressed close, letting his chest graze Phuwin’s back. “Good boy,” he murmured. “Now… just relax, and I’ll take care of everything.”

With a slow, measured motion, Pond positioned himself behind Phuwin, letting the heat of their bodies press together. The basement’s shadows wrapped around them, but all Phuwin could feel was the firm weight of Pond, the deliberate pull against him, and the teasing grind that made his thighs quiver.

Phuwin’s hands dug into the couch cushions, nails dragging lightly across the fabric as Pond slowly pushed in, testing him, letting him adjust to the sensation. Every inch drew a sharp, breathless sound from Phuwin’s lips, half moan, half gasp.

“You’re so tight…” Pond growled, pressing closer, letting the sound of their bodies and the creak of the old couch fill the quiet space. “Feels perfect… just like I imagined.”

Phuwin’s back arched, lips parting, his body trembling under the weight of sensation and anticipation. “P-Pond… ahh…” he whispered, voice shaky, betraying both nerves and need.

Pond’s hands roamed along Phuwin’s sides, steadying him, holding him in place while teasing him with deliberate, measured movements. “That’s it… take it all,” he murmured, voice low, commanding. “Let yourself feel it. I’m right here.”

Phuwin let out a soft, broken whimper, hips pressing back against Pond with every slow thrust, each one driving deeper, testing him further. The thrill, the heat, and the intimacy of the moment made every shiver, every gasp, every whispered sound feel like it was just for them — as if the basement itself had melted away, leaving only the two of them and the couch that had been waiting centuries for this.

Phuwin’s breath came in short, uneven gasps as the couch groaned beneath them. His hands dug into the worn velvet, knuckles whitening, hips shifting instinctively with every deliberate thrust.

“Slow down…” he whimpered, voice trembling. “It… it feels… funny in this position…”

Pond’s hands gripped his hips firmly, holding him steady. “Hmm? Funny, you say?” he murmured, voice low, teasing. “I think it looks perfect… feels perfect. You’re perfect like this.”

Phuwin shivered, heat pooling between his legs, cheeks burning as his body betrayed his words. He tried to push back slightly, to tell Pond he needed a pause, but every inch of pressure made him whimper anew, betraying how much he was enjoying it despite himself.

“Just… keep still,” Pond whispered, his chest brushing against Phuwin’s back. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you, every move, every sound…”

Phuwin’s back arched instinctively, lips parting as a soft moan escaped him. “Ah… Pond…” His voice was shaky, full of both protest and longing.

Pond leaned closer, teeth grazing the curve of his neck, fingers pressing just right along Phuwin’s hips to control him. “You’re doing so well, baby… so tight, so responsive…”

Phuwin whimpered again, the combination of the slow grind and Pond’s rough dominance making his knees quiver. He wanted to pull back, but his body pressed forward of its own accord, responding to every calculated movement, every whispered praise.

The basement felt smaller, hotter, charged with the intimacy of the moment — shadows dancing across the walls, the faint lamp casting warm light on the sheen of sweat along Phuwin’s spine.

“Ah… Pond…” Phuwin gasped, a mix of shyness, shame, and pure desire threading through his voice. “Slow… please…”

Pond chuckled low, letting the pace ease slightly, just enough for Phuwin to catch his breath. “There you go… that’s my good boy,” he murmured, voice softening but still laced with dominance. “I’ll take care of you. Just like I said.”

Phuwin’s body trembled beneath him, every nerve alive with sensation. He buried his face slightly against the couch, clinging to the cushions as he tried to steady his breathing, heart hammering from both fear and the intoxicating thrill of being so thoroughly claimed.

The sudden flicker of the lamp plunging them into complete darkness made Phuwin’s stomach twist. His hands fumbled along the velvet, knees slipping slightly on the couch as panic surged.

“Ahh!!” Phuwin screamed, startled by the shift. Instinctively, he kicked backward — hard — right into Pond’s sensitive part.

“Ahhh—fuck!” Pond yelped, staggering back slightly, one hand flying down instinctively. His gasp echoed off the basement walls, sharp and ragged.

Phuwin froze, heart hammering in his chest. “I—I didn’t mean—” his voice cracked, muffled by the sudden darkness. Every instinct screamed at him, adrenaline spiking, legs trembling as he tried to scramble forward to safety.

Pond, however, recovered quickly, though he was still wincing, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “You little shit,” he hissed, voice strained but amused, one hand pressing to his groin while the other reached out blindly. “You’re lucky it’s dark… or I’d show you exactly what happens when you kick me.”

Phuwin whimpered, pressing his face into the couch cushions, trembling. “S-sorry… I just… it went dark all of a sudden…”

Pond’s hand finally found Phuwin’s waist, gripping him firmly, dragging him back toward the center of the couch. Despite the sting, his voice was low and teasing. “Dark or not, it still hurts!!.”

Phuwin’s body stiffened, the mix of fear, embarrassment, and residual desire making him shiver uncontrollably. “Y-you’re—too strong…” he whispered, voice barely audible.

“And you’re too cute to resist,” Pond murmured, letting the pain linger as part of the tease. He leaned close, breath warm against Phuwin’s ear. “Now… settle down, baby. Darkness or not, we will finish this my way.”

Phuwin’s hands trembled as he adjusted on the couch, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The shadows pressed in, cold and thick, but Pond’s presence was hot, overwhelming, impossible to ignore.

“Where the hell is your hole?!” Pond growled, voice sharp and strained in the darkness. “I can’t see a damn thing!”

Phuwin’s heart hammered in his chest. “I-I don’t know!” he whimpered, panic thick in his voice as he shifted on all fours, trying to guide Pond. But every time he moved, his leg flailed slightly, kicking Pond’s already sensitive dick.

“Ahhh—fuck! Watch it!” Pond groaned, one hand clutching his aching spot, the other groping blindly, trying to find the right place. “Damn it… it hurts… can’t… can’t even get hard all the way.”

Phuwin froze, eyes wide in the pitch-black, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” he whimpered, curling slightly, trying to stop hurting him.

Pond gritted his teeth, voice rough but teasing through the pain. “You’re lucky I’m patient… but you better help me, baby. Move properly! Show me where I go!”

Phuwin’s hands slid along the couch, fingers trembling as he tried to orient himself, pushing back awkwardly while whispering, “I… I don’t know… I can’t see…!”

Pond growled low, leaning closer, pressing his chest into Phuwin’s back. “Then feel me, dumbass… feel my dick and tell me where to put it. Darkness or not, I’m not giving up on you.”

Phuwin whimpered, trembling under the weight of both Pond’s hand on his waist and the frustration in his voice. “I… I’m trying… I swear…”

“Then stop flailing!” Pond snapped, one hand gripping Phuwin’s hips firmly, forcing him to stay steady. “Just let me feel you, guide me… we’ll figure it out. But if you kick me again, you’re in for way more than a little pain.”

Phuwin’s cheeks burned, heat and fear mingling as he pressed himself forward carefully, finally feeling the tip nudging against him. “Here… I think…” he whispered shakily.

Pond exhaled through clenched teeth, shifting slightly until he felt the opening. “Finally,” he muttered, voice low, rough, and strained with both frustration and desire. “Stay still… or I swear—”

Phuwin swallowed hard, pressing forward, nodding despite his nerves. “I-I’ll stay still…”

The basement was thick with tension, the darkness pressing in, every movement deliberate, every gasp and whimper amplified. Pond positioned himself slowly, painfully aware of the earlier kicks and his own sensitivity, but the raw need in him was impossible to ignore.

“Good… that’s it,” Pond growled, gripping Phuwin’s hips to steady him. “Now… let’s see if this couch really lives up to its reputation.”

“Fuck…” Pond growled, teeth clenched, voice rough and ragged as his hips jerked uncontrollably. In the darkness, half the time he was thrusting blindly, slamming into air, the other half sinking into Phuwin’s trembling hole.

Phuwin whimpered, shivering, his hands digging into the worn velvet of the couch as every misaligned thrust sent sharp jolts of both pain and pleasure through him. “A-ah… Pond… careful…!”

Pond’s grip on his hips tightened, holding him still despite the chaotic movements. “I’m trying!” he growled, voice thick with frustration and need. “You’re squirming too much… stop moving or I swear I’ll—”

Phuwin let out a small, guilty whimper, pressing forward as best he could, trying to align with Pond despite the uneven chaos. “I’m… I’m trying…!”

“Good,” Pond muttered, teeth scraping along his jaw, lips brushing his ear. “God… you’re so tight… so damn good even when I can’t see a thing.”

Every sloppy thrust, every slip against the couch, made Phuwin tremble harder, his breath hitching in ragged gasps. The darkness magnified every sensation — every brush, every slap of skin, every growl.

Pond groaned, leaning closer, pressing his chest into Phuwin’s back. “Keep still… stay on all fours… I’ve almost got to cum now…”

Phuwin nodded shakily, cheeks burning, heart hammering. “I-I’m trying… I swear…”

Pond’s movements grew more deliberate despite the earlier chaos, finding the rhythm just enough to drive Phuwin wild, even as he muttered curses under his breath. “Shhh… just take it baby.…”

Phuwin’s hands dug harder into the couch, nails dragging, body trembling with every rough, messy thrust. His whimpers filled the basement, the darkness swallowing them both but making every gasp and growl feel impossibly intense.

Phuwin’s body quivered violently, every nerve on fire as Pond slammed into him, hips pounding with a brutal rhythm. The couch groaned under their weight, legs wobbling, fabric stretching until a loud snap echoed through the basement.

“Ahhh—shit!” Pond cursed, gripping Phuwin’s hips tighter to keep control as the couch tilted dangerously. His dick throbbed painfully from the earlier kicks, half aching, half impossibly hard. “Fuck… baby, hold still…!”

Phuwin’s hands clawed at the cushions, nails tearing through the fabric, body pressed down against Pond as every thrust hit deep and wild. “I-I’m close… I can’t—ahhh!” he gasped, thighs trembling uncontrollably.

“Me too,” Pond groaned, voice rough and ragged. “Fuck… almost—ahh—breaking me!” He slammed in harder, desperate to ride the storm with Phuwin, even as pain and pleasure collided in every nerve.

Phuwin’s moans tore from his throat, a mix of panic, pain, and pure release, hips jerking back to meet every punishing thrust. “P-Pond… I’m c-coming… ahhh!”

Pond’s grip on his hips was iron-strong, holding him tight even as the couch threatened to collapse entirely. “That’s it… that’s my good boy… take it all… mine… feel it!”

The basement filled with the sound of skin slapping, ragged breaths, and Phuwin’s high-pitched screams as his orgasm ripped through him. Every muscle clenched, every nerve alive, his body shaking uncontrollably against Pond.

“Ahhh—fuck!” Pond cursed, the combination of Phuwin’s tightness, the chaos of the broken couch, and his own overstimulated dick driving him over the edge. With a strangled groan, he came deep inside Phuwin, shuddering as his release pulsed through them both.

Phuwin collapsed forward, trembling, gasping, his body slick with sweat and the aftermath of their messy, chaotic climax. Pond held him close, chest heaving, voice low and husky even as he rested his forehead against Phuwin’s back.

“God… you’re mine, baby,” Pond murmured, teeth biting lightly along Phuwin’s shoulder. “Every inch… … all mine.”

The couch lay half-collapsed beneath them, groaning and broken, but neither of them cared. All that existed was the heat, the chaos, and the unrelenting aftermath of everything they’d unleashed in the darkness.

Pond pulled out slowly, letting the used condom roll down his length. He sighed, the tension in his shoulders finally easing just a little.

“Phuwin… where the hell are you?!” he growled, voice rough but edged with amusement as he looked around the collapsed, groaning couch.

“R-right here…” Phuwin squeaked, fumbling forward in the darkness. His face collided with Pond’s chest and chin, shoving against him awkwardly, cheeks burning crimson. The impact made them both stumble slightly, their foreheads and noses knocking together with a soft thud.

“Oof!” Pond muttered, eyes narrowing in mock annoyance, though a small smirk tugged at his lips. “Careful, baby… or I’ll show you exactly what happens when you hit me.”

Phuwin pressed harder, hiding his flustered face against Pond’s, voice trembling. “I-I’m sorry… I just… I couldn’t—”

“Yeah, it´s fine now… let’s just get out of here,” Pond muttered, still catching his breath, voice low and rough. He leaned back slightly against the half-collapsed couch, eyes scanning the chaos of cushions and scattered clothes.

“Pass me my pants…” Phuwin mumbled, fumbling blindly along the dark floor.

“I… I don’t see them either,” Pond admitted, voice tinged with amusement as he groped through the mess. “Seriously… where the hell did they go?”

Phuwin let out a small whine, pressing himself against Pond’s side briefly as he squirmed. “I… I think… they flew somewhere when the couch fell…”

Pond groaned, one hand massaging his temple while the other rested on Phuwin’s trembling back. “Great… now we have to hunt for pants in the dark. This is ridiculous.”

Phuwin shuffled forward awkwardly, bumping into Pond again. “Sorry…” he whispered, cheeks burning red. “It’s… hard to see.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Pond said, a small smirk tugging at his lips despite the frustration. “But hey… at least you’re still stuck to me. Can’t escape even if you wanted to.”

Phuwin whimpered softly, shoving his face into Pond’s side. “I-I’m not trying to escape…”

“Sure you’re not, baby,” Pond murmured, voice low and teasing, running a hand along Phuwin’s back. “Now… pants or no pants, we’ve survived this basement disaster together. That counts for something, right?”

Phuwin let out a shaky laugh, nodding against Pond’s chest. “Yeah… counts for… something…”

Pond chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of Phuwin’s head. “Come on… let’s find these pants and get the hell out before someone hears the couch snap from upstairs. Then maybe we can… rest properly.”

Phuwin nodded, finally letting himself be guided by Pond, still flushed, trembling, and utterly spent from the chaos — but safe, warm, and tangled up with the boy who had claimed him in the dark basement.

Chapter 74: “OhmNanon,” Ohm answered with a tired smile, his lips brushing Nanon’s temple. “Always.”

The call came on an ordinary Wednesday. Nanon was halfway through his coffee when his manager told him the news: he’d been offered a role in a new prestige drama, one that promised depth, complexity, and the kind of acting challenges he’d been craving. He almost didn’t hear the next part—

“They’re pairing you with Ohm.”

His heart skipped. Years had passed since they had last worked side by side. In that time, life had reshaped them. Nanon had thrown himself into music and indie projects, while Ohm had pursued roles that took him abroad, far from the circles they once shared. They had drifted—not out of anger, but out of the quiet inevitability of different paths.

Still, the thought of standing in front of cameras with Ohm again sent a storm of emotions through him: nostalgia, nervousness, and something like hope.

The cast gathered around a long table, scripts stacked neatly in front of them. When Nanon walked in, Ohm was already there, flipping through pages with the same casual concentration that had once driven Nanon crazy. Their eyes met.

For a moment, neither spoke. Then, a smile—small, hesitant, but real.

“Long time,” Ohm said.

“Yeah,” Nanon replied, sliding into the seat across from him. “Guess they thought we still had something left to show.”

As the reading began, something clicked. Their characters weren’t brothers, or lovers, or rivals, but two men whose lives intertwined in unexpected ways—friends bound by loyalty in a story much bigger than either of them. It wasn’t BL; it was something rawer, heavier, and strangely fitting.

By the end of the session, the room buzzed with excitement about the chemistry between them. But Nanon and Ohm sat in silence, each processing the same unspoken truth: they still understood each other, even after all these years.

Filming brought long nights and early mornings. At first, they kept things professional. Conversations were polite, limited to script notes and blocking. But slowly, the old rhythm resurfaced. Ohm would crack a quiet joke that made Nanon laugh too loud. Nanon would challenge a scene, and Ohm would back him up with unshakable loyalty.

One evening, after a particularly grueling shoot, they found themselves sitting on the curb outside the studio, sharing bottled water like they used to as rookies.

“You’ve changed,” Ohm said suddenly, not as an accusation but an observation.

“So have you,” Nanon replied. “But… maybe not in the ways that matter.”

“Ohm looked at him then, really looked, and nodded. ‘It feels good. Being here with you again.’

Nanon let the silence hang between them, the cool night air filling the space where words couldn’t. He twisted the cap back onto his water bottle and smirked. ‘Don’t get too sentimental on me. We’re still only halfway through the shoot.’

Ohm chuckled, shaking his head. Then, almost casually, he said, ‘You wanna grab a coffee? Or a drink, maybe? For old time’s sake.’

Nanon raised an eyebrow. ‘At this hour? You still can’t sleep without caffeine?’

‘Maybe I just don’t wanna go home yet,’ Ohm admitted, his tone softer this time. ‘Feels like we’ve got too much catching up to do.’

Nanon studied him for a moment, the city lights casting faint shadows on his face. This was Ohm—same teasing grin, same restless energy—but with something new underneath, a quiet weight that only years apart could bring.

‘Alright,’ Nanon said finally, pushing himself up from the curb. ‘But if we’re doing this, you’re buying. You still owe me from that time you “forgot” your wallet.’

Ohm laughed, standing as well. ‘You’re never letting that go, are you?’

‘Not a chance.’

They walked side by side down the street, the fatigue of the long shoot fading just a little, replaced by something lighter—something that felt like coming home.

The bar was buzzing with life. Neon signs glowed against the brick walls, laughter spilled over from crowded tables, and music thumped low but steady, wrapping around the hum of conversations. Outside had been quiet, but here—here was alive.

Ohm pushed the door open and glanced back. “Still your kind of place?”

Nanon smirked. “You mean loud, messy, and full of people who’ll probably recognize us? Totally.”

They slipped into a booth in the corner, half-hidden from the main floor. The waiter came quickly, and Ohm didn’t hesitate. “Two beers,” he said, then shot Nanon a look. “Unless you’ve gone soft and switched to mocktails?”

Nanon rolled his eyes. “Beers are fine. But you’re still paying.”

When the drinks arrived, they clinked their glasses together. For a moment, they just sat there, watching the swirl of people around them—friends shouting across tables, couples leaning in close, strangers brushing past in the press of the crowd.

“It’s strange,” Ohm said, leaning back against the booth. “Being in a place like this again. With you.”

Nanon took a sip, then tilted his head. “Feels like nothing’s changed. But everything has, right?”

Ohm’s smile was tinged with nostalgia. “We used to come out like this after shoots all the time. Remember? Even if we were dead tired, we’d still end up somewhere crowded, pretending we had energy left.”

“And then you’d fall asleep halfway through your drink,” Nanon teased.

“That was once.”

“Three times,” Nanon corrected, grinning.

They laughed, the kind of laugh that reached their eyes and drew a few curious stares from nearby tables. Neither of them cared.

For a while, they let the noise wash over them, talking in bursts—about the drama, about directors they’d worked with, about music, about traveling. Slowly, the conversation edged into deeper waters: the roles that scared them, the loneliness of the industry, the weight of expectations.

Ohm swirled his beer and glanced at Nanon. “You know… I missed this. Not the work, not the noise—this. Us.”

Nanon set his glass down and leaned forward slightly, voice steady. “Yeah. Me too.”

The second round of beers turned into a third, and then shots appeared out of nowhere—compliments of a group of fans who had recognized them but respected their space. At first, Ohm and Nanon laughed it off, promising themselves just one more. But the music was getting louder, the bar more crowded, and soon their promises dissolved into warm, dizzy laughter.

“Ohm,” Nanon slurred slightly, leaning across the table. “You’re way too competitive even with drinking. It’s not a contest.”

“Everything’s a contest with you,” Ohm shot back, though his grin gave him away. He drained the last of his glass and slammed it down like a declaration of victory.

Nanon shook his head, laughing too hard to argue. The DJ switched to a pounding pop track, and the crowd on the dance floor erupted. Ohm’s eyes flicked toward the pulsing lights, then back at Nanon.

“Come on,” he said suddenly, standing and tugging Nanon’s wrist.

“What? No, no way,” Nanon protested, but his words were lost under the music. “We don’t dance—”

But Ohm was already dragging him into the thick of the crowd.

The floor vibrated with energy—bodies moving, hands in the air, voices shouting along to lyrics. Ohm jumped right in, unbothered by the eyes that might be watching. He swayed, stumbled, laughed, and before long Nanon was pulled in too, his initial resistance crumbling.

“You’re insane!” Nanon shouted over the beat, but he was grinning, spinning around as the crowd’s energy swept him up.

“Sing it!” Ohm yelled back, pointing at him as the chorus hit.

And Nanon did—off-key, too loud, completely unpolished. Ohm joined in, their voices clashing with the music and with each other, but they didn’t care. They sang, they danced, they bumped shoulders and laughed until their stomachs hurt.

For a few wild minutes, it was just them again—two rookies who once stayed out too late, two friends who had found their way back onto the same path.

When the song finally faded into another, they collapsed against the edge of the dance floor, breathless and red-faced.

“See?” Ohm panted, hands on his knees. “Still got it.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Nanon said, still laughing, his hair a mess, his voice hoarse from singing. “But… yeah. We still got it.”

And as the music carried on, their laughter blended into it, something whole and familiar—something that had been waiting for them all along.

The music still thumped inside, but out near the edge of the dance floor the world seemed softer. Both of them were flushed from the alcohol, their laughter quieter now, hanging in the space between breaths.

Nanon leaned closer, his shoulder brushing Ohm’s. The touch was casual, yet grounding, steadying him more than the bar stool could. He smirked, voice low but playful.

“Come to my place,” he said, almost like a dare. “I’ve got more beverages.”

Ohm raised an eyebrow, amused. “Beverages? You mean whatever’s left in the back of your fridge?”

“Imported stuff,” Nanon defended with mock seriousness. “Okay, maybe some cheap whiskey too. Point is—you in?”

For a moment, Ohm just looked at him. The years apart, the distance they had let grow—it all felt like it had shrunk to nothing in that instant. He could see the same spark in Nanon’s eyes that had always pulled him in: mischievous, alive, and undeniably honest.

“Yeah,” Ohm finally said, grinning. “I’m in. Lead the way before I change my mind.”

Nanon laughed, pushing himself off the stool a little unsteadily. “Don’t blame me if you regret it tomorrow.”

“Oh, I will,” Ohm shot back, following close behind. “But it’ll be worth it.”

They left the bar together, shoulders brushing again as they stepped into the cool night air, the noise fading behind them. The streets were alive with late-night chaos—vendors still calling out, groups of people weaving past—but for Ohm and Nanon, it felt like the whole city had narrowed to just the two of them walking side by side.

Nanon’s apartment wasn’t huge, but it was warm, scattered with little signs of his life—guitars propped against the wall, books piled up near the couch, an empty takeaway box still on the coffee table. Ohm grinned as he looked around.

“Same old Nanon,” he teased, dropping onto the couch. “Still allergic to tidying up.”

“Hey, don’t judge my creative chaos,” Nanon shot back, rummaging through the kitchen. Moments later he returned triumphantly with a half-full bottle of whiskey and a couple of mismatched glasses.

They poured. They drank. They laughed harder than they had in years. Old stories spilled out—audition disasters, forgotten lines, awkward interviews, even the messy romances they’d both had along the way.

“Remember when you dated—what was her name?” Ohm started, already chuckling.

Nanon groaned. “Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

“Oh, come on! You wrote her a song!”

“That was private!” Nanon said, nearly choking on his drink from laughter. “And at least I didn’t get caught sneaking out of someone’s apartment at 6 a.m. by the paparazzi.”

Ohm covered his face, laughing so hard his shoulders shook. “Touché. Fair point.”

The night rolled on like that, each drink loosening the edges until the years apart felt like nothing more than a pause button.

At some point, Nanon leaned back, cheeks flushed, shirt clinging to him. He tugged at the collar with a dramatic groan. “God, it’s too hot in here.”

Ohm smirked. “That’s the whiskey talking.”

“No, seriously—” Nanon stood, fumbling at the buttons of his shirt. “See? Too hot.” He kicked off his jacket, then tugged the shirt halfway down before getting distracted by his own clumsy movements.

“Whoa, whoa,” Ohm said, half-laughing, half-reaching to steady him. “Careful, man. Don’t strip your whole way to embarrassment.”

Nanon giggled, flopping back onto the couch beside him, shirt half-open, hair sticking out in all directions. “Relax. I’m not trying to seduce you. Just… heatstroke.”

Ohm shook his head, but his smile was soft. He grabbed the nearest cushion and tossed it at him. “You’re a mess.”

“Your mess for tonight,” Nanon mumbled, eyes half-closed but still sparkling with amusement.

Ohm stood slowly, the room swaying just slightly from the drinks. He stepped closer to where Nanon was sprawled on the couch, shirt half-open, chest rising and falling with unsteady laughter.

Leaning down, Ohm’s breath brushed against Nanon’s ear as he whispered, low and teasing, words meant only for him. Whatever he said made Nanon’s lips curl into a lopsided grin, his eyes half-lidded from alcohol but shining with mischief.

Then Ohm’s hand moved—fingertips skimming lightly over the exposed skin of Nanon’s stomach. A gentle rub, slow and almost playful, as if testing how far he could push the moment.

Nanon shivered, giggling in that tipsy, careless way. “You’re such an idiot,” he murmured, though his voice betrayed no real protest.

Ohm chuckled, straightening just enough to meet his gaze. “Maybe. But you like it.”

Nanon’s tipsy courage seemed to take over. Before Ohm could react, he leaned in, encircling Ohm’s neck with his arms, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to him. The warmth, the familiarity, hit them both harder than words ever could.

“I missed you so much,” Nanon murmured against Ohm’s lips, voice trembling with honesty and years of unspoken feelings.

Ohm froze for a heartbeat, then tightened his arms around Nanon, grounding him, steadying him. “I… missed you too,” he admitted, voice low, rough with emotion. “More than I realized.”

The room around them—the cluttered bottles, the messy couch, the remnants of their drunken laughter—faded away. For a moment, it was just them, two people who had drifted apart, finally finding their way back into each other’s arms.

Nanon pulled back slightly, forehead resting against Ohm’s, breath mingling, eyes glistening. “I don’t want to lose this… not again.”

“Then we won’t,” Ohm whispered, pressing his forehead to Nanon’s. “Not this time.”

Ohm let out a soft laugh as Nanon’s weight practically melted against him. “You’re heavier than I remember,” he teased, his arms steady around Nanon as he lifted him effortlessly.

“I am this heavy?” Nanon slurred, laughing, half-protesting but clearly enjoying the closeness. “Guess I’ve been carrying all this missing-you energy around.”

“Oh, trust me,” Ohm said, smiling as he carried him through the apartment. The path was familiar—Ohm remembered exactly where Nanon’s bedroom was, every corner of the small apartment etched into his memory from the days when they’d spent long nights talking, playing music, and laughing until dawn.

“Looks like you haven’t lost your memory either,” Nanon teased, draping an arm around Ohm’s neck for balance.

“Some things you never forget,” Ohm replied softly, glancing down at him. “Like you.”

Ohm nudged the bedroom door open with his shoulder, the dim light spilling in from the living room just enough to guide him. He set Nanon down on the edge of the bed, careful despite the alcohol buzzing through his own veins.

Nanon flopped back with a dramatic sigh, shirt half-open, hair wild against the pillow. He blinked up at Ohm, lips curling into a lazy grin. “See? Not that heavy.”

Ohm chuckled, pulling the comforter loose. “You’re still a handful.”

Nanon grabbed his wrist before he could move away. “Stay.”

The single word sobered Ohm more than any glass of water could. He froze, looking down at Nanon’s flushed face, at the vulnerability shining through the haze of drink and laughter. Slowly, he sat beside him.

Nanon shifted closer, head bumping against his shoulder. “I meant it, you know,” he murmured. “I missed you… more than I thought I would.”

Ohm exhaled, his chest tightening at the honesty. He tilted his head, pressing his lips gently to Nanon’s hair. “I missed you too. Every damn day.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was full, charged, alive. Nanon’s fingers toyed with Ohm’s sleeve, tentative but steady, while Ohm’s hand found its way to Nanon’s chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat beneath.

Nanon turned his head, eyes searching Ohm’s face. Their gazes held, and for the first time in years, there were no walls between them.

“You gonna kiss me again?” Nanon whispered, a teasing smile playing at his lips.

Ohm smirked faintly, leaning in. “Only if you ask nicely.”

The laugh that bubbled out of Nanon was soft, almost shy. He tilted his chin up, voice low but certain. “Please.”

Nanon’s lips were warm and a little clumsy from the drinks, but Ohm didn’t care. The kiss deepened, slow and hungry, like they were both relearning something they’d been starving for. Nanon’s hand slid up Ohm’s chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until their bodies pressed flush together on the bed.

“Ohm…” Nanon whispered against his mouth, breath hot and shaky. His eyes fluttered half-closed, cheeks pink, pupils blown wide.

Ohm cupped his jaw, thumb brushing over his lips before stealing another kiss—longer this time, wetter, his tongue teasing just enough to make Nanon groan. That sound—low, needy, unguarded—made something in Ohm’s chest snap.

He eased Nanon back against the pillows, climbing over him, one knee pressing between his thighs. Nanon arched up instantly, grinding without shame, chasing friction like his body had been waiting years for this.

“You’ve been thinking about this too, haven’t you?” Ohm murmured, lips dragging down Nanon’s throat, tasting the salt of his skin.

Nanon gasped, fingers digging into Ohm’s back. “Shut up… just—don’t stop.”

Ohm smirked against his skin, biting lightly at the curve of his neck, enough to make Nanon’s hips buck up. “Not planning to.”

Their kisses turned messier, sloppier, hands roaming, tugging at clothes, greedy to feel more. Ohm slid a hand under Nanon’s shirt, palm splayed over his bare stomach, and Nanon shivered at the touch, letting out a broken moan.

“You’re shaking,” Ohm teased, voice low, almost a growl.

“That’s your fault,” Nanon shot back, breathless, tugging Ohm closer until their foreheads pressed together.

The room was heavy with heat, every breath ragged, every movement a silent confession of how badly they’d wanted this. Years of distance, of unspoken words, melted away as they moved against each other, tangled in the sheets, drunk on lust and each other.

“Ohm…” Nanon whispered again, voice cracking, desperate. “Please—more…”

Ohm pulled back just enough to look at him, chest heaving, lips slick from their kisses. His hand cupped Nanon’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly as his eyes softened.

“You sure?” Ohm murmured, voice husky but careful. “I… I haven’t done this in a long time. Not with anyone.”

Nanon blinked up at him, pupils dark, a flush burning across his cheeks. He nodded, biting his lip, voice trembling. “Me neither… not since you.”

Something hot and raw coiled in Ohm’s chest at that. He leaned down, kissing him again, slower, sweeter, his hand trailing down Nanon’s chest, over his stomach, until it slipped under the waistband of his pants.

Nanon gasped against his mouth, arching into the touch, his fingers clutching at Ohm’s shoulders. “Ohm…”

“Shhh,” Ohm whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth as his hand wrapped around him, stroking lightly, teasing until Nanon was trembling, thighs pressing together. “Relax for me. Let me take care of you.”

He slid down, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along Nanon’s chest, biting softly at his nipple before moving lower. When he finally pushed Nanon’s pants down, the sight of him bare beneath him stole his breath.

“God… you’re beautiful,” Ohm muttered, almost reverent.

Nanon covered his face with his hands, embarrassed, but Ohm pulled them gently away, kissing his palms before settling between his thighs. He reached for the lube on the nightstand—half surprised Pond even had some—and slicked his fingers.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Ohm said softly, kissing Nanon’s knee before pressing the first finger inside.

Nanon’s breath hitched, his body tightening, but he forced himself to relax, eyes locked on Ohm’s. “It’s… it’s okay. Just—slow.”

Ohm nodded, patient, moving his finger carefully, stretching him inch by inch. His other hand stroked Nanon’s thigh soothingly, grounding him. “That’s it… good boy… just breathe for me.”

A soft moan spilled from Nanon’s lips as the discomfort gave way to heat, his hips rolling unconsciously. “Ohm… feels… different…”

“Different good?” Ohm asked, lips quirking as he pressed in a second finger, twisting gently.

Nanon’s back arched, a broken gasp tearing out of him. “Y-Yeah… good. So good.”

Ohm’s heart pounded as he watched Nanon unravel under his touch, his body trembling, his voice wrecked with pleasure. He leaned down, kissing him again, swallowing the moans as he stretched him slowly, carefully, preparing him with all the patience he’d never had with anyone else.

Between kisses, his voice was a low whisper, raw and honest. “I told you… I haven’t done this in years. But for you? I’d wait forever.”

Nanon writhed under Ohm’s touch, every moan muffled against his own knuckles as Ohm worked him open with patient care. Three fingers now slid in and out, stretching him, curling just enough to make Nanon’s back arch and a strangled cry spill from his throat.

“Ohm—please…” Nanon begged, breathless, clutching at the sheets until his knuckles went white. His whole body trembled, thighs shaking, eyes glassy with need. “I—I can’t wait anymore. I need you.”

Ohm kissed along his jaw, down his neck, soothing between the relentless waves of heat. His voice came out hoarse, almost breaking. “You don’t know how long I’ve dreamed of hearing that again…”

He pulled his fingers out slowly, slick and glistening, watching Nanon whimper at the emptiness. With a shaky breath, Ohm pushed his own pants down, his cock thick and flushed, the sight alone making Nanon’s mouth fall open in disbelief.

“Oh my god…” Nanon whispered, chest rising and falling fast.

Ohm smirked faintly but leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. “Shhh… I’ll go slow. I promise.”

He lined himself up, sliding the tip against Nanon’s entrance, teasing, letting the tension coil tighter. Nanon’s nails dug into his back, his voice breaking. “Please—Ohm, I can take it, just—”

“Breathe,” Ohm whispered, pressing a slow kiss to his lips as he began to push inside, inch by inch.

Nanon gasped sharply, the stretch intense, his eyes fluttering shut as his body clenched around him. Ohm groaned low, gripping Nanon’s hip to steady himself, his other hand tangled in his hair.

“F-Fuck… you’re so tight…” Ohm panted, barely holding himself back. “God, I missed this.”

Nanon whimpered, his body arching, legs wrapping tight around Ohm’s waist. “Don’t stop… please, don’t stop…”

Bit by bit, Ohm sank deeper until he was fully buried inside. The air between them was thick, heavy, electric—Nanon trembling, Ohm shaking as he kissed him hard, muffling both of their desperate noises.

When Ohm finally began to move—slow, careful thrusts that built heat with each drag—Nanon’s cries grew louder, messy, his body clinging, grinding back against him like he’d been starving all these years.

“You feel… incredible,” Ohm groaned, his pace steady, hips rolling deep. His forehead pressed against Nanon’s, sweat dripping down his temple. “Worth… every second I waited.”

Nanon’s moans broke into little sobs of pleasure, his whole body surrendering beneath Ohm’s slow, consuming rhythm. “Ohm—I can’t—please harder—”

Ohm growled low in his throat, pulling him closer, hips slamming just a little deeper, making the bed creak beneath them. “Whatever you want, baby. Tonight… I’ll give you everything.”

Ohm’s thrusts grew heavier, slower, each one deep enough to make Nanon gasp and cling harder to him. But after a while, Ohm pulled back, chest heaving, his lips brushing Nanon’s ear.

“Turn over for me,” he whispered, voice dark and rough. “I want to see how you take me from behind.”

Nanon shivered, obeying without question. He shifted onto his knees, arms trembling as he leaned forward, presenting himself. The sight made Ohm groan—Nanon’s back arched, his shirt still half hanging off one shoulder, his body trembling but ready.

“Oh, fuck…” Ohm dragged his palm slowly down the curve of Nanon’s spine, then guided himself back inside with one steady push.

Nanon let out a sharp cry, his face burying into the pillow as Ohm filled him again, inch by inch. “Ohhh… so deep…” he whimpered, voice muffled.

“Yeah…” Ohm growled low, hips rolling deliberately, every thrust angled to grind deep inside him. “You feel so damn good like this.”

He grabbed Nanon’s hips, pulling him back against each stroke, watching the way his body quivered with every slow push. Nanon’s cries turned breathless, broken, his knuckles tight in the sheets.

“Ohm—please… don’t stop, don’t stop—”

But Ohm wasn’t rushing. He pressed harder, deeper, making sure Nanon felt every drag, every stretch. His pace was relentless but never fast—just full, overwhelming in its slowness.

After a while, he leaned forward, chest pressed against Nanon’s back, his hand slipping under to stroke him in time with the deep thrusts. “Can you feel me, baby? Right here?” he whispered against his ear, pushing especially deep to make him cry out.

Nanon nodded frantically, tears pricking his eyes from the intensity. “Y-Yes! God, yes—”

Ohm smirked and shifted again, tugging Nanon gently onto his side, one leg hooked over his hip. The angle made him sink in even deeper, their faces close again, breaths mingling.

Nanon moaned loudly, his nails raking down Ohm’s arm. “Ohh—Ohm… it’s too much—”

“Never too much,” Ohm whispered, kissing him hard as he thrust deep, slow, savoring the way Nanon’s body clenched around him. “I want you to feel me everywhere when you wake up tomorrow.”

Nanon’s whole body quivered at the words, hips grinding desperately, lost in Ohm’s control.

Ohm kept the pace steady, deep and deliberate, each thrust dragging a loud, broken moan out of Nanon. Their bodies slick with sweat, pressed close, the air thick with heat and the sharp sound of skin meeting skin.

Nanon’s leg tightened around Ohm’s hip, his voice rising with every stroke. “Ohm—ohh—it’s too deep, I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” Ohm growled, kissing him hard, swallowing his cries. He shifted his hips just slightly, finding that perfect angle that made Nanon arch back, his whole body shuddering. “Right there, hm? That’s where you want it?”

“F-fuck! Yes!” Nanon’s nails clawed down his back, leaving hot red trails.

Ohm’s hand wrapped around him again, stroking slow but firm, perfectly in rhythm with his thrusts. The double sensation broke Nanon apart, his cries turning into desperate sobs of pleasure.

“Come for me,” Ohm whispered harshly, thrusting deep, grinding their hips together. “Make a mess for me, Nanon. I want to see you lose it.”

Nanon shook his head, already trembling on the edge. “Ohh—n-no, not yet—I—ahhh, Ohm!”

But his body betrayed him. With a choked cry, he spilled hard into Ohm’s hand, his release hot and messy between them, his body tightening in waves around Ohm.

The sudden tightness made Ohm curse under his breath, his thrusts growing rougher, needier. “Fuck—fuck—you’re so tight when you come—”

He drove deep, losing rhythm, his restraint snapping as he pressed Nanon hard into the mattress. With one final groan, low and guttural, Ohm buried himself to the hilt and released, hot and thick, filling Nanon until he trembled from the fullness.

For a moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breaths, the faint tremble of Nanon’s moans as he clung weakly to Ohm’s shoulders.

Ohm stayed inside, still moving shallowly, almost lazily, making the mess spread, dragging more moans from Nanon’s throat. He kissed along his jaw, whispering in a low, possessive murmur, “Mine… every inch of you is mine.”

Nanon let out a weak laugh, half-sobbing from the aftershocks, forehead pressed to Ohm’s. “Y-You’re insane… but… god, I missed this.”

Ohm kissed him again, softer this time, and pressed deep once more just to hear him whimper. “Then don’t make me wait years again.”

Steam filled the bathroom, fogging up the mirror as warm water cascaded down over their bodies. Nanon leaned back against Ohm’s chest, skin flushed, muscles still trembling from earlier. The spray soaked his hair, droplets running down his neck and chest.

Ohm held him close, lips brushing lazily at his damp shoulder. His hands roamed, not greedy now—just exploring, rubbing circles over Nanon’s stomach, sliding down his hips. Instead of pushing in again, Ohm simply pressed himself between Nanon’s slick thighs, rubbing slowly, the heat of him gliding in the soapy water.

Nanon shivered, tilting his head back onto Ohm’s shoulder. “Mmm… you’re impossible,” he whispered, but his thighs squeezed tighter, trapping Ohm there.

“Oh, you love it,” Ohm murmured, rocking his hips in steady, teasing motions. The thick head of his cock slid against Nanon’s skin, slick with water and foam, each grind making them both groan softly. “So warm… I could stay right here forever.”

Nanon’s hands reached back, clutching at Ohm’s arms for balance as his body melted under the slow rhythm. It wasn’t rough this time, just lazy and intimate—their bodies pressed close, every movement a reminder of how much they’d missed each other.

“Ohm…” Nanon breathed, eyes half-lidded under the spray. “Feels… good.”

“Yeah,” Ohm whispered, lips at his ear, voice husky. “Just us. No cameras, no scripts… just this.”

He kept rubbing between Nanon’s thighs, sliding through the tight space again and again until both of them were panting softly, water streaming down their bodies, heat curling low in their stomachs.

When they finally came—shuddering together in the shower, bodies pressed impossibly close—it wasn’t loud or frantic. It was quiet, messy, and deeply intimate, their moans muffled against each other’s skin.

After, Ohm kissed the back of Nanon’s neck and reached for the soap, lathering it gently over his chest. “Stay still,” he whispered, almost smiling. “Let me take care of you.”

Nanon let out a soft laugh, exhausted but warm. “Guess I’ll allow it… this time.”

Water poured over them, the sound of the shower wrapping around the low groans and sighs that filled the space. Nanon leaned against the tiled wall, his body relaxed, while Ohm pressed close from behind, arms caging him in a warm, protective hold.

Ohm’s cock slid slickly between Nanon’s thighs, rubbing slow and steady, the water making every movement smooth. His breaths were heavy, lips brushing against Nanon’s damp neck as he whispered, voice low and raw, “Squeeze your thighs more, baby… tighter… I can’t cum if you don’t.”

Nanon let out a breathy laugh, obediently pressing his thighs together, trapping Ohm in a snug, wet heat. “You’re so desperate,” he teased softly, though his body shivered at every grind.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Ohm groaned, hips rocking in short, messy thrusts. His forehead dropped to Nanon’s shoulder, his hands gripping his hips firmly as if to ground himself. “Feels so good like this… better than I remembered.”

Nanon tilted his head, lips quirking despite the heat between them. “Not even inside me and you’re already falling apart.”

“Shut up,” Ohm gritted out, thrusts growing erratic, his voice breaking with need. “Just… keep me there… don’t let go.”

The pressure built fast—his cock sliding, grinding, pulsing between Nanon’s thighs until Ohm let out a guttural groan, burying his face against Nanon’s neck as he came, spilling hot and thick across his skin and into the stream of water. His whole body trembled, his grip on Nanon almost desperate, like he couldn’t let go even if he wanted to.

Finally, with a ragged sigh, Ohm stilled, his body heavy against Nanon’s back. He kissed his wet shoulder softly, almost apologetically, before whispering, “God… I needed that.”

Nanon chuckled, tilting his head back against him, letting the water wash them clean. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Ohm smiled tiredly against his skin, hugging him even tighter as if the shower, the night, and Nanon himself were the only things keeping him steady.

The shower steam faded into soft warmth as they dried off and slipped into bed, the sheets cool against their damp skin. Nanon curled naturally into Ohm’s chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat grounding them both. Their breaths synced, quiet in the late-night stillness, the kind of silence that felt safe.

Ohm’s arm wrapped around him tighter, as though he still couldn’t believe he had him back in his arms. His voice came low, rough with exhaustion but heavy with feeling. “God, I missed you so much, Nong.”

Nanon’s throat tightened, his lips brushing lightly against Ohm’s collarbone. “Me too. More than I thought I would… every day, every night. I kept wondering if you were missing me the same.”

Ohm tilted his head, pressing a kiss into Nanon’s damp hair. “Missed you so bad it hurt. Not just you—us. What we had. What we are.” He exhaled slowly, pulling him even closer. “I want to be OhmNanon again. For me, for you… for everyone who believed in us.”

Nanon’s eyes fluttered shut, a small smile tugging at his lips as his fingers traced lazy patterns on Ohm’s chest. “You really mean it? Not just tonight, not just because we’re lonely?”

“OhmNanon isn’t just for show,” Ohm murmured, voice firm but tender. “It’s who we are. We’re better together, baby. Always were.” He kissed Nanon’s forehead, lingering there. “I want the world to see it again. To feel it again.”

Nanon looked up at him, eyes shining in the dim light, and whispered, “Then let’s be us again. No holding back this time.”

The words settled between them like a vow, and with a deep, content sigh, Ohm pulled the blanket over them, pressing Nanon into his chest. They stayed that way, tangled up in each other, hearts beating in rhythm—two halves finding home again.

And as sleep began to claim them, Nanon whispered softly, almost to himself, “It feels right again… being yours.”

“OhmNanon,” Ohm answered with a tired smile, his lips brushing Nanon’s temple. “Always.”

Chapter 75: Perth x Santa- I'm not Omega I'm Beta! 18+

(I got short to this ship on my channel - name: Guwluse)

Anyways... Enjoy <3

The office was nearly empty by the time Santa finally looked up from his screen. Rows of cubicles were dark, computers already asleep, and only the hum of the ceiling lights kept him company. He rubbed his temples, sighing. Staying late had become routine — easier to drown in work than to risk people noticing how often his body betrayed him.

A voice broke the silence.
"You're still here?"

Santa stiffened. Perth leaned casually against the doorway of his cubicle, tie loosened, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He always looked out of place in this company — too polished, too confident, like he didn't care about rules or hierarchy. Rumor had it he only worked here because he was "bored" of managing his family's business empire.

Santa forced a smile. "Deadlines."

Perth stepped inside, close enough that Santa could catch his faint scent — neutral, dulled by inhibitors. It made him feel safe, and uneasy at the same time. Alphas were dangerous. Santa had learned long ago to hide his true self.

But tonight, something was wrong. His suppressants had worn off. He felt it the moment his skin prickled and warmth spread low in his belly. His pheromones were leaking, no matter how tightly he held himself. He shifted in his chair, praying Perth wouldn't notice.

Perth's eyes narrowed. His usual lazy smile faded. He tilted his head, inhaling subtly. "Strange..."

Santa's heart thudded. "What?"

"You smell..." Perth moved closer, voice dropping, "...not like a beta at all."

Santa's pulse spiked. He pushed his chair back, but Perth caught the armrest, trapping him between the desk and his broad frame. The air between them thickened, Santa's pheromones spilling faster now, sweet and intoxicating. Perth's inhibitor was no match for it; he let out a shaky breath, pupils dilating.

"You've been lying." Perth's voice was low, rougher now. "You're an omega."

Santa's throat went dry. "I—I can explain—"

"Explain later," Perth interrupted, leaning down until his lips brushed Santa's ear. "Right now, all I can think about is how good you smell."

Santa trembled. No one was supposed to know. No one was supposed to want him like this. But Perth's scent broke free too, sharp and dominant, filling the room until Santa could barely breathe. His body ached in response, desperate and betraying him.

"Perth—" he gasped, but the alpha pressed closer, pinning him with a look that melted all his defenses.

"I like you, Santa. Always have. But you made me think you were untouchable. Now..." Perth's hand cupped his jaw, thumb brushing his lower lip. "...now I know the truth. And I can't let anyone else find out."

The words sank into Santa's chest, heavy and possessive. He should resist. He should push Perth away. But when Perth's lips crashed against his, all he could do was open up, helpless against the heat that surged through him.

Santa clutched at Perth's shirt, whimpering as the kiss deepened, tongues tangling, pheromones mixing in a haze of want. Perth groaned into his mouth, finally tasting what he'd been denied for months.

When they pulled apart, breathless, Perth pressed his forehead to Santa's.
"You're mine," he whispered, voice raw. "No more hiding."

Santa shivered, but instead of fear, he felt relief. Maybe dangerous wasn't so bad, not if it was Perth.

The rest of the office fell away — the paperwork, the fluorescent lights, the whole damn company. In that moment, there was only heat, pheromones, and the inevitability of surrender.

Santa's lips were still swollen from their kiss, his chest heaving as pheromones pulsed out of him in waves. He tried to shove Perth back, but his hands only trembled against the alpha's chest.

"P–Perth... if anyone smells this..." Santa whispered, voice breaking, "they'll know. They'll know I'm—"

"Omega." Perth finished for him, eyes blazing. His hand slid from Santa's jaw down to his throat, firm but careful, pressing just enough to remind him who held power here. "They'll know, and they'll come for you."

Santa swallowed hard, fear and arousal tangling. "I can't let that happen."

Perth leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear. His voice was rough, guttural, barely restrained.
"Then there's only one way, Santa... The only way to cover your scent from others is if you're marked."

Santa froze, eyes wide. "Marked— you mean—"

"My bite. My claim." Perth's breath was hot against his skin, his pheromones wrapping around Santa like a cage. "Once you're mine, no alpha will dare touch you. No one will even smell you without smelling me first."

Santa shook his head, but his body betrayed him — thighs clenching, heart racing, the sweet, desperate heat pouring out of him. "You can't just—"

"Watch me." Perth's voice dropped into a growl. He pressed Santa back against the desk, crowding into his space until there was no air left between them. His hand slid down Santa's side, gripping his hip possessively.

"You've been hiding, lying, pretending to be something you're not." Perth kissed the corner of his jaw, then his neck, sucking hard enough to bruise. Santa whimpered, clutching at his shirt. "But I've always known you were mine."

Santa gasped when sharp teeth grazed the sensitive spot at the junction of his neck and shoulder. His whole body went weak, instinct screaming at him to surrender.
"P-Perth... if you mark me, there's no going back..."

Perth smirked, eyes dark with hunger. "Good. Then everyone will know you belong to me."

His bite sank in — deep, possessive, burning. Santa cried out, nails digging into Perth's back as a rush of pleasure and submission exploded through him. His scent changed instantly, laced with Perth's dominance, drowned out to anyone else who might come near.

Perth licked over the mark, soothing it, while grinding Santa against the desk. "Perfect," he murmured. "Now you're hidden... from the other Alphas."

Santa's breath came in broken gasps as Perth's teeth left their mark on his neck. The burn throbbed, spreading warmth all through him. His scent softened under Perth's, no longer spilling wild into the office, but curling, contained, safe.

He blinked up, dazed, pupils blown wide. "Perth..."

Perth stroked his cheek, thumb brushing tenderly over damp skin. "Are you okay with this?" His voice was still rough with alpha instinct, but there was concern beneath it. "You don't have to be scared. I won't hurt you."

Santa swallowed hard, every nerve in his body trembling with heat. He wanted to push him away, to keep pretending, but instead his fingers fisted in Perth's shirt, pulling him closer. "I... I don't want you to stop."

That was all the permission Perth needed. He kissed Santa again, slow at first, then deeper, tongue sliding past parted lips. Santa whimpered into his mouth, hips arching as Perth pressed against him, their scents mixing until the office was thick with it.

Perth guided him back onto the desk, lifting him easily to sit on the edge. Santa's legs parted without thought, wrapping around Perth's waist as the alpha's hands roamed under his shirt, feeling warm skin. Santa's body burned under every touch, craving more.

"You're beautiful like this," Perth murmured against his lips. He trailed kisses down Santa's throat, stopping to lick over the mark. Santa shivered, heat sparking low in his belly.

Perth's hands moved lower, teasing along the waistband of Santa's slacks before sliding them open. Santa gasped as cool air met heated skin, then whimpered when Perth's palm cupped him firmly through thin fabric.

"Perth—" he panted, biting his lip.

"Shh," Perth soothed, his lips brushing Santa's temple. "Just let me take care of you."

Santa's head fell back, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure surged through him. Every movement, every kiss, every touch was overwhelming — but he wasn't afraid anymore. Not with Perth holding him, whispering low and steady, grounding him in the middle of the storm.

And when Perth finally pushed him back on the desk, their bodies pressed together, Santa gave in completely, no longer fighting the truth of what he was — and who he wanted.

Santa lay back against the desk, shirt bunched up under his arms, pants already shoved down to his knees. His thighs trembled as Perth kissed down the line of his stomach, slow and deliberate.

"Perth—" Santa's voice cracked when hot breath ghosted over his cock, already flushed and leaking.

Perth glanced up at him, eyes dark, lips curved in a hungry smile. "Relax for me. Let me taste you."

Before Santa could respond, Perth's tongue slid along the length of him, teasing the sensitive head. Santa's hips jerked, a broken moan spilling out.

"Ah—!"

Perth held him down with a firm hand on his hip, licking again, slower this time, savoring the sweet salt of him. Then he wrapped his lips around the tip, sucking lightly, and Santa nearly cried out.

"Feels—feels too much," Santa gasped, fingers clutching helplessly at the edge of the desk.

Perth hummed around him, the vibration making Santa's whole body jolt. He took him deeper, swallowing inch by inch, tongue pressing along the underside. The wet sounds echoed in the empty office, mixing with Santa's soft, desperate cries.

Santa's thighs shook, heat curling tighter and tighter in his belly. "P-Perth, I—I can't—"

Perth pulled back just enough to speak, lips shining. "Yes, you can. Let go for me." Then he took him in again, sucking harder, stroking what his mouth couldn't reach with his hand.

Santa's head fell back, a strangled moan ripping from his throat as he spilled hot against Perth's tongue. His whole body shuddered with the force of it, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

Perth swallowed him down, licking every drop until Santa was trembling, sensitive and dazed. He pressed a kiss to the slick head before pulling back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His gaze burned into Santa's.

"Still with me?" Perth asked softly, caressing Santa's thigh.

Santa nodded weakly, breath hitching. "Y-yeah... but I need more..."

Perth smirked, kissing his inner thigh before standing and undoing his own belt. "Good. Because I'm not finished with you yet."

He lined himself up, sliding against Santa's still-twitching entrance, and leaned down to kiss him deeply. "Tell me if it's too much. I'll take care of you."

Santa wrapped his arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. "I trust you."

And then Perth pushed in, slow and steady, stretching him open — Santa gasping into his mouth, body still buzzing from his first release but already craving more.

Santa whimpered softly, body still trembling as the haze of release ebbed away. Perth slowly eased out of him, kissing along his damp skin as if to distract from the ache.

But the moment Santa shifted, he hissed, one hand sliding down instinctively to rub between his thighs where he felt tender and raw. "It... it hurts here..." he whispered, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

Perth caught his wrist gently, stopping him. "Hey, don't touch it like that," he murmured, lowering his voice, calm and careful. "You're too sensitive right now."

Perth's eyes flicked down, noticing how Santa's body was still twitching, slick and sensitive where he'd just been filled. His brows lifted slightly, not in judgment, but in interest.

"Does it... still hurt here?" Perth asked softly, one hand sliding over Santa's hip to steady him, while the other hovered near the spot that had been stretched.

Santa shivered, cheeks flushed. "A–a little... but it's... it's normal, isn't it?"

Perth's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "Yeah... it's completely normal. You're an omega, so your body reacts like this. All wet, twitching... your body telling me exactly how ready you are, even if it's sore."

Santa whimpered, tugging at Perth's sleeve. "I—don't want it to hurt too much..."

Perth leaned closer, brushing damp hair from his forehead. "I know. That's why I'm here. I'll be gentle. We can take it slow. Just let me help you relax."

He rubbed carefully around Santa's sensitive spot, teasing and soothing at the same time, enough to make him squirm but not push him into pain. Santa gasped, hips twitching unconsciously, pheromones thick in the air.

"You feel so good like this," Perth murmured, voice low, still keeping the pace slow. "Nothing to be embarrassed about. Every twitch, every little reaction... it's just your omega body being honest."

Santa's chest rose and fell rapidly, trembles running down his legs, but he felt safe. No one had ever spoken to him like this — acknowledging his body, his instincts, without shame, without pressure.

"Better?" Perth asked, tilting his head.

Santa nodded weakly, lips parted. "Much... thank you..."

Perth smiled softly, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Anytime. I've got you."

Perth shifted, aligning himself with Santa once more, lips brushing his temple in a reassuring kiss. "Ready?" he murmured, giving him time to nod.

Slowly, carefully, he began to thrust, inching in and out, letting Santa adjust with each movement. His hands cupped Santa's hips, holding him steady, guiding him through every stroke. Santa gasped, thighs trembling, body twitching naturally with each motion.

Perth pulled almost all the way out, letting Santa feel the delicious stretch, then slid back in, letting the slick heat envelop him fully. Each slow pull and push sent shivers down Santa's spine, hips arching instinctively toward Perth.

"Feels... so good," Santa whimpered, voice breaking, fingers clutching at the desk. His slickness coated them both, mixing with the mark still throbbing on his neck.

Perth's eyes flicked down, watching his omega respond so openly, so completely. "I'll go slow... okay? Just like this," he murmured, pressing a kiss to Santa's damp hair.

He continued the slow rhythm, in and out, almost all the way, then back inside, each movement measured, teasing, and tender. Santa's body moved with him, hips tilting, twitching, responding to every brush and press.

Perth leaned closer, murmuring encouragements, fingers rubbing gentle circles along the sides of Santa's thighs. "Good... you're doing so well... every reaction... I feel it all."

Santa's breath came in short gasps, wet moans spilling uncontrollably as pleasure built again, slower this time, sweeter — the lingering ache from earlier blending with the exquisite warmth of being held and moved so gently.

"Perth... don't... stop..." Santa whimpered, body arching into each measured thrust.

Perth responded with a low, soft hum, sliding almost all the way out once more, then pressing fully in, letting them both feel the perfect friction. "I'm not going anywhere," he murmured. "Just focus... let go..."

Santa's trembling grew, his hips rocking against Perth's rhythm without thought. His eyes fluttered shut, chest rising and falling as waves of pleasure coursed through him, every slow thrust sending shivers from his toes to his neck mark.

Perth leaned over him, hands still firm on Santa's hips, and gradually shifted the rhythm. No longer slow and teasing, he started moving quicker — shallow, controlled thrusts that made Santa's whole body tremble.

"Ah—Perth!" Santa gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, hips bucking unconsciously as every short, fast movement hit just right. His breath hitched, moans spilling freely now, body slick and twitching.

Perth kept a steady pace, watching every reaction, adjusting slightly whenever Santa flinched. "That's it... just like that," he murmured, lips brushing the side of Santa's neck, thumb rubbing small, soothing circles along his hip. "You're doing amazing..."

Santa's moans grew louder, chest rising and falling rapidly, heat pooling low and deep. His body quivered, hips trembling as the pleasure built faster than he could control.

Perth felt him tighten around him, slick and sensitive, and knew Santa was close. "Let go, Santa... it's okay..." he whispered, slowing just enough to let the omega ride the wave, holding him close.

Santa's back arched, voice breaking in gasps, as he came hard, trembling and shuddering against Perth. Every inch of him pulsed, body twitching uncontrollably, but Perth's steady hands kept him safe, grounding him through the overwhelming pleasure.

Perth kissed the top of his head, rocking him just a few more times, shallow and precise, feeling his own release follow. He pulled slightly back, holding Santa flush against him, letting their bodies settle together, still slick and warm.

Santa's breaths came in shuddering pants, body trembling, but slowly relaxing into Perth's arms. He buried his face in the alpha's chest, overwhelmed by how safe, cared for, and completely taken care of he felt.

Perth stroked his hair, murmuring softly. "You're okay now... just rest. No one else, no more hiding. Just breathe..."

Santa nodded weakly, eyes fluttering shut, every tremble of his body finally easing. He stayed wrapped in Perth's arms, melting into the warmth, the afterglow of pleasure, and the safety of someone who cared enough to move slow, then just fast enough to bring him over the edge.

Perth slowly pulled out, letting Santa catch his breath as his body shivered from the lingering pleasure. Santa whimpered softly, fingers clutching at the edge of the desk, still sensitive and trembling.

"Shh... I've got you," Perth murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. He reached for tissues, carefully cleaning the slick from Santa's thighs and lower stomach, hands gentle and methodical.

Santa let out a small, relieved sigh, body already relaxing under Perth's careful touch. "Thanks... Perth," he whispered, voice shaky but content.

Perth gave him a reassuring smile. "You don't need to thank me. Just rest."

He lifted Santa carefully in his arms, cradling him against his chest. Santa buried his face into Perth's shoulder, letting himself go completely, trusting him entirely.

The office couch was empty and quiet, perfect for a moment of privacy. Perth lowered Santa onto it gently, arranging cushions so he could lie comfortably, legs slightly bent, still glowing from the heat. He tucked a soft throw around him, brushing damp hair from his forehead.

"Better?" Perth asked softly, one hand still stroking Santa's arm, grounding him.

Santa nodded, eyes half-lidded, lips curved in a small, content smile. "Much better... I feel... safe."

Perth's smile softened, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his temple. "Good. That's exactly where you should feel."

He stayed beside him, hands brushing along Santa's arms and shoulders, letting him come down from the high slowly. The office lights were dim, the hum of electronics the only sound, but Santa felt cocooned in warmth and safety, held by someone who cared enough to move slow, take care, and make him feel okay again.

Santa lay back on the couch, Perth curled around him, arms draped protectively over his chest. His head rested against Perth's shoulder, the mark on his neck still tingling under the alpha's gentle touch.

"I always... I always thought everyone would see me as just some omega who needs an alpha and a bunch of kids, always cooking and serving like a... like a housewife," Santa murmured, voice soft and a little shaky. He nuzzled closer, staring at the ceiling. "But... I know I'm capable of choosing my alpha myself."

Perth's hand moved slowly, thumb brushing over the bite mark, soothing the fading sting. "You are," he said quietly, voice steady. "And you did. You chose me."

Santa's chest rose and fell in a relieved sigh. "I... I wasn't sure if anyone would see me like that, as someone who's strong enough to decide. But... with you..." He pressed closer, warmth spreading through him. "...I feel safe. And seen."

Perth's lips brushed the top of his head. "That's because you are strong. And I'm here because I want to be. Not because you need me to be. I'll protect you, yeah... but I'll always respect you. You don't have to be anyone's idea of an omega. Just you."

Santa let out a soft laugh, muffled against Perth's chest. "You make it sound... easy."

"Easy?" Perth teased lightly, a grin in his voice. "It's not. But it's real. And right now, this... us... it's real."

They stayed like that, curled together on the couch, the office lights dim, bodies warm and sticky from earlier, but hearts calm and full. Perth continued to gently stroke Santa's bite mark, soft kisses to his temple and hair, letting him come down from the lingering heat slowly.

Santa closed his eyes, finally letting himself feel completely at ease. "Thank you... for not letting me be scared," he whispered.

Perth tightened his hold just a little, voice low and tender. "Never. You don't have to be scared, not with me."

And in the quiet office, with only their steady breathing and the hum of electronics, Santa realized that for the first time, he wasn't hiding. He wasn't pretending. He was just himself, safe in the arms of the alpha he had chosen.

Chapter 76: OhmNanon- For Fans! 18+ (Part. 2)

Morning light filtered through the thin curtains, painting soft stripes across Nanon's rumpled bed. He stirred, the warmth of Ohm still pressed against him from the night before. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open—and froze.

"No!!" Nanon yelped, scrambling upright, pulling the blanket tightly around his chest. His face burned as he realized just how exposed he was under the soft morning light. His heart thudded, half from embarrassment, half from the memory of last night.

Ohm, still half-asleep, let out a low groggy groan from the edge of the bed. "Huh... what's—what's wrong?"

Nanon's blanket-wrapped form looked like a tiny, defensive creature. "I... I am not—I mean—ugh!" He kicked lightly, sending Ohm stumbling back onto the mattress. "Hideous!! I'm naked! I didn't sign up for a... a morning... nudity situation!"

"Oh..." Ohm's eyes widened as he took in Nanon's flushed face, arms clutching the blanket like a shield. Then he burst into a soft, teasing laugh, though still groggy. "Wow. You're... you're adorable when you panic like this."

"I am not adorable!" Nanon hissed, burying his face into the blanket, cheeks burning red. "I'm... I'm dignified! I mean—no one needs to see this!"

"Oh, come on," Ohm chuckled, slowly crawling closer again, though this time more cautiously. "Relax... you don't have to be embarrassed. I've seen this... plenty of times before."

Nanon stiffened, half glaring, half hiding. "Yeah, well, that's different! You were awake! This is... morning... shame!"

"Oh, really?" Ohm smirked, still lounging on the bed. "Shame? Or... are you secretly enjoying the view?"

Nanon squeaked, whipping around, almost tripping over the blanket in his hurry to shield himself. "NO! Absolutely not!!" He tucked the blanket tighter under his chin, squirming defensively.

Ohm laughed, reaching a hand out slowly, careful not to touch Nanon's blanket. "Alright, alright... I promise I won't look. Just... maybe you can peek at me?"

Nanon froze. "Peek at you? You're kidding. No. That's—uh, that's... terrifying."

"Oh, come on, baby," Ohm murmured, still smiling, voice softening. "You've survived a whole night with me. Morning light's just a formality."

Nanon groaned, covering his face with the blanket. "Morning light can go—away! Forever!"

"Oh," Ohm whispered, crawling closer again, careful and teasing, "but you're warm, you're soft... and I just want one more cuddle before we start the day. That's all."

Nanon froze, heart hammering, wrapped tight in the blanket cocoon. "...One... cuddle," he muttered reluctantly, eyes peeking out. "If I can stay hidden."

"Oh, that's all I need," Ohm said, grinning as he gently leaned over Nanon, letting his chest press lightly against the blanket, warm and comforting. "Hidden is fine... as long as I get this little bit."

Nanon exhaled shakily, still clutching the blanket, but a small smile tugged at his lips. Morning embarrassment and lingering heat from the night before melted slowly into the soft intimacy of just lying there—two people tangled, half-naked, wrapped in warmth and the quiet promise of not letting go again.

Ohm leaned back slightly, letting the morning light catch his damp skin, the faint shine highlighting his abs and the veins tracing down his lower belly. He smirked, voice low and teasing. "Maybe... we can do it just quickly, right now. I like morning sex better than night sex."

Nanon froze mid-breath, eyes practically bulging. "Are... are you out of your mind?!" His face was scarlet, blanket clutched tight around his chest, legs instinctively curling inward.

"Oh, come on," Ohm purred, tilting his head, eyes playful. "Don't tell me you're going to resist me after last night... especially with me like this?" He slowly flexed, just enough to make the veins on his lower belly pop against the morning light.

Nanon swallowed hard, heart pounding like a drum. "You... you are evil! I... I can't—" He buried his face in the blanket, peeking through only slightly, but the flush creeping down his neck betrayed him.

"Can't or won't?" Ohm teased, moving closer, letting his thigh brush against Nanon's, warm and deliberate. "Because I know you'll cave. Morning me... is irresistible."

Nanon's breath hitched. "...Oh my god..." His knees trembled, blanket doing little to hide the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "You... you're ridiculous... I'm... I'm not... ready for this right now..."

"Oh, baby," Ohm murmured, leaning in, forehead brushing Nanon's, voice dropping lower, rough with need. "You're already ready. I can feel it. Don't hide from me... not from me."

Nanon bit his lip, heat curling through him. "...You're insane... but... okay... maybe... just... a little... quick..."

Ohm's smirk widened, eyes gleaming. "That's my boy." He shifted closer, letting his hands roam carefully over the blanket, teasing Nanon's body through the fabric, just enough to make him shiver and whimper.

Nanon gasped softly, gripping the blanket tighter, eyes darting to Ohm's abs, to the teasing veins, then back to his face. "I... I can't believe I'm letting you do this... again..."

"Oh, you love it," Ohm whispered, voice low, rough, pressing himself just a little closer, letting Nanon feel the weight of him, the heat, the promise of more. "Morning or night... I'm not letting you go without claiming you."

Nanon's muffled gasp escaped against the blanket as his body betrayed him completely, shivering at Ohm's touch and words. The flush on his face deepened, heart racing—half panic, half anticipation, all of it deliciously overwhelming.

"Jesus... go slowly!" Nanon gasped, pressing his face into the pillow as Ohm's thrusts came harder than he expected. Every movement made his body tremble, a mix of panic and need coursing through him.

Ohm gripped Nanon's hips, his voice low and rough. "Up with your hips, baby. I can't make you feel good if I'm just slamming into air."

Nanon groaned, pushing back instinctively, trying to meet him halfway. "I... I'm trying... ohh—ohm!" His words came in broken gasps, cheeks burning, every nerve alight with overstimulation.

"Oh, that's it," Ohm murmured, slowing just slightly, letting the tip sink deeper, pressing that perfect angle. "You feel so good... just like this... don't fight it, don't hide from it."

Nanon's hands clawed at the sheets, the blanket twisted around his fingers as his body writhed under Ohm. "I... I'm not hiding... just... too much..."

"Oh, baby," Ohm growled, lowering his forehead to Nanon's back, hot breath tickling his ear. "Then let me make it enough. I'll go slow... just for you... but I need you to move with me, okay?"

Nanon nodded, trembling, and lifted his hips just enough. "Yes... like that... ohh... don't stop... slow..."

Ohm's hands guided him, pressing him flush against his chest, letting the thrusts find the rhythm that made Nanon shiver and gasp. "Good boy... that's it... just like that..."

Nanon whimpered, voice breaking, body arching as the controlled, steady pace hit every sensitive spot. "Ohm... I... I... can't... ohh..."

"Ohh... yeah..." Ohm rasped, his voice low, deliberate. "Feel me... feel everything... I've waited so long for this..."

Every movement slowed, every grind intentional, both of them melting together in heat, sweat, and the dizzying mix of pleasure and longing that had built over years apart.

"Wait..." Nanon groaned, shifting slightly, knees pressed into the bed. "My knees... it hurts!" His voice cracked with both discomfort and laughter as he pressed his forehead against the pillow, trying to catch his breath. "This... this is horrible! I can't even look at you like this..."

Ohm froze mid-thrust, chest heaving, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Hah... you're dramatic, you know that?" He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Nanon's shoulder. "Don't worry... I've got you."

Nanon peeked at him over his shoulder, flushed and annoyed but clearly helpless. "You... you make it sound like this is funny!"

"It is funny," Ohm murmured, voice low and teasing, trailing a hand down Nanon's side to steady him. "Look at you... squirming, whining. I like this view too much to stop completely."

Nanon groaned, burying his face again. "You're insane... I'm going to hate you for this forever!"

"Oh, I know," Ohm whispered, lowering himself beside Nanon, letting their bodies press together, weight easing off Nanon's aching knees. "But you love it too much to really hate me."

Nanon huffed, cheeks pink, trying to squirm away—but his body betrayed him, heat still pooling, pulse racing. "I... maybe... just a little..."

"Ohh, that's what I thought," Ohm murmured, voice husky, hand sliding up to rub soothing circles along Nanon's back. "Don't worry, baby... we'll find a position that doesn't destroy your knees, I promise."

"Ohm? Are you done?" Nanon groaned, voice strained, cheeks pink, as he shifted slightly. "Because... seriously... how is this even possible?!"

Ohm froze for a second, eyes darkening with mischief and lust, fingers brushing over Nanon's spine. "Done? Me? Baby... you think I can just turn this off?" He let out a low laugh, hips pressing just enough to make Nanon squirm. "I've been waiting for this... waiting for you..."

Nanon groaned, burying his face in the pillow. "I... can't... it's never-ending... Ohm!" His voice cracked, part frustration, part need, as his body trembled beneath him.

"Oh, I know," Ohm murmured, pressing a soft kiss along Nanon's neck, letting his hand roam. "And you like it, don't you? Can't lie... I can see it."

Nanon whimpered, squirming, but a small laugh escaped. "You're... impossible... this is torture!"

"Oh, maybe," Ohm whispered, grinding slowly just to tease, "but it's our kind of torture. And you? You love it too much to admit defeat."

Nanon's body betrayed him, shivering, heat pooling, even as he tried to wiggle free. "You... are... insane," he managed, voice breaking.

"I know, baby," Ohm said, leaning down, forehead to Nanon's. "But you're mine... and I'm never done with you. Not today, not ever."

After their time together, both of them cleaned up just enough to make themselves presentable and headed to the GMMTV office. The city felt unusually bright and loud, almost jarring after the intimate cocoon of Nanon's apartment.

"Ohh..." Ohm sighed as they stepped into the lobby, shoulders slumping slightly. "Reality really hits hard after... you know..." His voice trailed off, thick with a mixture of exhaustion and lingering desire.

Nanon smirked, adjusting his blazer, though his cheeks were still slightly flushed. "Yeah... reality, coffee, contracts... and your never-ending morning stamina," he teased, elbowing Ohm lightly.

"Oh, shut up," Ohm muttered, though a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I'm not sure anyone should know how distracted I am right now. Can't exactly focus on paperwork with... well... that still on my mind." He gestured vaguely, letting the memory hang between them.

Nanon chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You're hopeless. But... same here. I was trying to act normal in the cab, but my brain kept... drifting."

They entered the office, greeted with the usual smiles and polite hellos from the staff. Both were pros at hiding personal distractions, but the subtle heat between them lingered like a secret only they shared.

As they sat down with the manager to renew their contracts, Ohm leaned slightly toward Nanon under the table, brushing a hand along his thigh—a silent reminder of their morning. Nanon's breath hitched slightly, and he stifled a smile.

"You're lucky I've learned to act professional," Nanon whispered, just loud enough for Ohm to hear.

"Oh, I know," Ohm murmured back, voice low, teasing. "But don't think I'm done thinking about this morning... or you."

And as the contracts were signed and cameras, scripts, and schedules were discussed, neither of them could shake the electricity still thrumming quietly between them—the reminder that no matter the contracts or deadlines, they belonged to each other in ways that went far beyond work.

The lights dimmed, and the crowd erupted before either of them even appeared on stage. "OHMNANON!!" The chant rolled like thunder through the hall, a wave of excitement and adoration that made Nanon's stomach twist in the best possible way.

"Oh my god..." Nanon whispered, gripping Ohm's arm lightly as they stepped out together, side by side, blinking against the bright stage lights. "I forgot... how loud they are."

"Oh, you'll get used to it," Ohm said with a smirk, looping his arm around Nanon's waist as they walked to their spots. His voice was calm, teasing, but Nanon could feel the warmth radiating from him—steady, grounding, familiar.

The fans screamed again, waving banners and light sticks in unison. Nanon's heart pounded, a mix of nerves, excitement, and a lingering hint of the morning's intimacy that made his cheeks heat up.

"Ohhh, look at them!" Ohm whispered, eyes twinkling as he gestured subtly toward the sea of fans. "They really missed us, huh?"

"They really did," Nanon murmured, trying to catch his breath and steady his racing heart. His fingers brushed Ohm's under the stage lights, and Ohm squeezed back ever so slightly. A private moment amid the chaos.

They greeted the fans together, voices in perfect sync, smiles bright. Questions came fast—about their work, their chemistry, and, of course, their reunion. Each shout of "OHMNANON!!" made Nanon laugh, his nerves melting into exhilaration.

When it was time for the Q&A, Ohm leaned toward Nanon, whispering, "You ready for the fan questions? Brace yourself... they're going to be brutal."

"I was ready when I was half-asleep in your bed this morning," Nanon whispered back, smirking, earning a low chuckle from Ohm.

Even as the fans' screams continued, the tension and closeness between them—quiet, unspoken, electric—remained. Onstage, they were stars. But beneath it all, behind the lights and cheers, they were just Ohm and Nanon, together again, stronger than ever.

A fan in the front row shouted into the microphone, her voice trembling with excitement. "Um... OHMNANON! I... I have to ask—are you two... really together?! Or is it just for the drama?"

The crowd erupted into gasps, cheers, and more chants of "OHMNANON!!" The energy was electric, almost shaking the stage.

Nanon froze for a fraction of a second, cheeks flushing bright red. He glanced at Ohm, whose eyebrow quirked in that infuriating, teasing way that made Nanon's heart skip.

"Oh..." Ohm started, letting the silence drag just long enough for the fans to scream louder. Then he leaned slightly toward Nanon, voice low but audible to the audience. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

Nanon's blush deepened, and he lightly shoved Ohm's shoulder, whispering, "Don't make me explode in front of everyone..."

"Oh, too late," Ohm replied with a grin, turning toward the fan and the roaring audience. "We... are closer than ever. But let's just say... some things are better felt than told."

The crowd went wild—fans screaming, waving banners, and light sticks swaying in frenzy. Nanon buried his face in his hands, trying not to laugh at Ohm's deliberate teasing, but Ohm slipped his arm around Nanon's waist, giving him a little squeeze.

"You see?" Ohm murmured in Nanon's ear, voice low and playful. "Even here... even with all these people... it's still just us."

Nanon peeked up at him, lips twitching into a smile. "You're impossible," he whispered back, and Ohm kissed the top of his head, earning another wave of squeals from the fans.

The rest of the Q&A continued, but now every question about their chemistry, about their closeness, or about future projects carried a charged tension, as if every fan could feel the spark between them.

The question hit like a lightning bolt. "Did you already... sleep together?!" a fan yelled, voice trembling with excitement.

Nanon choked mid-breath, eyes widening as heat flushed his cheeks a deep red. He stumbled over his words, trying to form a response. "W-wait... what?! No—uh—what do you mean?!"

The audience shrieked, half in excitement, half in disbelief. Light sticks waved frantically, banners flapping. Ohm, on the other hand, leaned casually against the mic stand, smirking with that devilish glint in his eyes.

"Oh... you really want an answer to that, huh?" Ohm drawled, his voice low but carrying across the stage. He glanced at Nanon, who was visibly panicking, trying to hide behind his hands.

Nanon squeaked, "Ohm! Don't! Not here! I... I..." His voice trailed off, completely lost as the fans screamed louder.

"Oh, come on, baby," Ohm teased, stepping closer and sliding an arm around Nanon's shoulders. "Don't act like you don't want me to answer. Everyone wants to know, right?"

The crowd roared again, chanting "OHMNANON!!" like a single pulse of energy. Nanon buried his face in Ohm's chest, muttering, "You're out of your mind..."

"Oh, maybe we should just show them," Ohm whispered with a low chuckle, brushing a playful kiss along Nanon's temple. "Or maybe... just keep it our little secret for now."

Nanon peeked up, glaring half-heartedly but clearly melting under the teasing. "You're impossible," he muttered, voice shaky with embarrassment—and a spark of thrill.

The fans went wild again, screams and cheers echoing through the hall as the tension between Ohm and Nanon made the air practically vibrate. Even without a direct answer, the chemistry said everything.

The words hung in the air for a heartbeat before the stadium erupted. Screams, cheers, and chants of "OHMNANON!!" shook the room. Fans waved banners, light sticks blazed in every color, and some even jumped in excitement, tears streaming down their faces.

Ohm wrapped an arm around Nanon's waist, pulling him close, and whispered, "See? Told you, just say it and they'd explode."

Nanon laughed, cheeks still pink, leaning into Ohm's side. "You... make me look bad in front of everyone."

"You look amazing," Ohm murmured, brushing a thumb along Nanon's back. "Especially when you're all flustered like this."

On stage, they held hands for a moment, fingers intertwined, letting the crowd bask in the glow of their confirmation. Every fan chant, every scream, every flash from cameras seemed to pulse like electricity between them.

"OhmNanon forever!" a fan shouted, and the duo laughed, waving at the audience.

"Forever," Nanon echoed, resting his head on Ohm's shoulder as the cheers grew louder.

Even with the overwhelming energy of the fans around them, there was a quiet intimacy in that touch, a promise that the years apart, the teasing, the tension—it had all led them right here. Together, in front of the world, finally unafraid to be themselves.

Ohm leaned down to press a quick kiss to Nanon's temple, audible only to him. "You ready for the rest of the show, baby?"

Nanon smirked, eyes sparkling. "With you? Always."

Chapter 77: EarthMix - Arranged Marriage: Can Sex Work Without Love? (Part. 2)just our little champ

- A tender, slow-burn romance about Earth and Mix, two reluctant newlyweds navigating an unexpected pregnancy. Amid teasing, gentle touches, and stolen moments, they discover warmth, love, and family in the quiet, everyday things—cuddles, cravings, and little kicks that change everything. A fluffy, heartwarming story about growing together and cherishing the little moments.

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The morning sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, spilling golden light across the tangled sheets. Earth stirred awake first, stretching slightly before his gaze shifted to the figure curled against him.

Mix.

For someone who had sworn no kisses, no hugs—he was practically nestled in Earth’s arms, cheek resting on Earth’s chest. His lips were parted slightly, his breathing soft, almost peaceful.

Earth smirked faintly. So much for rules.

He brushed his fingers lazily through Mix’s hair, wondering if Mix would wake and shove him away or pretend he hadn’t noticed. But for the first time since the wedding, Earth didn’t feel trapped. He felt… something else.

And yet—something gnawed at him.

Days turned into weeks, the forced marriage settling into a strange routine. They fought, they bantered, sometimes they avoided each other completely. But at night—sometimes—it happened again. No kisses, no hugs, just bodies and heat. Always with rules, always pretending it was nothing.

Until Mix started getting sick.

At first it was small things. A hand pressed against his stomach after breakfast. A faint grimace when the smell of roasted duck hit the dining hall. Earth noticed, but didn’t comment.

Then one morning, he found Mix kneeling over the bathroom sink, pale and shaking.

"Mix?" Earth’s voice cut through the running tap water.

Mix flinched, splashing his face. "It’s nothing. Just… food poisoning."

Earth’s brows furrowed. "For two weeks straight?"

Mix didn’t answer. His hands trembled slightly as he grabbed a towel.

The truth arrived in the form of a doctor, called in discreetly at Mrs. Pirapat’s insistence when she noticed Mix hadn’t been finishing meals. They sat in the living room, both families present, when the words dropped like a thunderbolt.

"Congratulations," the doctor said with a professional smile. "Mix is pregnant."

The room went silent.

Earth froze in his seat, his heart stopping in his chest. Pregnant? The word ricocheted inside his skull.

Mix looked as if the floor had just vanished beneath him. His face drained of color, lips parting in shock. "Th-that’s… impossible," he stammered, shaking his head. "No… I—I can’t—"

But the doctor continued calmly, "He’s about seven weeks along. Everything looks normal. Healthy. It’s… a boy."

A boy.

Earth’s vision tunneled. The sound of his mother squealing with joy, his father’s booming laughter, the clinking of celebratory glasses—it all faded into background noise. All he could see was Mix, trembling, clutching the arm of the couch like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

A boy. Their boy.

Earth’s hand clenched into a fist.

Later, when the families were gone and the mansion was quiet again, Mix stormed into their room, slamming the door behind him.

"This is your fault!" he hissed, eyes burning with fury and fear. "You—why couldn’t you just—!"

"My fault?" Earth shot back, though his chest ached at the sight of Mix shaking, tears threatening to fall. "You agreed, Mix. You said yes. No kisses, no hugs, just this. You wanted it as much as I did."

"I didn’t want a child!" Mix shouted, his voice cracking.

The silence after was deafening.

Earth stared at him, words stuck in his throat. He swallowed hard, forcing his voice steady. "Neither did I," he admitted. "But we don’t have a choice now."

Mix’s eyes glistened, his anger giving way to raw fear. "I can’t… I can’t do this, Earth. I can’t be someone’s parent. I don’t even know how to love you—how the hell am I supposed to love a child?"

Earth’s chest twisted painfully. He crossed the room slowly, stopping just in front of Mix. His voice dropped, quiet but firm.

"Then we’ll learn."

Mix blinked, startled by the softness in Earth’s tone.

Earth lifted a hand but stopped short, not touching, only hovering near Mix’s cheek. "You don’t have to know everything right now. But this boy—" his throat tightened on the words—"he’s ours. And I won’t let him grow up thinking he was just a mistake."

Mix trembled, staring at Earth like he didn’t recognize him. Slowly, shakily, he whispered, "Why do you sound like you actually want this?"

Earth’s lips curved into the faintest, bittersweet smile. "Because maybe… I do."

Morning/ present Mix is 5 months pregnant with baby boy <3

The kitchen was quiet, sunlight spilling in through the wide windows. The mansion’s marble and gold never felt homier than here, where the faint smell of freshly baked bread lingered.

Mix stood by the counter, one hand resting against his small but undeniable bump. It wasn’t big yet—but big enough that loose shirts weren’t hiding it as well anymore. His palm rubbed over the curve, his lips pressed tight, a heavy sigh escaping him.

They hadn’t told their families. Not yet.

If their parents knew, it would no longer be their secret—it would become a weapon, a business asset, another way to tighten the chain around both their necks. The idea made Mix’s stomach twist.

He was so lost in thought he didn’t hear the footsteps until Earth’s voice broke the silence.

“You’re sighing like the world’s ending.”

Mix jolted, spinning to face him. Earth leaned casually in the doorway, arms folded, his gaze dropping immediately to where Mix’s hand still lingered on his belly.

Mix flushed and quickly crossed his arms over his torso. “I—just had indigestion.”

Earth raised a brow, lips quirking faintly. “Indigestion that kicks?”

Mix’s glare could have cut glass. “Shut up.”

But Earth didn’t tease further. Instead, he walked into the kitchen, his expression shifting into something more serious. He stopped just in front of Mix, close enough to see the tension in his shoulders, the way his breathing hitched.

“You’ve been hiding it too long,” Earth said quietly. His eyes softened, flicking down at the small swell before meeting Mix’s gaze again. “Sooner or later, they’ll notice.”

Mix’s jaw clenched, his voice breaking despite himself. “If they know, we’re done for. They’ll take everything from us—our choices, our freedom. They’ll own this baby before he even opens his eyes.”

Earth’s chest tightened at the tremor in Mix’s voice. For all his stubbornness, all his sharp edges, Mix looked fragile now—terrified.

Without thinking, Earth reached out and placed his hand gently over Mix’s, pressing against the warmth of the bump. The baby kicked faintly beneath their palms.

Mix froze, eyes wide. “E-Earth—”

“Let them try,” Earth murmured, his voice low, steady, and full of quiet defiance. “He’s ours. Not theirs. I won’t let them use him.”

Mix’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his eyes shimmering. He wanted to argue, to push Earth away, to insist they were still enemies bound by force. But the steady weight of Earth’s hand over his own made it impossible to deny the truth pressing in on him.

For the first time, he didn’t feel completely alone in this.

Earth leaned a little closer, his breath brushing Mix’s ear. “You’ve been carrying this by yourself long enough. Let me carry it with you.”

Mix’s heart hammered violently in his chest. He hated how much he wanted to believe him. One of his hand rubbing beautifully round bump, sighing heavily. Their parents still didn’t know.

Earth came up quietly, sliding an arm around him, the other hand gently supporting the weight of his belly.

“Don’t hide it from me,” Earth whispered. “It’s beautiful.”

Mix’s breath caught, eyes lowering as Earth’s touch steadied him—soft, careful, like he was holding the most precious thing in the world.

Earth swayed with him slowly, his hands resting over Mix’s bump as he pressed a tender kiss to the back of his nape.

“Did he start kicking yet?” Earth murmured against his skin.

Mix’s lips curved in the faintest smile, his fingers brushing Earth’s knuckles. “Mm… sometimes. He’s quiet now.”

Earth tightened his hold just a little, rocking him gently as if coaxing the life inside to stir. “Then I’ll wait with you until he does.” Mix closed his eyes, leaning back into him, letting himself feel safe for the first time all day.

Earth slipped away from holding Mix just long enough to pull out a pan. He cracked a few eggs, chopping up fresh vegetables, the kitchen filling with the soft sizzle.

“We have to keep it healthy,” he said with a small grin, glancing over his shoulder at Mix. “So he’ll grow strong—a big baby, our healthy little champ.”

Mix leaned against the counter, watching him, his hand still stroking his bump. A warmth spread in his chest at how naturally Earth spoke—like they were already a family.

Earth plated the omelet and set it down, but his eyes caught something else—Mix shuffling by the counter in a loose shirt, unmistakably wearing his boxers.

“You’re wearing my boxers?” Earth smirked, leaning back against the counter, arms folded.

Mix flushed, tugging the hem of his shirt lower. “They’re… comfortable.”

Earth’s gaze lingered, teasing but warm. “Mm. They look better on you anyway. Besides…” He stepped closer, fingertips brushing over the soft curve of Mix’s bump. “…boxers aren’t exactly made for this. For you, it’s better without anything pressing here.”

Mix swatted lightly at him, embarrassed, but the heat in his cheeks betrayed him. Earth just grinned wider, enjoying every second.

Mix tugged lightly at Earth’s shirt, his voice dropping into a shy whisper.

“Can I have… pickles with cheese and watermelon?”

Earth blinked, then let out a quiet laugh, brushing Mix’s hair back from his forehead. “That’s the strangest combination yet,” he teased, but the fondness in his tone was undeniable.

Mix pouted, rubbing his bump. “It’s not funny. He wants it.”

Earth shook his head, already reaching for the fridge. “Alright, alright. If our champ wants pickles, cheese, and watermelon, then that’s exactly what he’ll get.”

He set the ingredients on the counter, smirking as he sliced. “But don’t blame me if he comes out with weird taste buds.”

Mix’s laugh was soft, sweet—filling the kitchen like sunlight.

Earth didn’t stop with just the cravings. Once he started, he filled the kitchen—omelets, fruit, rice soup, grilled chicken, even a plate of cut watermelon on the side.

Mix sat at the table, wide-eyed, watching the dishes stack up one after another.

“Earth…” he murmured, touched. “That’s too much.”

Earth set down the last bowl and leaned close, brushing his thumb along Mix’s cheek. “No such thing. You’re not starving on my watch—not you, not him.”

Mix’s chest tightened, eyes shimmering as he looked from the food to Earth’s steady gaze. For the first time in a long while, he felt safe, cared for… cherished.

The day had slipped away faster than either of them realized, the warm sun giving in to a velvet night. By the time they got home, Mix sank down on the edge of the bed with a soft groan, one hand rubbing the dull ache in his lower back.

“I’m so tired…” he whispered, leaning into the pillows.

Earth gave him a quick glance, concern flickering in his eyes. “Lie down for a bit. I’ll be quick.”

He was the first to head into the shower, the sound of running water filling the quiet room. Mix closed his eyes, listening, one hand still tracing circles over his bump as he waited, exhaustion tugging at him.

The bed felt emptier without Earth beside him, but the thought of sharing that space soon made his lips curve in a small, weary smile.

Earth stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, and caught sight of Mix lying on the bed, rubbing his lower back and tracing gentle circles over his bump.

He smiled softly and grabbed the bottle of baby oil from the dresser. “We don’t want nasty stretch marks left here, do we?” he murmured, pouring a little into his hands and warming it between his palms.

Mix blinked, cheeks flushing as Earth knelt beside him, pressing warm hands to his belly. Earth rubbed slowly, carefully, his thumbs tracing soothing circles over the curve of the bump.

“Hey there, little champ,” Earth whispered, voice low and tender, lips brushing over Mix’s nape as he leaned closer. “We’re taking care of you, okay? Gonna make sure you grow strong… and your mom stays happy too.”

Mix let out a soft, tired laugh, pressing his hand over Earth’s. “You talk to him too much,” he murmured, though his eyes shone with warmth.

Earth chuckled, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the top of the bump. “I can’t help it… he’s already part of us. And I’m gonna spoil him rotten.”

Mix relaxed fully against him, exhausted but content, letting Earth’s hands and whispers soothe both him and the little life growing inside.
ChatGPT povedal:

Earth leaned closer, pressing soft kisses all around Mix’s bump, his hands gliding gently over the smooth, warm curve.

“He’s kicking my hand… so cute!” he murmured, voice low and full of wonder.

Mix’s cheeks flushed, a tired but happy smile tugging at his lips.

Earth smirked, nuzzling the belly with his cheek, eyes soft as he looked up at Mix. “He’s going to be just like his mommy—cute, stubborn, and already stealing hearts,” he teased gently, brushing his nose along the swell.

Mix let out a quiet laugh, hand resting over Earth’s, feeling the warmth and tenderness radiate between them. For the first time, the little family they hadn’t planned felt real, safe, and unexpectedly perfect.

Mix rolled his eyes, trying to hide his blush. “Stop… that feels weird,” he muttered, tugging slightly at Earth’s hands.

Earth only chuckled softly, smirking down at him. “Weird? Come on… he’s kicking, isn’t he? He likes it.”

Mix groaned, burying his face in the pillow. “I don’t care if he likes it… it’s just… you rubbing and kissing my belly like that… ugh, it’s weird.”

Earth leaned closer, voice teasing but gentle. “Weird or not, you’ve got a cute little champ in there. And I’m not letting him—or you—miss out on a little love.”

Mix huffed, but the corners of his lips twitched into a reluctant smile.

Mix finally let out a long sigh, relaxing against the pillows as Earth curled around him, one arm draped over his belly. The warmth of Earth pressed close, steady and reassuring, made him forget the awkwardness from moments before.

“You know,” Mix murmured softly, tracing circles over Earth’s hand on his bump, “we should… think about a name.”

Earth’s lips curved into a small smile against Mix’s temple. “Hmm… yeah. Something strong, cute… fits him already.”

Mix chuckled quietly. “Strong and cute? That’s a tough combo.”

Earth nuzzled closer, cheek against Mix’s, fingers brushing over the gentle curve of the bump. “We’ll figure it out together. Just… our little champ.”

Mix rested his head back, closing his eyes. “I like that. For now… just our little champ.”

The room grew quiet except for the soft sounds of their breathing, two hearts and one tiny life between them, dreaming about the future while wrapped safely in each other’s arms.