Vēnor

The stream is cold.

Not harshly so, but enough to make Jimin’s skin prickle as he steps into the shallows, water swirling around his ankles. Moss coats the stones beneath his feet, slick and treacherous, but he moves with ease, the way only something born wild can.

His long, black tipped ears twitch once, then settle back. The several golden hoops pierced through them glint in the sun as they rest against the slight wave of his honey-blonde hair. The forest is quiet and still enough to feel safe.

He wades deeper, the water up to his thighs but tail still dry above the surface. Sunlight filters through the canopy in dappled patches, a golden light cast across his chest and the stream as it ripples around him. It's open enough that he can see any predators coming, secluded enough that he’s unlikely to be disturbed by anyone else, and shallow enough that he can reach the bottom all the way across.

Just a rinse, that's what he needs—A quick moment to cool off from the afternoon heat before he continues his day of foraging. He cups water in his hands and pours it over his shoulders and neck, letting it trail down the curve of his back.

Fingers work through his hair, then down at the base of his tail, combing out bits of leaf and tangles from the brush. He hums softly as he cleans himself, slow and methodical. Then his hand brushes over the dark tuft of hair trailing down his lower stomach, and his breath hitches.

He’s already half-hard, the ache sudden but not surprising. It’s been like this more and more as the temperatures climb, a restless heat bubbling under his skin. Like rabbits, hare hybrids are known for it, always in season, always needy.

Sometimes Jimin hates it, the pressure to fuck or fight when they come together in the autumn months. He’d never been one of those high testosterone males, trying to impress the hinds and build a harem before mating season begins.

No, Jimin had always had an eye for the males himself, almost wishing to be one of the hinds, but not quite. He’s happy being a buck, even if he isn't the most dominant one around. He’s spent most of his ruts alone with his hand, except the rare time he finds a like-minded buck or some desperate enough after failing to secure females to let off some steam with him instead.

Jimin sinks a little lower, water curling over his hips, dousing his hot, aching cock in in the coolness of the stream. It’s not cold enough to dampen his arousal, just spurring it on, a brisk kind of relief. He wraps a hand around himself, the touch pulling a gasp from his throat.

The contrast of cold water against hot skin makes his body jerk, pleasure blooming fast and strong. He lets out a soft groan as he strokes, hand twisting at the head on the upstroke. Heat coils low in his belly, tingles up his spine as his ears and tail quiver. He grinds forward into the circle of his fist and his foot involuntarily kicks out with a splash.

He curses as his hand speeds up, water sloshing too loud around him as he moves, breathing shallow and ragged as he gets closer. He should slow down, be quieter, avoid attracting attention. But he can’t, he just needs release.

Suddenly, something feels off—A subtle prickling at the base of his skull, the unmistakable weight of eyes on his body.

He’s being watched.

His whole body tenses, ears snap upright to swivel in search of any sound of danger. He should stop. He should run. Instead he’s tipped unexpectedly into orgasm, his arousal spiking with fear, hot and frenzied. He bites back a cry as the stream carries away his release.

Jimin slumps forward, the water suddenly feeling too frigid against his sensitive skin and snapping him out of his daze. He looks around frantically, searching for the presence that had sparked that unexpected reaction. But he’s alone, no sign of whatever had been watching him. The forest is still.

Jimin finishes washing up with quick, deft movements, finally splashing some water on his face before pulling himself from the stream. He slips his simple tunic on and makes a hasty retreat.

Night creeps through the forest on silent paws.

Jimin curls, naked but warm, in his nest in the hollow of a sun-dried fallen log. The soft earth beneath him still holds the day’s warmth. His ears flick lazily, catching the distant hum of crickets, the whisper of leaves overhead. It should be soothing—it usually is—but tonight, his body won’t relax.

He lies on his side with his knees drawn up, tail pressed to the curve of his rear. His fingers curl in the leaves and tufts of fur under his cheek. Every time he closes his eyes, he feels it again, that sharp prickle at the base of his neck, the heaviness of a gaze that could mean his death.

Someone was there. He knows it. Every instinct in him had screamed at him to run. He should have bolted. He should have been halfway across the forest before that presence could breathe in his scent. But he hadn’t. Instead, he stood in the stream with his cock in his fist, panting like a fool, and came so hard he saw stars.

The heat of shame flares in his cheeks at the memory, his stomach knotting. It was wrong. It was dangerous. It should have scared him.

It did scare him.

He presses his thighs together as arousal sparks in his gut again and tries to steady his breathing. The fear had bled into something else, something darker and sweeter that had burned through him like fire. His body is still thrumming from it hours later. He feels restless, raw, and so confused.

Jimin buries his face in the leaves, as if he can hide from the thought.

What would have happened if he’d been caught?

He knows it would have meant his end, but for some reason, the thought of being trapped beneath the bulk of a predator—sharp teeth glistening with saliva as it drools in anticipation of tasting his sweet flesh—has his heartrate quickening. Jimin hates the way it makes his belly twist, the way need wells up inside him like a fresh spring.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to force it away. Sleep will come eventually; it always does.

The forest hums in the late summer heat when Jimin makes his way back to the stream. It’s been days since his last visit, days of trying to forget the way his body had reacted to being watched. He told himself he shouldn’t come here again. It feels too exposed after last time, too dangerous. But it really is the best place to bathe.

He kneels at the edge beside his discarded tunic, dipping his cupped hands into the current to take a drink before sliding in. The water bites pleasantly at his skin, sluicing the sweat from his limbs. He slowly washes the dirt from his legs, leaves from his fur, the salt from the hollow of his throat. Sunlight filters through the canopy, breaking on the ripples like broken shards of the sun itself.

By the time he sinks in up to his hips, Jimin knows it’s hopeless. He’s already shamefully hard from need at the memory lapping at his mind.

He strokes himself under the water, fingers sliding over water-slick skin. The current pulls against him, cool and refreshing. His ears twitch as he bites down on a low moan, eyes fluttering shut. The pleasure rises fast, hot and sudden enough to make him dizzy.

Then a sound cuts through the burbling of the stream. The sharp snap of a twig. Too close.

Jimin freezes. His ears twitch upright, holding his breath to hear better. The breeze shifts and brings it with it a scent so potent it floods his senses before he can name it. Musky, rich, predatory. His stomach flips.

Danger. Close.

Fear slams into him like a physical force. His instincts scream the only command they know in that moment.

Run.

Jimin bolts from the stream with loud splashes and darts forward in a desperate scramble for the trees. His heart is pounding hard enough to drown out everything else with the roar of his pulse in his long ears. He doesn't bother stopping to grab his tunic; it’s not important, he has another.

He runs and runs and runs, dodging trees, vaulting over roots, zig-zagging around bushes and ferns. His lungs burn as he pushes himself to move faster.

It’s the basest instinct he has, to run away and hide, even more so than the need to breed. Move, survive, get to a safe place. But something feels different this time. His body shouldn’t feel this electrified while he’s fleeing for his life.

His wires are crossed. That’s the only explanation. The terror sings in his veins, prey fleeing predator, and tangled up with it is a heat so fierce it makes his thighs tremble from more than exertion. Every near-stumble makes sparks of panic shoot through him, sharp and sweet. By the time he stumbles into a dense thicket of thorns his chest is heaving, ears and tail twitching uncontrollably.

He scents the air. Nothing. No movement, no scent, no sound but his own ragged breaths. The predator isn’t here. He’s safe, for now.

The ache between his legs is unbearable now, a hot ache that won’t be ignored. Jimin drops to his knees, dirt clinging to his wet skin. He wraps a hand around himself without thought, the pace of his stroking desperate and punishing. He reaches back and presses two fingers between his cheeks, pads ghosting over his hole. His teeth sink into his lip as he presses against his entrance, a small trickle of slick leaking out around the digit. Every muscle throbs from the sprint, every breath chokes out as a gasp.

The pressure against his hole is enough to send him over the edge even without actually pushing inside. His orgasm tears through him so violently he nearly collapses, a blinding starburst of white behind his eyelids. Jimin whines, high and thin as the shudders wring him dry, splattering the earth with his release.

When he calms, he falls to his knees and presses his forehead to the ground, sweat and water dripping from his hair. His body is sore and shaking, every nerve still humming as the adrenaline bleeds from him into the ground, like rain in a storm.

He resolutely doesn’t think about why he came harder than he ever has before.

The night is cool when Jimin wakes.

At first, he doesn’t know why. His nest is warm despite the night's chill, muscles pleasantly sore, body curled tight in the hollow of the log where he always sleeps. But it’s too quiet. The forest around him has gone silent, which can only mean one thing.

His heart is beating too fast. A rapid, heavy thud against his ribs that he knows is audible to the sensitive ears of other hybrids.

He feels it more than hears it: a weight that shifts just beyond the opening of his den, grass bending under something heavier than the night wind.

Every muscle tenses. His ears snap back, and he presses himself further back into his nest in what he knows is a futile attempt to melt into the wood behind him.

The scent reaches him next.

Rich and wild, sun-warmed earth and sweet sap, the faint underlying tang of iron, threaded through with heat. It’s musky in a way that makes his gut clench traitorously. A feline scent. Not faint, not on the edge of the breeze. It’s close. So close it curls under the arch of the log and pools in his nest like smoke.

Jimin’s breath stutters, heart clawing at his ribs. He’s quiet—at least he thinks he is—but his body is betraying him, shaking so hard the leaves rustle under his cheek.

Don’t move.

Don’t breathe.

Don’t let it find you.

But he knows it’s already too late.

A low sound hums through the night. Not a growl. Not quite a purr either, though it vibrates like one, deep and rumbling. It slices down his spine like sharp claws and teeth scraping his bones.

Something shifts in the shadows outside, and the faint starlight catches on a silhouette. Strong shoulders. Eyes that gleam pale gold in the dark, fixed on the hollow where Jimin lies frozen. Even in the dim light, Jimin can see the flash of sharp teeth when he smiles, the sway of his long, slim tail.

A leopard crouches at the mouth of the den.

Jimin can’t look away. His throat clicks when he swallows, his pulse thundering in his ears.

The predator moves.

Not fast. Not with the raw, explosive power Jimin knows he’s capable of. This is worse, a shadow melting forward. His body slides through the hollow’s mouth with too much grace. The log is massive, but now it feels suffocating, the air heavy with his heat and scent.

Jimin curls tighter against the far wall, back pressing into the rough bark until it grates at his skin. His breath comes in shallow puffs through his nose, every inhale thick with leopard. Warm earth, wild musk, and something darker, edged like blood on the tongue. It rolls into him like smoke, dizzying.

A tongue flicks over a sharp canine as he smiles, low and silent. His eyes gleam, pupils wide and wild in the dark. He crouches low, muscles rippling under the dark smudge of rosettes dotting his skin above the neckline of the simple shirt he wears. He closes the gap one careful step at a time.

Beautiful.

Jimin shouldn't be as paralyzingly captivated as he is. Jimin can feel the heat of him now, can hear the whisper of each carefully controlled breath.

The moment stretches taut, Jimin’s pulse a frantic drum as every instinct shrieks run, but his body is locked in a trembling coil. He leans in, close enough for Jimin to feel the faint brush of his breath against his cheek. Close enough that one lunge would end everything in a flash of teeth and blood and Jimin’s frantic dying wail.

Then, he stops.

The leopard goes still, nostrils flaring. He breathes in deep, slowly dragging the air in through his mouth—tasting, evaluating—and something changes in his gaze. The sharp hunger there doesn’t dull, but it shifts. Darkens and thickens. His eyes cut down, and Jimin knows the second he scents it: the sharp, musky tang of arousal.

Heat floods Jimin’s face, molten and humiliating. His thighs press together instinctively, too late to hide the truth perfuming the air. The leopard inhales like he’s savoring it, tongue sweeping his lower lip in a motion that makes Jimin’s stomach lurch.

“Oh, sweet little thing,” he murmurs, his mocking voice a low rasp that rumbles through the wood and deep into Jimin’s bones.

Before Jimin can flinch, the world tilts.

A sudden weight presses into him, pinning his wrists hard against the earth. Claws bite into tender skin, sharp enough to sting, shallow enough not to tear. A startled cry bursts from his throat. The leopard looms above him, heat rolling off his body in heavy waves as the log shrinks to a coffin around them.

Jimin kicks once, a pathetic little jerk of his legs before a strong thigh slides between them and forces them apart. His breath trembles against the predator’s hand, chest heaving as the scent of feline floods every sense. It is everywhere. Thick and musky, threaded with rich arousal, choking the air until Jimin can barely think. It drags another pulse of heat through him, and to his shame, he feels slick leak out of him, the bloom of it entwining with the leopard’s musk.

He presses closer, his weight a cage, claws still hooked in Jimin’s wrists like knives. His breath ghosts over Jimin’s cheek when he speaks, voice low and curling dark around the edges.

“What’s your name, little hare?”

Jimin whimpers, ears pressed flat to his skull, trembling so violently he almost aches. The demand comes again, deeper this time, commanding in a way that sinks sharply into Jimin’s ribs.

“Your name.”

“J-Jimin,” he stammers, voice cracking like dry wood in a blaze.

The leopard smiles, slow, lethal.

“Call me Hoseok.”

Hoseok.

The name bounces around in Jimin’s skull, ringing through him like a mantra. Hoseok, Hoseok, Hoseok. It floods his veins, fills every hollow of his body until there is no forest, no log, no night sky outside. There's only the suffocating heat of the predator pinning him down. Hoseok leans in until his lips brush Jimin’s ear.

“Good boy,” he purrs, and the praise slams through Jimin so hard his hips jerk, a shameful whine escaping from his throat. The sharp sting of claws digs deeper into his wrists when Hoseok hears it.

“P-please,” Jimin whispers, turning his head away from Hoseok’s, eyes screwed shut.

“Hmm? What is it you want, sweet Jimin?” Hoseok asks, tongue flicking out to wet his lips, brushing with the faintest of touches against Jimin’s cheek.

Jimin can’t speak, can’t voice what he wants.

He wants to survive the night—wants not to be devoured, but wants it at the same time. He wants to be touched. No, he needs to be touched. He whimpers and struggles against Hoseok’s vice grip. It's futile, he knows that, but his legs kick and hips arch until his cock brushes Hoseok’s belly, smearing pre-cum across the soft skin.

“Does the little bunny want to be in the kitty’s mouth?” Hoseok taunts, and the soft huff of a laugh has Jimin aching with need.

He doesn’t know what it is about being spoken to in such a manner, but Jimin has always been weak for it, for the hot curl of shame curling in his gut like woodsmoke. Now that weakness comes back to bite him harder than Hoseok’s teeth ever could. Maybe it’s because it’s coming from a predator, someone who could easily end him. Maybe it’s specifically this predator. Jimin isn’t sure, but every mocking word has his cock twitching and leaking an ever growing pool of slick onto the ground beneath him.

“Mmm, it smells like you do,” Hoseok hums, tilting his head as he rakes his eyes down Jimin’s body, hungry for more than meat. “Pathetic little thing. You smell like you’ll taste sweet. Keep still if you don’t want to get hurt.”

Jimin’s body vibrates with fear and anticipation as Hoseok slides down his body, nose brushing along the column of his throat, his collar bones, his chest. Down, down, down. Scenting and tasting, stopping every now and then to flick his tongue out against too hot skin.

Jimin trembles as he keeps as still as possible, hands curled into fists at his sides, cock weeping with need as Hoseok finally reaches it and takes a deeper, savouring breath. A keening cry rips from Jimin’s chest as a hot, wet tongue licks a line from the base of his cock to the tip, dipping into the slit to taste him. It’s rough with the natural hooks on Hoseok’s tongue, painful in the most delicious way. It’s a feeling Jimin could never have imagined, let alone known he’d enjoy.

He licks and licks and licks, until Jimin is dripping with saliva and pre-cum and need, skin sore and reddened from the rasp of that sinful tongue.

“So sweet. Like honey.” Hoseok's breath brushes over the head, hands sliding gently up Jimin’s thighs before sharp nails dig into the meat of them. Jimin arches and gasps at the pricks of pain, the head of his cock smearing fluid across Hoseok’s cheek.

“Be still,” Hoseok commands, and something in Jimin’s core tugs, urging him to obey, freezing his limbs in place.

Jimin can’t breathe. Every nerve in his body is alight and quivering with fear and molten heat as Hoseok’s mouth hovers over his cock. He wants to move—wants to thrust, to rut, to seek relief—but the weight of Hoseok’s demand holds him still. His chest heaves with shallow, broken breaths.

“Good,” Hoseok purrs, the word a warm hum that vibrates against Jimin’s slick skin. “Stay like that for me, little hare.”

The press of Hoseok’s mouth is devastating. A guttural sound claws its way from Jimin’s throat, the sound of a creature overwhelmed. Hoseok’s tongue drags, slow and deliberate, against the underside.

Jimin’s eyes roll back. His hands claw at the dirt beside him, trying not to buck into that all consuming heat. When Hoseok’s lips part around his cockhead, hot and wet, Jimin’s spine arches despite himself. Hoseok’s hands tighten like shackles around his thighs, nails biting deep enough to leave little crescent moons in his flesh.

“Still,” Hoseok murmurs again, voice a curling growl low in his throat. He takes Jimin deeper, lips sliding down until his nose brushes soft blonde curls. The heat is unbearable—every inch of Jimin’s cock enveloped in a wet, velvet warmth that has him shuddering violently.

Hoseok hums around him, low and pleased, and the vibration sends Jimin’s vision blurring at the edges. His ears twitch helplessly against the bark behind him, and his tail thrashes like it has a mind of its own. Tears sting his eyes from the sheer intensity of sensation.

He doesn’t know if it’s fear or pleasure making his stomach clench so hard.

Hoseok pulls back slowly, letting Jimin’s cock slip from his mouth with a wet, obscene sound. His tongue follows the path, licking up every drop of pre-cum that leaks from the flushed tip, like a predator savoring every last taste of its prey.

“So sensitive,” Hoseok says, licking his lips, his gaze sharp and cutting even in the dark. “It’s almost too easy with you.”

Jimin whimpers, humiliated and desperate, hips twitching despite Hoseok’s grip. He feels like his body is betraying him at every turn, the heat coiling tighter and tighter low in his gut.

“Do you want more?” Hoseok asks, more of a taunt than an offer. His thumb brushes over the flushed head of Jimin’s cock, smearing slick down the length, and Jimin jerks sharply.

“Y-yes,” he whispers, voice barely audible, cracking under the weight of his need. His ears flatten, and shame burns his cheeks. “Please.”

Hoseok grins, sharp and delighted. “Then beg for it, little hare.”

Jimin can’t even form words. His throat feels too tight, clogged with whimpers and half-breathed pleas that continue until Hoseok takes mercy on him. He dips his head again, taking Jimin into his mouth with a single, steady motion that’s so smooth that Jimin’s vision whites out for a second.

Jimin cries out, but it’s cut off by a broken gasp when Hoseok swallows around him. The heat is unbearable, wet and tight, and Hoseok’s tongue flattens along the underside of his cock like it was made to wreck him. The muscles in Jimin’s legs tremble violently—every instinct screams at him to thrust, to escape, to chase that molten pleasure, to run—but Hoseok’s vice-like grip pins him in place.

The bob of Hoseok’s head is unhurried yet devastating, each pull of his mouth so precise it makes Jimin’s toes curl into the dirt. Hoseok’s throat works around him, swallowing him down until the blonde’s tip brushes the tight heat of his throat. Jimin’s entire body seizes at the sensation.

“H-hah! Please!” His voice is high and shaking, but Hoseok growls low around him, the vibrations forcing another whimper from Jimin’s chest.

The pressure coiling in his gut is too much, too fast. He’s never felt this way before, like his body isn’t his own, like Hoseok’s mouth has turned him into nothing but raw nerve endings and helpless sounds. His thighs shake uncontrollably, and tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

“C-close!” he chokes out, his voice cracking with desperation. He’s so close it hurts, the heat burning white-hot, his cock throbbing against the back of Hoseok’s throat.

Hoseok doesn’t stop. He hollows his cheeks and sucks with an obscene, wet sound that makes Jimin sob. One hand moves from Jimin’s thigh to his stomach, pressing him down firmly, holding him still as he swallows around him, merciless.

Jimin’s breath hitches when he feels himself spiraling too fast, his body coiled like a spring ready to snap., teetering on that unbearable edge of release. Hoseok pulls off.

A sharp, broken sob rips from Jimin’s throat, his swollen cock twitching in the open air, slick and desperate. He looks down at Hoseok with tear-bright eyes, lips trembling.

“Wh—?” he whimpers, heat pooling so tight and low in his belly at Hoseok’s predatory grin.

“You don’t get to finish yet, sweet thing,” Hoseok says. “Not until I’ve had my fill.”

Jimin’s ears twitch wildly at the words. He stares up at Hoseok with wide eyes as Hoseok sits back, looking down at Jimin with dark eyes and licking his lips hungrily. He tugs the shirt over his head in a single, swift movement, and slides simple shorts from his hips, leaving them in a surprisingly neat pile near the entrance.

Jimin can't help the way his eyes trail down to take in Hoseok’s cock. It's hard and flushed, barbs ringing the ridge around the head and down the shaft to the soft swell of an uninflated knot. It’s terrifying and strangely mesmerizing. Hares don’t have knots, and Jimin suddenly aches to know what it feels like to be so full of one.

His heart races with a fresh pulse of adrenaline as Hoseok’s hands grip his hips and flip him onto his stomach. Jimin squeaks and tries to squirm away, but Hoseok palms at his cheeks, spreading them with his thumbs and spitting, obscenely, directly onto Jimin’s hole.

“W-wait,” Jimin’s voice shakes. He doesn’t know if Hoseok’s body is even compatible with his like that, doesn’t know whether to beg him to stop or to keep going.

“Don’t worry,” Hoseok murmurs, leaning in close, his breath hot against Jimin’s ear. “It’ll fit. And the barbs are soft. It won't hurt… much.”

He positions himself against Jimin’s entrance, teasing him with small but precise rolls of his hips. The ridges catch, sending sparks of sensation up Jimin’s spine, and he gasps, hands curling into fists against the ground.

“You’ll take it,” Hoseok growls, cutting him off. “You’ll take me nice and deep.”

With one sharp thrust, Hoseok pushes inside, the soft barbs dragging deliciously along Jimin’s inner walls. The sensation is overwhelming—too much texture, too hard, filling him too deep—and Jimin cries out, his back arching as his nails dig into the dirt. It burns, but it’s also incredible, a stretch that makes him see stars.

“F-fuck! Oh god!” Jimin’s voice breaks into a sob, his ears flat, tail vibrating madly. Every time Hoseok moves, the barbs stroke him from the inside, rubbing against spots he didn’t even know were sensitive.

“Feel that?” Hoseok growls into his neck, biting down lightly. “Every ridge is for you. Every single one.” He thrusts again, harder, Jimin somehow taking every inch as he lets out a strangled moan.

Hoseok curls a hand around the base of Jimin’s tail, using it as a handle as he sets a brutal pace. He grinds deep so Jimin can feel the barbs catching on his rim with every thrust. The sensation is maddening, a mix of sweet pain and unbearable pleasure, and Jimin can’t stop the cries spilling from his mouth. His cock, still flushed and aching, smears against his own stomach, dripping precum with every thrust.

“You’re clenching so tight,” Hoseok pants, his claws digging into Jimin’s hips. “You love this, don’t you? My pretty little hare. So perfect for me.”

Jimin can’t answer, but his body speaks for him. He arches into Hoseok’s thrusts, greedy for every scrape of those barbs inside him.

Hoseok’s pace grows rougher, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the dark space. Jimin’s panting so hard he’s almost sobbing, head thrown back, throat bared as if in surrender.

“Please. Ah! Please, Hoseok,” Jimin pleads, voice ragged. His cock bounces helplessly with each thrust, flushed red and leaking. Hoseok’s hand clamps around the base, squeezing just enough to keep him on the brink.

“You don’t get to cum yet,” he snarls, biting at Jimin’s neck. “Not until I’ve fucked every last whimper out of you.”

Jimin’s whole body convulses with need. The pressure in his belly is unbearable, building and building with nowhere to go. He cries out, high and broken.

“It’s too much. I can’t—”

“You can,” Hoseok hisses against his ear, thrusting deep enough to make Jimin scream. “Take it. You love it.”

Jimin’s vision blurs with tears as Hoseok pounds into him, every stroke of barbs along his inner walls has his body shaking violently, toes curling.

“Please. Please let me…” His plea turns into a sob.

Hoseok’s grin is cruel and hungry. “Beg prettier, bunny.”

“I’ll do anything!” Jimin cries out, his back arching as Hoseok thrusts deep and grinds. “I’ll—I’ll be good, I’ll do anything, please. Please, let me cum!”

Hoseok’s eyes roll back at the desperation in Jimin’s voice and he growls low in his throat, the sound sending a shiver down Jimin’s spine. “Fine. Cum on my cock. Now.”

The second Hoseok grants him permission, Jimin unravels. He cums so hard his vision whites out, his body convulsing as his orgasm rips through him like a storm. Hot strings of cum paint his belly and the dirt as broken moans spill from his throat.

But Hoseok doesn’t stop. The barbs feel even more intense now, every thrust rubbing him raw and oversensitized.

“S’too much,” Jimin slurs, but Hoseok just growls and pushes him down harder, pinning him so fully Jimin is almost being crushed into the dirt. It feels heavenly.

“Oh, you’re not done yet,” Hoseok says darkly, his voice thick with lust. “You’re going to take more. I’m not nearly finished with you.”

Jimin’s legs tremble violently, but Hoseok keeps thrusting, his barbed cock pulling out more helpless cries from Jimin with every drag. The overstimulation has him writhing, sobbing now from how intense it feels.

“Your body loves it,” Hoseok says, smirking when Jimin clenches around him involuntarily. “Even when you say you can’t take more, you’re milking me like you want it.”

“Please, I can’t—” Jimin’s words dissolve into a scream when Hoseok thrusts particularly deep and grinds his hips in slow, deliberate circles.

“You can,” Hoseok growls, sweat dripping down his temples as his own pleasure climbs. “And you will. You’re going to take every inch of me until I’m finished with you.”

His hand snakes around Jimin’s throat, not tight, but firm enough to make Jimin’s eyes roll back as he keens. Hoseok leans in close, lips brushing Jimin’s ear.

“I’m going to fill you up so much it’s dripping out of you. Maybe I’ll keep you like this all night. Stuffed full, shaking, begging for mercy you won’t get.”

The words alone make Jimin’s cock twitch, another bead of milky fluid leaking from the tip. His body is betraying him, clenching around Hoseok’s cock with desperate, involuntary spasms.

“You’re going to cum again,” Hoseok snarls, snapping his hips forward. “Do it. Milk me, bunny. Show me how much your body loves this.”

The barbs drag with each thrust, hitting every sensitive spot until Jimin is screaming, his back arching off the ground as another orgasm rips through him. He cums again, his cock spurting weakly, the overstimulation so intense it’s almost painful. His thighs twitch, muscles locking, and he lets out a broken sob as his body shudders uncontrollably.

Hoseok doesn’t let up, pounding into Jimin with a feral need. Jimin’s hole, stretched and puffy and slick, takes every thrust with a wet squelch that makes Hoseok groan low in his throat.

“So fucking good for me,” Hoseok grits out, hips stuttering. “So tight, even after cumming twice. I’m going to—fuck—fill you, knot you. Make sure you don’t forget who you belong to.”

Jimin’s glazed eyes widen, but before he can respond, Hoseok slams in deep and holds him there. There’s a sharp sting as the base of Hoseok’s cock swells, his knot pushing against Jimin’s rim until it finally pops inside, locking them together.

“Ah—ah!” Jimin feels so impossibly full, the knot pressing against every sensitive nerve. He can barely breathe from the stretch, the sensation has him trembling even more. Hoseok’s orgasm hits like a tidal wave the second his teeth sink into Jimin’s nape. Jimin lets out a strangled cry, part pain and part shock, as Hoseok bites deep enough to break skin, warm blood running over Hoseok’s tongue. The sharp coppery tang makes Hoseok groan low in his chest, his knot throbbing as he empties himself inside Jimin in pulsing spurts.

“Mine,” he growls against Jimin’s neck, the sound feral. His hips grind every last drop of his release deep into Jimin’s trembling body. Hoseok shudders, lips slick with blood, panting as he noses into Jimin’s sweat-damp hair.

Jimin breathes, shallow and shaky, every nerve sparking from the overwhelming sensations. He feels so full, stretched so completely around Hoseok’s knot, unable to move even if he wanted to. But as the rough edge of their coupling fades, Hoseok’s energy shifts. His grip softens, and he licks the bite mark tenderly, as if sealing the wound with his tongue.

“Shhh,” Hoseok murmurs, his voice hoarse and heavy with exhaustion. “That’s it, sweet thing. Took me so well. So perfect.”

He laps at the blood on Jimin’s neck in slow, soothing strokes, humming quietly as his breath fans over the fresh mark. Jimin’s body relaxes under the warmth of Hoseok’s weight, every muscle loose and spent. Hoseok wraps his arms around him, chest pressed against Jimin’s back, holding him close as if shielding him from the world. His knot is still swollen inside, keeping them connected in a way that now somehow feels intimate and grounding.

“You’re mine now,” Hoseok whispers, kissing the back of Jimin’s ear. “My sweet little prey. I’ll never eat you, but I’ll never let you go, either. Not if you don’t want me to.”

Jimin lets out a small, tired sound—a soft hum that could mean yes, or please, or stay. Hoseok smiles against his skin, nuzzling his nape.

“That’s my good boy,” he murmurs, continuing to lazily lick and kiss the fresh bite mark. It’s the last thing Jimin knows before he sinks into some dark oblivion.