Archive of Our Own

The town called it the Blackwood Curse. An old thing. A creature said to haunt the forest just past the river bend, where the fog never cleared and the trees grew in tangled spirals, wrong in ways no one could explain. Deer were found shredded. Trees bled black sap. Sometimes you’d hear screaming in the night, long and drawn out, echoing through the hollows.

No one went past the tree line.

Except Yunho.

Yunho, who had spent one too many late nights on the internet watching very specific kinds of content. Yunho, who lived alone, worked remotely, and had a bit too much free time and imagination for his own good.

So when he heard the stories—about a towering thing with antlers like twisted bone, with blackened hands and a voice like static in your skull—he did what any man with a death wish and a monster kink would do.

He packed a flashlight, some breath mints, and went looking for him.

To anyone else, the forest was cursed. To Yunho? It was potential. The kind of potential that got your browser history flagged and your therapist concerned.

He’d spent weeks obsessing over the rumors—reading archived message boards, watching grainy night-vision footage posted by wannabe cryptid hunters, even ordering two self-published books titled “Blackwood: The Beast Beyond the Pines” and “I Survived the Horned One (Kind Of).” He highlighted passages like a college student cramming for a monster boyfriend exam.

He knew the details by heart.

Eight feet tall, minimum. Shadow-stained limbs like scorched wood. Antlers bigger than his wingspan. Glowing eyes—sometimes white as bone, sometimes bottomless black. No pupils, no iris, just void. Sometimes seen crouched, sometimes floating. One guy online said it turned into mist and crawled through his air vents. Another swore it whispered “mine” in his sleep.

Yunho read it all and thought, Hot.

So, on a humid summer evening when the town was quiet and the clouds hung low, he filled a backpack like he was prepping for a hot date-slash-demonic encounter. Inside: a protein bar (just in case), a thermos of cold brew (he had to stay alert), three condoms (he was manifesting), and a travel-sized bottle of lube (because hope was a powerful thing).

He dressed in his cutest cargo shorts—ones that showed thigh—and a soft black tank top that clung just enough to his chest. His hair was fluffy. His lip gloss was minty. His phone was on 60%, and he left it that way—he didn’t want a real rescue, just the illusion of one.

And yeah, he brought breath mints. What if they kissed?

He parked by the side of the road near the rusted “NO TRESPASSING” sign and stepped into the woods without hesitation, crunching over twigs, his flashlight flickering through the mist like a beacon of bad decisions. With every step deeper into the forest, the air got heavier, denser, like he was walking into something alive. Something waiting.

But Yunho didn’t flinch. He adjusted the strap of his backpack, looked up at the branches twisted like arthritic fingers, and said out loud:

“Alright, monster boy. I shaved for this.”

Yunho had been out there for hours, weaving through fog and low branches, brushing off spiderwebs and muttering to himself about how “hot” this was going to be if he didn’t get eaten first. The air was colder here, even though it was mid-July. He could feel it in his bones.

Then—movement.

The trees rustled too quietly. Like something larger than a deer, something that knew how to move without breaking branches but didn’t care to hide its presence anymore.

Yunho turned, breath caught in his throat. A flicker of something massive moved between the tree trunks—there and gone again, shadows peeling away like a curtain drawn back.

And then it stepped into view.

A creature that looked carved from nightmare and reverie all at once. Tall. Tanned skin that caught the dim forest light like polished bronze, stretched over long limbs that moved like smoke. Eyes that glowed faint gold in the dark like predator’s eyes—no pupils, no warmth, just a simmering, ancient hunger. Black stained his forearms up to the elbows, gleaming like tar, twitching with the echo of something feral.

But the most striking thing—

The antlers.

They curved from his skull like a crown of tangled branches, massive and wickedly sharp at the tips. Moss clung to them. Bits of bone. Things Yunho didn’t want to name. Elegant, but wrong. Like a deer that had seen war and never come back the same.

And still—his first thought?

Beautiful.

Yunho’s breath caught. “Holy shit, you’re real.”

The creature—Mingi—froze.

“Get out,” he rasped, voice like it had been dragged through gravel and static, sharp and warning. “You don’t belong here.”

He took a slow step forward, shadows coiling at his feet, antlers catching the dim light like daggers. “Turn around before I decide to rip you open and string your guts from these trees. would you like that?”

“No,” Yunho said honestly, eyes wide. “I mean—yes, like, a little —but mostly I’m rock hard right now.”

Mingi blinked slowly. “What?”

“Do you know what the internet says about guys like you? I’ve read things — seen things—”

“You came out here on purpose? ” Mingi snarled, voice harsh, disbelieving. He stepped forward with a hiss, shadows writhing beneath him like living things. “Do you want to die?”

He let his claws extend with an audible crack, long and black and razor-sharp, lifting one hand so the light caught them just right. “Turn around. Get out. Before I do something you regret.”

Then he bared his teeth. Sharp, uneven fangs gleamed in the misty dark, too many for a human mouth. He clicked them together, the sound echoing like the snapping of bone, deliberate and menacing.

Mingi didn’t stop there.

He advanced, each step silent but charged with predatory intent. Shadows coiled tighter around his ankles. He stepped in—close, uncomfortably so. Towering. Looming. The air around him seemed to vibrate with restrained violence. He leaned down until Yunho could feel his breath, humid and strange, curling against his lips like smoke. His antlers arched wide over Yunho’s head like a twisted halo, brushing the canopy of branches above. His muscles tensed like a drawn bowstring, and he tilted his head, eyes glowing faintly in the dark like the last thing someone sees before dying.

He was all sinew and shadow, danger and legend. A god from a myth meant to be feared—not flirted with. And yet here was Yunho, still standing his ground, looking up with eyes wide not in terror but in something far more reckless.

“I will ruin you,” Mingi whispered, voice low and dripping like black honey. His eyes were pitch-black voids inches away. “Do you understand?”

Yunho’s breath hitched—but not from fear. His fingers curled into his sides like he was physically holding himself back. “God. I bet those teeth would feel amazing if you bit down just a little.”

Mingi blinked, visibly thrown.

He growled, louder now, and let his tongue drag across one fang slowly, deliberately.

Yunho let out a shaky exhale, his lips parting as if to say something—but no words came. His breath stuttered, heavy with heat, and he shifted on his feet like he couldn’t quite get comfortable in his own skin. One of his hands gripped the hem of his shirt, twisting it, knuckles pale. The other hovered uselessly at his side, fingers twitching. His thighs pressed together without meaning to.

“That’s so hot,” he breathed, and it sounded less like a compliment and more like a confession.

Mingi snarled again and crouched, his spine cracking audibly as his limbs stretched into something monstrous. His shoulders heaved, claws flexed, and the ground beneath him seemed to lean away from the sheer weight of what he was becoming.

Yunho moaned, low and trembling, barely audible. His mouth was still open, tongue pressing against the roof as if trying to keep himself from drooling. His eyes tracked every movement like prey watching the apex predator descend—and somehow still wanted to be devoured.

“Do it again,” he whispered.

The beast paused. “What is wrong with you?”

Yunho licked his lips slowly, then shrugged one shoulder, playful despite the way his legs looked like they might give out. “I’ve decided I’m fine with doing it here in the forest,” he said, voice rougher now, unashamed. He tossed his backpack aside like it was in the way. “Honestly, this is kind of perfect.”

Mingi let out a sound of pure disbelief—half growl, half choked-off laugh—and lifted a clawed hand, dragging it down a tree with enough force to peel bark like wet paper. Four deep gouges, oozing sap.

He was huge—probably seven feet tall, not even counting the towering antlers that arched like a crown over his head. Yunho barely reached his chest, and for the first time in his life, he liked feeling small. He liked the weight of that shadow towering over him, the pressure of danger curled around his throat like a leash he was begging someone to pull. And most of all, he wanted to see how ruined this big, bad monster could get under him—unmade, breathless, obedient.

Yunho stepped closer.

His pupils were blown wide, gaze flicking from Mingi’s hand to his mouth to his eyes. He watched the muscles in Mingi’s arms flex beneath the shimmer of that blackened skin like it was art, sacred and obscene.

“Okay,” Yunho murmured. “That was kind of romantic.”

“I kill people,” Mingi growled. “I tear them apart.”

“Hot.”

“I eat hearts.”

“Also hot.”

“I will break your body.”

Yunho’s voice cracked as he whispered, “God, please. ”

Mingi looked like he might actually combust on the spot. His claws flexed, his lip curled, and his eyes narrowed with something unreadable. Disbelief, maybe. Frustration. Desperation.

“You’re not supposed to want this.”

“Well,” Yunho said, stepping into his space and tilting his chin up, voice honey-sweet and utterly unbothered, “guess you finally met someone with taste.”

Mingi flinched.

Yunho smiled, slow and smug and just this side of dangerous.

“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing Mingi’s wrist and tugging like it was nothing that he was dragging a beast from the dark. “You’re coming home with me.”

He paused, then added with a breathless little laugh, “You’re way too pretty to waste on dirt and leaves. If I’m gonna ruin you, it’s gonna be on clean sheets and with mood lighting.”

His voice dropped, teasing but firm. “You don’t deserve me at my filthiest until you’ve seen me at my most obnoxiously domestic.”

Mingi stood frozen for a second. Then something in him snapped.

In one smooth, violent motion, he grabbed Yunho by the front of his shirt and slammed him back against the nearest tree. Bark cracked. Leaves shook loose. Shadows coiled tighter around his shoulders like living rage.

Yunho didn’t fight it. Didn’t flinch. He just exhaled shakily, and Mingi paused—because he could feel it. Pressed between them. Hard, eager, undeniable.

“You’re serious, ” Mingi muttered, more to himself than anything. He looked down, jaw tightening. “What kind of freak are you?”

“The kind that stays on the bottom and still calls the shots,” Yunho said through a breathless grin, voice low and dripping with promise. “Doesn’t mean I won’t fuck you, too. Nothing wrong with being a switch. You’ll figure that out soon enough.”

Mingi hesitated. He could hear the blood pounding in Yunho’s chest, but it wasn’t fear—it was hunger. Heat. Want. No matter how close he got, no matter how dark he became, Yunho just drank it in like it was everything he’d been hoping for.

Mingi’s hand loosened in his shirt. His breath hitched.

And Yunho, never one to waste an opening, leaned in close enough that their noses nearly touched. “When I said you're coming home with me—I wasn’t asking,” he whispered.

And Mingi agreed.

He could have turned and walked away, could have vanished into the trees like smoke—but he didn’t. Because something in Yunho’s voice cut through all the instincts that told him to dominate, to scare, to stay alone. And something in Mingi, however buried, wanted to follow.

Because no one had ever touched him like that— wanted him like that. Not even as a monster. Especially not as a monster.

And he’d never admit it, not out loud, but somewhere deep in his corrupted, cursed little heart—

He liked it.

He didn’t say a word. back as he grabbed Yunho by the waist and hoisted him effortlessly over his shoulder, ignoring the startled yelp that followed.

"You really don't have to carry me," Yunho said, grinning upside down, hands braced against Mingi’s back. “I walk just fine. You know, with dignity.”

Mingi growled but didn’t slow. His bare feet moved over moss and gnarled roots without a sound, his massive frame weaving effortlessly between twisted trunks. The forest seemed to respond to him—branches pulling back, fog thickening like it was cloaking him in shadow. Yunho, swinging upside down, kicked his heels a little and sighed dramatically.

“We’re going the wrong way.”

“I’m taking you home.”

“ Your home?” Yunho snorted. “Absolutely not. I said my place. Clean sheets, snacks, a bath big enough for two. You’ll love it.”

Mingi slowed to a stop, eyes narrowing. “…Snacks?”

“Yes. And a scented candle called ‘Midnight Desire’ that I am not wasting.”

Mingi stared at him, blinking once. He looked genuinely conflicted—as if debating whether to carry Yunho deeper into the woods or just drop him in a patch of ferns and vanish forever.

“…Fine,” he muttered. Then turned on his heel and trudged the opposite direction.

It was a bizarre sight—this towering beast of myth striding out of the haunted forest, carrying a flushed, smug-looking man over one shoulder like a triumphant offering.

Yunho’s apartment was modest but warm—candle-lit corners, mismatched rugs, stacks of records and books in chaotic but intentional piles. Fairy lights lined the walls, glowing soft pink and amber. The scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and something faintly herbal hung in the air.

Mingi ducked to get through the front door, one hand instinctively shielding his antlers. He nearly knocked over a hanging plant.

“Careful,” Yunho called helpfully. “That’s Fernie. She’s dramatic.”

He was set down—gently this time—onto the couch, which gave a loud creak in protest. Mingi stood there stiffly, hulking and out of place, staring down at the plush pillows like they were part of a trap.

Yunho stretched like a cat, arms over his head, tank top riding up just enough to tease. “Welcome to my lair,” he purred. “Now take a seat, and don’t break anything unless it’s me.”

Mingi blinked slowly.

Then, reluctantly, sat on the edge of the couch—too big for the space, too monstrous for the setting—but still, somehow, exactly where Yunho wanted him.

He tried to reclaim the power he felt slipping through his claws. Spread his legs wider. Straightened his back. Let one clawed hand rest across the top of the couch like he owned it, even if it creaked under the weight. He bared a fang when Yunho passed by, watching him like a predator circling prey.

But the problem was—Yunho didn’t flinch.

He just hummed softly under his breath, wandered into the kitchen, and returned not with drinks—but with a snack-sized bag of gummy bears, tearing it open with his teeth like it was the most natural thing in the world. He tossed one into his mouth, chewed, then casually tossed another onto Mingi’s lap.

“You want one?” he asked, like they were in the middle of a sleepover and not on the verge of defiling every surface in a five-foot radius.

Mingi didn’t answer, jaw tight. His instincts screamed to lunge, to pin Yunho down and remind him who the monster was. He bared a fang and leaned in—but Yunho just popped another gummy bear into his mouth, completely unbothered.

“Still trying to scare me?” Yunho murmured, this time lower, as he leaned forward and pressed a single gummy gently against Mingi’s bottom lip. “You’re cute.”

The gummy stuck there.

Mingi blinked, utterly thrown.

And in that moment, something cracked in him. Not bone— control.

Because Yunho wasn’t afraid. Yunho wasn’t asking. Yunho was already claiming him—one sugary snack, one teasing command at a time.

And Mingi didn’t know if it was the candy or the confidence that did it, but either way—he opened his mouth.

Yunho climbed into his lap without hesitation, one leg sliding over Mingi’s thigh with slow, deliberate ease. He settled himself right there, warm and smug and perfectly in control, the weight of him grounding and maddening all at once.

He plucked another gummy bear from the bag and pushed it between Mingi’s lips, but this time his fingers lingered. Not just at the edge—he pressed a little deeper, fingertips brushing against the inside of Mingi’s mouth as if testing how far he could go.

Mingi made a low, confused sound in his throat, but didn’t pull away. His claws flexed uselessly against the couch cushions.

Another gummy. Another slow push past Mingi’s lips. Yunho’s fingers were slick with sugar now, and each time they went in just a bit farther, just a bit slower. His eyes stayed locked on Mingi’s the whole time, daring him to stop it. Daring him to move.

“Good boy,” Yunho murmured, soft but cutting.

And Mingi—legend, terror, monster of the woods—could only swallow.

His breath had gone shallow, chest rising and falling in uneven waves. Drool gathered at the corners of his mouth, a slick sheen tracing down his chin. His eyes, those void-dark things that once terrified hunters and children alike, were now glassy—dazed, shining with confusion and heat.

Yunho smiled, slow and cruel in the gentlest way. He licked sugar off his fingertips, then dipped two back into the bag and retrieved another gummy.

This time, he fed it to Mingi with both fingers, pushing them past the lips he’d already claimed. He didn’t stop at gentle pressure. He pressed deeper, slow and steady, watching Mingi’s throat bob around them as he tried not to gag or whimper or lean forward for more.

Mingi’s hands twitched against the couch, claws retracting slightly. His breathing was ragged now, chest fluttering under Yunho’s weight. His thighs had tensed beneath him, visibly fighting the urge to buck upward, to take back control—but Yunho’s steady gaze pinned him in place better than any chain could have.

Yunho tilted his head, amusement flickering behind those dark eyes. “Still trying to be in charge?”

Mingi didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His tongue felt too big in his mouth, his pride strangled somewhere beneath sugar, heat, and the humiliation of being undone so slowly.

And Yunho didn’t need him to. He already had everything he wanted—right there, whimpering under him.

He leaned in, lips barely brushing Mingi’s. “Open wider,” he whispered.

Mingi obeyed without thought, lips parting just as Yunho leaned in fully and kissed him— deep.

Not gentle. Not shy.

Yunho kissed him like he owned him.

His hand rose, threading into Mingi’s hair—then sliding up, fingers wrapping around the base of one antler to hold him still. The grip wasn’t painful, but firm, commanding. Mingi froze, a shocked sound caught in his throat as Yunho tilted his head and deepened the kiss further, tongue slipping past parted lips with slow, deliberate intent.

Mingi tried to lean back instinctively—but Yunho’s hold on his antler kept him right where he was, trapped in the heat of it, the sugar and spit and the dizzying sweetness of surrender.

He whimpered.

Yunho smiled against his mouth.

“Good,” he murmured.

Yunho pulled back only slightly, lips still brushing Mingi’s, his breath hot and sweet. “Come on,” he whispered, climbing off his lap with a last teasing press of his hips. “We’re not doing this here. My bed’s bigger.”

Mingi blinked, dazed.

Yunho grabbed his hand and tugged him up with unexpected strength. “And I didn’t forget—condoms and lube are in the drawer.” He threw a wink over his shoulder. “You left the backpack in the woods, remember? But lucky for you, I always come prepared.”

He didn’t wait to see if Mingi followed. He already knew he would.

The hallway was short, the bedroom door barely wide enough for Mingi to fit through without turning sideways. Yunho stepped in first, flicked on the soft orange glow of a salt lamp, and turned back with a smile that was all teeth.

“Lie down,” he said, patting the mattress. “Let’s see how fast I can make a legend fall apart.”

Mingi hesitated at the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped ominously under his weight as he crawled onto it, massive and tense. His claws flexed against the sheets, unsure if he should brace or run.

Yunho climbed in after him, unhurried, calm, eyes never leaving Mingi’s. He moved like gravity obeyed him differently. He didn't start with himself—no, he went straight for Mingi.

He stripped him with quiet intent, tugging each piece of clothing away like he was unwrapping something sacred. One layer at a time, with fingers that knew exactly where to touch to make Mingi twitch. Yunho took everything from him—cloak, shirt, whatever remnants of cloth Mingi wore—and left him bare, spread across a stranger’s bed in a stranger’s house. Except this house wasn’t strange. It was Yunho’s.

And that made it worse.

Mingi was naked first. Not Yunho.

Another subtle power shift that made his stomach twist.

By the time Yunho climbed into his lap—this time straddling his hips properly, trailing fingers up Mingi’s ribs, slow and teasing—Mingi was already shaking, unsure if it was from cold or the sheer magnitude of vulnerability.

Every touch made Mingi shudder.

It didn’t take long. Yunho’s kisses deepened, his pace steady and overwhelming. His weight over Mingi was maddening—not heavy, but anchoring. And with every command whispered against his ear, every roll of Yunho’s hips, every squeeze to his thigh, Mingi’s breath grew thinner.

Overstimulated.

Yunho didn’t stop. His hands were everywhere—pressing, tugging, stroking, commanding Mingi to hold still, to take it. At one point, his fingers dipped low, tracing the soft line of Mingi’s happy trail with featherlight pressure. He hummed against his neck, almost amused. “You’re so muscular it’s ridiculous. Do you work out, or are monsters just naturally sculpted?”

Mingi’s only answer was a ragged inhale with a slight nod. Not really answering his question but yunho let it slide. 

Yunho chuckled and dragged his nails lightly down Mingi’s abdomen, teasing each defined ridge. “Noted,” he whispered. “My perfect monster.”

He fed Mingi instructions like they were praise, like it was sacred. Told him when to stay still. When to beg. When to breathe.

Mingi obeyed every time.

He didn’t even know when it started—just the heat building in his gut, the way his claws had torn small holes into the mattress from trying not to move, the way his thighs trembled and his mouth stayed open but useless.

Yunho never touched him the way Mingi really wanted—not fully. He danced along the edge, always just out of reach, dragging every noise and tremble out of Mingi until little whines spilled from his throat against his will.

It was torture. It was perfect.

Yunho liked his monsters(and humans) needy. He liked them desperate.

He loved crybabies.

And Mingi—monster of the woods, god of the forest, feared and cursed—nodded.

He wanted to fall apart.

His face was flushed, eyes glossy and unfocused, breath catching on every exhale. His mouth hung open, but no words came. He whined—soft, broken sounds that spilled out despite himself, betraying just how much he needed more.

Yunho pulled back slightly, just enough to look him in the eye.

“What do you want?” he asked softly, voice coaxing.

Mingi opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His lips quivered. His gaze darted down, away, like the words were too big to form. A few frustrated tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, trailing silently across his cheeks. He clawed at Yunho’s clothes—tugging at his waistband, his shirt, anything he could grab—silently pleading, needing.

But Yunho only chuckled, leaned in, and kissed him again—softly this time, almost sweet. “Not yet,” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “You haven’t earned that yet.”

But Mingi had reached his limit.

He sat up suddenly, shifting his weight with more strength than grace, and grabbed Yunho’s face with both hands. Clawed fingers trembled against soft skin as he yanked him into a kiss—not elegant or controlled, just desperate. Needy.

“Please,” he whimpered into Yunho’s mouth.

That one word—shaky, breathless, honest—was all it took.

Yunho froze for half a heartbeat.

Then he groaned, low and deep, like the sound had been waiting to claw its way out. His restraint shattered in the heat between them. He reached behind his own neck, yanking off his shirt in one fluid motion and tossing it somewhere across the room without breaking the kiss. His hands found Mingi’s sides, then his thighs, gripping tight enough to bruise.

“That’s all I wanted to hear,” Yunho breathed, lips brushing Mingi’s again as he climbed fully into his lap and pinned him back to the mattress. “Now be good and watch.”

Yunho shifted back, letting Mingi watch him. He leaned over to the nightstand, pulling open the drawer with a soft slide of wood. From inside, he pulled a familiar bottle—one that glinted under the amber light of the salt lamp—and placed it deliberately on the bed. Lube.

Then, slowly, he settled back on his knees between Mingi’s legs. He slicked his fingers, coated them until the liquid dripped between his knuckles, and reached behind himself with a hiss. His thighs trembled slightly, back arching. Yunho moaned softly, biting his lip as he worked himself open, right there— in front of him.

Mingi couldn’t look away.

Yunho was meticulous. Deliberate. Every movement was a message: look at me. You don’t get to touch. Not yet.

He gasped once, softly, but didn’t break eye contact.

Mingi was panting now, his own body twitching with the need to move. His cock was flushed, thick, already leaking against his stomach, and still Yunho hadn’t touched him.

Finally—finally—Yunho reached forward and poured the rest of the lube directly onto Mingi. It was shameless. Messy. Slippery and obscene. He smeared it over him with both hands, slow and possessive, as if claiming territory.

He paused at the condoms.

His hand hovered.

Then dropped.

The thought of Mingi filling him—without a barrier, without anything between them—sent a wave of heat so deep through Yunho’s chest he almost shook.

He climbed up, lined himself over Mingi’s lap, and began to sink down.

Agonizingly slow.

Mingi gasped—head thrown back against the pillow, claws gripping the sheets. He was huge. Far thicker than Yunho was used to, and still Yunho took it, inch by inch, bottom lip tucked between his teeth to stifle the way his breath kept hitching.

By the time he was halfway down, Mingi’s hands flew up to his waist.

He grunted, overwhelmed, and pushed him down the rest of the way.

Yunho let out a high, broken gasp—eyes flying open.

He looked at Mingi.

And with one glance, Mingi knew he’d made a mistake.

Yunho’s fingers curled down.

And without a word, he squeezed Mingi’s balls—just enough to make him flinch.

“Did I say you could do that?” Yunho asked, voice still breathy but sharper now.

Mingi whimpered—half apology, half wreckage.

Yunho rolled his hips, slow and controlled, making sure Mingi felt every inch of him around it. Straddling him, dominating him, devouring him from the top down.

Yunho’s grip on Mingi’s balls stayed tight—warning, not cruel, but enough to pull a choked moan from Mingi’s throat. He writhed beneath him, hips twitching like he couldn’t decide whether to push up or recoil. Yunho didn’t give him the chance. With a cold kind of patience, he lifted his hips just slightly—then slammed back down, the impact lewd and wet, the noise obscene.

Mingi gasped, sharp and helpless. “Yunho—!”

“Shh.” Yunho’s nails dragged across his chest, not scratching, but close. “You’re being good now, aren’t you?”

Mingi nodded too fast, eyes wide, sweat clinging to the sides of his neck. panting even though they havent done much. 

Yunho's cock was heavy and flushed between them, already leaking.

Yunho caught the look and smiled.

“Oh. That’s why you misbehaved.” He rocked again—slow, mean. “You wanted to come.”

“No— I— I didn’t—”

Yunho rolled his hips again, smoother now. He was getting used to Mingi’s size, the fullness of it, the stretch. And he knew Mingi could feel it too—how tight and perfect he was around him, every twitch of muscle making him clench even harder.

“Then why are you drooling all over yourself, hmm?” Yunho leaned in, one hand dragging up Mingi’s chest to wrap around his throat—not squeezing, just holding. Claiming. “Why are you this hard?”

Mingi moaned through his teeth, nearly shaking. He had never done anything like this before. Sex was something he’d avoided, something he never let himself want—not like this, not this messy, not this deep. Everything Yunho did to him was new and raw, dragging out responses Mingi didn’t even know his body could make. His breath hitched as Yunho’s thumb brushed along the side of his neck, and his hips twitched again without meaning to, like his body was moving on its own.

He tried to form a thought, a sentence, anything—but the pressure in his gut was stealing his words. He was past the point of pride now. It was all unraveling—his breath, his control, his sanity. His claws tore at the sheets, knuckles white, desperate for something to anchor him. His mouth hung open, tongue slipping slightly from his lips with how hard he was panting, drool catching at the corner of his mouth.

Yunho noticed. “Oh? Gonna show me that tongue, baby?”

He leaned down, close enough for his breath to fan across Mingi’s mouth.

“Stick it out. Let me see it.”

Mingi hesitated, dazed—but obeyed. He uncurled that long, flushed tongue, letting it loll out lazily between his lips. Yunho’s eyes darkened.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice low and trembling. “You're gonna use that later.”

He sat up again, palms bracing against Mingi’s chest as he rolled his hips with more purpose, grinding down with cruel slowness before lifting again and slamming down. The way Mingi gasped beneath him—wide-eyed, overwhelmed—sent a fresh shiver through Yunho’s body. His thighs flexed with effort as he bounced steadily in rhythm, each motion building friction that made them both shudder. Mingi wasn’t just trembling now—he was writhing, overwhelmed by sensation, too full, too hot, too new.

He had never done this before. Not really. Sex was something he barely touched, something abstract and far away from the way he lived, the way he feared wanting anything too much. But Yunho gave no room for that fear. He pushed Mingi into it, forced him to feel it all at once—the heat, the pressure, the stretch of it.

Yunho's cock throbbed, red and weeping, twitching against the monster's stomach with every thrust. Each bounce jolted another soft, startled moan from Mingi’s lips, his claws curling and uncurling uselessly against the sheets as if grasping for understanding.

“Yunho, I—please—please, I’m—”

Yunho stilled, cock buried to the hilt, eyes narrowing.

“Are you about to come without permission?”

Mingi whimpered. “I-I can’t—I’m sorry—”

Too late.

His body jerked, hips bucking into nothing as cum spurted hot inside of yunho, spilling out onto yunhos legs and his own belly, thick and hot and shamefully much. He sobbed through it, body twitching uncontrollably, and Yunho just watched—still fully seated, unmoving, letting Mingi ride it out like a punishment.

“No,” Yunho muttered, wrapping a hand tight around the base of Mingi’s cock. “You don’t get to finish like that and get away with it.”

He began to move again, slow and cruel, dragging himself over Mingi’s oversensitive cock with no mercy. The overstimulation hit like lightning—Mingi’s back arched off the bed, mouth open in a soundless scream. His hands scrambled for Yunho’s thighs, for something to hold onto, but Yunho slapped them away.

“You wanted it,” Yunho growled. “So you’re gonna take it.”

He rode him through it all—every twitch, every sob, every desperate plea.

“Pleasepleaseplease, Yu—can’t—nngh—too much—”

“You can.” Yunho leaned down and bit his ear. “You will.”

Mingi was reduced to a mess—babbling incoherently, his body spasming every time Yunho sank down again. Another orgasm ripped through him without warning, and Yunho laughed softly when he felt it.

“Still coming? Look at you. Thought you were a big monster.”

He rode him through that too.

Eventually, Yunho’s breath hitched—his body tensing, stuttering in motion. He gritted his teeth, trying to hold on, even as the pleasure surged through him like fire.

"Don’t you want to be a good boy and make me cum?" he panted, voice ragged but commanding.

Mingi nodded frantically, claws digging into the sheets before sliding up. One hand wrapped shakily around Yunho’s flushed cock, the other pressing against a sensitive nipple, pinching gently as he rocked his hips upward.

Yunho cried out, the stimulation too much, too perfect—and he slammed down one last time with a sob, burying Mingi deep inside as heat spilled from him in waves, dripping down his thighs. His body seized, locked in ecstasy.

They both trembled.

Silence hung—only their panting filled the air, sharp and erratic.

Yunho slumped forward, body slick and spent. Mingi’s eyes were glassy, pupils blown, lips trembling. Yunho smiled faintly and brushed his thumb across Mingi’s cheek, then leaned back slightly.

“Well?” he said, nodding down at the mess between his thighs. “You made this. Clean it.”

Mingi blinked slow, still dazed, but that tongue slipped out again—long and eager, curling as he lifted his head just enough to reach. Yunho hissed softly when that tongue lapped at his skin, cleaning him thoroughly, almost reverently.

He shuddered.

“Good boy.”

And beneath him, Mingi moaned—hungry still, even through the ache. His hips gave a soft twitch, instinctual and needy, still aching for more despite the overstimulation. He let out a broken sound, somewhere between a sob and a purr, his tongue flicking lazily over Yunho's thigh even as his breath caught. His hands trembled, one still resting on Yunho’s hip, the other drifting aimlessly over his skin like he didn’t want to stop touching him—didn’t want to let him go. His body screamed for rest, but his mind clung to the taste, the closeness, the permission to worship. “Yunho,” he whispered, voice hoarse and threadbare. “Want more… even if it hurts.”

Yunho exhaled, slow and low, hand trailing down to stroke Mingi’s thigh. "Of course you do," he murmured. "Greedy thing."

He shifted carefully, lifting himself off Mingi with a wet slide, watching as Mingi’s spent cock twitched against his stomach. Yunho slid down his body, slow and deliberate, pressing kisses to each scar and patch of damp skin along the way.

When he reached Mingi’s hips, he didn’t hesitate—just wrapped one hand around the base of his cock and licked a long, slow stripe up the underside. Mingi jerked, crying out, thighs trembling violently.

"Oh Not there—” he whimpered, but didn’t pull away. Couldn’t.

Yunho looked up at him with a dark smile, eyes heavy with heat.

“Yes there. You asked for it. And I’m going to give it to you. Open those legs wider for me, baby.”

And when Mingi obeyed—body shaking, breath stuttering—Yunho swallowed him down with no hesitation, tongue curling expertly, one hand squeezing his thigh while the other dipped lower, teasing where he was still stretched and leaking. Every touch made Mingi spasm, toes curling, claws digging into the pillow above his head as he writhed, wrecked, whimpering Yunho’s name like it was the only thing holding him together.

Yunho didn’t stop. He hollowed his cheeks and let his tongue work in rhythm—pulling sounds from Mingi that were raw and vulnerable. Mingi arched again, the tension in his core rising too fast. He was already on the edge, wrung dry and still Yunho was pushing him higher.

“Don’t—don’t make me—” Mingi sobbed, his voice cracking as Yunho’s lips slid down to the base.

Yunho lifted his head only slightly, just enough to murmur, “You’ll take it. You’ll come when I say.”

Then he went back down.

The edge was cruel. Mingi hovered there for what felt like hours—twisting, whimpering, gasping Yunho’s name like a prayer. His claws gripped the sheets so tightly they tore. Yunho backed off just before he tipped, let him calm only to build it again. Twice. Three times.

His head spun. His body no longer felt like his own. And somewhere between the second denial and the third, a sliver of thought broke through the pleasure: Who’s really the monster here? He had always feared what he might do, what he might become—but Yunho had broken him down to something feral and begging, taken control so effortlessly that Mingi couldn’t remember the last time he’d breathed without asking permission.

"okay baby, you can go ahead"

When Yunho finally let him go over the edge, he took him deep and sucked until Mingi shattered—screaming, bucking weakly, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Cum spilled down Yunho’s throat, and still he didn’t stop until Mingi was thrashing in overstimulation.

He pulled off with a wet pop, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking up at Mingi’s limp, trembling body.

“Messy monster,” Yunho whispered, kissing the inside of his thigh. “You’re mine now.”

Yunho lingered there, chin resting on Mingi’s thigh, eyes drinking him in. Mingi looked ruined. Tear tracks glistened on his flushed cheeks, drool still clinging to his lips, hair mussed beyond saving. His antlers had knocked askew the pillow behind him, and his chest heaved in shallow, uneven breaths. To Yunho, it was beautiful. He had never seen anything cuter—never wanted to protect and ruin someone in the same breath so badly.

He slowly rose to his feet, every motion thick with the heaviness of afterglow. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he murmured, gently tugging Mingi’s wrist.

Mingi blinked up at him, dazed. “We… both?”

Yunho smirked. “You think I’m letting you out of my sight after that?”

He helped Mingi sit up, wiped some of the stickier patches of sweat and mess off with a towel before leading him, bare and stumbling, into the adjoining bath. The tub was already filling with warm water, faintly scented with something herbal Yunho must’ve prepared earlier.

Mingi looked at it, then back at Yunho, confused. “It’s small. We won’t fit.”

Yunho only stepped in and sat first—back pressed to the curve of the porcelain, legs splayed.

Mingi tilted his head. "It's really not that big. How are we supposed to—"

Yunho reached up, tugged lightly at Mingi’s wrist, and pulled him forward.

“Sit down,” he said, softer now. “I’ll sit on your lap.”

Mingi blinked, stunned, but didn’t resist. As he sank into the tub, Yunho followed—sinking gracefully into his lap, straddling him under the warm water. The heat curled around them, soothing and intimate. Mingi’s breath caught when Yunho settled fully, his weight grounding but comforting.

Yunho leaned in, lips brushing against Mingi’s temple as his arms snaked loosely around his neck. “You did so good, baby. So, so good.”

He ran his fingers slowly through Mingi’s damp, tangled hair, careful around his antlers, tilting his head to press a kiss to his jaw. “Still shaking,” he whispered against his skin, smiling. “You’re precious like this.”

Mingi leaned back, arms barely rising from the water to rest on either side of the tub. His muscles ached in a sweet, slow burn, but it was nothing compared to the quiet rush of warmth fluttering in his chest. He was still panting faintly, and the gentle lapping of the water around them made it feel even more dreamlike.

He didn’t know what to do with the softness. With Yunho’s praise. No one had ever looked at him like this before.

For as long as he could remember, he’d been the monster in the woods. The one whispered about in stories, the one mothers told their children to fear. Something wild and unloved. The kind of creature no one wanted to touch—let alone hold. But Yunho was sitting right there, bare and heavy in his lap, brushing damp strands of hair away from his face like he mattered. Like he was delicate.

It felt strange.

Stranger still was how much Mingi liked it.

He leaned into the touch, cheek brushing Yunho’s temple. He was a monster. But maybe he liked being babied more. Maybe he liked the way Yunho cooed soft things into his ear and rubbed circles over his ribs. Maybe he liked being held like this.

He didn’t say a word. Just closed his eyes and let it happen.

After a while, Yunho kissed his shoulder and rose from the water, toweling himself off first, then helping Mingi out next. They dried each other with lazy, affectionate touches, Mingi still blinking slowly like he hadn’t quite returned to reality yet.

Back in the bedroom, Mingi paused in the doorway, nose wrinkling slightly.

“...The sheets,” he murmured, glancing down at the mess-streaked bed. “They’re completely soaked.”

Yunho didn’t even flinch. “I know. I laid out extras earlier.” He gestured casually to a folded stack on the nearby chair.

Mingi blinked. “You what? ”

“I had a feeling you’d be a bit… expressive,” Yunho said, smirking as he pulled the damp linens off in one swift motion. “Didn’t want to wake up in a swamp.”

A laugh escaped Mingi before he could stop it, light and tired and real. He helped tug the fresh sheets into place, Yunho working quickly beside him. When the bed was made, he paused again—awkward now, hovering near the edge.

“Are you…” he began, voice softer. “Am I supposed to go now?”

Yunho turned, crawling into the bed with zero hesitation and holding the covers open for him.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said simply. “You think I’m letting this precious monster go back into the woods after all that?”

Mingi’s throat tightened, a lump forming so thick it almost hurt to swallow. He climbed in without another word, body moving on instinct more than intention. The bed was still warm where Yunho had been moments ago, and the weight of the blanket as it settled over him felt like a promise he hadn’t realized he’d needed.

Yunho tugged him close without hesitation, wrapping both arms securely around Mingi’s waist, burying his face against the nape of his neck.

Mingi blinked up at the ceiling, breathing slow and shallow, his mind still reeling from everything—how wanted he felt, how full he had been, how gently Yunho held him now like nothing about him had ever been feared.

This time, Mingi didn’t question it. He didn’t ask why. He didn’t brace for Yunho to pull away.

He just let himself be held—and for the first time in a long while, he let himself believe he was allowed to stay.

Yunho pressed a slow kiss to the curve of Mingi’s neck and murmured, “You don’t even know what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?”

Mingi let out a breath of laughter, more breathless than amused. “No,” he admitted softly, “but I think I like it.”

Yunho tightened his arms around him, nose brushing through Mingi’s tousled hair. “Good. Because you’re mine now. No more hiding in the woods. No more being alone.”

Mingi’s heart thudded once, hard. He didn’t reply. Didn’t need to. Not when Yunho's warmth was wrapped around him like a vow.

Whatever this was, whatever it would become—he was already in too deep.

And he didn’t want to come back up.