He was a paradox wrapped in an infuriating, beautiful package.

Jeon Jungkook was always there. If you were in the university library archiving ancient texts until midnight, he was seated three tables away, ostensibly reading, though his dark, heavy gaze rarely left your periphery. If you walked through the dimly lit courtyard, you could hear the steady, rhythmic crunch of his boots on the gravel just a few paces behind. He was a silent sentinel, a shadow that moved when you moved, breathed when you breathed.

Yet, for all his suffocating proximity, he treated you like you were made of a fragility he couldn't afford to touch.

He opens doors, you thought, watching him pull the heavy oak door of the archives open for you, but he steps so far back to let me through that I couldn't brush his arm if I tried.

"Thank you, Jungkook," you murmured, clutching your notes to your chest.

He gave a curt, almost imperceptible nod. His jaw, as always, was a sharp line of tension. "It's late. You shouldn't be walking the corridors alone."

His voice was a low rumble, the kind of sound that vibrated in your chest. It was simple, effective English, stripped of any flowery pretense. He never wasted words. Every syllable felt calculated, much like the physical distance he kept. Exactly three feet. Never less.

Why? The question clawed at your mind constantly. Why act like my personal bodyguard if the mere thought of touching me makes you recoil?

You stepped into the archive room, dropping your heavy leather bag onto the wooden desk. The room was bathed in the warm, golden glow of a single desk lamp. The air smelled of old paper, dust, and something uniquely him—a faint, crackling scent, like the air right before a violent thunderstorm. Ozone and embers.

He followed you inside, taking his usual spot against the back wall, arms crossed over his broad chest. His eyes, dark and bottomless, tracked your movements.

"I just need to cross-reference the translated folklore with the original manuscript," you said, trying to fill the heavy silence in the room. "It won't take long."

"Take your time," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not going anywhere."

Hours bled into one another. The exhaustion began to set in, blurring the lines of the ancient text in front of you. You rubbed your temples, sighing in frustration. The manuscript was written in a dialect that twisted your brain into knots.

"I can't make sense of this passage," you muttered, leaning back in your chair.

You heard the soft rustle of his clothing before you saw him move. Jungkook stepped out of the shadows, approaching the desk. For the first time all night, he broke the three-foot rule. He came to stand right beside your chair, leaning down to look at the sprawling parchment.

"Which part?" he asked.

You pointed at the passage, leaning forward. The movement made your breasts press softly against his forearm for half a second—barely a touch, but enough. His entire body locked up. You felt the heat spike instantly, like stepping into a sauna. A low, involuntary sound rumbled in his chest, almost a growl.

The air thickened. Your nipples tightened against your blouse from the sudden temperature change. Between your legs, a slow, liquid heat answered his.

Jungkook’s hand gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles bleaching white. You could see the tendons standing out, could feel the violent tremor running through him as he fought whatever instinct was clawing to get out.

When the lamp burst, the darkness only made everything more intimate. You could hear his ragged breathing, smell the scorched wood and that thunderstorm scent pouring off his skin. For one delirious second you imagined him shoving everything off the desk and spreading you across it instead.

It was a completely innocent, accidental touch. But the reaction was catastrophic.

Jungkook inhaled sharply, a ragged, desperate sound. The muscles beneath his shirt went rigid as stone.

Instantly, the temperature in the room skyrocketed. The air grew thick, heavy, and suffocatingly hot. The single desk lamp on the table flickered violently, the bulb buzzing like an angry hornet before popping with a sharp crack, plunging the desk into semi-darkness.

"Jungkook?" you gasped, startling in your chair.

He bolted upright, stumbling backward as if you had burned him. His chest heaved violently, his breaths coming in short, harsh gasps. His eyes were wide, and in the dim moonlight filtering through the window, you could have sworn his irises flashed with a ring of molten gold.

"Don't," he choked out, holding a hand up to stop you from standing. His voice was raw, laced with a panic you had never heard from him before. "Don't come any closer."

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" you took a step toward him, entirely fueled by instinct.

"I said stay back!" he roared, his voice shaking the glass panes of the windows.

You froze. The sheer terror in his voice anchored your feet to the floor. You watched, helpless, as he backed away, his hands balling into fists so tight his knuckles turned stark white. Without another word, he turned and fled the room, leaving the heavy oak door swinging wildly in his wake.

The silence that followed was deafening. Your heart pounded in your ears as you stood in the stiflingly hot room, trying to process what had just happened.

You looked down at the desk, your eyes adjusting to the moonlight. Right where Jungkook had been leaning, gripping the edge of the heavy wooden table, was a mark. You reached out, your fingers trembling as you traced the outline.

The wood wasn't just warm. It was charred. A perfect, blackened handprint was scorched deep into the ancient oak, the embers along the edges still faintly glowing orange.

—

The following days were a lesson in psychological torture.

If Jungkook was a silent sentinel before, he was a ghost now. The vigilant protection vanished, replaced by an agonizing, deliberate avoidance. He wasn't just keeping a three-foot distance anymore; he was putting entirely different rooms, hallways, and buildings between you.

When you walked into a lecture hall, he would immediately stand up from the middle row and relocate to the absolute furthest corner in the back. If you entered the dining hall and he was already seated, he would abandon a full plate of food and walk out the opposite door.

He's terrified of me, you thought, chewing the inside of your cheek as you watched him disappear around the corner of the library. No, that's not right. He's not terrified of me. He's disgusted. He avoided you like you were poison, yet every time you caught his eyes across the room, the hunger in them made your cunt clench. You hated how much you liked it. Hated how you’d started touching yourself at night thinking about that scorched handprint and imagining it burned into your hips instead.

You cornered him on a Wednesday. He was walking out of the science building, head down, hood pulled up despite the mild weather.

"Jungkook!" you called out, marching directly into his path.

He stopped so fast his boots skidded on the pavement. He immediately took two large steps backward.

"Move out of my way," he said, not meeting your eyes. His jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle jumped in his cheek.

"No," you challenged, crossing your arms. "Not until you tell me what the hell is going on. You've been ignoring me for a week."

"I'm busy."

"You're lying." You took a step forward. "You abandoned a perfectly good thesis meeting yesterday just because I walked into the room. What did I do wrong?"

"You did nothing," he snapped, his voice rough. Finally, his eyes flicked up to yours, and the sheer amount of agony swimming in those dark depths made you lose your breath. "I just... I can't be around you right now. Let it go."

Before you could argue, he sidestepped you and walked away, his pace bordering on a sprint.

The climax of his avoidance came on a Friday evening during a small gathering at a mutual friend's apartment. You hadn't expected him to show up, but there he was, standing in the darkest corner of the kitchen, nursing a glass of ice water. He looked miserable.

You decided to ignore him. If he wanted to treat you like a plague, you would let him. You struck up a conversation with Mark, a classmate from your history seminar. Mark was charming, easygoing, and entirely human.

"So, I was thinking," Mark smiled, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, closing the distance between you. "Maybe we could go over those notes over coffee tomorrow? Just the two of us?"

"Oh," you smiled back, though your eyes unconsciously drifted toward the dark corner of the kitchen. "Yeah, I think that would be nice."

Mark laughed, a low, easy sound, and reached out, gently tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His fingers brushed your cheek.

Across the room, a loud, violent crack echoed through the kitchen.

The music seemed to halt. The chatter died. You whipped your head around.

The crack wasn’t just sound—it was power. The glass in Jungkook’s hand shattered. Ice water spilled over his fingers, but it hissed and steamed the moment it touched his skin. His eyes were locked on Mark’s hand near your face, molten gold rings flaring bright enough that you saw them even in the dim kitchen light.

Mark startled. “What the fuck—”

Jungkook’s gaze snapped to yours. Raw, violent want mixed with fury and self-loathing. You felt it like a physical touch—dragging down your throat, over your breasts, settling hot and heavy between your legs. Your breath hitched.

He turned and left before anyone could say another word, but not before you saw the way his hand flexed, as if he’d been seconds away from burning the entire room down just because another man touched you.

He melted it.

Your mind raced, slamming pieces of the puzzle together with violent force. The stifling heat in the archives. The flickering lights. The scorch mark on the wooden desk when you brushed against him. The way he kept exactly three feet of distance, not out of coldness, but out of calculation. The way the room turned into an oven the second Mark touched you.

He isn't disgusted by me, the realization hit you like a physical blow, knocking the air from your lungs.

He wasn't pulling away because he didn't want you. He was pulling away because he wanted you too much. His desire, his jealousy, his protective instincts—they were literally combustible. He was a creature of fire, and his emotions dictated the flames.

Every time he looked at your lips, every time you stepped too close, he wasn't fighting back disgust. He was fighting back an inferno.

He's terrified of burning me.

—

The night air should have been freezing, but you barely felt it. Your skin was already flushed, your pulse a wild drumbeat between your thighs. Every step toward his apartment complex fed the dark, reckless thrill coiling low in your belly.

He melts glass.

The image of the glowing, liquefied slag on the kitchen floor was seared into your retinas. It wasn't a metaphor. It wasn't just a heavy aura or an intimidating presence. Jeon Jungkook possessed a power that defied logic, a latent, violent energy that was intrinsically tied to the darkest, most intense parts of his psyche.

He isn't pulling away because he is disgusted by me. He is pulling away because his desire is a literal inferno.

He wasn’t disgusted. He was starving. Starving himself for months so the inferno inside him wouldn’t consume you.

It was the kind of love they didn't teach you about in humanities lectures; it wasn't a bright, happy sonnet. It was dark, consuming, the kind of absolute devotion that courses like venom in your veins, demanding a sacrifice. He was sacrificing his own sanity, starving himself of your touch, just to keep you safe from the fire that burned inside him.

You reached his apartment complex, bypassing the elevator and taking the stairs two at a time. By the time you reached his door at the end of the long, dimly lit hallway, you were breathless.

You didn't knock. You knew he wouldn't answer.

Instead, you reached into your bag, your fingers trembling slightly as you fished out the spare key he had given you months ago—back when you were just friends, back before this agonizing dance of proximity and distance had begun. The metal was cool against your palm. You slid it into the lock, turned it, and pushed the heavy door open.

The first thing that hit you was the heat.

It was like stepping into an oven. The air in the apartment was stifling, thick and heavy with the scent of ozone, woodsmoke, and sheer, unadulterated panic. The living room was submerged in shadows, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside, casting long, distorted silhouettes against the walls.

"Jungkook," you called out, your voice barely a whisper, yet it seemed to echo in the oppressive silence.

"Get out."

His voice came from the darkest corner of the room. It didn't sound like him. It sounded like an animal backed into a corner, wounded and dangerous.

You closed the door behind you. "No."

You stepped further into the living room, your eyes straining to adjust to the gloom. You found him sitting on the edge of the sofa, his head in his hands, his fingers violently gripping his dark hair. He was shaking. Even from across the room, you could see the faint, unnatural waver in the air around him—a heat mirage, distorting the space he occupied.

"I said, get out," he warned again, his voice rising, vibrating with a barely contained tremor. "Leave, right now. Don't take another step."

"I saw what happened at the party, Jungkook," you said, your voice remarkably steady despite the chaotic hammering of your heart. You took a deliberate step forward. "I saw the glass."

He flinched as if you had struck him. He dropped his hands from his face, looking up at you. His eyes, usually a deep, endless obsidian, were entirely wrong. They were glowing. A terrifying, beautiful, molten-gold ring burned around his irises, illuminating the tear streaks on his cheeks.

"Then you know exactly why you need to turn around and walk out that door," he rasped, his chest heaving with every ragged breath. "You know what I am."

"I know that you're torturing yourself," you countered, taking another step. The heat was becoming unbearable, prickling against your skin, making it hard to draw a full breath. "I know that you've been avoiding me for weeks, making me think I did something wrong, making me think you hated me—"

"Hate you?" The sheer absurdity of your words seemed to snap whatever thread of control he was holding onto. He stood up abruptly.

The apartment reacted instantly. The wall behind him blistered and cracked. A framed picture on the side table burst into ash. Charred footprints blackened the floor with every furious pace.

“Do you have any idea what it costs me to stay away?” His voice was rough, almost broken. “Every night I lie here thinking about you. About spreading you open on my bed, burying my face between your thighs until you’re dripping down my chin. About fucking you so deep and so hard the only thing you can feel is me—burning inside you.”

The confession hit you like a physical blow. Your pussy clenched hard, a fresh rush of slick soaking your panties.

“I want to mark you everywhere,” he continued, voice dropping into a dangerous growl. “With my hands, my mouth, my cock. I want to watch that perfect skin turn red under my touch. But I can’t. One real touch and I’ll burn you alive.”

He was pacing like a caged animal, sparks flickering across his shoulders, embers dying in the air. The heat rolling off him made your clothes feel stifling. You wanted them gone. You wanted him—danger and all.

“You’re not a monster,” you said, closing the final distance. Your voice was husky, arousal thickening every word. “You’re just scared.”

“I’m trying to protect you!”

“By starving us both?” You stood right in front of him now. The air between your bodies crackled. You could feel the heat of him kissing your skin, making your nipples throb. “I don’t want safe. I want you.”

“Stop—” His back hit the wall with a hiss of burning plaster. “Please. I can’t hold it back anymore.”

“Then don’t.”

Desperate to ground him, desperate to prove that he wouldn't break you, you reached out.

It was a reckless, purely emotional instinct. You didn't think about the consequences. You just needed to touch him, to anchor him back to reality. 

The pain was instantaneous and excruciating.

It wasn't just hot; it was like grabbing a branding iron fresh from the forge. A sharp, agonized gasp ripped from your throat as the searing heat bit straight through your skin.

You ripped your hand back, stumbling away from him.

"Ah!" you cried out, clutching your wrist to your chest. You looked down at your hand. Across the pads of your fingers and the palm of your hand, angry, bright red blisters were already forming, the skin raw and weeping.

Silence slammed into the room. The heat vanished. It didn't dissipate slowly; it was sucked out of the room in a split second, leaving behind a freezing, hollow void.

Jungkook was frozen against the wall. The golden fire in his eyes had completely died, replaced by a bottomless, hollow black horror. He stared at your burned hand, his chest entirely still, as if he had forgotten how to breathe.

"Jungkook," you breathed, the sting in your hand bringing tears to your eyes, but you immediately recognized the catastrophic shift in his demeanor.

"I burned you," he whispered. His voice was completely devoid of emotion, a flat, dead sound that was infinitely more terrifying than his yelling.

"It's just a blister, it's fine, I startled you—"

"I burned you." He repeated it, the reality of his worst nightmare crashing down on him. He looked from your hand to your face, his expression completely shattered. The absolute devastation in his eyes made your stomach drop.

He had spent months agonizing over this exact scenario, building walls, retreating into the shadows, starving himself of any human comfort, all to prevent this exact moment. And he had failed.

"Jungkook, look at me," you pleaded, taking a step toward him.

"Don't!" he screamed, flinching violently away from you as if he were the one who had been burned. "Don't touch me! Look at what I did!"

"It's an accident!"

"I am a monster," he choked out, a single tear escaping his eye and rolling down his cheek. It didn't evaporate. He was completely, terrifyingly cold. "I told you. I'm a monster."

Before you could say another word, before you could even reach out with your uninjured hand, he moved. He snatched his keys from the bowl by the door and bolted, slamming it behind him with a sound like a gunshot. The silence that followed was heavier than the heat had ever been.

You stood alone in the dark apartment, hand throbbing, the scent of scorched plaster and ozone clinging to your clothes. The pain was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the ache between your legs—an embarrassing, insistent pulse that refused to die even now.

He thought he’d proven his point. He thought this was the end.

He was wrong.

You looked down at the angry red blisters on your palm. They hurt like hell, but they also felt like proof: his fire could be touched. It could be survived. And some dark, hungry part of you wanted to feel it again—wanted to see how much of his inferno you could take.

—

Cold water hissed over your burned hand in his bathroom sink, stinging like needles. You wrapped it tightly in gauze from his cabinet, the white fabric a stark contrast against your flushed skin. Every movement was deliberate. You couldn’t afford panic. If you let him run tonight, he would vanish—burying himself somewhere he could never hurt you, slowly letting his own power devour him.

Not on your watch.

You grabbed your bag and ran.

The night air outside slapped cold against your overheated body, making your nipples tighten painfully beneath your shirt. Twenty minutes later, you were tearing down the crumbling road to the old coastal overlook, heart hammering.

His black car was there, parked dangerously close to the cliff’s edge.

You killed your engine and boxed him in, then stepped out into the freezing wind. The contrast between the icy salt air and the lingering heat still trapped under your skin made you shiver.

He was curled on the hood of his car, knees to his chest, face buried in his arms. The sight of this powerful, beautiful man so utterly broken twisted something deep inside you—pity, love, and a sharp throb of pure want.

Your boots crunched on the gravel. He didn’t look up.

“I told you to stay away,” he said, voice raw and muffled.

“And I told you that you don’t get to make that decision for me.” You stopped a few feet away, close enough for the wind to carry your scent to him.

He finally lifted his head. Red-rimmed eyes, hollow cheeks, that devastatingly handsome face wrecked by guilt. His gaze dropped to your bandaged hand and he flinched as if you’d struck him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered.

“Maybe I’m crazy,” you admitted, stepping closer. The cold made your breath fog, but your core was still molten. “But I’m not leaving without you.”

“I hurt you.”

“I grabbed you,” you shot back. “You were panicking. It was an accident. And it’s just a blister, Jungkook. I’ll live.”

“It starts with a blister,” he growled, sliding off the hood and backing toward the cliff’s edge. “Then what? What happens when I really lose control? When we—” His voice cracked. The mere thought of intimacy brought a faint, treacherous glow back to his irises. “When I’m inside you. When I’m fucking you the way I’ve been dying to for months. I’ll turn you to ash. I can’t love you safely.”

The words hit you like a spark to dry tinder. You pictured it—his big, burning hands gripping your hips, that massive body pinning you down, cock hot and thick as he drove into you, losing control while you took every brutal inch.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, a fresh rush of wetness slicking your folds.

“You think I don’t know the risk?” you said, voice low and husky. “Your power is tied to your emotions. To your desire. That’s why you’ve been touch-starved for so long. That’s why you watch me like you want to devour me but never let yourself get close.”

He looked away, jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumped. He didn’t deny it.

“I have a solution,” you continued, stepping into his line of sight.

He looked at you, his brow furrowing in confusion and despair. "There is no solution. It's who I am."

"Just trust me." You held out your uninjured hand. Not to touch him, but in an offering. "Get in my car."

He stared at your hand, then at your face, looking at you as if you had lost your mind. "Are you insane? We can't be in an enclosed space. If I spike, the heat will get trapped. I'll suffocate you, or worse, the gas tank will ignite—"

"I am not going to ask you again, Jeon Jungkook," you interrupted, your voice dropping into a tone of absolute, unbreakable authority. "You are going to get in the passenger seat of my car right now. You are going to trust me, or you are going to lose me forever. Choose."

It was a gamble. A massive, terrifying gamble. But you knew the one thing he feared more than hurting you was living without you.

He stared at you for what felt like an eternity. The wind whipped his dark hair across his eyes, masking the conflict raging within him. Finally, slowly, agonizingly, he moved. He walked past you, keeping a wide berth, and pulled open the passenger door of your car. He slid into the seat, pulling his knees up tight, making himself as small as possible.

You exhaled a shaky breath, the tension leaving your shoulders for a fraction of a second before you followed him.

You got into the driver's seat and locked the doors. The loud click made him jump, his eyes darting to the locks and then to you.

"Where are we going?" he asked, his voice tight with anxiety.

"Somewhere you don't have to hold back," you said simply. You put the car in drive and pulled away from the overlook, heading further down the dark, winding coastal highway.

The drive was agonizing.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. He was pressed flush against the passenger door, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest, his eyes squeezed shut. He was actively fighting his own body, employing every ounce of his legendary restraint to keep the heat from spiraling out of control. You could see the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. You could smell the ozone, the sharp, crackling scent of a storm brewing just beneath his skin.

He is in agony, you thought, your heart aching for him. He is quite literally burning up from the inside, trying to protect me.

"We're almost there," you murmured, keeping your eyes on the dark road ahead.

He didn't respond. He just let out a shaky, strained breath, a faint puff of smoke curling off his lips and dissipating into the warm air of the car.

You drove for two hours. You drove until the city lights were entirely gone, until the road turned from asphalt to dirt, and the only illumination came from the stark, silver light of the full moon above. You drove until the dirt road ended abruptly at the edge of a vast, secluded, pitch-black coastline.

There were no houses here. No streetlights. Just miles and miles of jagged rocks, dark sand, and the violent, roaring expanse of the ocean.

Jungkook slowly opened his eyes, looking out the window at the bleak, freezing landscape. He looked confused, exhausted, and utterly lost.

"Why are we here?" he asked, his voice incredibly rough.

You didn't answer immediately. You unbuckled your seatbelt, pushed open your door, and stepped out into the freezing wind. You walked around the front of the car, opened his door, and held out your hand.

"Get out."

He hesitated, but the absolute determination in your eyes left no room for argument. He stepped out of the car, shivering slightly as the biting wind hit his overheated skin.

You didn't say a word. You just turned and started walking toward the water.

The ocean was angry tonight, black as ink, with white-capped waves crashing violently against the shore. The wind howled, whipping your hair around your face. It was freezing, the kind of cold that sinks deep into your bones.

You stopped at the edge of the surf, the icy water washing over the toes of your boots. You turned back to look at him.

He was standing a few feet away, watching you with a mixture of awe and sheer terror.

"You said your desire is a weapon," you yelled over the roar of the wind, your voice carrying across the empty beach. "You said you can't love me safely because the fire will consume me."

"It will!" he shouted back, stepping forward, desperate for you to understand.

"Then let it burn!" you challenged, kicking off your boots. "Let it all out, Jungkook. Stop holding it back."

"I can't!"

"Yes, you can!" You shrugged off your heavy winter coat, dropping it onto the wet sand. The freezing air immediately bit into your skin through your thin sweater, making you shiver violently, but you didn't care. You took a step backward, directly into the icy, churning ocean.

"What are you doing?!" Jungkook screamed, genuine panic lacing his voice as he surged forward, stopping only when the freezing water brushed his boots. "Get out of there! You're going to freeze to death!"

"I am going to freeze, Jungkook!" you yelled, wading deeper until the water was up to your knees, the paralyzing cold sending shockwaves through your nervous system. "Unless you come in here and keep me warm."

He froze. His eyes widened, the realization hitting him like a physical blow.

He looked at the freezing, violent ocean. He looked at you, standing knee-deep in the ice-cold water, shivering but resolute. The ocean was a heat sink. It was the great equalizer. It was an environment so relentlessly, aggressively cold that it could absorb everything he had to give.

"The ocean can take it," you told him, your voice softer now, pleading. "I can take it. You don't have to hold back here. Come to me."

For the first time since you had met him, Jeon Jungkook didn't hesitate.

He didn't take off his coat or his boots. He just stepped into the freezing water, his eyes locked onto yours, the golden fire igniting in his irises, brighter and more violent than ever before.

He was coming, and he was bringing the fire with him.

"If I let go... I won't be able to stop."

“I don’t want you to stop,” you shouted back, crossing your arms over your chest as another hard shiver tore through you. “The ocean can take it, Jungkook. And so can I. Please. Come to me.”

The last chain inside him snapped.

He waded forward.

The moment his burning body crashed into yours, the contrast was devastating. Blistering heat slammed against your freezing skin, forcing a sharp, pleasure-pain gasp from your throat. The icy water hissed violently where it met him, erupting into thick plumes of white steam that curled around your bodies like a private veil.

“Jungkook—” you moaned.

With a guttural, broken groan, he wrapped his powerful arms around your waist and yanked you flush against him. No more distance. No more restraint. Just solid, searing muscle and the overwhelming heat of a man who had starved for you for months.

The cold vanished instantly. His radiating warmth poured into you like liquid fire, chasing every shiver from your bones and replacing it with molten need. You buried your face in his neck, freezing fingers tangling desperately in his wet hair, clinging to him with everything you had.

“You’re freezing,” he choked out, voice wrecked as his hands roamed your back. “God, baby, you’re so cold…”

“Warm me up,” you begged, tilting your head up. “Don’t hold back anymore. Let it burn.”

The permission destroyed him.

His body temperature surged. Golden light pulsed through the veins in his neck and arms, illuminating the dark water around you in ethereal, molten patterns. The freezing ocean didn’t stand a chance. It began to simmer, then boil gently around your joined bodies, transforming the violent sea into a private, scalding hot spring.

Thick, heavy fog billowed up, wrapping you both in a dense white curtain of steam. The world disappeared. There was only heat, salt, and him.

“I’ve wanted this for so fucking long,” Jungkook growled against your mouth, dragging his searing palms up your sides. “Wanted to touch you… taste you… own you.”

“Touch me,” you gasped.

His mouth claimed yours in a ravenous kiss—hot, demanding, and filthy. His tongue plunged deep, tasting of salt and raw power while his hands tore at your soaked sweater. In one brutal motion he ripped it over your head and threw it into the waves.

Your bra followed in a brutal snap, your tits spilling heavy and aching into the scalding air between you. His palms—still dangerously hot—cupped them immediately, thumbs circling your stiffened nipples until they throbbed with delicious fire. Sparks danced across your skin where he touched, tiny pricks of heat that melted into throbbing pleasure instead of pain. The ocean drank the excess, turning every near-burn into a wicked, tingling brand.

“Baby… fuck, you’re so cold,” he groaned, voice wrecked and low, golden eyes wild with terror and lust. “I’ll burn you. Inside. My cock—it’s too hot. I can feel it pulsing already, like lava. I’ll cook your tight little cunt from the inside out—”

You cut him off with a filthy, wicked laugh that cut through the roar of the sea. “Then burn me, Jungkook. I want that fat, fiery cock branding my throat first. I’ve dreamed about choking on your inferno, feeling it scorch my tongue while I worship every throbbing inch. You think you’re a monster? Good. I want the monster’s cock ruining me.”

He was still hesitant, trembling with restraint even as his massive erection strained against his soaked pants, the outline obscene and glowing faintly through the fabric like a weapon forged for worship. His hands shook on your hips, fingers flexing as if fighting the urge to sear his prints into your flesh forever.

You didn’t give him time to retreat. With a cunty, determined smirk, you dropped to your knees right there in the churning surf. Icy water slapped your thighs as you yanked his belt open, fingers deft despite the cold. He jolted in shock.

“Wait—fuck, no, don’t—” His voice cracked, hands flying down to stop you, but you were faster, hungrier. You shoved his pants and boxers down in one aggressive tug, freeing his cock.

His cock burst free like a goddamn golden god of ruin—obscenely thick, brutally long, and curved just right to wreck cunts and ruin lives. Veins of pure liquid gold pulsed and throbbed beneath the flushed, velvety skin, glowing like molten starfire trapped inside the fattest, most mouthwatering dick you’d ever seen. The swollen head flared wide and arrogant, already leaking thick, shimmering precum that steamed in the cold air like liquid sin. Heavy balls hung tight beneath, glowing faintly, full of months of pent-up fire-cum just begging to flood a greedy throat. The whole monstrous thing radiated raw heat, steam curling off it in filthy little wisps, promising to brand every hole it claimed.

“Fuck yes,” you snarled, eyes locked on that golden beast with pure cunt-drunk worship. “Look at this fat, burning cock. Thick enough to stretch my jaw and hot enough to melt my fucking throat. I’m your dirty fire slut now, baby. This divine monster is mine to choke on.”

Your hands—greedy and possessive—wrapped around the throbbing base instantly. The heat seared deliciously against your palms, making your pussy clench and drip like a desperate whore. 

You stroked him hard, twisting both fists in opposite directions while your thumbs rubbed over those glowing golden veins, milking more steaming precum from the slit. The ocean slapped coldly at your wrists, keeping the fire from burning while turning it into pure addictive warmth that made your nipples ache and your cunt throb.

He tried to pull back. “Baby, wait—my cock’s too hot, I’ll—”

You shut that weak shit down. You lunged forward and swallowed his massive golden dick like the filthy champion cocksucker you were.

This wasn’t a blowjob. This was a nasty, throat-fucking, a cunty symphony of spit, suction, and unhinged obsession performed on your knees in the boiling sea. You forced him straight into your tight throat on the first plunge, lips stretched obscenely wide around that fat shaft until your nose was buried in his pelvis and his heavy balls rested against your chin. Your throat convulsed and massaged every throbbing inch, swallowing greedily around the glowing head while your tongue worked the underside like a greedy little whore, lapping and pressing along every pulsing vein.

Steam exploded from the corners of your stretched, cock-stuffed mouth in thick, nasty clouds with every breath. You pulled back with a wet, filthy gluck, strings of glowing spit and precum connecting your swollen lips to his dick like liquid gold chains of ownership.

“Mmm, fuck—this cock tastes like sin and power,” you gasped, voice raw and dripping filth. “Your hot, golden monster is burning my throat so good. Choke me with it, Jungkook. I want this fat fire cock ruining my face until I’m gagging on smoke and cum like the pathetic ocean cunt I am for you.”

Then you dove back in—sloppier, deeper, nastier. One hand pumped the thick base in tight, twisting strokes while the other fondled and squeezed his heavy balls, tugging them just hard enough to make him growl. You hollowed your cheeks on every upstroke, sucking so hard your jaw ached, spit pouring down your chin onto your tits in messy rivers. Your free hand plunged between your own thighs, fingers brutally fucking your soaked cunt while you worshipped him, the wet sounds of your masturbation mixing with the obscene gagging of your throat.

He pushed his hips up instinctively, giving you room to breathe in ragged, desperate gasps between brutal throat-fucks. You rewarded him by flicking your tongue wildly over the sensitive head, sucking the glowing precum straight from the slit like it was the sweetest nectar, letting the steam billow out around your lips in pornographic bursts. The fetish consumed you—the way his fire marked your tongue with faint, shimmering golden sigils that faded into electric, clit-throbbing sensitivity. Every lick sent sparks straight to your dripping pussy.

“Fuuuuck, your cock is perfect,” you moaned between sloppy strokes, jerking him fast with both hands while your tongue bathed his balls. “So thick, so hot, so fucking golden. I’m addicted to choking on this burning dick. Fill my whore throat, baby. Use my face like the dirty cumrag I am.”

You sank down again, taking every brutal inch until your throat bulged visibly. You held him there, swallowing rhythmically, eyes watering with mascara-streaked devotion as steam poured from your nose. Your hands never stopped—twisting, pumping, massaging those heavy glowing balls while your own fingers plunged deeper into your greedy cunt.

You were a vision of pure cunty glory: kneeling naked in the violent surf, tits bouncing, lips stretched obscenely around his massive golden cock, spit and steam dripping everywhere while the ocean boiled and hissed around your filthy worship. Every nasty gluck-gluck-gluck, every moan, every dirty confession was pure depraved art.

When you finally pulled off for air, lips puffy and ruined, glowing spit and precum smeared across your chin and tits like war paint, you looked up at him with wicked, cunt-soaked hunger.

“Fuck… I never knew you could be such a dirty little whore,” he growled, voice rough with awe and raw lust. “All those filthy words, choking on my burning cock like a greedy ocean slut, sucking me down like you were born to worship it. Damn. You’ve been hiding this nasty side from me.”

You smirked up at him, cunt throbbing, lips still tingling. “You like it when I talk like a whore for your cock, don’t you?”

His grip on your hips tightened, golden veins flaring. “It makes me want to ruin that tight cunt. Split you open and fuck you until you’re screaming my name and creaming all over my fire dick.”

“Then do it,” you challenged, grinding your soaked pussy against his still-hard, steaming cock. “Ruin me right now, Jungkook. Fill me up.”

He let out a dark, wicked chuckle, shaking his head slowly. “Not yet, baby. Not so soon on this cock. I want you dripping and desperate first.”

Before you could protest, he dove beneath the churning waves like a predator. The ocean swallowed him for a few heart-pounding seconds.

When he rose again, water cascading down his sculpted chest like liquid obsidian, he cradled something alive and writhing in his large, glowing hand—a rare Metridium senile, the giant plumose sea anemone, its feathery, plume-like tentacles normally pale but now pulsing with an unnatural, bioluminescent teal glow ignited by the heat rolling off his skin.

“Look what the sea gave me for my filthy little whore,” he rasped, voice thick with dark delight. His golden eyes devoured the way your cunt clenched visibly at the sight. “This pretty Metridium loves warmth. And it’s about to fall in love with your dripping cunt.”

You barely had time to moan before he pinned you back against the slick rock shelf, thighs spread obscenely wide in the boiling surf. The icy water kissed your swollen folds as he pressed the living anemone flush against your aching pussy. The moment its feathery tentacles made contact, they flared to life, latching onto your sensitive flesh with dozens of tiny, hungry suckers. The creature’s natural mucus—now supercharged by Jungkook’s heat—secreted a slick, tingling aphrodisiac that made your clit throb and your inner walls flutter greedily.

“Fuuuuck—Jungkook!” you cried out, hips jerking as the anemone’s soft plumes began to stroke and caress your clit in rhythmic, fluttering waves, while finer tentacles probed and slipped between your folds.

He mocked you instantly, grinning like a demon as he pushed two thick fingers behind the creature, guiding several of its longer, feather-soft tentacles straight inside your soaked hole. The Metridium responded beautifully—its plumes expanding and contracting in pulsing waves, filling you with a living, writhing fullness that stroked every inch of your walls while the main body sucked and vibrated against your swollen clit like a thousand tiny mouths.

The sensation was otherworldly filth: cool, silky tentacles twisting and thrusting deeper under his control, the heat from his fingers making the anemone throb faster, its bioluminescent glow brightening with every pulse. The aphrodisiac mucus spread fire through your veins, turning every stroke into electric ecstasy that had you moaning like a broken slut.

“Listen to you,” he taunted, pumping his fingers to drive the creature harder. “Moaning like a pathetic ocean cumdump. Louder, baby. Tell the sea how good this anemone feels fucking your greedy cunt.”

“Harder—shit, it’s sucking my clit so fucking good!” you screamed, back arching violently as the Metridium’s tentacles curled and fluttered against that perfect spot inside you, expanding rhythmically while the feathery plumes on your clit created a relentless, suctioning vibration.

He mimicked your broken moans with savage glee. “Harder? Then take it, doll.”

His hand moved faster, wild and merciless, fucking the living organism in and out of your pussy in deep, filthy strokes. The anemone loved it—its body swelling and pulsing hotter under his influence, tentacles thrashing and sucking with increasing frenzy. One particularly thick plume wrapped around your clit like a living cock ring, squeezing and vibrating while others pumped relentlessly inside you.

Jungkook leaned down, biting your nipple hard enough to make you scream, his free hand pinning your thrashing hips. “That’s it, you nasty little whore. Cream on this sea creature. Soak my hand and this pretty Metridium like the dirty fire slut you are.”

The pressure detonated. Your entire body seized as the anemone’s tentacles swelled and fluttered violently inside your clenching cunt, the suction on your clit pushing you over the edge. You came with a guttural, shattered scream, pussy gushing hard around the writhing organism and his thrusting fingers. Clear squirt mixed with the glowing mucus, spraying into the boiling surf as wave after wave of orgasm ripped through you. The Metridium pulsed wildly in response, drinking every spasm, its bioluminescence flaring bright teal as it milked your release.

He didn’t stop—kept fucking you through it with the living toy and his hand, wild golden eyes watching every twitch and gush with feral pride until you were shaking, oversensitive, and sobbing with pleasure.

Only then did he gently pull the glistening, satisfied anemone away and release it back into the waves with a dark chuckle.

“Fuck… you’re perfect,” he growled, stroking his massive, steaming golden cock as he loomed over your trembling body. “Now that your cunt’s properly ruined and dripping… I think it’s finally ready for me.”

“You ready for the real thing, my filthy ocean whore?” he growled, voice wrecked with months of starvation finally breaking. “This cock is going to split that tight little cunt open. Inch by fucking inch.”

You whimpered, nodding desperately even as fear and want twisted in your belly. “Please… I need it. Ruin me.”

He gripped the base of his cock and dragged the fat, steaming head through your slick folds, coating himself in your cream and the anemone’s aphrodisiac mucus. Then he pushed.

The first thick inch breached you and you wailed—high, broken, whiny. “Fuck—Jungkook, it’s too big—ahh!” Your walls stretched obscenely around the invading girth, burning with that delicious, impossible stretch. He was splitting you open like a ripe fruit, forcing your cunt to mold around his monstrous size.

“Shhh, take it,” he snarled, but his voice was tender beneath the filth. “You were choking on it so pretty earlier. This greedy cunt can take the rest.” He rocked forward slowly, firmly, feeding you another thick inch. Golden light pulsed down his shaft as he sank deeper, the ocean hissing softly where his heat met water.

You whined louder, nails digging into his shoulders, legs shaking around his waist. “It’s splitting me—oh god, I can’t—fuck, don’t stop, give me more!”

He gave it to you. Inch by brutal, delicious inch. Every slow thrust forward stretched you wider, forcing your pussy to yield to his massive cock until you were gasping and sobbing with overwhelming fullness. Halfway in and your belly already looked slightly distended from the sheer size of him. Steam curled gently from between your joined bodies—not destructive anymore, but intimate, erotic.

“Miracle, isn’t it?” he breathed against your neck, voice awed even as he pushed deeper. “My fire’s… calm. Tamed. All because this cock finally found its home inside you. No more anger, no more starving. Just me… owning this cunt.”

With one final, firm thrust he bottomed out, balls-deep, his heavy glowing sac pressed tight against your ass. You screamed in pure overwhelmed pleasure, walls fluttering wildly around every veined inch. The stretch was obscene, perfect, miraculous—his temperature now a luxurious, deep warmth that flooded your insides without burning, soothing and claiming all at once.

He held still for a long moment, letting you adjust, forehead pressed to yours. “Breathe, baby. Feel how full you are. Feel how perfectly your whore cunt grips me.”

Then he started fucking you.

Slow. Firm. Devastating.

Long, dragging strokes that pulled almost all the way out before sliding back home, every inch rubbing against your sensitive walls and dragging over that perfect spot inside you. The ocean rocked your bodies together, adding its own rhythm as waves crashed and boiled gently around you. His hands gripped your ass, spreading you wider, angling you so he could grind deep on every thrust.

“Fuck, you feel like heaven,” he groaned, picking up the pace just enough to make your tits bounce. “So tight, so wet, sucking me in like you never want me to leave. This cunt was made for my cock.”

You were a mess of whiny, cunty moans. “Harder—please, I can take it. Fuck me like you own me!”

He gave it to you—still controlled, but deeper, filthier. The kinks piled on without mercy. He leaned down and sucked one of your nipples into his hot mouth, teeth grazing as faint golden brands bloomed temporarily on your skin wherever he licked or sucked—marks of possession that heightened every sensation. His hand slid between you, thumb circling your clit in firm strokes while his massive cock rearranged your insides.

The temperature play became its own addiction. Every time he thrust deep, a wave of perfect warmth bloomed inside you, soothing the brutal stretch and turning pain into liquid ecstasy. No burning. Just pure, claiming heat that made your womb ache with need.

He flipped you suddenly, bending you over the rock so the ocean could slap against your tits while he railed you from behind. One hand fisted your hair, the other spanking your ass hard enough to leave glowing handprints that faded into tingling pleasure.

“Take this fat cock, you dirty slut,” he growled, slamming in harder now, the wet sounds of your cunt echoing over the waves. “Gonna fill you up until you’re dripping my cum for days. Breed this greedy womb.”

Your moans turned into screams as he fucked you faster, deeper, wilder. Every thrust punched the air from your lungs. The stretch never eased—he was simply too big—but your cunt had adjusted into a perfect, sloppy sleeve for him, creaming obscenely down his shaft with every stroke.

He reached around and rubbed your clit furiously. “Cum on my cock, baby. Let me feel this whore pussy milk me.”

You shattered. Your orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave, walls clamping down hard around his massive girth, squirting around his cock as the ocean washed your release away. He fucked you through it, groaning at the way your cunt tried to pull him even deeper.

Only then did he let go.

His thrusts turned punishing—deep, powerful strokes that had your eyes rolling back. The golden veins along his cock pulsed brighter as he chased his own release.

“Gonna cum so deep,” he snarled. “Fill this cunt until it overflows.”

With a guttural roar that shook the steam around you, he buried himself to the hilt and came. 

His massive golden cock pulsed violently inside your ruined cunt, flooding you with thick, molten ropes of cum that glowed like liquid starfire—pure, shimmering gold that filled your womb until your belly visibly swelled with the sheer volume. It was endless, divine, supernatural. Every heavy spurt carried the heat of his tamed inferno, warm and soothing as it painted your insides, claiming you from the deepest core outward.

When he finally pulled out with a wet, obscene sound, a torrent of mixed cum—his glowing golden seed and your creamy release—gushed from your stretched, gaping hole into the boiling surf.

You were trembling, cock-drunk and insatiable, staring at the shimmering mess leaking from your cunt with pure, filthy hunger.

“Give it to me,” you begged, voice hoarse and whiny, dropping to your knees in the waves before him. “I want to taste your golden cum, Jungkook. Please—let your dirty whore drink it.”

His golden eyes darkened with fresh lust at your desperate plea. “Fuck… you really are my perfect cumslut.”

He scooped two thick fingers through your leaking pussy, gathering a heavy mix of his glowing golden cum and your slick. The substance shimmered on his digits like warm, liquid gold, still faintly pulsing with residual power. He brought it to your lips, painting them first like obscene lipstick before pushing his fingers deep into your mouth.

“Taste it, baby. Taste how divine your cunt made me.”

The flavor exploded on your tongue—rich, smoky-sweet like burnt honey and ozone, with a lingering ember warmth that made your throat tingle and your clit throb all over again. You moaned like a whore around his fingers, sucking them clean with greedy, swirling licks, eyes rolling back in filthy bliss. The cum-tasting fetish hit you hard; it was addictive, luxurious, making your mouth water for more as the golden essence coated your throat and warmed you from within.

“More,” you whimpered, tongue out like a begging pet. “It’s so fucking good… your cum tastes like heaven and sin mixed together.”

Jungkook groaned at the sight, his spent-but-still-hard cock twitching. He scooped another generous load straight from your overflowing cunt—thicker this time, mixed with the bioluminescent remnants of the anemone’s mucus—and fed it to you again. You slurped it noisily, moaning obscenely as he finger-fucked your mouth, letting you savor every drop.

But he wasn’t done giving you that final bukkake glory.

He pulled his fingers free, grabbed his heavy golden cock, and stroked it over your upturned face. Fresh spurts of glowing cum erupted across your tongue, your cheeks, your tits—thick, warm ropes that painted your skin in shimmering gold. You opened your mouth wide, tongue extended like a true cum-whore, catching as much as you could while the excess dripped down your chin and onto your heaving breasts.

He rubbed the fat head of his cock across your face, smearing the golden mess over your lips, cheeks, and eyelids in slow, possessive strokes. Then he leaned down, kissing you deep and nasty—tongues tangling, sharing the divine taste of his own cum between you while his hands massaged the glowing seed into your tits, pinching your nipples until they shone like jeweled peaks.

“Swallow it all, my filthy goddess,” he murmured against your lips, voice dark and tender. “Let my golden cum fill your belly and mark your skin. You look so fucking beautiful covered in me.”

You swallowed greedily, the warm, smoky-sweet essence sliding down your throat as more dripped from your chin into the ocean. He kept rubbing it into your body—across your stomach, over your swollen clit, even pushing some back inside your ruined cunt with two fingers, fucking his cum deeper while kissing you senseless.

The sight was pure, glowing bukkake perfection: you kneeling in the surf, body painted and dripping with his golden release, lips swollen, eyes glassy with cum-drunk adoration, while Jungkook loomed over you like a conquered god finally at peace.

He pulled you up into his arms, the ocean gently washing away what remained as he kissed you slow and deep, sharing the last traces of his divine cum between your tongues. His cum tasted even better mixed with your mouths—addictive, luxurious, making your head spin with euphoric warmth that spread all the way to your toes. While you kissed, he pushed two fingers back inside your sensitive, cum-filled cunt, slowly fucking his own release deeper, stirring it until more leaked out for him to collect and smear across your swollen clit.

“Mine,” he whispered fiercely. “Every drop. Every inch. Forever.”

The violent boiling of the ocean had settled into a slow, luxurious simmer, the water now a private, bubbling hot spring that cradled your thoroughly fucked bodies. Thick white steam rolled off the surface in heavy, obscene clouds, creating a hazy, sinful cocoon that hid your depravity from the freezing world beyond. The air smelled like sex, ozone, burnt sugar, and raw, spent fire.

You floated limp and ruined in Jungkook’s arms, your back flush against his powerful chest, his still-hard, golden cock nestled hot and heavy between your ass cheeks like it refused to leave its new home. His cum—thick, glowing golden seed—continued to leak lazily from your gaping, abused cunt, swirling into the water in shimmering ribbons every time the gentle waves rocked you.

“You’re still shivering, you filthy little cumslut,” he murmured, voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated straight to your oversensitive clit. One of his large hands slid down possessively to cup your swollen pussy, fingers lazily pushing his warm golden cum back inside you with slow, filthy thrusts.

“I’m not cold,” you breathed, grinding back against his hand like a desperate whore. “I’m just twitching from how hard you wrecked my cunt. I don’t think I’ll ever be empty again.”

Jungkook let out a dark, breathy chuckle and bit down on the side of your neck, sucking a fresh glowing mark into your skin. “Good. I want my cum dripping out of you for days. Want you to feel how I ruined this greedy hole every time you move.”

His other hand moved up to fist your long, bleached red hair, yanking your head back so he could lick a slow, filthy stripe up the side of your throat. The violent fucking had left your wavy strands a tangled, cum-streaked mess, but he didn’t care about gentleness now. He used the wet locks like reins, holding you in place while his fingers continued to slowly fuck his golden load deeper into your sensitive pussy.

“I hurt you,” he said, voice rough with lingering guilt and fresh lust as his thumb circled your swollen clit.

“You fucking destroyed me,” you corrected with a wicked, exhausted moan, pushing back onto his fingers. “Split my cunt open on that massive golden cock and pumped me so full I can still taste you in my throat. And I loved every brutal second, you monster.”

He groaned deeply, grinding his thick cock against your ass as more golden cum leaked from your hole. “God, the way you begged for it… choking on my dick like a nasty ocean whore, screaming for me to ruin you. You’re completely fucking unhinged.”

“I had to be,” you whispered, reaching back to grip his slick cock, stroking the glowing length slowly. “You spent months hiding this fire from me. I just had to show you I could take it all—every thick inch, every drop of this divine cum. Your fire isn’t a curse, Jungkook. It just needed a wet, greedy cunt to burn in.”

He turned your head and kissed you deep and nasty, tongues tangling, sharing the lingering smoky-sweet taste of his cum that still coated your mouth.

“I was so fucking terrified,” he confessed, voice raw and stripped bare. “Every time I looked at you I wanted to pin you down and destroy that tight little cunt. I thought if I ever let myself have you, I’d burn you alive. But you…” He swallowed hard, eyes shimmering. “You didn’t just survive my cock. You swallowed every inch like a greedy whore, choked on it, begged for more, and milked me dry. You conquered my fire.”

“We conquered it,” you corrected, grinding your ass back against his slick cock with a lazy, satisfied moan.

“I love you,” he swore, the words dark and heavy like a blood pact. “I love you so fucking much it still terrifies me. I love this nasty, unhinged cunt that took everything I gave it.” He pulled you tighter, burying his face in your wet red hair as his fingers dipped down to push more of his golden cum back inside your sensitive hole. “I’m never running again. I’m going to fill you up every single night until you’re dripping with me.”

You stayed like that for a long time—his fingers lazily fucking his cum deeper while you kissed slow and filthy, sharing the smoky-sweet taste of his load between your tongues. Only when the water began to cool did he finally stand, water cascading down his magnificent body as he scooped you up like you belonged in his arms forever.

The freezing coastal wind hit your naked, cum-covered skin like knives, but Jungkook flared his power with perfect, possessive control. His body became a living furnace, radiating dry, delicious heat that wrapped around you like the world’s hottest blanket. His golden cum still leaking down your thighs warmed instantly, making your pussy throb with aftershocks.

He carried you across the sand, his hard cock brushing against your ass with every step, then helped you dress with filthy tenderness—pushing more cum back inside you with two fingers before pulling your panties up to trap it there. He wrapped you in his coat, the fabric instantly warming from his touch.

In the car, the silence was thick with satisfaction. Jungkook reached over and slid his hand between your thighs, cupping your cum-filled cunt possessively as you drove.

“So,” you murmured, sleepy and smirking, “are you still going to lurk three tables away like a creepy, horny gargoyle in the library?”

He threw his head back and laughed, rich and free, then brought your hand to his mouth, sucking one of your cum-stained fingers between his lips.

“Never again,” he promised, voice thick with dark love and fresh hunger. “From now on I’m sitting right next to you. I’m going to hold your hand, finger this messy cunt under the table, and kiss you whenever I want. And every night I’m going to ruin you until you can’t walk straight, until this greedy hole is permanently shaped like my cock and leaking my golden cum.”

You squeezed his thigh, heart full and cunt still fluttering around the load he’d left inside you.

The sun rose over the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of gold that matched the glowing seed still drying on your skin. The fire was no longer a curse.

It was yours. He was yours.

And you couldn’t wait to burn with him again and again.

—