Ship/Member: wonwoo/jeonghan Major Tags: DUBCON, tentacles, explicit sexual content, body horror Additional Tags: jeonghan is an eldritch being. wonwoo is a freak. power imbalance. twisted human/monster romance. Permission to remix: Yes
Inspired by the entirety of the song Shadow by F(x).
I'm going to be honest - I've never written anything like this. My brand of dark and twisted is pining men crying during sex. I can't explain or defend this. I also can't believe I'm actually going through with it and posting it to 17hols, laying my depravity at the feet of some of the writers I admire most in the community. Alas. Here we are. PLEASE heed the tags.
***
The streets are nearly deserted at this hour, quiet except for the faint hum of neon signs flickering above shuttered storefronts. Their distorted reflections pool on the rain-slick sidewalk, shimmering like spilled oil. An occasional car drifts by, tires hissing against the wet asphalt, but otherwise, the city feels dead.
Wonwoo, however, knows better.
He’s a little buzzed from the bar, tired after hours of half-hearted conversations with co-workers whose names he can never seem to remember, but his senses are still sharp. And so, he notices the shift in the air as he crosses the street, just a block away from making it home safely. The warning is subtle at first, just a familiar prickle of unease at the back of his neck. Most times, it’s easy enough to convince himself he’s imagining it, that the feeling of being watched is nothing more than a trick of his nerves.
Not tonight.
A sound comes low and faint, nearly drowned out by his own footsteps. Soft and wet, like something slick being dragged across the pavement. It’s enough to make his pulse quicken, the fine hairs on his arms standing on end, but he doesn’t change his pace. Speeding up would only make this more fun for the creature that stalks him.
“Don’t you ever get tired of this?” Wonwoo asks, not bothering to look back.
A giggle ripples through the air. “Tired of you?” Jeonghan purrs. “Never.”
Wonwoo exhales sharply and ducks into the nearest alley. The narrow passageway reeks of mildew, the damp, slimy walls illuminated by the weak light of a single, flickering bulb hanging above a boarded-up door. It’s dark, cramped, and grimy, but it’s private. Private-ish. Private enough for what’s about to happen.
“You know,” Wonwoo mutters, his voice steadier than he feels, “you could just ask me out like a normal p—” He stops himself short, the word sticking in his throat.
“Go on.” Jeonghan’s voice floats out of the shadows, deceptively soft. “Like a normal what?”
Wonwoo hesitates. The air suddenly feels heavier, colder, his skin pricking with a rush of adrenaline. His fight-or-flight instinct flares, but it’s useless. Jeonghan moves much faster than he ever could.
Before he can even blink, tentacles, slick and glistening, unfurl from the darkness. Two snap around his wrists, yanking his arms above his head and slamming him back against the filthy brick wall. The impact knocks the breath from his lungs, leaving him momentarily dazed, his chest heaving as he tries to recover.
The tentacles are impossibly cold, their surface textured like raw, wet flesh. The sensation is sickening, enough to jolt him back to full awareness. He thrashes, desperately trying to find leverage, but the more he struggles, the tighter they bind him. A violent shiver runs through Wonwoo, part disgust, part something far worse.
“Like a normal person,” he bites out, though the word feels absurd, especially now.
Laughter echoes down the alley as Jeonghan steps into the dim light. At first glance, he almost looks human. Almost. But as he glides closer, the illusion shatters. His skin ripples, shifting between translucent and opaque, veins glowing like molten threads beneath thin glass. His limbs are just a touch too long, his joints bending at unnatural angles, dark hair falling limp against his shoulders like strands of ink. His angelic face is wrong in ways that are hard to pin down—it’s as though someone has smeared his features, blurring the edges like charcoal on wet paper. Worst of all are his eyes: twin black voids that seem to devour the low light around them. They aren’t just looking at Wonwoo—they’re pulling, dragging him into their abyss, threatening to consume him whole.
“And ruin all the fun we have?” Jeonghan teases, leaning in close enough that his icy breath ghosts over Wonwoo’s face. “How boring.”
From the shadows behind him, a third tentacle emerges—thinner, more serpentine. It snakes forward, circling around Wonwoo’s ankle with a wet, chilling grip. He stiffens as it slips beneath the cuff of his pant leg, the cold sensation trailing higher and higher. Dread settles in his gut, but something hotter, deeper, stirs alongside it.
When the appendage brushes between his legs, finding him half-hard and leaking beneath the fabric of his underwear, shame hits Wonwoo like a punch to the stomach.
Jeonghan hums, a low, mocking sound, his head tilting with an unsettling, boneless fluidity. The tentacle flicks cruelly against the tip of Wonwoo’s cock, and Wonwoo’s vision splinters, the world around him cracking at the edges like glass on the verge of shattering.
“Stop,” Wonwoo gasps. It’s not an order. It’s a plea.
“Stop?” Jeonghan echoes, black eyes widening with feigned innocence. “But you’re already so eager.”
The tentacle winds slowly around Wonwoo’s cock, and the sensation is almost enough to drive him mad. It’s texture shifts as it slides down his length—soft as velvet one moment, rough like sandpaper the next, each change dragging a choked sound from Wonwoo’s throat. Another tentacle slips beneath his sweater, trailing up his torso with slow undulations. The ridged surface drags against his skin, leaving lines of ice and goosebumps in its wake.
It’s already too much, overwhelming and unbearable, and yet, somehow, not enough. It’s everything Wonwoo knows he shouldn’t want, and still, he’s growing harder, already coming apart at the seams. Each motion sends violent jolts through his body, like lightning searing through his nerves, sharper and brighter with every strike. It’s disgusting. It’s perfect. So fucking perfect. Nothing else, no one else, has ever come close to making him feel this good.
Wonwoo’s hips jerk forward, instinctively rolling into the pressure, a broken whimper spilling from his lips as his head thuds back against the wall. His glasses slide down his nose, the fogged lenses blurring Jeonghan’s monstrous form into a hazy, indistinct shape, and Wonwoo is grateful for it. It’s easier this way. Easier to lose himself in the sensation and not the horror of what’s happening.
"See?" Jeonghan murmurs, his lips brushing against Wonwoo’s. “You do want this.” His hand—if it can even be called a hand—grips Wonwoo’s jaw, spindly digits digging into his chin.
“I don’t,” Wonwoo whispers, though the words are brittle, hollow, even to his own ears.
Jeonghan’s grin stretches unnaturally wide, his mouth curling all the way to his cheekbones. “You’re a terrible liar.” His tongue, slick and too long, drags up the length of Wonwoo’s neck, lapping at the sweat gathering there.
Twisting away, Wonwoo bites down hard on the inside of his cheek, holding back a moan, but he can’t stop the tremor that runs through his body.
The tentacles continue to move. The one coiled around his cock tightens, stroking with an unnatural rhythm, shifting in ways that defy human touch. It’s impossibly precise. Calculated. Fluid. Another winds around his waist, slithering up his spine, its suckers latching onto each vertebra with a wet, obscene sound.
“You’re so perfect like this,” Jeonghan breathes, his voice reverent, almost tender. “Helpless. Mine.”
“I hate you,” Wonwoo spits, though the sentiment is weakened by the involuntary buck of his hips. “I hate this.”
Jeonghan laughs. "No, you don’t. You lead me here because you wanted this," he says, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating in the hollow spaces inside Wonwoo’s chest. “Admit it, Wonungie. Just say it.”
Wonwoo shakes his head, his hands clawing at the slimy brick behind him. The sensations are relentless, the ridges of Jeonghan’s appendages sliding against his most sensitive spots in a way that’s too much, too fast, too good. His knees buckle, but the tentacles hold him upright, pinning him firmly against the wall.
“Say it.”
Wonwoo shakes his head again, biting his lip until he tastes blood. The tentacles tighten their hold, squeezing, stroking, dragging him closer to the edge.
“Come on. Say it,” Jeonghan demands, his void-like eyes glinting with cruel amusement.
The tentacle between Wonwoo’s legs unfurls further, splitting into finer tendrils, each one working independently, caressing the most hypersensitive spots of his body. They stroke, pulse, and twist in perfect synchronization, pleasuring him from every angle. One coils tighter around the head of his cock, while another slips lower, wrapping around the base. A third presses against his perineum, slick and firm, sending a bolt of electricity up his spine. One more curls between his ass cheeks, circling, teasing. It flirts with pushing inside him but doesn’t—hovering, threatening, leaving him dangling on the brink, his nerves lit up like live wires.
“Beg me for it, or I’ll stop,” Jeonghan warns.
Wonwoo’s head swims, the fight finally draining out of him at the threat.
“Please,” he chokes, the word tumbling out in a desperate rush.
“Please what?” Jeonghan taunts, his grin widening. “Say it, Wonungie.”
"Please, don’t stop," Wonwoo moans, his eyes squeezed shut, voice thick with shame. "I… I want it."
Jeonghan giggles, the sound sharp and unnatural, like the tinkling of shattered glass. “Mmm. There we go. Good boy,” he coos.
The tentacles tighten in reward, their strokes quickening, and Wonwoo’s body jerks helplessly against them, every inch of him wrung tight.
Beside his head, Jeonghan’s long, curved nails scrape against the alley wall, the harsh sound setting Wonwoo’s teeth on edge. “Mortals are so sensitive,” he murmurs. “So addictive.”
Before Wonwoo can respond, another tentacle slithers forward, brushing under his chin and curling toward his lips. Wonwoo tries to turn his head away, panic seizing his chest, but the other tentacles hold him fast.
“Open,” Jeonghan orders.
Wonwoo hesitates, his heart hammering against his ribs, but, slowly, reluctantly, his lips part. The tentacle slides inside, its texture alien and slick, hot and pulsating. The taste of copper and rot floods his mouth, making his stomach twist in revulsion. He gags, his throat convulsing as the appendage wraps around his tongue, moving in rhythm with the ones stroking his body. The sensation is vile, invasive in a way that makes his skin crawl, and yet his cock only throbs harder, his balls pulling up tight.
The pressure in his middle builds rapidly from there, spiraling out of control. Every muscle tenses, his nerves burning with electric fire, until the pleasure sharpens into a blinding ache. It sears through his stomach, his chest, his cock—pushing him past the limits of what he can endure. He’s lightheaded, everything narrowing to the unbearable sensations overtaking him. Darkness begins creeping into the edges of his vision, he thinks he might blackout…
And then, the world explodes.
The release, when it comes, isn’t a release at all—it’s a violent unraveling. A ruining. His muscles lock, his lungs forget how to work, and for a brief, terrifying moment, he isn’t sure where he ends and Jeonghan begins. His body spasms uncontrollably as his orgasm hits, wave after wave of brutal pleasure crashing through him, breaking him apart piece by piece. He jerks against the wall, helpless as the tentacles milk every last shudder from him, keeping him trapped on the razor’s edge between ecstasy and agony.
Above him, Jeonghan moans, a low, guttural rasp, his head snapping back as though he’s consuming every pulse of Wonwoo’s pleasure, devouring it like a feast.
Just when Wonwoo feels like he might truly lose his mind, might actually die, the tentacles begin to withdraw, peeling away with obscene squelches, leaving behind sticky trails of slick. Their absence is almost as overwhelming as their presence, a sudden, jarring emptiness that leaves Wonwoo gasping.
Without anything to hold him up, his legs buckle, trembling and useless, and he collapses against the wall, sliding down in a graceless heap. His chest heaves with shallow, ragged breaths; his body is wrecked, twitching uncontrollably with aftershocks that won’t subside.
Jeonghan crouches beside him, studying him with an almost childlike curiosity, head tilting at an unnatural angle. He reaches out, his not-quite-hand brushing over Wonwoo’s sweat-damp cheek.
“See? Wasn’t that fun?” he says with a sharp-toothed grin. “I’ll see you again soon, my Wonungie.” It’s both a promise and a threat.
Wonwoo doesn’t respond. He can’t. His body feels hollowed out, his mind is in shreds. Shame squeezes his throat, the echo of what just happened lingering in his nerves, refusing to fade. It’s disgusting. It’s wrong. He should feel angry, violated, revolted.
He should hate himself for this. Should hate this vile creature.
But as Jeonghan melts back into the shadows, disappearing into the darkest corner of the alley, all Wonwoo can think about, in the sick, aching aftermath, is how badly he wants more.
[FILL] shadow
Major Tags: DUBCON, tentacles, explicit sexual content, body horror
Additional Tags: jeonghan is an eldritch being. wonwoo is a freak. power imbalance. twisted human/monster romance.
Permission to remix: Yes
Inspired by the entirety of the song Shadow by F(x).
I'm going to be honest - I've never written anything like this. My brand of dark and twisted is pining men crying during sex. I can't explain or defend this. I also can't believe I'm actually going through with it and posting it to 17hols, laying my depravity at the feet of some of the writers I admire most in the community. Alas. Here we are. PLEASE heed the tags.
***
The streets are nearly deserted at this hour, quiet except for the faint hum of neon signs flickering above shuttered storefronts. Their distorted reflections pool on the rain-slick sidewalk, shimmering like spilled oil. An occasional car drifts by, tires hissing against the wet asphalt, but otherwise, the city feels dead.
Wonwoo, however, knows better.
He’s a little buzzed from the bar, tired after hours of half-hearted conversations with co-workers whose names he can never seem to remember, but his senses are still sharp. And so, he notices the shift in the air as he crosses the street, just a block away from making it home safely. The warning is subtle at first, just a familiar prickle of unease at the back of his neck. Most times, it’s easy enough to convince himself he’s imagining it, that the feeling of being watched is nothing more than a trick of his nerves.
Not tonight.
A sound comes low and faint, nearly drowned out by his own footsteps. Soft and wet, like something slick being dragged across the pavement. It’s enough to make his pulse quicken, the fine hairs on his arms standing on end, but he doesn’t change his pace. Speeding up would only make this more fun for the creature that stalks him.
“Don’t you ever get tired of this?” Wonwoo asks, not bothering to look back.
A giggle ripples through the air. “Tired of you?” Jeonghan purrs. “Never.”
Wonwoo exhales sharply and ducks into the nearest alley. The narrow passageway reeks of mildew, the damp, slimy walls illuminated by the weak light of a single, flickering bulb hanging above a boarded-up door. It’s dark, cramped, and grimy, but it’s private. Private-ish. Private enough for what’s about to happen.
“You know,” Wonwoo mutters, his voice steadier than he feels, “you could just ask me out like a normal p—” He stops himself short, the word sticking in his throat.
“Go on.” Jeonghan’s voice floats out of the shadows, deceptively soft. “Like a normal what?”
Wonwoo hesitates. The air suddenly feels heavier, colder, his skin pricking with a rush of adrenaline. His fight-or-flight instinct flares, but it’s useless. Jeonghan moves much faster than he ever could.
Before he can even blink, tentacles, slick and glistening, unfurl from the darkness. Two snap around his wrists, yanking his arms above his head and slamming him back against the filthy brick wall. The impact knocks the breath from his lungs, leaving him momentarily dazed, his chest heaving as he tries to recover.
The tentacles are impossibly cold, their surface textured like raw, wet flesh. The sensation is sickening, enough to jolt him back to full awareness. He thrashes, desperately trying to find leverage, but the more he struggles, the tighter they bind him. A violent shiver runs through Wonwoo, part disgust, part something far worse.
“Like a normal person,” he bites out, though the word feels absurd, especially now.
Laughter echoes down the alley as Jeonghan steps into the dim light. At first glance, he almost looks human. Almost. But as he glides closer, the illusion shatters. His skin ripples, shifting between translucent and opaque, veins glowing like molten threads beneath thin glass. His limbs are just a touch too long, his joints bending at unnatural angles, dark hair falling limp against his shoulders like strands of ink. His angelic face is wrong in ways that are hard to pin down—it’s as though someone has smeared his features, blurring the edges like charcoal on wet paper. Worst of all are his eyes: twin black voids that seem to devour the low light around them. They aren’t just looking at Wonwoo—they’re pulling, dragging him into their abyss, threatening to consume him whole.
“And ruin all the fun we have?” Jeonghan teases, leaning in close enough that his icy breath ghosts over Wonwoo’s face. “How boring.”
From the shadows behind him, a third tentacle emerges—thinner, more serpentine. It snakes forward, circling around Wonwoo’s ankle with a wet, chilling grip. He stiffens as it slips beneath the cuff of his pant leg, the cold sensation trailing higher and higher. Dread settles in his gut, but something hotter, deeper, stirs alongside it.
When the appendage brushes between his legs, finding him half-hard and leaking beneath the fabric of his underwear, shame hits Wonwoo like a punch to the stomach.
Jeonghan hums, a low, mocking sound, his head tilting with an unsettling, boneless fluidity. The tentacle flicks cruelly against the tip of Wonwoo’s cock, and Wonwoo’s vision splinters, the world around him cracking at the edges like glass on the verge of shattering.
“Stop,” Wonwoo gasps. It’s not an order. It’s a plea.
“Stop?” Jeonghan echoes, black eyes widening with feigned innocence. “But you’re already so eager.”
The tentacle winds slowly around Wonwoo’s cock, and the sensation is almost enough to drive him mad. It’s texture shifts as it slides down his length—soft as velvet one moment, rough like sandpaper the next, each change dragging a choked sound from Wonwoo’s throat. Another tentacle slips beneath his sweater, trailing up his torso with slow undulations. The ridged surface drags against his skin, leaving lines of ice and goosebumps in its wake.
It’s already too much, overwhelming and unbearable, and yet, somehow, not enough. It’s everything Wonwoo knows he shouldn’t want, and still, he’s growing harder, already coming apart at the seams. Each motion sends violent jolts through his body, like lightning searing through his nerves, sharper and brighter with every strike. It’s disgusting. It’s perfect. So fucking perfect. Nothing else, no one else, has ever come close to making him feel this good.
Wonwoo’s hips jerk forward, instinctively rolling into the pressure, a broken whimper spilling from his lips as his head thuds back against the wall. His glasses slide down his nose, the fogged lenses blurring Jeonghan’s monstrous form into a hazy, indistinct shape, and Wonwoo is grateful for it. It’s easier this way. Easier to lose himself in the sensation and not the horror of what’s happening.
"See?" Jeonghan murmurs, his lips brushing against Wonwoo’s. “You do want this.” His hand—if it can even be called a hand—grips Wonwoo’s jaw, spindly digits digging into his chin.
“I don’t,” Wonwoo whispers, though the words are brittle, hollow, even to his own ears.
Jeonghan’s grin stretches unnaturally wide, his mouth curling all the way to his cheekbones. “You’re a terrible liar.” His tongue, slick and too long, drags up the length of Wonwoo’s neck, lapping at the sweat gathering there.
Twisting away, Wonwoo bites down hard on the inside of his cheek, holding back a moan, but he can’t stop the tremor that runs through his body.
The tentacles continue to move. The one coiled around his cock tightens, stroking with an unnatural rhythm, shifting in ways that defy human touch. It’s impossibly precise. Calculated. Fluid. Another winds around his waist, slithering up his spine, its suckers latching onto each vertebra with a wet, obscene sound.
“You’re so perfect like this,” Jeonghan breathes, his voice reverent, almost tender. “Helpless. Mine.”
“I hate you,” Wonwoo spits, though the sentiment is weakened by the involuntary buck of his hips. “I hate this.”
Jeonghan laughs. "No, you don’t. You lead me here because you wanted this," he says, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating in the hollow spaces inside Wonwoo’s chest. “Admit it, Wonungie. Just say it.”
Wonwoo shakes his head, his hands clawing at the slimy brick behind him. The sensations are relentless, the ridges of Jeonghan’s appendages sliding against his most sensitive spots in a way that’s too much, too fast, too good. His knees buckle, but the tentacles hold him upright, pinning him firmly against the wall.
“Say it.”
Wonwoo shakes his head again, biting his lip until he tastes blood. The tentacles tighten their hold, squeezing, stroking, dragging him closer to the edge.
“Come on. Say it,” Jeonghan demands, his void-like eyes glinting with cruel amusement.
The tentacle between Wonwoo’s legs unfurls further, splitting into finer tendrils, each one working independently, caressing the most hypersensitive spots of his body. They stroke, pulse, and twist in perfect synchronization, pleasuring him from every angle. One coils tighter around the head of his cock, while another slips lower, wrapping around the base. A third presses against his perineum, slick and firm, sending a bolt of electricity up his spine. One more curls between his ass cheeks, circling, teasing. It flirts with pushing inside him but doesn’t—hovering, threatening, leaving him dangling on the brink, his nerves lit up like live wires.
“Beg me for it, or I’ll stop,” Jeonghan warns.
Wonwoo’s head swims, the fight finally draining out of him at the threat.
“Please,” he chokes, the word tumbling out in a desperate rush.
“Please what?” Jeonghan taunts, his grin widening. “Say it, Wonungie.”
"Please, don’t stop," Wonwoo moans, his eyes squeezed shut, voice thick with shame. "I… I want it."
Jeonghan giggles, the sound sharp and unnatural, like the tinkling of shattered glass. “Mmm. There we go. Good boy,” he coos.
The tentacles tighten in reward, their strokes quickening, and Wonwoo’s body jerks helplessly against them, every inch of him wrung tight.
Beside his head, Jeonghan’s long, curved nails scrape against the alley wall, the harsh sound setting Wonwoo’s teeth on edge. “Mortals are so sensitive,” he murmurs. “So addictive.”
Before Wonwoo can respond, another tentacle slithers forward, brushing under his chin and curling toward his lips. Wonwoo tries to turn his head away, panic seizing his chest, but the other tentacles hold him fast.
“Open,” Jeonghan orders.
Wonwoo hesitates, his heart hammering against his ribs, but, slowly, reluctantly, his lips part. The tentacle slides inside, its texture alien and slick, hot and pulsating. The taste of copper and rot floods his mouth, making his stomach twist in revulsion. He gags, his throat convulsing as the appendage wraps around his tongue, moving in rhythm with the ones stroking his body. The sensation is vile, invasive in a way that makes his skin crawl, and yet his cock only throbs harder, his balls pulling up tight.
The pressure in his middle builds rapidly from there, spiraling out of control. Every muscle tenses, his nerves burning with electric fire, until the pleasure sharpens into a blinding ache. It sears through his stomach, his chest, his cock—pushing him past the limits of what he can endure. He’s lightheaded, everything narrowing to the unbearable sensations overtaking him. Darkness begins creeping into the edges of his vision, he thinks he might blackout…
And then, the world explodes.
The release, when it comes, isn’t a release at all—it’s a violent unraveling. A ruining. His muscles lock, his lungs forget how to work, and for a brief, terrifying moment, he isn’t sure where he ends and Jeonghan begins. His body spasms uncontrollably as his orgasm hits, wave after wave of brutal pleasure crashing through him, breaking him apart piece by piece. He jerks against the wall, helpless as the tentacles milk every last shudder from him, keeping him trapped on the razor’s edge between ecstasy and agony.
Above him, Jeonghan moans, a low, guttural rasp, his head snapping back as though he’s consuming every pulse of Wonwoo’s pleasure, devouring it like a feast.
Just when Wonwoo feels like he might truly lose his mind, might actually die, the tentacles begin to withdraw, peeling away with obscene squelches, leaving behind sticky trails of slick. Their absence is almost as overwhelming as their presence, a sudden, jarring emptiness that leaves Wonwoo gasping.
Without anything to hold him up, his legs buckle, trembling and useless, and he collapses against the wall, sliding down in a graceless heap. His chest heaves with shallow, ragged breaths; his body is wrecked, twitching uncontrollably with aftershocks that won’t subside.
Jeonghan crouches beside him, studying him with an almost childlike curiosity, head tilting at an unnatural angle. He reaches out, his not-quite-hand brushing over Wonwoo’s sweat-damp cheek.
“See? Wasn’t that fun?” he says with a sharp-toothed grin. “I’ll see you again soon, my Wonungie.” It’s both a promise and a threat.
Wonwoo doesn’t respond. He can’t. His body feels hollowed out, his mind is in shreds. Shame squeezes his throat, the echo of what just happened lingering in his nerves, refusing to fade. It’s disgusting. It’s wrong. He should feel angry, violated, revolted.
He should hate himself for this. Should hate this vile creature.
But as Jeonghan melts back into the shadows, disappearing into the darkest corner of the alley, all Wonwoo can think about, in the sick, aching aftermath, is how badly he wants more.
ao3.